Chapter II

“I am afraid we m ust be running away,” said Em m a, glancing at Harriet, and beginning to rise – “My father will be expecting us. I had no intention, I thought I had no power of stay ing m ore than five m inutes, when I first entered the house. I m erely called, because I would not pass the door without inquiring after Mrs. Bates; but I have been so pleasantly detained! Now, however, we m ust wish y ou and Mrs. Bates good m orning.”

And not all that could be urged to detain her succeeded. She regained the street – happy in this, that though m uch had been forced on her against her will, though she had in fact heard the whole substance of Jane Fairfax’s letter, she had been able to escape the letter itself.

CHAPTER II

Jane Fairfax was an orphan, the only child of Mrs. Bates’s y oungest daughter.

The m arriage of Lieut. Fairfax of the – – regim ent of infantry, and Miss Jane Bates, had had its day of fam e and pleasure, hope and interest; but nothing now rem ained of it, save the m elancholy rem em brance of him dy ing in action abroad – of his widow sinking under consum ption and grief soon afterwards – and this girl.

By birth she belonged to Highbury : and when at three y ears old, on losing her m other, she becam e the property, the charge, the consolation, the fondling of her grandm other and aunt, there had seem ed every probability of her being perm anently fixed there; of her being taught only what very lim ited m eans could com m and, and growing up with no advantages of connexion or im provem ent, to be engrafted on what nature had given her in a pleasing person, good understanding, and warm -hearted, well-m eaning relations.

But the com passionate feelings of a friend of her father gave a change to her destiny. This was Colonel Cam pbell, who had very highly regarded Fairfax, as an excellent officer and m ost deserving y oung m an; and farther, had been indebted to him for such attentions, during a severe cam p-fever, as he believed had saved his life. These were claim s which he did not learn to overlook, though som e y ears passed away from the death of poor Fairfax, before his own return to England put any thing in his power. When he did return, he sought out the child and took notice of her. He was a m arried m an, with only one living child, a girl, about Jane’s age: and Jane becam e their guest, pay ing them long visits and growing a favourite with all; and before she was nine y ears old, his daughter’s great fondness for her, and his own wish of being a real friend, united to produce an offer from Colonel Cam pbell of undertaking the whole charge of her education. It was accepted; and from that period Jane had belonged to Colonel Cam pbell’s fam ily, and had lived with them entirely, only visiting her grandm other from tim e to tim e.

The plan was that she should be brought up for educating others; the very few hundred pounds which she inherited from her father m aking independence im possible. To provide for her otherwise was out of Colonel Cam pbell’s power; for though his incom e, by pay and appointm ents, was handsom e, his fortune was m oderate and m ust be all his daughter’s; but, by giving her an education, he hoped to be supply ing the m eans of respectable subsistence hereafter.

Such was Jane Fairfax’s history. She had fallen into good hands, known nothing but kindness from the Cam pbells, and been given an excellent education.

Living constantly with right-m inded and well-inform ed people, her heart and understanding had received every advantage of discipline and culture; and Colonel Cam pbell’s residence being in London, every lighter talent had been done full j ustice to, by the attendance of first-rate m asters. Her disposition and abilities were equally worthy of all that friendship could do; and at eighteen or nineteen she was, as far as such an early age can be qualified for the care of children, fully com petent to the office of instruction herself; but she was too m uch beloved to be parted with. Neither father nor m other could prom ote, and the daughter could not endure it. The evil day was put off. It was easy to decide that she was still too y oung; and Jane rem ained with them , sharing, as another daughter, in all the rational pleasures of an elegant society, and a j udicious m ixture of hom e and am usem ent, with only the drawback of the future, the sobering suggestions of her own good understanding to rem ind her that all this m ight soon be over.

The affection of the whole fam ily, the warm attachm ent of Miss Cam pbell in particular, was the m ore honourable to each party from the circum stance of Jane’s decided superiority both in beauty and acquirem ents. That nature had given it in feature could not be unseen by the y oung wom an, nor could her higher powers of m ind be unfelt by the parents. They continued together with unabated regard however, till the m arriage of Miss Cam pbell, who by that chance, that luck which so often defies anticipation in m atrim onial affairs, giving attraction to what is m oderate rather than to what is superior, engaged the affections of Mr. Dixon, a y oung m an, rich and agreeable, alm ost as soon as they were acquainted; and was eligibly and happily settled, while Jane Fairfax had y et her bread to earn.

This event had very lately taken place; too lately for any thing to be y et attem pted by her less fortunate friend towards entering on her path of duty ; though she had now reached the age which her own j udgm ent had fixed on for beginning. She had long resolved that one-and-twenty should be the period. With the fortitude of a devoted novitiate, she had resolved at one-and-twenty to com plete the sacrifice, and retire from all the pleasures of life, of rational intercourse, equal society, peace and hope, to penance and m ortification for ever.

The good sense of Colonel and Mrs. Cam pbell could not oppose such a resolution, though their feelings did. As long as they lived, no exertions would be necessary, their hom e m ight be hers for ever; and for their own com fort they would have retained her wholly ; but this would be selfishness: – what m ust be at last, had better be soon. Perhaps they began to feel it m ight have been kinder and wiser to have resisted the tem ptation of any delay, and spared her from a taste of such enj oy m ents of ease and leisure as m ust now be relinquished. Still, however,

affection was glad to catch at any reasonable excuse for not hurry ing on the wretched m om ent. She had never been quite well since the tim e of their daughter’s m arriage; and till she should have com pletely recovered her usual strength, they m ust forbid her engaging in duties, which, so far from being com patible with a weakened fram e and vary ing spirits, seem ed, under the m ost favourable circum stances, to require som ething m ore than hum an perfection of body and m ind to be discharged with tolerable com fort.

With regard to her not accom pany ing them to Ireland, her account to her aunt contained nothing but truth, though there m ight be som e truths not told. It was her own choice to give the tim e of their absence to Highbury ; to spend, perhaps, her last m onths of perfect liberty with those kind relations to whom she was so very dear: and the Cam pbells, whatever m ight be their m otive or m otives, whether single, or double, or treble, gave the arrangem ent their ready sanction, and said, that they depended m ore on a few m onths spent in her native air, for the recovery of her health, than on any thing else. Certain it was that she was to com e; and that Highbury, instead of welcom ing that perfect novelty which had been so long prom ised it – Mr. Frank Churchill – m ust put up for the present with Jane Fairfax, who could bring only the freshness of a two y ears’ absence.

Em m a was sorry ; – to have to pay civilities to a person she did not like through three long m onths! – to be alway s doing m ore than she wished, and less than she ought! Why she did not like Jane Fairfax m ight be a difficult question to answer; Mr. Knightley had once told her it was because she saw in her the really accom plished y oung wom an, which she wanted to be thought herself; and though the accusation had been eagerly refuted at the tim e, there were m om ents of self-exam ination in which her conscience could not quite acquit her. But “she could never get acquainted with her: she did not know how it was, but there was such coldness and reserve – such apparent indifference whether she pleased or not –

and then, her aunt was such an eternal talker! – and she was m ade such a fuss with by every body ! – and it had been alway s im agined that they were to be so intim ate – because their ages were the sam e, every body had supposed they m ust be so fond of each other.” These were her reasons – she had no better.

It was a dislike so little j ust – every im puted fault was so m agnified by fancy, that she never saw Jane Fairfax the first tim e after any considerable absence, without feeling that she had inj ured her; and now, when the due visit was paid, on her arrival, after a two y ears’ interval, she was particularly struck with the very appearance and m anners, which for those two whole y ears she had been depreciating. Jane Fairfax was very elegant, rem arkably elegant; and she had herself the highest value for elegance. Her height was pretty, j ust such as alm ost every body would think tall, and nobody could think very tall; her figure particularly graceful; her size a m ost becom ing m edium , between fat and thin,

though a slight appearance of ill-health seem ed to point out the likeliest evil of the two. Em m a could not but feel all this; and then, her face – her features – there was m ore beauty in them altogether than she had rem em bered; it was not regular, but it was very pleasing beauty. Her ey es, a deep grey, with dark ey elashes and ey ebrows, had never been denied their praise; but the skin, which she had been used to cavil at, as wanting colour, had a clearness and delicacy which really needed no fuller bloom . It was a sty le of beauty, of which elegance was the reigning character, and as such, she m ust, in honour, by all her principles, adm ire it: – elegance, which, whether of person or of m ind, she saw so little in Highbury. There, not to be vulgar, was distinction, and m erit.

In short, she sat, during the first visit, looking at Jane Fairfax with twofold com placency ; the sense of pleasure and the sense of rendering j ustice, and was determ ining that she would dislike her no longer. When she took in her history, indeed, her situation, as well as her beauty ; when she considered what all this elegance was destined to, what she was going to sink from , how she was going to live, it seem ed im possible to feel any thing but com passion and respect; especially, if to every well-known particular entitling her to interest, were added the highly probable circum stance of an attachm ent to Mr. Dixon, which she had so naturally started to herself. In that case, nothing could be m ore pitiable or m ore honourable than the sacrifices she had resolved on. Em m a was very willing now to acquit her of having seduced Mr. Dixon’s actions from his wife, or of any thing m ischievous which her im agination had suggested at first. If it were love, it m ight be sim ple, single, successless love on her side alone. She m ight have been unconsciously sucking in the sad poison, while a sharer of his conversation with her friend; and from the best, the purest of m otives, m ight now be deny ing herself this visit to Ireland, and resolving to divide herself effectually from him and his connexions by soon beginning her career of laborious duty.

Upon the whole, Em m a left her with such softened, charitable feelings, as m ade her look around in walking hom e, and lam ent that Highbury afforded no y oung m an worthy of giving her independence; nobody that she could wish to schem e about for her.

These were charm ing feelings – but not lasting. Before she had com m itted herself by any public profession of eternal friendship for Jane Fairfax, or done m ore towards a recantation of past prej udices and errors, than say ing to Mr. Knightley, “She certainly is handsom e; she is better than handsom e!” Jane had spent an evening at Hartfield with her grandm other and aunt, and every thing was relapsing m uch into its usual state. Form er provocations reappeared. The aunt was as tiresom e as ever; m ore tiresom e, because anxiety for her health was now added to adm iration of her powers; and they had to listen to the description of exactly how little bread and butter she ate for breakfast, and

how sm all a slice of m utton for dinner, as well as to see exhibitions of new caps and new workbags for her m other and herself; and Jane’s offences rose again.

They had m usic; Em m a was obliged to play ; and the thanks and praise which necessarily followed appeared to her an affectation of candour, an air of greatness, m eaning only to shew off in higher sty le her own very superior perform ance. She was, besides, which was the worst of all, so cold, so cautious!

There was no getting at her real opinion. Wrapt up in a cloak of politeness, she seem ed determ ined to hazard nothing. She was disgustingly, was suspiciously reserved.

If any thing could be m ore, where all was m ost, she was m ore reserved on the subj ect of Wey m outh and the Dixons than any thing. She seem ed bent on giving no real insight into Mr. Dixon’s character, or her own value for his com pany, or opinion of the suitableness of the m atch. It was all general approbation and sm oothness; nothing delineated or distinguished. It did her no service however. Her caution was thrown away. Em m a saw its artifice, and returned to her first surm ises. There probably was som ething m ore to conceal than her own preference; Mr. Dixon, perhaps, had been very near changing one friend for the other, or been fixed only to Miss Cam pbell, for the sake of the future twelve thousand pounds.

The like reserve prevailed on other topics. She and Mr. Frank Churchill had been at Wey m outh at the sam e tim e. It was known that they were a little acquainted; but not a sy llable of real inform ation could Em m a procure as to what he truly was. “Was he handsom e?” – “She believed he was reckoned a very fine y oung m an.” “Was he agreeable?” – “He was generally thought so.” “Did he appear a sensible y oung m an; a y oung m an of inform ation?” – “At a watering-place, or in a com m on London acquaintance, it was difficult to decide on such points. Manners were all that could be safely j udged of, under a m uch longer knowledge than they had y et had of Mr. Churchill. She believed every body found his m anners pleasing.” Em m a could not forgive her.