Chapter XVI

“Why, really, dear Em m a, I say that he is so very m uch occupied by the idea of not being in love with her, that I should not wonder if it were to end in his being so at last. Do not beat m e.”

CHAPTER XVI

Every body in and about Highbury who had ever visited Mr. Elton, was disposed to pay him attention on his m arriage. Dinner-parties and evening-parties were m ade for him and his lady ; and invitations flowed in so fast that she had soon the pleasure of apprehending they were never to have a disengaged day.

“I see how it is,” said she. “I see what a life I am to lead am ong y ou.

Upon m y word we shall be absolutely dissipated. We really seem quite the fashion. If this is living in the country, it is nothing very form idable. From Monday next to Saturday, I assure y ou we have not a disengaged day ! – A wom an with fewer resources than I have, need not have been at a loss.”

No invitation cam e am iss to her. Her Bath habits m ade evening-parties perfectly natural to her, and Maple Grove had given her a taste for dinners. She was a little shocked at the want of two drawing room s, at the poor attem pt at rout-cakes, and there being no ice in the Highbury card-parties. Mrs. Bates, Mrs.

Perry, Mrs. Goddard and others, were a good deal behind-hand in knowledge of the world, but she would soon shew them how every thing ought to be arranged.

In the course of the spring she m ust return their civilities by one very superior party – in which her card-tables should be set out with their separate candles and unbroken packs in the true sty le – and m ore waiters engaged for the evening than their own establishm ent could furnish, to carry round the refreshm ents at exactly the proper hour, and in the proper order.

Em m a, in the m eanwhile, could not be satisfied without a dinner at Hartfield for the Eltons. They m ust not do less than others, or she should be exposed to odious suspicions, and im agined capable of pitiful resentm ent. A dinner there m ust be. After Em m a had talked about it for ten m inutes, Mr.

Woodhouse felt no unwillingness, and only m ade the usual stipulation of not sitting at the bottom of the table him self, with the usual regular difficulty of deciding who should do it for him .

The persons to be invited, required little thought. Besides the Eltons, it m ust be the Westons and Mr. Knightley ; so far it was all of course – and it was hardly less inevitable that poor little Harriet m ust be asked to m ake the eighth: –

but this invitation was not given with equal satisfaction, and on m any accounts Em m a was particularly pleased by Harriet’s begging to be allowed to decline it.

“She would rather not be in his com pany m ore than she could help. She was not y et quite able to see him and his charm ing happy wife together, without feeling uncom fortable. If Miss Woodhouse would not be displeased, she would rather stay at hom e.” It was precisely what Em m a would have wished, had she deem ed

it possible enough for wishing. She was delighted with the fortitude of her little friend – for fortitude she knew it was in her to give up being in com pany and stay at hom e; and she could now invite the very person whom she really wanted to m ake the eighth, Jane Fairfax. – Since her last conversation with Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley, she was m ore conscience-stricken about Jane Fairfax than she had often been. – Mr. Knightley ’s words dwelt with her. He had said that Jane Fairfax received attentions from Mrs. Elton which nobody else paid her.

“This is very true,” said she, “at least as far as relates to m e, which was all that was m eant – and it is very sham eful. – Of the sam e age – and alway s knowing her – I ought to have been m ore her friend. – She will never like m e now.

I have neglected her too long. But I will shew her greater attention than I have done.”

Every invitation was successful. They were all disengaged and all happy. – The preparatory interest of this dinner, however, was not y et over. A circum stance rather unlucky occurred. The two eldest little Knightley s were engaged to pay their grandpapa and aunt a visit of som e weeks in the spring, and their papa now proposed bringing them , and stay ing one whole day at Hartfield –

which one day would be the very day of this party. – His professional engagem ents did not allow of his being put off, but both father and daughter were disturbed by its happening so. Mr. Woodhouse considered eight persons at dinner together as the utm ost that his nerves could bear – and here would be a ninth –

and Em m a apprehended that it would be a ninth very m uch out of hum our at not being able to com e even to Hartfield for forty -eight hours without falling in with a dinner-party.

She com forted her father better than she could com fort herself, by representing that though he certainly would m ake them nine, y et he alway s said so little, that the increase of noise would be very im m aterial. She thought it in reality a sad exchange for herself, to have him with his grave looks and reluctant conversation opposed to her instead of his brother.

The event was m ore favourable to Mr. Woodhouse than to Em m a. John Knightley cam e; but Mr. Weston was unexpectedly sum m oned to town and m ust be absent on the very day. He m ight be able to j oin them in the evening, but certainly not to dinner. Mr. Woodhouse was quite at ease; and the seeing him so, with the arrival of the little boy s and the philosophic com posure of her brother on hearing his fate, rem oved the chief of even Em m a’s vexation.

The day cam e, the party were punctually assem bled, and Mr. John Knightley seem ed early to devote him self to the business of being agreeable.

Instead of drawing his brother off to a window while they waited for dinner, he

was talking to Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton, as elegant as lace and pearls could m ake her, he looked at in silence – wanting only to observe enough for Isabella’s inform ation – but Miss Fairfax was an old acquaintance and a quiet girl, and he could talk to her. He had m et her before breakfast as he was returning from a walk with his little boy s, when it had been j ust beginning to rain. It was natural to have som e civil hopes on the subj ect, and he said,

“I hope y ou did not venture far, Miss Fairfax, this m orning, or I am sure y ou m ust have been wet. – We scarcely got hom e in tim e. I hope y ou turned directly.”

“I went only to the post-office,” said she, “and reached hom e before the rain was m uch. It is m y daily errand. I alway s fetch the letters when I am here. It saves trouble, and is a som ething to get m e out. A walk before breakfast does m e good.”

“Not a walk in the rain, I should im agine.”

“No, but it did not absolutely rain when I set out.”

Mr. John Knightley sm iled, and replied,

“That is to say, y ou chose to have y our walk, for y ou were not six y ards from y our own door when I had the pleasure of m eeting y ou; and Henry and John had seen m ore drops than they could count long before. The post-office has a great charm at one period of our lives. When y ou have lived to m y age, y ou will begin to think letters are never worth going through the rain for.”

There was a little blush, and then this answer, “I m ust not hope to be ever situated as y ou are, in the m idst of every dearest connexion, and therefore I cannot expect that sim ply growing older should m ake m e indifferent about letters.”

“Indifferent! Oh! no – I never conceived y ou could becom e indifferent. Letters are no m atter of indifference; they are generally a very positive curse.”

“You are speaking of letters of business; m ine are letters of friendship.”

“I have often thought them the worst of the two,” replied he coolly.

“Business, y ou know, m ay bring m oney, but friendship hardly ever does.”

“Ah! y ou are not serious now. I know Mr. John Knightley too well – I am very sure he understands the value of friendship as well as any body. I can easily believe that letters are very little to y ou, m uch less than to m e, but it is not y our being ten y ears older than m y self which m akes the difference, it is not age,

but situation. You have every body dearest to y ou alway s at hand, I, probably, never shall again; and therefore till I have outlived all m y affections, a post-office, I think, m ust alway s have power to draw m e out, in worse weather than to-day.”

“When I talked of y our being altered by tim e, by the progress of y ears,” said John Knightley, “I m eant to im ply the change of situation which tim e usually brings. I consider one as including the other. Tim e will generally lessen the interest of every attachm ent not within the daily circle – but that is not the change I had in view for y ou. As an old friend, y ou will allow m e to hope, Miss Fairfax, that ten y ears hence y ou m ay have as m any concentrated obj ects as I have.”

It was kindly said, and very far from giving offence. A pleasant “thank y ou” seem ed m eant to laugh it off, but a blush, a quivering lip, a tear in the ey e, shewed that it was felt bey ond a laugh. Her attention was now claim ed by Mr.

Woodhouse, who being, according to his custom on such occasions, m aking the circle of his guests, and pay ing his particular com plim ents to the ladies, was ending with her – and with all his m ildest urbanity, said,

“I am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of y our being out this m orning in the rain. Young ladies should take care of them selves. – Young ladies are delicate plants. They should take care of their health and their com plexion. My dear, did y ou change y our stockings?”

“Yes, sir, I did indeed; and I am very m uch obliged by y our kind solicitude about m e.”

“My dear Miss Fairfax, y oung ladies are very sure to be cared for. – I hope y our good grand-m am a and aunt are well. They are som e of m y very old friends. I wish m y health allowed m e to be a better neighbour. You do us a great deal of honour to-day, I am sure. My daughter and I are both highly sensible of y our goodness, and have the greatest satisfaction in seeing y ou at Hartfield.”

The kind-hearted, polite old m an m ight then sit down and feel that he had done his duty, and m ade every fair lady welcom e and easy.

By this tim e, the walk in the rain had reached Mrs. Elton, and her rem onstrances now opened upon Jane.

“My dear Jane, what is this I hear? – Going to the post-office in the rain! – This m ust not be, I assure y ou. – You sad girl, how could y ou do such a thing? – It is a sign I was not there to take care of y ou.”

Jane very patiently assured her that she had not caught any cold.

“Oh! do not tell m e. You really are a very sad girl, and do not know how to take care of y ourself. – To the post-office indeed! Mrs.

Weston, did y ou ever hear the like? You and I m ust positively exert our authority.”

“My advice,” said Mrs. Weston kindly and persuasively, “I certainly do feel tem pted to give. Miss Fairfax, y ou m ust not run such risks. – Liable as y ou have been to severe colds, indeed y ou ought to be particularly careful, especially at this tim e of y ear. The spring I alway s think requires m ore than com m on care.

Better wait an hour or two, or even half a day for y our letters, than run the risk of bringing on y our cough again. Now do not y ou feel that y ou had? Yes, I am sure y ou are m uch too reasonable. You look as if y ou would not do such a thing again.”

“Oh! she shall not do such a thing again,” eagerly rej oined Mrs. Elton.

“We will not allow her to do such a thing again:” – and nodding significantly –

“there m ust be som e arrangem ent m ade, there m ust indeed. I shall speak to Mr.

E. The m an who fetches our letters every m orning (one of our m en, I forget his nam e) shall inquire for y ours too and bring them to y ou. That will obviate all difficulties y ou know; and from us I really think, m y dear Jane, y ou can have no scruple to accept such an accom m odation.”

“You are extrem ely kind,” said Jane; “but I cannot give up m y early walk. I am advised to be out of doors as m uch as I can, I m ust walk som ewhere, and the post-office is an obj ect; and upon m y word, I have scarcely ever had a bad m orning before.”

“My dear Jane, say no m ore about it. The thing is determ ined, that is (laughing affectedly ) as far as I can presum e to determ ine any thing without the concurrence of m y lord and m aster. You know, Mrs. Weston, y ou and I m ust be cautious how we express ourselves. But I do flatter m y self, m y dear Jane, that m y influence is not entirely worn out. If I m eet with no insuperable difficulties therefore, consider that point as settled.”

“Excuse m e,” said Jane earnestly, “I cannot by any m eans consent to such an arrangem ent, so needlessly troublesom e to y our servant. If the errand were not a pleasure to m e, it could be done, as it alway s is when I am not here, by m y grandm am a’s.”

“Oh! m y dear; but so m uch as Patty has to do! – And it is a kindness to em ploy our m en.”

Jane looked as if she did not m ean to be conquered; but instead of answering, she began speaking again to Mr. John Knightley.

“The post-office is a wonderful establishm ent!” said she. – “The

regularity and despatch of it! If one thinks of all that it has to do, and all that it does so well, it is really astonishing!”

“It is certainly very well regulated.”

“So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears! So seldom that a letter, am ong the thousands that are constantly passing about the kingdom , is even carried wrong – and not one in a m illion, I suppose, actually lost! And when one considers the variety of hands, and of bad hands too, that are to be deciphered, it increases the wonder.”

“The clerks grow expert from habit. – They m ust begin with som e quickness of sight and hand, and exercise im proves them . If y ou want any farther explanation,” continued he, sm iling, “they are paid for it. That is the key to a great deal of capacity. The public pay s and m ust be served well.”

The varieties of handwriting were farther talked of, and the usual observations m ade.

“I have heard it asserted,” said John Knightley, “that the sam e sort of handwriting often prevails in a fam ily ; and where the sam e m aster teaches, it is natural enough. But for that reason, I should im agine the likeness m ust be chiefly confined to the fem ales, for boy s have very little teaching after an early age, and scram ble into any hand they can get. Isabella and Em m a, I think, do write very m uch alike. I have not alway s known their writing apart.”

“Yes,” said his brother hesitatingly, “there is a likeness. I know what y ou m ean – but Em m a’s hand is the strongest.”

“Isabella and Em m a both write beautifully,” said Mr. Woodhouse; “and alway s did. And so does poor Mrs. Weston” – with half a sigh and half a sm ile at her.

“I never saw any gentlem an’s handwriting” – Em m a began, looking also at Mrs. Weston; but stopped, on perceiving that Mrs. Weston was attending to som e one else – and the pause gave her tim e to reflect, “Now, how am I going to introduce him ? – Am I unequal to speaking his nam e at once before all these people? Is it necessary for m e to use any roundabout phrase? – Your Yorkshire friend – y our correspondent in Yorkshire; – that would be the way, I suppose, if I were very bad. – No, I can pronounce his nam e without the sm allest distress. I certainly get better and better. – Now for it.”

Mrs. Weston was disengaged and Em m a began again – “Mr. Frank Churchill writes one of the best gentlem an’s hands I ever saw.”

“I do not adm ire it,” said Mr. Knightley. “It is too sm all – wants strength.

It is like a wom an’s writing.”

This was not subm itted to by either lady. They vindicated him against the base aspersion. “No, it by no m eans wanted strength – it was not a large hand, but very clear and certainly strong. Had not Mrs. Weston any letter about her to produce?” No, she had heard from him very lately, but having answered the letter, had put it away. “If we were in the other room ,” said Em m a, “if I had m y writing-desk, I am sure I could produce a specim en. I have a note of his. – Do not y ou rem em ber, Mrs. Weston, em ploy ing him to write for y ou one day ?”

“He chose to say he was em ploy ed” –

“Well, well, I have that note; and can shew it after dinner to convince Mr. Knightley.”

“Oh! when a gallant y oung m an, like Mr. Frank Churchill,” said Mr.

Knightley dry ly, “writes to a fair lady like Miss Woodhouse, he will, of course, put forth his best.”

Dinner was on table. – Mrs. Elton, before she could be spoken to, was ready ; and before Mr. Woodhouse had reached her with his request to be allowed to hand her into the dining-parlour, was say ing –

“Must I go first? I really am asham ed of alway s leading the way.”

Jane’s solicitude about fetching her own letters had not escaped Em m a.

She had heard and seen it all; and felt som e curiosity to know whether the wet walk of this m orning had produced any. She suspected that it had; that it would not have been so resolutely encountered but in full expectation of hearing from som e one very dear, and that it had not been in vain. She thought there was an air of greater happiness than usual – a glow both of com plexion and spirits.

She could have m ade an inquiry or two, as to the expedition and the expense of the Irish m ails; – it was at her tongue’s end – but she abstained. She was quite determ ined not to utter a word that should hurt Jane Fairfax’s feelings; and they followed the other ladies out of the room , arm in arm , with an appearance of good-will highly becom ing to the beauty and grace of each.