A very friendly shake of the hand,a very earnest “Good-bye,” closed the speech,and the door had soon shut out Frank Churchill.Short had been the notice—short their meeting;he was gone; and Emma felt so sorry to part,and foresaw so great a loss to their little society from his absence as to begin to be afraid of being too sorry, and feeling it too much.
It was a sad change.They had been meeting almost every day since his arrival.Certainly his being at Randalls had given great spirit to the last two weeks—indescribable spirit; the idea, the expectation of seeing him which every morning had brought, the assurance of his attentions, his liveliness, his manners!It had been a very happy fortnight,and forlorn must be the sinking from it into the common course of Hartfield days. To complete every other recommendation, he had _almost_ told her that he loved her. What strength, or what constancy of affection he might be subject to, was another point; but at present she could not doubt his having a decidedly warm admiration, a conscious preference of herself; and this persuasion, joined to all the rest, made her think that she _must_ be a little in love with him, in spite of every previous determination against it.
“I certainly must,” said she.“This sensation of listlessness, weariness, stupidity,this disinclination to sit down and employ myself,this feeling of every thing’s being dull and insipid about the house!— I must 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 some is always good to others.I shall have many fellow-mourners for the ball,if not for Frank Churchill; but Mr.Knightley will be happy.He may spend the evening with his dear William Larkins now if he likes. ”
Mr. Knightley, however, shewed no triumphant 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 disappointment of the others,and with considerable kindness added,
“You, Emma, who have so few opportunities of dancing,you are really out of luck;you are very much out of luck!”
It was some days before she saw Jane Fairfax,to judge of her honest regret in this woeful change;but when they did meet, her composure was odious.She had been particularly unwell, however,suffering from headache to a degree,which made her aunt declare,that had the ball taken place,she did not think Jane could have attended it;and it was charity to impute some of her unbecoming indifference to the languor of ill-health.
CHAPTER XIII
Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love.Her ideas only varied as to the how much. 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 impatient for a letter,that she might know how he was, how were his spirits,how was his aunt, and what was the chance of his coming to Randalls again this spring. But, on the other hand, she could not admit herself to be unhappy, nor, after the first morning, to be less disposed for employment than usual; she was still busy and cheerful; and, pleasing as he was, she could yet imagine him to have faults; and farther, though thinking of him so much, and, as she sat drawing or working, forming a thousand amusing schemes for the progress and close of their attachment, fancying interesting dialogues, and inventing elegant letters; the conclusion of every imaginary declaration on his side was that she _refused_ _him_. Their affection was always to subside into friendship. Every thing tender and charming was to mark their parting; but still they were to part. When she became sensible of this, it struck her that she could not be very much in love; for in spite of her previous and fixed determination never to quit her father, never to marry, a strong attachment certainly must produce more of a struggle than she could foresee in her own feelings.
“I do not find myself making any use of the word _sacrifice_,” said she.—“In not one of all my clever replies,my delicate negatives,is there any allusion to making a sacrifice.I do suspect that he is not really necessary to my happiness.So much the better.I certainly will not persuade myself to feel more than I do.I am quite enough in love.I should be sorry to be more.”
Upon the whole, she was equally contented with her view of his feelings.
“_He_ is undoubtedly very much in love—every thing denotes it—very much in love indeed!—and when he comes again, if his affection continue,I must be on my guard not to encourage it.—It would be most inexcusable to do otherwise, as my own mind is quite made up. Not that I imagine he can think I have been encouraging him hitherto. No, if he had believed me at all to share his feelings, he would not have been so wretched. Could he have thought himself encouraged, his looks and language at parting would have been different.—Still, however, I must be on my guard. This is in the supposition of his attachment 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 man—I do not altogether build upon his steadiness or constancy.—His feelings are warm, but I can imagine them rather changeable.—Every consideration of the subject, in short, makes me thankful that my happiness is not more 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.”