Emma
degree, and a sort of pleasure in the idea of their being coupled in
their friends’ imaginations.
With such sensations, Mr. Elton’s civilities were dreadfully ill-timed;
but she had the comfort of appearing very polite, while feeling very
cross—and of thinking that the rest of the visit could not possibly
pass without bringing forward the same information again, or the
substance of it, from the open-hearted Mr. Weston.—So it proved;—for
when happily released from Mr. Elton, and seated by Mr. Weston, at
dinner, he made use of the very first interval in the cares of
hospitality, the very first leisure from the saddle of mutton, to say
to her,
“We want only two more to be just the right number. I should like to
see two more here,—your pretty little friend, Miss Smith, and my
son—and then I should say we were quite complete. I believe you did not
hear me telling the others in the drawing-room that we are expecting
Frank. I had a letter from him this morning, and he will be with us
within a fortnight.”
Emma spoke with a very proper degree of pleasure; and fully assented to
his proposition of Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Smith making their
party quite complete.
“He has been wanting to come to us,” continued Mr. Weston, “ever since
September: every letter has been full of it; but he cannot command his
own time. He has those to please who must be pleased, and who (between
ourselves) are sometimes to be pleased only by a good many sacrifices.
But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the second week in
January.”
“What a very great pleasure it will be to you! and Mrs. Weston is so
anxious to be acquainted with him, that she must be almost as happy as
yourself.”
“Yes, she would be, but that she thinks there will be another put-off.
She does not depend upon his coming so much as I do: but she does not
know the parties so well as I do. The case, you see, is—(but this is
quite between ourselves: I did not mention a syllable of it in the
other room. There are secrets in all families, you know)—The case is,
that a party of friends are invited to pay a visit at Enscombe in
January; and that Frank’s coming depends upon their being put off. If
they are not put off, he cannot stir. But I know they will, because it
is a family that a certain lady, of some consequence, at Enscombe, has
a particular dislike to: and though it is thought necessary to invite
them once in two or three years, they always are put off when it comes
to the point. I have not the smallest doubt of the issue. I am as
confident of seeing Frank here before the middle of January, as I am of
being here myself: but your good friend there (nodding towards the
upper end of the table) has so few vagaries herself, and has been so
little used to them at Hartfield, that she cannot calculate on their
effects, as I have been long in the practice of doing.”
“I am sorry there should be any thing like doubt in the case,” replied
Emma; “but am disposed to side with you, Mr. Weston. If you think he
will come, I shall think so too; for you know Enscombe.”
“Yes—I have some right to that knowledge; though I have never been at
the place in my life.—She is an odd woman!—But I never allow myself to
speak ill of her, on Frank’s account; for I do believe her to be very
fond of him. I used to think she was not capable of being fond of any
body, except herself: but she has always been kind to him (in her
way—allowing for little whims and caprices, and expecting every thing
to be as she likes). And it is no small credit, in my opinion, to him,
that he should excite such an affection; for, though I would not say it
to any body else, she has no more heart than a stone to people in
general; and the devil of a temper.”
Emma liked the subject so well, that she began upon it, to Mrs. Weston,
very soon after their moving into the drawing-room: wishing her joy—yet
observing, that she knew the first meeting must be rather alarming.—
Mrs. Weston agreed to it; but added, that she should be very glad to be
secure of undergoing the anxiety of a first meeting at the time talked
of: “for I cannot depend upon his coming. I cannot be so sanguine as
Mr. Weston. I am very much afraid that it will all end in nothing. Mr.
Weston, I dare say, has been telling you exactly how the matter
stands?”
“Yes—it seems to depend upon nothing but the ill-humour of Mrs.
Churchill, which I imagine to be the most certain thing in the world.”
“My Emma!” replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, “what is the certainty of
caprice?” Then turning to Isabella, who had not been attending
before—“You must know, my dear Mrs. Knightley, that we are by no means
so sure of seeing Mr. Frank Churchill, in my opinion, as his father
thinks. It depends entirely upon his aunt’s spirits and pleasure; in
short, upon her temper. To you—to my two daughters—I may venture on the
truth. Mrs. Churchill rules at Enscombe, and is a very odd-tempered
woman; and his coming now, depends upon her being willing to spare
him.”
“Oh, Mrs. Churchill; every body knows Mrs. Churchill,” replied
Isabella: “and I am sure I never think of that poor young man without
the greatest compassion. To be constantly living with an ill-tempered
person, must be dreadful. It is what we happily have never known any
thing of; but it must be a life of misery. What a blessing, that she
never had any children! Poor little creatures, how unhappy she would
have made them!”
Emma wished she had been alone with Mrs. Weston. She should then have
heard more: Mrs. Weston would speak to her, with a degree of unreserve
which she would not hazard with Isabella; and, she really believed,
would scarcely try to conceal any thing relative to the Churchills from
her, excepting those views on the young man, of which her own
imagination had already given her such instinctive knowledge. But at
present there was nothing more to be said. Mr. Woodhouse very soon
followed them into the drawing-room. To be sitting long after dinner,
was a confinement that he could not endure. Neither wine nor
conversation was any thing to him; and gladly did he move to those with
whom he was always comfortable.
While he talked to Isabella, however, Emma found an opportunity of
saying,
“And so you do not consider this visit from your son as by any means
certain. I am sorry for it. The introduction must be unpleasant,
whenever it takes place; and the sooner it could be over, the better.”
“Yes; and every delay makes one more apprehensive of other delays. Even
if this family, the Braithwaites, are put off, I am still afraid that
some excuse may be found for disappointing us. I cannot bear to imagine
any reluctance on his side; but I am sure there is a great wish on the
Churchills’ to keep him to themselves. There is jealousy. They are
jealous even of his regard for his father. In short, I can feel no
dependence on his coming, and I wish Mr. Weston were less sanguine.”
“He ought to come,” said Emma. “If he could stay only a couple of days,
he ought to come; and one can hardly conceive a young man’s not having
it in his power to do as much as that. A young _woman_, if she fall
into bad hands, may be teased, and kept at a distance from those she
wants to be with; but one cannot comprehend a young _man_’s being under
such restraint, as not to be able to spend a week with his father, if
he likes it.”
“One ought to be at Enscombe, and know the ways of the family, before
one decides upon what he can do,” replied Mrs. Weston. “One ought to
use the same caution, perhaps, in judging of the conduct of any one
individual of any one family; but Enscombe, I believe, certainly must
not be judged by general rules: _she_ is so very unreasonable; and
every thing gives way to her.”
“But she is so fond of the nephew: he is so very great a favourite.
Now, according to my idea of Mrs. Churchill, it would be most natural,
that while she makes no sacrifice for the comfort of the husband, to
whom she owes every thing, while she exercises incessant caprice
towards _him_, she should frequently be governed by the nephew, to whom
she owes nothing at all.”
“My dearest Emma, do not pretend, with your sweet temper, to understand
a bad one, or to lay down rules for it: you must let it go its own way.
I have no doubt of his having, at times, considerable influence; but it
may be perfectly impossible for him to know beforehand _when_ it will
be.”
Emma listened, and then coolly said, “I shall not be satisfied, unless
he comes.”
“He may have a great deal of influence on some points,” continued Mrs.
Weston, “and on others, very little: and among those, on which she is
beyond his reach, it is but too likely, may be this very circumstance
of his coming away from them to visit us.”
CHAPTER XV
Mr. Woodhouse was soon ready for his tea; and when he had drank his tea
he was quite ready to go home; and it was as much as his three
companions could do, to entertain away his notice of the lateness of
the hour, before the other gentlemen appeared. Mr. Weston was chatty
and convivial, and no friend to early separations of any sort; but at
last the drawing-room party did receive an augmentation. Mr. Elton, in
very good spirits, was one of the first to walk in. Mrs. Weston and
Emma were sitting together on a sofa. He joined them immediately, and,
with scarcely an invitation, seated himself between them.
Emma, in good spirits too, from the amusement afforded her mind by the
expectation of Mr. Frank Churchill, was willing to forget his late
improprieties, and be as well satisfied with him as before, and on his
making Harriet his very first subject, was ready to listen with most
friendly smiles.
He professed himself extremely anxious about her fair friend—her fair,
lovely, amiable friend. “Did she know?—had she heard any thing about
her, since their being at Randalls?—he felt much anxiety—he must
confess that the nature of her complaint alarmed him considerably.” And
in this style he talked on for some time very properly, not much
attending to any answer, but altogether sufficiently awake to the
terror of a bad sore throat; and Emma was quite in charity with him.
But at last there seemed a perverse turn; it seemed all at once as if
he were more afraid of its being a bad sore throat on her account, than
on Harriet’s—more anxious that she should escape the infection, than
that there should be no infection in the complaint. He began with great
earnestness to entreat her to refrain from visiting the sick-chamber
again, for the present—to entreat her to _promise_ _him_ not to venture
into such hazard till he had seen Mr. Perry and learnt his opinion; and
though she tried to laugh it off and bring the subject back into its
proper course, there was no putting an end to his extreme solicitude
about her. She was vexed. It did appear—there was no concealing
it—exactly like the pretence of being in love with her, instead of
Harriet; an inconstancy, if real, the most contemptible and abominable!
and she had difficulty in behaving with temper. He turned to Mrs.
Weston to implore her assistance, “Would not she give him her
support?—would not she add her persuasions to his, to induce Miss
Woodhouse not to go to Mrs. Goddard’s till it were certain that Miss
Smith’s disorder had no infection? He could not be satisfied without a
promise—would not she give him her influence in procuring it?”
“So scrupulous for others,” he continued, “and yet so careless for
herself! She wanted me to nurse my cold by staying at home to-day, and
yet will not promise to avoid the danger of catching an ulcerated sore
throat herself. Is this fair, Mrs. Weston?—Judge between us. Have not I
some right to complain? I am sure of your kind support and aid.”
Emma saw Mrs. Weston’s surprize, and felt that it must be great, at an