Chapter XIII

“I certainly m ust,” said she. “This sensation of listlessness, weariness, stupidity, this disinclination to sit down and em ploy m y self, this feeling of every thing’s being dull and insipid about the house! – I m ust be in love; I should be the oddest creature in the world if I were not – for a few weeks at least. Well! evil to som e is alway s good to others. I shall have m any fellow-m ourners for the ball, if not for Frank Churchill; but Mr. Knightley will be happy. He m ay spend the evening with his dear William Larkins now if he likes.”

Mr. Knightley, however, shewed no trium phant happiness. He could not say that he was sorry on his own account; his very cheerful look would have contradicted him if he had; but he said, and very steadily, that he was sorry for the disappointm ent of the others, and with considerable kindness added,

“You, Em m a, who have so few opportunities of dancing, y ou are really out of luck; y ou are very m uch out of luck!”

It was som e day s before she saw Jane Fairfax, to j udge of her honest regret in this woeful change; but when they did m eet, her com posure was odious.

She had been particularly unwell, however, suffering from headache to a degree, which m ade her aunt declare, that had the ball taken place, she did not think Jane could have attended it; and it was charity to im pute som e of her unbecom ing indifference to the languor of ill-health.

CHAPTER XIII

Em m a continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love. Her ideas only varied as to the how m uch. At first, she thought it was a good deal; and afterwards, but little. She had great pleasure in hearing Frank Churchill talked of; and, for his sake, greater pleasure than ever in seeing Mr. and Mrs. Weston; she was very often thinking of him , and quite im patient for a letter, that she m ight know how he was, how were his spirits, how was his aunt, and what was the chance of his com ing to Randalls again this spring. But, on the other hand, she could not adm it herself to be unhappy, nor, after the first m orning, to be less disposed for em ploy m ent than usual; she was still busy and cheerful; and, pleasing as he was, she could y et im agine him to have faults; and farther, though thinking of him so m uch, and, as she sat drawing or working, form ing a thousand am using schem es for the progress and close of their attachm ent, fancy ing interesting dialogues, and inventing elegant letters; the conclusion of every im aginary declaration on his side was that she refused him . Their affection was alway s to subside into friendship. Every thing tender and charm ing was to m ark their parting; but still they were to part. When she becam e sensible of this, it struck her that she could not be very m uch in love; for in spite of her previous and fixed determ ination never to quit her father, never to m arry, a strong attachm ent certainly m ust produce m ore of a struggle than she could foresee in her own feelings.

“I do not find m y self m aking any use of the word sacrifice,” said she. –

“In not one of all m y clever replies, m y delicate negatives, is there any allusion to m aking a sacrifice. I do suspect that he is not really necessary to m y happiness. So m uch the better. I certainly will not persuade m y self to feel m ore than I do. I am quite enough in love. I should be sorry to be m ore.”

Upon the whole, she was equally contented with her view of his feelings.

“He is undoubtedly very m uch in love – every thing denotes it – very m uch in love indeed! – and when he com es again, if his affection continue, I m ust be on m y guard not to encourage it. – It would be m ost inexcusable to do otherwise, as m y own m ind is quite m ade up. Not that I im agine he can think I have been encouraging him hitherto. No, if he had believed m e at all to share his feelings, he would not have been so wretched. Could he have thought him self encouraged, his looks and language at parting would have been different. – Still, however, I m ust be on m y guard. This is in the supposition of his attachm ent continuing what it now is; but I do not know that I expect it will; I do not look upon him to be quite the sort of m an – I do not altogether build upon his steadiness or

constancy. – His feelings are warm , but I can im agine them rather changeable. –

Every consideration of the subj ect, in short, m akes m e thankful that m y happiness is not m ore deeply involved. – I shall do very well again after a little while – and then, it will be a good thing over; for they say every body is in love once in their lives, and I shall have been let off easily.”

When his letter to Mrs. Weston arrived, Em m a had the perusal of it; and she read it with a degree of pleasure and adm iration which m ade her at first shake her head over her own sensations, and think she had undervalued their strength. It was a long, well-written letter, giving the particulars of his j ourney and of his feelings, expressing all the affection, gratitude, and respect which was natural and honourable, and describing every thing exterior and local that could be supposed attractive, with spirit and precision. No suspicious flourishes now of apology or concern; it was the language of real feeling towards Mrs. Weston; and the transition from Highbury to Enscom be, the contrast between the places in som e of the first blessings of social life was j ust enough touched on to shew how keenly it was felt, and how m uch m ore m ight have been said but for the restraints of propriety. – The charm of her own nam e was not wanting. Miss Woodhouse appeared m ore than once, and never without a som ething of pleasing connexion, either a com plim ent to her taste, or a rem em brance of what she had said; and in the very last tim e of its m eeting her ey e, unadorned as it was by any such broad wreath of gallantry, she y et could discern the effect of her influence and acknowledge the greatest com plim ent perhaps of all convey ed. Com pressed into the very lowest vacant corner were these words – “I had not a spare m om ent on Tuesday, as y ou know, for Miss Woodhouse’s beautiful little friend. Pray m ake m y excuses and adieus to her.” This, Em m a could not doubt, was all for herself.

Harriet was rem em bered only from being her friend. His inform ation and prospects as to Enscom be were neither worse nor better than had been anticipated; Mrs. Churchill was recovering, and he dared not y et, even in his own im agination, fix a tim e for com ing to Randalls again.

Gratify ing, however, and stim ulative as was the letter in the m aterial part, its sentim ents, she y et found, when it was folded up and returned to Mrs.

Weston, that it had not added any lasting warm th, that she could still do without the writer, and that he m ust learn to do without her. Her intentions were unchanged.

Her resolution of refusal only grew m ore interesting by the addition of a schem e for his subsequent consolation and happiness. His recollection of Harriet, and the words which clothed it, the “beautiful little friend,” suggested to her the idea of Harriet’s succeeding her in his affections. Was it im possible? – No. – Harriet undoubtedly was greatly his inferior in understanding; but he had been very m uch struck with the loveliness of her face and the warm sim plicity of her m anner; and all the probabilities of circum stance and connexion were in her

favour. – For Harriet, it would be advantageous and delightful indeed.

“I m ust not dwell upon it,” said she. – “I m ust not think of it. I know the danger of indulging such speculations. But stranger things have happened; and when we cease to care for each other as we do now, it will be the m eans of confirm ing us in that sort of true disinterested friendship which I can already look forward to with pleasure.”

It was well to have a com fort in store on Harriet’s behalf, though it m ight be wise to let the fancy touch it seldom ; for evil in that quarter was at hand.

As Frank Churchill’s arrival had succeeded Mr. Elton’s engagem ent in the conversation of Highbury, as the latest interest had entirely borne down the first, so now upon Frank Churchill’s disappearance, Mr. Elton’s concerns were assum ing the m ost irresistible form . – His wedding-day was nam ed. He would soon be am ong them again; Mr. Elton and his bride. There was hardly tim e to talk over the first letter from Enscom be before “Mr. Elton and his bride” was in every body ’s m outh, and Frank Churchill was forgotten. Em m a grew sick at the sound. She had had three weeks of happy exem ption from Mr. Elton; and Harriet’s m ind, she had been willing to hope, had been lately gaining strength. With Mr. Weston’s ball in view at least, there had been a great deal of insensibility to other things; but it was now too evident that she had not attained such a state of com posure as could stand against the actual approach – new carriage, bell-ringing, and all.

Poor Harriet was in a flutter of spirits which required all the reasonings and soothings and attentions of every kind that Em m a could give. Em m a felt that she could not do too m uch for her, that Harriet had a right to all her ingenuity and all her patience; but it was heavy work to be for ever convincing without producing any effect, for ever agreed to, without being able to m ake their opinions the sam e. Harriet listened subm issively, and said “it was very true – it was j ust as Miss Woodhouse described – it was not worth while to think about them – and she would not think about them any longer” but no change of subj ect could avail, and the next half-hour saw her as anxious and restless about the Eltons as before. At last Em m a attacked her on another ground.

“Your allowing y ourself to be so occupied and so unhappy about Mr.

Elton’s m arry ing, Harriet, is the strongest reproach y ou can m ake m e. You could not give m e a greater reproof for the m istake I fell into. It was all m y doing, I know. I have not forgotten it, I assure y ou. – Deceived m y self, I did very m iserably deceive y ou – and it will be a painful reflection to m e for ever. Do not im agine m e in danger of forgetting it.”

Harriet felt this too m uch to utter m ore than a few words of eager exclam ation. Em m a continued,

“I have not said, exert y ourself Harriet for m y sake; think less, talk less of Mr. Elton for m y sake; because for y our own sake rather, I would wish it to be done, for the sake of what is m ore im portant than m y com fort, a habit of self-com m and in y ou, a consideration of what is y our duty, an attention to propriety, an endeavour to avoid the suspicions of others, to save y our health and credit, and restore y our tranquillity. These are the m otives which I have been pressing on y ou. They are very im portant – and sorry I am that y ou cannot feel them sufficiently to act upon them . My being saved from pain is a very secondary consideration. I want y ou to save y ourself from greater pain. Perhaps I m ay som etim es have felt that Harriet would not forget what was due – or rather what would be kind by m e.”

This appeal to her affections did m ore than all the rest. The idea of wanting gratitude and consideration for Miss Woodhouse, whom she really loved extrem ely, m ade her wretched for a while, and when the violence of grief was com forted away, still rem ained powerful enough to prom pt to what was right and support her in it very tolerably.

“You, who have been the best friend I ever had in m y life – Want gratitude to y ou! – Nobody is equal to y ou! – I care for nobody as I do for y ou! –

Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how ungrateful I have been!”

Such expressions, assisted as they were by every thing that look and m anner could do, m ade Em m a feel that she had never loved Harriet so well, nor valued her affection so highly before.

“There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart,” said she afterwards to herself. “There is nothing to be com pared to it. Warm th and tenderness of heart, with an affectionate, open m anner, will beat all the clearness of head in the world, for attraction, I am sure it will. It is tenderness of heart which m akes m y dear father so generally beloved – which gives Isabella all her popularity. – I have it not – but I know how to prize and respect it. – Harriet is m y superior in all the charm and all the felicity it gives. Dear Harriet! – I would not change y ou for the clearest-headed, longest-sighted, best-j udging fem ale breathing. Oh! the coldness of a Jane Fairfax! – Harriet is worth a hundred such – And for a wife – a sensible m an’s wife – it is invaluable. I m ention no nam es; but happy the m an who changes Em m a for Harriet!”