“Oh!no,” said he; “it would be the extreme of imprudence. I could not bear it for Emma!—Emma is not strong. She would catch a dreadful cold. So would poor little Harriet.So you would all. Mrs. Weston, you would be quite laid up;do not let them talk of such a wild thing. Pray do not let them talk of it.That young man (speaking lower) is very thoughtless. Do not tell his father,but that young man is not quite the thing. He has been opening the doors very often this evening,and keeping them open very inconsiderately. He does not think of the draught.I do not mean to set you against him, but indeed he is not quite the thing!”
Mrs. Weston was sorry for such a charge. She knew the importance of it,and said every thing in her power to do it away. Every door was now closed,the passage plan given up, and the first scheme of dancing only in the room they were in resorted to again;and with such good-will on Frank Churchill’s part,that the space which a quarter of an hour before had been deemed barely sufficient for five couple,was now endeavoured to be made out quite enough for ten.
“We were too magnificent,” said he. “We allowed unnecessary room. Ten couple may stand here very well.”
Emma demurred. “It would be a crowd—a sad crowd;and what could be worse than dancing without space to turn in?”
“Very true,” he gravely replied; “it was very bad.” But still he went on measuring, and still he ended with,
“I think there will be very tolerable room for ten couple.”
“No, no,” said she, “you are quite unreasonable. It would be dreadful to be standing so close!Nothing can be farther from pleasure than to be dancing in a crowd—and a crowd in a little room!”
“There is no denying it,” he replied. “I agree with you exactly.A crowd in a little room—Miss Woodhouse, you have the art of giving pictures in a few words. Exquisite, quite exquisite!—Still, however, having proceeded so far, one is unwilling to give the matter up.It would be a disappointment to my father—and altogether—I do not know that—I am rather of opinion that ten couple might stand here very well. ”
Emma perceived that the nature of his gallantry was a little self-willed,and that he would rather oppose than lose the pleasure of dancing with her;but she took the compliment, and forgave the rest. Had she intended ever to _marry_ him,it might have been worth while to pause and consider,and try to understand the value of his preference, and the character of his temper;but for all the purposes of their acquaintance, he was quite amiable enough.
Before the middle of the next day, he was at Hartfield;and he entered the room with such an agreeable smile as certified the continuance of the scheme.It soon appeared that he came to announce an improvement.
“Well, Miss Woodhouse,” he almost immediately began,“your inclination for dancing has not been quite frightened away, I hope,by the terrors of my father’s little rooms. I bring a new proposal on the subject:—a thought of my father’s, which waits only your approbation to be acted upon.May I hope for the honour of your hand for the two first dances of this little projected ball,to be given, not at Randalls, but at the Crown Inn?”
“The Crown!”
“Yes; if you and Mr. Woodhouse see no objection, and I trust you cannot,my father hopes his friends will be so kind as to visit him there. Better accommodations,he can promise them, and not a less grateful welcome than at Randalls. It is his own idea. Mrs.Weston sees no objection to it, provided you are satisfied. This is what we all feel. Oh!you were perfectly right!Ten couple, in either of the Randalls rooms, would have been insufferable!—Dreadful!—I felt how right you were the whole time,but was too anxious for securing _any_ _thing_ to like to yield. Is not it a good exchange?—You consent—I hope you consent?”
“It appears to me a plan that nobody can object to, if Mr. and Mrs. Weston do not.I think it admirable; and, as far as I can answer for myself,shall be most happy—It seems the only improvement that could be. Papa,do you not think it an excellent improvement?”
She was obliged to repeat and explain it, before it was fully comprehended; and then,being quite new, farther representations were necessary to make it acceptable.
“No; he thought it very far from an improvement—a very bad plan—much worse than the other.A room at an inn was always damp and dangerous; never properly aired, or fit to be inhabited.If they must dance, they had better dance at Randalls.He had never been in the room at the Crown in his life—did not know the people who kept it by sight.—Oh!no—a very bad plan. They would catch worse colds at the Crown than anywhere.”
“I was going to observe, sir,” said Frank Churchill,“that one of the great recommendations of this change would be the very little danger of any body’s catching cold—so much less danger at the Crown than at Randalls!Mr. Perry might have reason to regret the alteration, but nobody else could.”
“Sir,” said Mr. Woodhouse, rather warmly, “you are very much mistaken if you suppose Mr.Perry to be that sort of character. Mr. Perry is extremely concerned when any of us are ill.But I do not understand how the room at the Crown can be safer for you than your father’s house.”
“From the very circumstance of its being larger, sir.We shall have no occasion to open the windows at all—not once the whole evening;and it is that dreadful habit of opening the windows, letting in cold air upon heated bodies,which (as you well know, sir) does the mischief.”
“Open the windows!—but surely, Mr. Churchill, nobody would think of opening the windows at Randalls. Nobody could be so imprudent!I never heard of such a thing. Dancing with open windows!—I am sure, neither your father nor Mrs. Weston (poor Miss Taylor that was) would suffer it.”
“Ah!sir—but a thoughtless young person will sometimes step behind a window-curtain, and throw up a sash,without its being suspected. I have often known it done myself.”
“Have you indeed, sir?—Bless me!I never could have supposed it. But I live out of the world, and am often astonished at what I hear.However, this does make a difference; and, perhaps,when we come to talk it over—but these sort of things require a good deal of consideration.One cannot resolve upon them in a hurry. If Mr. and Mrs.Weston will be so obliging as to call here one morning, we may talk it over, and see what can be done.”
“But, unfortunately, sir, my time is so limited—”
“Oh!” interrupted Emma, “there will be plenty of time for talking every thing over.There is no hurry at all. If it can be contrived to be at the Crown, papa,it will be very convenient for the horses. They will be so near their own stable.”
“So they will, my dear. That is a great thing. Not that James ever complains;but it is right to spare our horses when we can.If I could be sure of the rooms being thoroughly aired—but is Mrs. Stokes to be trusted?I doubt it. I do not know her, even by sight.”
“I can answer for every thing of that nature, sir, because it will be under Mrs. Weston’s care. Mrs. Weston undertakes to direct the whole.”
“There, papa!—Now you must be satisfied—Our own dear Mrs. Weston, who is carefulness itself.Do not you remember what Mr. Perry said, so many years ago, when I had the measles?‘If _Miss_ _Taylor_ undertakes to wrap Miss Emma up, you need not have any fears, sir.’ How often have I heard you speak of it as such a compliment to her!”
“Aye, very true. Mr. Perry did say so. I shall never forget it. Poor little Emma!You were very bad with the measles; that is, you would have been very bad,but for Perry’s great attention. He came four times a day for a week. He said, from the first,it was a very good sort—which was our great comfort; but the measles are a dreadful complaint.I hope whenever poor Isabella’s little ones have the measles, she will send for Perry.”
“My father and Mrs. Weston are at the Crown at this moment,” said Frank Churchill,“examining the capabilities of the house. I left them there and came on to Hartfield,impatient for your opinion, and hoping you might be persuaded to join them and give your advice on the spot.I was desired to say so from both. It would be the greatest pleasure to them,if you could allow me to attend you there. They can do nothing satisfactorily without you.”
Emma was most happy to be called to such a council; and her father,engaging to think it all over while she was gone,the two young people set off together without delay for the Crown. There were Mr. and Mrs. Weston;delighted to see her and receive her approbation, very busy and very happy in their different way;she, in some little distress; and he, finding every thing perfect.
“Emma,” said she, “this paper is worse than I expected. Look!in places you see it is dreadfully dirty;and the wainscot is more yellow and forlorn than any thing I could have imagined.”
“My dear, you are too particular,” said her husband. “What does all that signify?You will see nothing of it by candlelight. It will be as clean as Randalls by candlelight.We never see any thing of it on our club-nights.”
The ladies here probably exchanged looks which meant, “Men never know when things are dirty or not;” and the gentlemen perhaps thought each to himself,“Women will have their little nonsenses and needless cares.”
One perplexity, however, arose, which the gentlemen did not disdain. It regarded a supper-room.At the time of the ballroom’s being built, suppers had not been in question;and a small card-room adjoining, was the only addition. What was to be done?This card-room would be wanted as a card-room now; or,if cards were conveniently voted unnecessary by their four selves,still was it not too small for any comfortable supper?Another room of much better size might be secured for the purpose;but it was at the other end of the house,and a long awkward passage must be gone through to get at it. This made a difficulty. Mrs.Weston was afraid of draughts for the young people in that passage;and neither Emma nor the gentlemen could tolerate the prospect of being miserably crowded at supper.
Mrs. Weston proposed having no regular supper; merely sandwiches, &c., set out in the little room;but that was scouted as a wretched suggestion. A private dance, without sitting down to supper,was pronounced an infamous fraud upon the rights of men and women; and Mrs.Weston must not speak of it again. She then took another line of expediency,and looking into the doubtful room, observed,
“I do not think it _is_ so very small. We shall not be many, you know.”
And Mr. Weston at the same time, walking briskly with long steps through the passage, was calling out,
“You talk a great deal of the length of this passage, my dear. It is a mere nothing after all;and not the least draught from the stairs.”
“I wish,” said Mrs. Weston, “one could know which arrangement our guests in general would like best.To do what would be most generally pleasing must be our object—if one could but tell what that would be. ”
“Yes, very true,” cried Frank, “very true. You want your neighbours’ opinions.I do not wonder at you. If one could ascertain what the chief of them—the Coles, for instance.They are not far off. Shall I call upon them?Or Miss Bates?She is still nearer.—And I do not know whether Miss Bates is not as likely to understand the inclinations of the rest of the people as any body.I think we do want a larger council. Suppose I go and invite Miss Bates to join us?”
“Well—if you please,” said Mrs. Weston rather hesitating, “if you think she will be of any use.”
“You will get nothing to the purpose from Miss Bates,” said Emma.“She will be all delight and gratitude, but she will tell you nothing.She will not even listen to your questions. I see no advantage in consulting Miss Bates.”
“But she is so amusing, so extremely amusing!I am very fond of hearing Miss Bates talk. And I need not bring the whole family, you know.”
Here Mr. Weston joined them, and on hearing what was proposed, gave it his decided approbation.
“Aye, do, Frank.—Go and fetch Miss Bates, and let us end the matter at once.She will enjoy the scheme, I am sure; and I do not know a properer person for shewing us how to do away difficulties.Fetch Miss Bates. We are growing a little too nice. She is a standing lesson of how to be happy. But fetch them both. Invite them both.”
“Both sir!Can the old lady?”...
“The old lady!No, the young lady, to be sure. I shall think you a great blockhead, Frank,if you bring the aunt without the niece.”
“Oh!I beg your pardon, sir. I did not immediately recollect. Undoubtedly if you wish it,I will endeavour to persuade them both.” And away he ran.
Long before he reappeared, attending the short, neat, brisk-moving aunt, and her elegant niece,—Mrs.Weston, like a sweet-tempered woman and a good wife, had examined the passage again,and found the evils of it much less than she had supposed before—indeed very trifling;and here ended the difficulties of decision. All the rest, in speculation at least,was perfectly smooth. All the minor arrangements of table and chair, lights and music,tea and supper, made themselves; or were left as mere trifles to be settled at any time between Mrs.Weston and Mrs. Stokes.—Every body invited, was certainly to come;Frank had already written to Enscombe to propose staying a few days beyond his fortnight,which could not possibly be refused. And a delightful dance it was to be.
Most cordially, when Miss Bates arrived, did she agree that it must.As a counsellor she was not wanted; but as an approver, (a much safer character,) she was truly welcome. Her approbation, at once general and minute, warm and incessant,could not but please; and for another half-hour they were all walking to and fro,between the different rooms, some suggesting, some attending,and all in happy enjoyment of the future.The party did not break up without Emma’s being positively secured for the two first dances by the hero of the evening,nor without her overhearing Mr. Weston whisper to his wife, “He has asked her, my dear. That’s right. I knew he would!”
CHAPTER XII
One thing only was wanting to make the prospect of the ball completely satisfactory to Emma—its being fixed for a day within the granted term of Frank Churchill’s stay in Surry; for, in spite of Mr. Weston’s confidence, she could not think it so very impossible that the Churchills might not allow their nephew to remain a day beyond his fortnight. But this was not judged feasible. The preparations must take their time, nothing could be properly ready till the third week were entered on, and for a few days they must be planning, proceeding and hoping in uncertainty—at the risk—in her opinion, the great risk, of its being all in vain.
Enscombe however was gracious, gracious in fact, if not in word.His wish of staying longer evidently did not please; but it was not opposed.All was safe and prosperous; and as the removal of one solicitude generally makes way for another,Emma, being now certain of her ball, began to adopt as the next vexation Mr.Knightley’s provoking indifference about it. Either because he did not dance himself,or because the plan had been formed without his being consulted,he seemed resolved that it should not interest him,determined against its exciting any present curiosity, or affording him any future amusement.To her voluntary communications Emma could get no more approving reply, than,
“Very well. If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment,I have nothing to say against it, but that they shall not chuse pleasures for me.—Oh!yes, I must be there; I could not refuse; and I will keep as much awake as I can;but I would rather be at home, looking over William Larkins’s week’s account; much rather, I confess.—Pleasure in seeing dancing!—not I, indeed—I never look at it—I do not know who does.—Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue,must be its own reward. Those who are standing by are usually thinking of something very different. ”
This Emma felt was aimed at her; and it made her quite angry.It was not in compliment to Jane Fairfax however that he was so indifferent, or so indignant;he was not guided by _her_ feelings in reprobating the ball,for _she_ enjoyed the thought of it to an extraordinary degree.It made her animated—open hearted—she voluntarily said;—
“Oh!Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to prevent the ball. What a disappointment it would be!I do look forward to it, I own, with _very_ great pleasure.”
It was not to oblige Jane Fairfax therefore that he would have preferred the society of William Larkins. No!—she was more and more convinced that Mrs. Weston was quite mistaken in that surmise.There was a great deal of friendly and of compassionate attachment on his side—but no love.
Alas!there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with Mr. Knightley.Two days of joyful security were immediately followed by the over-throw of every thing.A letter arrived from Mr. Churchill to urge his nephew’s instant return. Mrs.Churchill was unwell—far too unwell to do without him;she had been in a very suffering state (so said her husband) when writing to her nephew two days before,though from her usual unwillingness to give pain, and constant habit of never thinking of herself,she had not mentioned it; but now she was too ill to trifle,and must entreat him to set off for Enscombe without delay.
The substance of this letter was forwarded to Emma, in a note from Mrs. Weston, instantly.As to his going, it was inevitable. He must be gone within a few hours,though without feeling any real alarm for his aunt, to lessen his repugnance.He knew her illnesses; they never occurred but for her own convenience.
Mrs. Weston added, “that he could only allow himself time to hurry to Highbury, after breakfast,and take leave of the few friends there whom he could suppose to feel any interest in him;and that he might be expected at Hartfield very soon.”
This wretched note was the finale of Emma’s breakfast. When once it had been read,there was no doing any thing, but lament and exclaim.The loss of the ball—the loss of the young man—and all that the young man might be feeling!—It was too wretched!—Such a delightful evening as it would have been!—Every body so happy!and she and her partner the happiest!—“I said it would be so,” was the only consolation.
Her father’s feelings were quite distinct. He thought principally of Mrs. Churchill’s illness,and wanted to know how she was treated; and as for the ball,it was shocking to have dear Emma disappointed; but they would all be safer at home.
Emma was ready for her visitor some time before he appeared;but if this reflected at all upon his impatience,his sorrowful look and total want of spirits when he did come might redeem him.He felt the going away almost too much to speak of it. His dejection was most evident.He sat really lost in thought for the first few minutes; and when rousing himself, it was only to say,
“Of all horrid things, leave-taking is the worst.”
“But you will come again,” said Emma. “This will not be your only visit to Randalls.”
“Ah!—(shaking his head)—the uncertainty of when I may be able to return!—I shall try for it with a zeal!—It will be the object of all my thoughts and cares!—and if my uncle and aunt go to town this spring—but I am afraid—they did not stir last spring—I am afraid it is a custom gone for ever. ”
“Our poor ball must be quite given up.”
“Ah!that ball!—why did we wait for any thing?—why not seize the pleasure at once?—How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!—You told us it would be so.—Oh!Miss Woodhouse, why are you always so right?”
“Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance.I would much rather have been merry than wise.”
“If I can come again, we are still to have our ball. My father depends on it. Do not forget your engagement.”
Emma looked graciously.
“Such a fortnight as it has been!” he continued; “every day more precious and more delightful than the day before!—every day making me less fit to bear any other place. Happy those, who can remain at Highbury!”
“As you do us such ample justice now,” said Emma, laughing, “I will venture to ask,whether you did not come a little doubtfully at first?Do not we rather surpass your expectations?I am sure we do. I am sure you did not much expect to like us.You would not have been so long in coming, if you had had a pleasant idea of Highbury.”
He laughed rather consciously; and though denying the sentiment, Emma was convinced that it had been so.
“And you must be off this very morning?”
“Yes; my father is to join me here: we shall walk back together, and I must be off immediately.I am almost afraid that every moment will bring him.”
“Not five minutes to spare even for your friends Miss Fairfax and Miss Bates?How unlucky!Miss Bates’s powerful, argumentative mind might have strengthened yours.”
“Yes—I _have_ called there; passing the door, I thought it better. It was a right thing to do.I went in for three minutes, and was detained by Miss Bates’s being absent. She was out;and I felt it impossible not to wait till she came in. She is a woman that one may,that one _must_ laugh at; but that one would not wish to slight. It was better to pay my visit, then”—
He hesitated, got up, walked to a window.
“In short,” said he, “perhaps, Miss Woodhouse—I think you can hardly be quite without suspicion”—
He looked at her, as if wanting to read her thoughts. She hardly knew what to say.It seemed like the forerunner of something absolutely serious, which she did not wish.Forcing herself to speak, therefore, in the hope of putting it by, she calmly said,
“You are quite in the right; it was most natural to pay your visit, then”—
He was silent. She believed he was looking at her; probably reflecting on what she had said,and trying to understand the manner. She heard him sigh.It was natural for him to feel that he had _cause_ to sigh.He could not believe her to be encouraging him. A few awkward moments passed,and he sat down again; and in a more determined manner said,
“It was something to feel that all the rest of my time might be given to Hartfield. My regard for Hartfield is most warm”—
He stopt again, rose again, and seemed quite embarrassed.—He was more in love with her than Emma had supposed;and who can say how it might have ended, if his father had not made his appearance?Mr. Woodhouse soon followed; and the necessity of exertion made him composed.
A very few minutes more, however, completed the present trial. Mr. Weston,always alert when business was to be done,and as incapable of procrastinating any evil that was inevitable,as of foreseeing any that was doubtful, said, “It was time to go;” and the young man,though he might and did sigh, could not but agree, to take leave.
“I shall hear about you all,” said he; “that is my chief consolation.I shall hear of every thing that is going on among you. I have engaged Mrs.Weston to correspond with me. She has been so kind as to promise it. Oh!the blessing of a female correspondent, when one is really interested in the absent!—she will tell me every thing. In her letters I shall be at dear Highbury again.”
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.”