Volume III: Chapter XVII

by Jane Austen

　　Mrs. Weston's friends were all made happy by her safety;and if the satisfaction of her well-doing could be increasedto Emma, it was by knowing her to be the mother of a little girl.She had been decided in wishing for a Miss Weston. She wouldnot acknowledge that it was with any view of making a matchfor her, hereafter, with either of Isabella's sons; but she wasconvinced that a daughter would suit both father and mother best.It would be a great comfort to Mr. Weston, as he grew older--and even Mr. Weston might be growing older ten years hence--to havehis fireside enlivened by the sports and the nonsense, the freaksand the fancies of a child never banished from home; and Mrs. Weston--no one could doubt that a daughter would be most to her; and itwould be quite a pity that any one who so well knew how to teach,should not have their powers in exercise again.

　　"She has had the advantage, you know, of practising on me,"she continued--"like La Baronne d'Almane on La Comtesse d'Ostalis,in Madame de Genlis' Adelaide and Theodore, and we shall now seeher own little Adelaide educated on a more perfect plan."

　　"That is," replied Mr. Knightley, "she will indulge her even morethan she did you, and believe that she does not indulge her at all.It will be the only difference."

　　"Poor child!" cried Emma; "at that rate, what will become of her?"

　　"Nothing very bad.--The fate of thousands. She will be disagreeablein infancy, and correct herself as she grows older. I am losingall my bitterness against spoilt children, my dearest Emma.I, who am owing all my happiness to you, would not it be horribleingratitude in me to be severe on them?"

　　Emma laughed, and replied: "But I had the assistance of allyour endeavours to counteract the indulgence of other people.I doubt whether my own sense would have corrected me without it."

　　"Do you?--I have no doubt. Nature gave you understanding:--Miss Taylor gave you principles. You must have done well.My interference was quite as likely to do harm as good. It wasvery natural for you to say, what right has he to lecture me?--and I am afraid very natural for you to feel that it was donein a disagreeable manner. I do not believe I did you any good.The good was all to myself, by making you an object of the tenderestaffection to me. I could not think about you so much without doatingon you, faults and all; and by dint of fancying so many errors,have been in love with you ever since you were thirteen at least."

　　"I am sure you were of use to me," cried Emma. "I was very ofteninfluenced rightly by you--oftener than I would own at the time.I am very sure you did me good. And if poor little Anna Weston isto be spoiled, it will be the greatest humanity in you to do as muchfor her as you have done for me, except falling in love with herwhen she is thirteen."

　　"How often, when you were a girl, have you said to me, with oneof your saucy looks--`Mr. Knightley, I am going to do so-and-so;papa says I may, or I have Miss Taylor's leave'--something which,you knew, I did not approve. In such cases my interference was givingyou two bad feelings instead of one."

　　"What an amiable creature I was!--No wonder you should holdmy speeches in such affectionate remembrance."

　　"`Mr. Knightley.'--You always called me, `Mr. Knightley;' and,from habit, it has not so very formal a sound.--And yet it is formal.I want you to call me something else, but I do not know what."

　　"I remember once calling you `George,' in one of my amiable fits,about ten years ago. I did it because I thought it would offend you;but, as you made no objection, I never did it again."

　　"And cannot you call me `George' now?"

　　"Impossible!--I never can call you any thing but `Mr. Knightley.'I will not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton,by calling you Mr. K.--But I will promise," she added presently,laughing and blushing--"I will promise to call you once by yourChristian name. I do not say when, but perhaps you may guesswhere;--in the building in which N. takes M. for better, for worse."

　　Emma grieved that she could not be more openly just to oneimportant service which his better sense would have rendered her,to the advice which would have saved her from the worst of allher womanly follies--her wilful intimacy with Harriet Smith;but it was too tender a subject.--She could not enter on it.--Harriet was very seldom mentioned between them. This, on his side,might merely proceed from her not being thought of; but Emmawas rather inclined to attribute it to delicacy, and a suspicion,from some appearances, that their friendship were declining.She was aware herself, that, parting under any other circumstances,they certainly should have corresponded more, and that herintelligence would not have rested, as it now almost wholly did,on Isabella's letters. He might observe that it was so. The painof being obliged to practise concealment towards him, was very littleinferior to the pain of having made Harriet unhappy.

　　Isabella sent quite as good an account of her visitor as couldbe expected; on her first arrival she had thought her out of spirits,which appeared perfectly natural, as there was a dentist tobe consulted; but, since that business had been over, she did notappear to find Harriet different from what she had known her before.--Isabella, to be sure, was no very quick observer; yet if Harriethad not been equal to playing with the children, it would not haveescaped her. Emma's comforts and hopes were most agreeably carried on,by Harriet's being to stay longer; her fortnight was likely to bea month at least. Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were to come downin August, and she was invited to remain till they could bring her back.

　　"John does not even mention your friend," said Mr. Knightley."Here is his answer, if you like to see it."

　　It was the answer to the communication of his intended marriage.Emma accepted it with a very eager hand, with an impatience all aliveto know what he would say about it, and not at all checked by hearingthat her friend was unmentioned.

　　"John enters like a brother into my happiness," continued Mr. Knightley,"but he is no complimenter; and though I well know him to have,likewise, a most brotherly affection for you, he is so far frommaking flourishes, that any other young woman might think him rathercool in her praise. But I am not afraid of your seeing what he writes."

　　"He writes like a sensible man," replied Emma, when she had readthe letter. "I honour his sincerity. It is very plain that heconsiders the good fortune of the engagement as all on my side,but that he is not without hope of my growing, in time, as worthyof your affection, as you think me already. Had he said any thingto bear a different construction, I should not have believed him."

　　"My Emma, he means no such thing. He only means--"

　　"He and I should differ very little in our estimation of the two,"interrupted she, with a sort of serious smile--"much less, perhaps,than he is aware of, if we could enter without ceremony or reserveon the subject."

　　"Emma, my dear Emma--"

　　"Oh!" she cried with more thorough gaiety, "if you fancy yourbrother does not do me justice, only wait till my dear father is inthe secret, and hear his opinion. Depend upon it, he will be muchfarther from doing you justice. He will think all the happiness,all the advantage, on your side of the question; all the meriton mine. I wish I may not sink into `poor Emma' with him at once.--His tender compassion towards oppressed worth can go no farther."

　　"Ah!" he cried, "I wish your father might be half as easily convincedas John will be, of our having every right that equal worth can give,to be happy together. I am amused by one part of John's letter--did you notice it?--where he says, that my information did not takehim wholly by surprize, that he was rather in expectation of hearingsomething of the kind."

　　"If I understand your brother, he only means so far as your havingsome thoughts of marrying. He had no idea of me. He seems perfectlyunprepared for that."

　　"Yes, yes--but I am amused that he should have seen so far intomy feelings. What has he been judging by?--I am not consciousof any difference in my spirits or conversation that could preparehim at this time for my marrying any more than at another.--But it was so, I suppose. I dare say there was a difference when Iwas staying with them the other day. I believe I did not playwith the children quite so much as usual. I remember one eveningthe poor boys saying, `Uncle seems always tired now.'"

　　The time was coming when the news must spread farther, and other persons'reception of it tried. As soon as Mrs. Weston was sufficientlyrecovered to admit Mr. Woodhouse's visits, Emma having it in viewthat her gentle reasonings should be employed in the cause,resolved first to announce it at home, and then at Randalls.--But how to break it to her father at last!--She had bound herselfto do it, in such an hour of Mr. Knightley's absence, or when itcame to the point her heart would have failed her, and she musthave put it off; but Mr. Knightley was to come at such a time,and follow up the beginning she was to make.--She was forcedto speak, and to speak cheerfully too. She must not make it a moredecided subject of misery to him, by a melancholy tone herself.She must not appear to think it a misfortune.--With all the spiritsshe could command, she prepared him first for something strange,and then, in a few words, said, that if his consent and approbationcould be obtained--which, she trusted, would be attended withno difficulty, since it was a plan to promote the happiness of all--she and Mr. Knightley meant to marry; by which means Hartfieldwould receive the constant addition of that person's companywhom she knew he loved, next to his daughters and Mrs. Weston,best in the world.

　　Poor man!--it was at first a considerable shock to him, and he triedearnestly to dissuade her from it. She was reminded, more than once,of having always said she would never marry, and assured that itwould be a great deal better for her to remain single; and told ofpoor Isabella, and poor Miss Taylor.--But it would not do. Emma hungabout him affectionately, and smiled, and said it must be so; and thathe must not class her with Isabella and Mrs. Weston, whose marriagestaking them from Hartfield, had, indeed, made a melancholy change:but she was not going from Hartfield; she should be always there;she was introducing no change in their numbers or their comforts butfor the better; and she was very sure that he would be a great dealthe happier for having Mr. Knightley always at hand, when he were oncegot used to the idea.--Did he not love Mr. Knightley very much?--He would not deny that he did, she was sure.--Whom did he ever wantto consult on business but Mr. Knightley?--Who was so useful to him,who so ready to write his letters, who so glad to assist him?--Who so cheerful, so attentive, so attached to him?--Would not helike to have him always on the spot?--Yes. That was all very true.Mr. Knightley could not be there too often; he should be glad to seehim every day;--but they did see him every day as it was.--Why couldnot they go on as they had done?

　　Mr. Woodhouse could not be soon reconciled; but the worst was overcome,the idea was given; time and continual repetition must do the rest.--To Emma's entreaties and assurances succeeded Mr. Knightley's,whose fond praise of her gave the subject even a kind of welcome;and he was soon used to be talked to by each, on every fair occasion.--They had all the assistance which Isabella could give, by lettersof the strongest approbation; and Mrs. Weston was ready,on the first meeting, to consider the subject in the mostserviceable light--first, as a settled, and, secondly, as a good one--well aware of the nearly equal importance of the two recommendationsto Mr. Woodhouse's mind.--It was agreed upon, as what was to be;and every body by whom he was used to be guided assuring him thatit would be for his happiness; and having some feelings himselfwhich almost admitted it, he began to think that some time or other--in another year or two, perhaps--it might not be so very badif the marriage did take place.

　　Mrs. Weston was acting no part, feigning no feelings in all that shesaid to him in favour of the event.--She had been extremely surprized,never more so, than when Emma first opened the affair to her;but she saw in it only increase of happiness to all, and hadno scruple in urging him to the utmost.--She had such a regardfor Mr. Knightley, as to think he deserved even her dearest Emma;and it was in every respect so proper, suitable, and unexceptionablea connexion, and in one respect, one point of the highest importance,so peculiarly eligible, so singularly fortunate, that now it seemedas if Emma could not safely have attached herself to any other creature,and that she had herself been the stupidest of beings in not havingthought of it, and wished it long ago.--How very few of those menin a rank of life to address Emma would have renounced their ownhome for Hartfield! And who but Mr. Knightley could know and bearwith Mr. Woodhouse, so as to make such an arrangement desirable!--The difficulty of disposing of poor Mr. Woodhouse had been alwaysfelt in her husband's plans and her own, for a marriage between Frankand Emma. How to settle the claims of Enscombe and Hartfield hadbeen a continual impediment--less acknowledged by Mr. Weston thanby herself--but even he had never been able to finish the subjectbetter than by saying--"Those matters will take care of themselves;the young people will find a way." But here there was nothing to beshifted off in a wild speculation on the future. It was all right,all open, all equal. No sacrifice on any side worth the name.It was a union of the highest promise of felicity in itself,and without one real, rational difficulty to oppose or delay it.

　　Mrs. Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in such reflectionsas these, was one of the happiest women in the world. If any thingcould increase her delight, it was perceiving that the baby wouldsoon have outgrown its first set of caps.

　　The news was universally a surprize wherever it spread;and Mr. Weston had his five minutes share of it; but five minuteswere enough to familiarise the idea to his quickness of mind.--He saw the advantages of the match, and rejoiced in them with allthe constancy of his wife; but the wonder of it was very soon nothing;and by the end of an hour he was not far from believing that hehad always foreseen it.

　　"It is to be a secret, I conclude," said he. "These matters arealways a secret, till it is found out that every body knows them.Only let me be told when I may speak out.--I wonder whether Jane hasany suspicion."

　　He went to Highbury the next morning, and satisfied himself onthat point. He told her the news. Was not she like a daughter,his eldest daughter?--he must tell her; and Miss Bates being present,it passed, of course, to Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Perry, and Mrs. Elton,immediately afterwards. It was no more than the principals wereprepared for; they had calculated from the time of its being knownat Randalls, how soon it would be over Highbury; and were thinkingof themselves, as the evening wonder in many a family circle,with great sagacity.

　　In general, it was a very well approved match. Some might think him,and others might think her, the most in luck. One set mightrecommend their all removing to Donwell, and leaving Hartfieldfor the John Knightleys; and another might predict disagreementsamong their servants; but yet, upon the whole, there was no seriousobjection raised, except in one habitation, the Vicarage.--There,the surprize was not softened by any satisfaction. Mr. Eltoncared little about it, compared with his wife; he only hoped "theyoung lady's pride would now be contented;" and supposed "she hadalways meant to catch Knightley if she could;" and, on the pointof living at Hartfield, could daringly exclaim, "Rather he than I!"--But Mrs. Elton was very much discomposed indeed.--"Poor Knightley!poor fellowShe was extremely concerned;for, though very eccentric, he had a thousand good qualities.--How could he be so taken in?--Did not think him at all in love--not in the least.--Poor Knightley!--There would be an end of allpleasant intercourse with him.--How happy he had been to come and dinewith them whenever they asked him! But that would be all over now.--Poor fellow!--No more exploring parties to Donwell made for her.Oh! no; there would be a Mrs. Knightley to throw cold water onevery thing.--Extremely disagreeable! But she was not at all sorrythat she had abused the housekeeper the other day.--Shocking plan,living together. It would never do. She knew a family near MapleGrove who had tried it, and been obliged to separate before the endof the first quarter.