“Well, Mrs. Weston,” said Emma triumphantly when he left them,“what do you say now to Mr.Knightley’s marrying Jane Fairfax?”
“Why, really, dear Emma,I say that he is so very much 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 me.”
CHAPTER XVI
Every body in and about Highbury who had ever visited Mr.Elton, was disposed to pay him attention on his marriage.Dinner-parties and evening-parties were made 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 among you.Upon my word we shall be absolutely dissipated.We really seem quite the fashion.If this is living in the country,it is nothing very formidable.From Monday next to Saturday,I assure you we have not a disengaged day!—A woman with fewer resources than I have,need not have been at a loss.”
No invitation came amiss to her.Her Bath habits made 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 rooms,at the poor attempt 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 must 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 style—and more waiters engaged for the evening than their own establishment could furnish, to carry round the refreshments at exactly the proper hour, and in the proper order.
Emma, in the meanwhile,could not be satisfied without a dinner at Hartfield for the Eltons.They must not do less than others,or she should be exposed to odious suspicions,and imagined capable of pitiful resentment.A dinner there must be.After Emma had talked about it for ten minutes, Mr.Woodhouse felt no unwillingness,and only made the usual stipulation of not sitting at the bottom of the table himself, 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 must be the Westons and Mr.Knightley; so far it was all of course—and it was hardly less inevitable that poor little Harriet must be asked to make the eighth:—but this invitation was not given with equal satisfaction, and on many accounts Emma was particularly pleased by Harriet’s begging to be allowed to decline it. “She would rather not be in his company more than she could help. She was not yet quite able to see him and his charming happy wife together, without feeling uncomfortable. If Miss Woodhouse would not be displeased, she would rather stay at home.” It was precisely what Emma would have wished, had she deemed 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 company and stay at home; and she could now invite the very person whom she really wanted to make the eighth, Jane Fairfax.—Since her last conversation with Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley, she was more 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 me,which was all that was meant—and it is very shameful.—Of the same age—and always knowing her—I ought to have been more her friend.—She will never like me 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 yet over. A circumstance rather unlucky occurred. The two eldest little Knightleys were engaged to pay their grandpapa and aunt a visit of some weeks in the spring, and their papa now proposed bringing them, and staying one whole day at Hartfield—which one day would be the very day of this party.—His professional engagements 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 utmost that his nerves could bear—and here would be a ninth—and Emma apprehended that it would be a ninth very much out of humour at not being able to come even to Hartfield for forty-eight hours without falling in with a dinner-party.
She comforted her father better than she could comfort herself,by representing that though he certainly would make them nine,yet he always said so little,that the increase of noise would be very immaterial.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 more favourable to Mr.Woodhouse than to Emma. John Knightley came; but Mr.Weston was unexpectedly summoned to town and must be absent on the very day.He might be able to join 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 boys and the philosophic composure of her brother on hearing his fate, removed the chief of even Emma’s vexation.
The day came, the party were punctually assembled,and Mr. John Knightley seemed early to devote himself 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 make her, he looked at in silence—wanting only to observe enough for Isabella’s information—but Miss Fairfax was an old acquaintance and a quiet girl, and he could talk to her. He had met her before breakfast as he was returning from a walk with his little boys, when it had been just beginning to rain. It was natural to have some civil hopes on the subject, and he said,
“I hope you did not venture far, Miss Fairfax,this morning, or I am sure you must have been wet.—We scarcely got home in time. I hope you turned directly.”
“I went only to the post-office,” said she,“and reached home before the rain was much.It is my daily errand.I always fetch the letters when I am here.It saves trouble, and is a something to get me out.A walk before breakfast does me good.”
“Not a walk in the rain, I should imagine.”
“No, but it did not absolutely rain when I set out.”
Mr. John Knightley smiled, and replied,
“That is to say, you chose to have your walk,for you were not six yards from your own door when I had the pleasure of meeting you; and Henry and John had seen more drops than they could count long before. The post-office has a great charm at one period of our lives. When you have lived to my age, you will begin to think letters are never worth going through the rain for.”
There was a little blush, and then this answer,
“I must not hope to be ever situated as you are,in the midst of every dearest connexion,and therefore I cannot expect that simply growing older should make me indifferent about letters.”
“Indifferent!Oh!no—I never conceived you could become indifferent.Letters are no matter of indifference;they are generally a very positive curse.”
“You are speaking of letters of business;mine are letters of friendship.”
“I have often thought them the worst of the two,” replied he coolly. “Business, you know,may bring money, but friendship hardly ever does.”