Emma
They were never tolerated at Maple Grove. Neither Mr. Suckling nor me
had ever any patience with them; and we used sometimes to say very
cutting things! Selina, who is mild almost to a fault, bore with them
much better.”
While she talked of his son, Mr. Weston’s attention was chained; but
when she got to Maple Grove, he could recollect that there were ladies
just arriving to be attended to, and with happy smiles must hurry away.
Mrs. Elton turned to Mrs. Weston. “I have no doubt of its being our
carriage with Miss Bates and Jane. Our coachman and horses are so
extremely expeditious!—I believe we drive faster than any body.—What a
pleasure it is to send one’s carriage for a friend!—I understand you
were so kind as to offer, but another time it will be quite
unnecessary. You may be very sure I shall always take care of _them_.”
Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, escorted by the two gentlemen, walked into
the room; and Mrs. Elton seemed to think it as much her duty as Mrs.
Weston’s to receive them. Her gestures and movements might be
understood by any one who looked on like Emma; but her words, every
body’s words, were soon lost under the incessant flow of Miss Bates,
who came in talking, and had not finished her speech under many minutes
after her being admitted into the circle at the fire. As the door
opened she was heard,
“So very obliging of you!—No rain at all. Nothing to signify. I do not
care for myself. Quite thick shoes. And Jane declares—Well!—(as soon as
she was within the door) Well! This is brilliant indeed!—This is
admirable!—Excellently contrived, upon my word. Nothing wanting. Could
not have imagined it.—So well lighted up!—Jane, Jane, look!—did you
ever see any thing? Oh! Mr. Weston, you must really have had Aladdin’s
lamp. Good Mrs. Stokes would not know her own room again. I saw her as
I came in; she was standing in the entrance. ‘Oh! Mrs. Stokes,’ said
I—but I had not time for more.” She was now met by Mrs. Weston.—“Very
well, I thank you, ma’am. I hope you are quite well. Very happy to hear
it. So afraid you might have a headache!—seeing you pass by so often,
and knowing how much trouble you must have. Delighted to hear it
indeed. Ah! dear Mrs. Elton, so obliged to you for the
carriage!—excellent time. Jane and I quite ready. Did not keep the
horses a moment. Most comfortable carriage.—Oh! and I am sure our
thanks are due to you, Mrs. Weston, on that score. Mrs. Elton had most
kindly sent Jane a note, or we should have been.—But two such offers in
one day!—Never were such neighbours. I said to my mother, ‘Upon my
word, ma’am—.’ Thank you, my mother is remarkably well. Gone to Mr.
Woodhouse’s. I made her take her shawl—for the evenings are not
warm—her large new shawl— Mrs. Dixon’s wedding-present.—So kind of her
to think of my mother! Bought at Weymouth, you know—Mr. Dixon’s choice.
There were three others, Jane says, which they hesitated about some
time. Colonel Campbell rather preferred an olive. My dear Jane, are you
sure you did not wet your feet?—It was but a drop or two, but I am so
afraid:—but Mr. Frank Churchill was so extremely—and there was a mat to
step upon—I shall never forget his extreme politeness.—Oh! Mr. Frank
Churchill, I must tell you my mother’s spectacles have never been in
fault since; the rivet never came out again. My mother often talks of
your good-nature. Does not she, Jane?—Do not we often talk of Mr. Frank
Churchill?—Ah! here’s Miss Woodhouse.—Dear Miss Woodhouse, how do you
do?—Very well I thank you, quite well. This is meeting quite in
fairy-land!—Such a transformation!—Must not compliment, I know (eyeing
Emma most complacently)—that would be rude—but upon my word, Miss
Woodhouse, you do look—how do you like Jane’s hair?—You are a
judge.—She did it all herself. Quite wonderful how she does her
hair!—No hairdresser from London I think could.—Ah! Dr. Hughes I
declare—and Mrs. Hughes. Must go and speak to Dr. and Mrs. Hughes for a
moment.—How do you do? How do you do?—Very well, I thank you. This is
delightful, is not it?—Where’s dear Mr. Richard?—Oh! there he is. Don’t
disturb him. Much better employed talking to the young ladies. How do
you do, Mr. Richard?—I saw you the other day as you rode through the
town—Mrs. Otway, I protest!—and good Mr. Otway, and Miss Otway and Miss
Caroline.—Such a host of friends!—and Mr. George and Mr. Arthur!—How do
you do? How do you all do?—Quite well, I am much obliged to you. Never
better.—Don’t I hear another carriage?—Who can this be?—very likely the
worthy Coles.—Upon my word, this is charming to be standing about among
such friends! And such a noble fire!—I am quite roasted. No coffee, I
thank you, for me—never take coffee.—A little tea if you please, sir,
by and bye,—no hurry—Oh! here it comes. Every thing so good!”
Frank Churchill returned to his station by Emma; and as soon as Miss
Bates was quiet, she found herself necessarily overhearing the
discourse of Mrs. Elton and Miss Fairfax, who were standing a little
way behind her.—He was thoughtful. Whether he were overhearing too, she
could not determine. After a good many compliments to Jane on her dress
and look, compliments very quietly and properly taken, Mrs. Elton was
evidently wanting to be complimented herself—and it was, “How do you
like my gown?—How do you like my trimming?—How has Wright done my
hair?”—with many other relative questions, all answered with patient
politeness. Mrs. Elton then said, “Nobody can think less of dress in
general than I do—but upon such an occasion as this, when every body’s
eyes are so much upon me, and in compliment to the Westons—who I have
no doubt are giving this ball chiefly to do me honour—I would not wish
to be inferior to others. And I see very few pearls in the room except
mine.—So Frank Churchill is a capital dancer, I understand.—We shall
see if our styles suit.—A fine young man certainly is Frank Churchill.
I like him very well.”
At this moment Frank began talking so vigorously, that Emma could not
but imagine he had overheard his own praises, and did not want to hear
more;—and the voices of the ladies were drowned for a while, till
another suspension brought Mrs. Elton’s tones again distinctly
forward.—Mr. Elton had just joined them, and his wife was exclaiming,
“Oh! you have found us out at last, have you, in our seclusion?—I was
this moment telling Jane, I thought you would begin to be impatient for
tidings of us.”
“Jane!”—repeated Frank Churchill, with a look of surprize and
displeasure.—“That is easy—but Miss Fairfax does not disapprove it, I
suppose.”
“How do you like Mrs. Elton?” said Emma in a whisper.
“Not at all.”
“You are ungrateful.”
“Ungrateful!—What do you mean?” Then changing from a frown to a
smile—“No, do not tell me—I do not want to know what you mean.—Where is
my father?—When are we to begin dancing?”
Emma could hardly understand him; he seemed in an odd humour. He walked
off to find his father, but was quickly back again with both Mr. and
Mrs. Weston. He had met with them in a little perplexity, which must be
laid before Emma. It had just occurred to Mrs. Weston that Mrs. Elton
must be asked to begin the ball; that she would expect it; which
interfered with all their wishes of giving Emma that distinction.—Emma
heard the sad truth with fortitude.
“And what are we to do for a proper partner for her?” said Mr. Weston.
“She will think Frank ought to ask her.”
Frank turned instantly to Emma, to claim her former promise; and
boasted himself an engaged man, which his father looked his most
perfect approbation of—and it then appeared that Mrs. Weston was
wanting _him_ to dance with Mrs. Elton himself, and that their business
was to help to persuade him into it, which was done pretty soon.—Mr.
Weston and Mrs. Elton led the way, Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss
Woodhouse followed. Emma must submit to stand second to Mrs. Elton,
though she had always considered the ball as peculiarly for her. It was
almost enough to make her think of marrying. Mrs. Elton had undoubtedly
the advantage, at this time, in vanity completely gratified; for though
she had intended to begin with Frank Churchill, she could not lose by
the change. Mr. Weston might be his son’s superior.—In spite of this
little rub, however, Emma was smiling with enjoyment, delighted to see
the respectable length of the set as it was forming, and to feel that
she had so many hours of unusual festivity before her.—She was more
disturbed by Mr. Knightley’s not dancing than by any thing else.—There
he was, among the standers-by, where he ought not to be; he ought to be
dancing,—not classing himself with the husbands, and fathers, and
whist-players, who were pretending to feel an interest in the dance
till their rubbers were made up,—so young as he looked!—He could not
have appeared to greater advantage perhaps anywhere, than where he had
placed himself. His tall, firm, upright figure, among the bulky forms
and stooping shoulders of the elderly men, was such as Emma felt must
draw every body’s eyes; and, excepting her own partner, there was not
one among the whole row of young men who could be compared with him.—He
moved a few steps nearer, and those few steps were enough to prove in
how gentlemanlike a manner, with what natural grace, he must have
danced, would he but take the trouble.—Whenever she caught his eye, she
forced him to smile; but in general he was looking grave. She wished he
could love a ballroom better, and could like Frank Churchill better.—He
seemed often observing her. She must not flatter herself that he
thought of her dancing, but if he were criticising her behaviour, she
did not feel afraid. There was nothing like flirtation between her and
her partner. They seemed more like cheerful, easy friends, than lovers.
That Frank Churchill thought less of her than he had done, was
indubitable.
The ball proceeded pleasantly. The anxious cares, the incessant
attentions of Mrs. Weston, were not thrown away. Every body seemed
happy; and the praise of being a delightful ball, which is seldom
bestowed till after a ball has ceased to be, was repeatedly given in
the very beginning of the existence of this. Of very important, very
recordable events, it was not more productive than such meetings
usually are. There was one, however, which Emma thought something
of.—The two last dances before supper were begun, and Harriet had no
partner;—the only young lady sitting down;—and so equal had been
hitherto the number of dancers, that how there could be any one
disengaged was the wonder!—But Emma’s wonder lessened soon afterwards,
on seeing Mr. Elton sauntering about. He would not ask Harriet to dance
if it were possible to be avoided: she was sure he would not—and she
was expecting him every moment to escape into the card-room.
Escape, however, was not his plan. He came to the part of the room
where the sitters-by were collected, spoke to some, and walked about in
front of them, as if to shew his liberty, and his resolution of
maintaining it. He did not omit being sometimes directly before Miss
Smith, or speaking to those who were close to her.—Emma saw it. She was
not yet dancing; she was working her way up from the bottom, and had
therefore leisure to look around, and by only turning her head a little
she saw it all. When she was half-way up the set, the whole group were
exactly behind her, and she would no longer allow her eyes to watch;
but Mr. Elton was so near, that she heard every syllable of a dialogue
which just then took place between him and Mrs. Weston; and she
perceived that his wife, who was standing immediately above her, was
not only listening also, but even encouraging him by significant
glances.—The kind-hearted, gentle Mrs. Weston had left her seat to join