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They found Mrs Musgrove and her daughter within, and by themselves, and Anne had the kindest welcome from each. Henrietta was exactly in that state of recently-improved views, of fresh-formed happiness, which made her full of regard and interest for everybody she had ever liked before at all; and Mrs Musgrove’s real affection had been won by her usefulness when they were in distress. It was a heartiness, and a warmth, and a sincerity which Anne delighted in the more, from the sad want of such blessings at home. She was entreated to give them as much of her time as possible, invited for every day and all day long, or rather claimed as part of the family; and, in return, she naturally fell into all her wonted ways of attention and assistance, and on Charles’s leaving them together, was listening to Mrs Musgrove’s history of Louisa, and to Henrietta’s of herself, giving opinions on business, and recommendations to shops; with intervals of every help which Mary required, from altering her ribbon to settling her accounts; from finding her keys, and assorting her trinkets, to trying to convince her that she was not ill-used by anybody; which Mary, well amused as she generally was, in her station at a window overlooking the entrance to the Pump Room, could not but have her moments of imagining. A morning of thorough confusion was to be expected. A large party in an hotel ensured a quick-changing, unsettled scene. One five minutes brought a note, the next a parcel; and Anne had not been there half an hour, when their dining-room, spacious as it was, seemed more than half filled: a party of steady old friends were seated around Mrs Musgrove, and Charles came back with Captains Harville and Wentworth. The appearance of the latter could not be more than the surprise of the moment. It was impossible for her to have forgotten to feel that this arrival of their common friends must be soon bringing them together again. Their last meeting had been most important in opening his feelings; she had derived from it a delightful conviction; but she feared from his looks, that the same unfortunate persuasion, which had hastened him away from the Concert Room, still governed. He did not seem to want to be near enough for conversation. She tried to be calm, and leave things to take their course, and tried to dwell much on this argument of rational dependence:-“Surely, if there be constant attachment on each side, our hearts must understand each other ere long. We are not boy and girl, to be captiously irritable, misled by every moment’s inadvertence, and wantonly playing with our own happiness.” And yet, a few minutes afterwards, she felt as if their being in company with each other, under their present circumstances, could only be exposing them to inadvertencies and misconstructions of the most mischievous kind. “Anne,” cried Mary, still at her window, “there is Mrs Clay, I am sure, standing under the colonnade, and a gentleman with her. I saw them turn the corner from Bath Street just now. They seemed deep in talk. Who is it? Come, and tell me. Good heavens! I recollect. It is Mr Elliot himself.” “No,” cried Anne, quickly, “it cannot be Mr Elliot, I assure you. He was to leave Bath at nine this morning, and does not come back till to-morrow.” As she spoke, she felt that Captain Wentworth was looking at her, the consciousness of which vexed and embarrassed her, and made her regret that she had said so much, simple as it was. Mary, resenting that she should be supposed not to know her own cousin, began talking very warmly about the family features, and protesting still more positively that it was Mr Elliot, calling again upon Anne to come and look for herself, but Anne did not mean to stir, and tried to be cool and unconcerned. Her distress returned, however, on perceiving smiles and intelligent glances pass between two or three of the lady visitors, as if they believed themselves quite in the secret. It was evident that the report concerning her had spread, and a short pause succeeded, which seemed to ensure that it would now spread farther. “Do come, Anne,” cried Mary, “come and look yourself. You will be too late if you do not make haste. They are parting; they are shaking hands. He is turning away. Not know Mr Elliot, indeed! You seem to have forgot all about Lyme.” To pacify Mary, and perhaps screen her own embarrassment, Anne did move quietly to the window. She was just in time to ascertain that it really was Mr Elliot, which she had never believed, before he disappeared on one side, as Mrs Clay walked quickly off on the other; and checking the surprise which she could not but feel at such an appearance of friendly conference between two persons of totally opposite interest, she calmly said, “Yes, it is Mr Elliot, certainly. He has changed his hour of going, I suppose, that is all, or I may be mistaken, I might not attend;” and walked back to her chair, recomposed, and with the comfortable hope of having acquitted herself well. The visitors took their leave; and Charles, having civilly seen them off, and then made a face at them, and abused them for coming, began with- “Well, mother, I have done something for you that you will like. I have been to the theatre, and secured a box for to-morrow night. A’n’t I a good boy? I know you love a play; and there is room for us all. It holds nine. I have engaged Captain Wentworth. Anne will not be sorry to join us, I am sure. We all like a play. Have not I done well, mother?” Mrs Musgrove was good humouredly beginning to express her perfect readiness for the play, if Henrietta and all the others liked it, when Mary eagerly interrupted her by exclaiming- “Good heavens, Charles! how can you think of such a thing? Take a box for to-morrow night! Have you forgot that we are engaged to Camden Place to-morrow night? and that we were most particularly asked to meet Lady Dalrymple and her daughter, and Mr Elliot, and all the principal family connexions, on purpose to be introduced to them? How can you be so forgetful?” “Phoo! phoo!” replied Charles, “what’s an evening party? Never worth remembering. Your father might have asked us to dinner, I think, if he had wanted to see us. You may do as you like, but I shall go to the play.” “Oh! Charles, I declare it will be too abominable if you do, when you promised to go.” “No, I did not promise. I only smirked and bowed, and said the word ‘happy.’ There was no promise.” “But you must go, Charles. It would be unpardonable to fail. We were asked on purpose to be introduced. There was always such a great connexion between the Dalrymples and ourselves. Nothing ever happened on either side that was not announced immediately. We are quite near relations, you know; and Mr Elliot too, whom you ought so particularly to be acquainted with! Every attention is due to Mr Elliot. Consider, my father’s heir: the future representative of the family.” “Don’t talk to me about heirs and representatives,” cried Charles. “I am not one of those who neglect the reigning power to bow to the rising sun. If I would not go for the sake of your father, I should think it scandalous to go for the sake of his heir. What is Mr Elliot to me?” The careless expression was life to Anne, who saw that Captain Wentworth was all attention, looking and listening with his whole soul; and that the last words brought his enquiring eyes from Charles to herself. Charles and Mary still talked on in the same style; he, half serious and half jesting, maintaining the scheme for the play, and she, invariably serious, most warmly opposing it, and not omitting to make it known that, however determined to go to Camden Place herself, she should not think herself very well used, if they went to the play without her. Mrs Musgrove interposed. “We had better put it off. Charles, you had much better go back and change the box for Tuesday. It would be a pity to be divided, and we should be losing Miss Anne, too, if there is a party at her father’s; and I am sure neither Henrietta nor I should care at all for the play, if Miss Anne could not be with us.” Anne felt truly obliged to her for such kindness; and quite as much so for the opportunity it gave her of decidedly saying- “If it depended only on my inclination, ma’am, the party at home (excepting on Mary’s account) would not be the smallest impediment. I have no pleasure in the sort of meeting, and should be too happy to change it for a play, and with you. But, it had better not be attempted, perhaps.” She had spoken it; but she trembled when it was done, conscious that her words were listened to, and daring not even to try to observe their effect. It was soon generally agreed that Tuesday should be the day; Charles only reserving the advantage of still teasing his wife, by persisting that he would go to the play to-morrow if nobody else would. *Persuasion, Chapter 22*

Captain Wentworth left his seat, and walked to the fire-place; probably for the sake of walking away from it soon afterwards, and taking a station, with less bare-faced design, by Anne. “You have not been long enough in Bath,” said he, “to enjoy the evening parties of the place.” “Oh! no. The usual character of them has nothing for me. I am no card-player.” “You were not formerly, I know. You did not use to like cards; but time makes many changes.” “I am not yet so much changed,” cried Anne, and stopped, fearing she hardly knew what misconstruction. After waiting a few moments he said, and as if it were the result of immediate feeling, “It is a period, indeed! Eight years and a half is a period.” Whether he would have proceeded farther was left to Anne’s imagination to ponder over in a calmer hour; for while still hearing the sounds he had uttered, she was startled to other subjects by Henrietta, eager to make use of the present leisure for getting out, and calling on her companions to lose no time, lest somebody else should come in. They were obliged to move. Anne talked of being perfectly ready, and tried to look it; but she felt that could Henrietta have known the regret and reluctance of her heart in quitting that chair, in preparing to quit the room, she would have found, in all her own sensations for her cousin, in the very security of his affection, wherewith to pity her. Their preparations, however, were stopped short. Alarming sounds were heard; other visitors approached, and the door was thrown open for Sir Walter and Miss Elliot, whose entrance seemed to give a general chill. Anne felt an instant oppression, and wherever she looked saw symptoms of the same. The comfort, the freedom, the gaiety of the room was over, hushed into cold composure, determined silence, or insipid talk, to meet the heartless elegance of her father and sister. How mortifying to feel that it was so! Her jealous eye was satisfied in one particular. Captain Wentworth was acknowledged again by each, by Elizabeth more graciously than before. She even addressed him once, and looked at him more than once. Elizabeth was, in fact, revolving a great measure. The sequel explained it. After the waste of a few minutes in saying the proper nothings, she began to give the invitation which was to comprise all the remaining dues of the Musgroves. “To-morrow evening, to meet a few friends: no formal party.” It was all said very gracefully, and the cards with which she had provided herself, the “Miss Elliot at home,” were laid on the table, with a courteous, comprehensive smile to all, and one smile and one card more decidedly for Captain Wentworth. The truth was, that Elizabeth had been long enough in Bath to understand the importance of a man of such an air and appearance as his. The past was nothing. The present was that Captain Wentworth would move about well in her drawing-room. The card was pointedly given, and Sir Walter and Elizabeth arose and disappeared. The interruption had been short, though severe, and ease and animation returned to most of those they left as the door shut them out, but not to Anne. She could think only of the invitation she had with such astonishment witnessed, and of the manner in which it had been received; a manner of doubtful meaning, of surprise rather than gratification, of polite acknowledgement rather than acceptance. She knew him; she saw disdain in his eye, and could not venture to believe that he had determined to accept such an offering, as an atonement for all the insolence of the past. Her spirits sank. He held the card in his hand after they were gone, as if deeply considering it. “Only think of Elizabeth’s including everybody!” whispered Mary very audibly. “I do not wonder Captain Wentworth is delighted! You see he cannot put the card out of his hand.” Anne caught his eye, saw his cheeks glow, and his mouth form itself into a momentary expression of contempt, and turned away, that she might neither see nor hear more to vex her. The party separated. The gentlemen had their own pursuits, the ladies proceeded on their own business, and they met no more while Anne belonged to them. She was earnestly begged to return and dine, and give them all the rest of the day, but her spirits had been so long exerted that at present she felt unequal to more, and fit only for home, where she might be sure of being as silent as she chose. Promising to be with them the whole of the following morning, therefore, she closed the fatigues of the present by a toilsome walk to Camden Place, there to spend the evening chiefly in listening to the busy arrangements of Elizabeth and Mrs Clay for the morrow’s party, the frequent enumeration of the persons invited, and the continually improving detail of all the embellishments which were to make it the most completely elegant of its kind in Bath, while harassing herself with the never-ending question, of whether Captain Wentworth would come or not? They were reckoning him as certain, but with her it was a gnawing solicitude never appeased for five minutes together. She generally thought he would come, because she generally thought he ought; but it was a case which she could not so shape into any positive act of duty or discretion, as inevitably to defy the suggestions of very opposite feelings. *Persuasion, Chapter 22*

*Excerpt from Austen's manuscript of the cancelled alternate ending of Persuasion, on which Anne's meeting with Capt. Wentworth in these scenes are based. (Edited for clarity)* With all this knowledge of Mr Elliot and this authority to impart it, Anne left Westgate Buildings, her mind deeply busy in revolving what she had heard, feeling, thinking, recalling and forseeing everything; shocked at Mr Elliot, sighing over future Kellynch, and pained for Lady Russell, whose confidence in him had been entire. The embarrassment which much be felt from this hour in his presence! How to behave to him? How to get rid of him? What to do by any of the party at home? Where to be blind? Where to be active? It was altogether a confusion of images and doubts. A perplexity, an agitation which she could not see the end of. And she was in Gay Street and still so much engrossed, that she started on being addressed by Admiral Croft, as if he were a person unlikely to be met there. It was within a few steps of his own door. "You are going to call upon my wife" said he, "she will be very glad to see you." Anne denied it - "No, she really had not time, she was in her way home" - but while she spoke, the Admiral had stepped back and knocked at the door, calling out, "Yes, yes do go in; she is all alone. Go in and rest yourself." Anne felt so little disposed at this time to be in company of any sort, that it vexed her to be thus constrained, but she was obliged to stop. "Since you are so very kind" said she, "I will just ask Mrs Croft how she does, but I really cannot stay 5 minutes. You are sure she is quite alone?" The possibility of Capt. Wentworth had occurred, and most fearfully anxious was she to be assured--either that he was within or that he was not; which, might have been a question. "Oh! yes, quite alone. Nobody but her mantua-maker with her, and they have been shut up together this half hour, so it must be over soon." "Her mantua-maker! Then I am sure my calling now would be most inconvenient. Indeed you must allow me to leave my card and be so good as to explain it afterwards to Mrs Croft." "No, no, not at all, not at all. She will be very happy to see you. Mind, I will not swear that she has not something particular to say to you. But that will all come out in the right place. I give no hints. Why, Miss Elliot, we begin to hear strange things of you - (smiling in her face) - But you have not much the look of it - as grave as a little judge." Anne blushed. "Aye, aye, that will do. Now, it is right. I thought we were not mistaken." She was left to guess at the direction of his suspicions; the first wild idea had been of some disclosure from his brother-in-law, but she was ashamed the next moment and felt how far more probable that he should be meaning Mr Elliot. The door was opened, and the man evidently beginning to deny his mistress, when the sight of his master stopped him. The Admiral enjoyed the joke exceedingly. Anne thought his triumph over Stephen rather too long. At last however, he was able to invite her upstairs, and stepping before her said, "I will just go up with you myself and shew you in. I cannot stay, because I must go to the post office, but if you will only sit down for 5 minutes I am sure Sophy will come, and you will find nobody to disturb you. There is nobody but Frederick here", opening the door as he spoke. Such a person to be passed over as a nobody to her! After being allowed to feel quite secure--indifferent--at her ease, to have it burst on her that she was to be the next moment in the same room with him! No time for recollection, for planning behaviour, or regulating manners! There was time only to turn pale, before she had passed through the door, and met the astonished eyes of Capt. Wentworth, who was sitting by the fire pretending to read and prepared for no greater surprise than the Admiral's hasty return. Equally unexpected was the meeting, on each side. There was nothing to be done however, but to stifle feelings and be quietly polite; and the Admiral was too much on the alert, to leave any troublesome pause. He repeated again what he had said before about his wife and everybody, insisted on Anne's sitting down and being perfectly comfortable, was sorry he must leave her himself, but was sure Mrs Croft would be down very soon, and would go upstairs and give her notice directly. Anne was sitting down, but now she arose again to entreat him not to interrupt Mrs Croft and re-urge the wish of going away and calling another time. But the Admiral would not hear of it; and if she did not return to the charge with unconquerable perseverance, or did not with a more passive determination walk quietly out of the room (as certainly she might have done), may she not be pardoned? If she had no horror of a few minutes tête-a-tête with Capt. Wentworth, may she not be pardoned for not wishing to give him the idea that she had? She reseated herself, and the Admiral took leave; but on reaching the door, said, "Frederick, a word with you, if you please." Capt. Wentworth went to him; and instantly, before they were well out of the room, the Admiral continued- "As I am going to leave you together, it is but fair I should give you something to talk of, and so, if you please.." Here the door was very firmly closed; she could guess by which of the two; and she lost entirely what immediately followed; but it was impossible for her not to distinguish parts of the rest, for the Admiral on the strength of the door's being shut was speaking without any management of voice, though she could hear his companion trying to check him. She could not doubt their being speaking of her. She heard her own name and Kellynch repeatedly. She was very much distressed. She knew not what to do, or what to expect, and among other agonies felt the possibility of Capt. Wentworth's not returning into the room at all, which after her consenting to stay would have been (--too bad for language--). They seemed to be talking of the Admiral's lease of Kellynch. She heard him say something of "the lease being signed or not signed". That was not likely to be a very agitating subject; but then followed, "I hate to be at an uncertainty. I must know at once. Sophy thinks the same." Then, in a lower tone, Capt. Wentworth seemed remonstrating - wanting to be excused, wanting to put something off. "Phoo, Phoo!" answered the Admiral, "Now is the time. If you will not speak, I will stop and speak myself." "Very well sir. Very well sir", followed with some impatience from his companion, opening the door as he spoke. "You will then.. you promise you will?" replied the Admiral, in all the power of his natural voice, unbroken even by one thin door. "Yes sir.. Yes." And the Admiral was hastily left, the door was closed, and the moment arrived in which Anne was alone with Capt. Wentworth. *(Contd..)*

*(Contd..) Excerpt from Austen's manuscript of the cancelled alternate ending of Persuasion, on which Anne's meeting with Capt. Wentworth in these scenes are based. (Edited for clarity)* She could not attempt to see how he (Capt. Wentworth) looked; but he walked immediately to a window, as if irresolute and embarrassed; and for about the space of 5 seconds, she repented what she had done - censured it as unwise, blushed for it as indelicate. She longed to be able to speak of the weather or the concert, but could only compass the relief of taking a newspaper in her hand. The distressing pause was soon over however; he turned round in half a minute, and coming towards the table where she sat, said, in a voice of effort and constraint. "You must have heard too much already, madam, to be in any doubt of my having promised Admiral Croft to speak to you on some particular subject, and this conviction determines me to do it, however repugnant to my--to all my sense of propriety, to be taking so great a liberty. You will acquit me of impertinence I trust, by considering me as speaking only for another, and speaking by necessity; and the Admiral is a man who can never be thought impertinent by one who knows him as you do. His intentions are always the kindest and the best; and you will perceive that he is actuated by none other, in the application which I am now with.. with very peculiar feelings obliged to make." He stopped, but merely to recover breath; not seeming to expect any answer. Anne listened, as if her life depended on the issue of his speech. He proceeded, with a forced alacrity. "The Admiral, madam, was this morning confidently informed that you were.. upon my word I am quite at a loss, ashamed.. (breathing & speaking quick) the awkwardness of giving information of this sort to one of the parties. You can be at no loss to understand me. It was very confidently said that Mr Elliot.. that everything was settled in the family for an union between Mr Elliot and yourself. It was added that you were to live at Kellynch, that Kellynch was to be given up. This, the Admiral knew could not be correct. But it occurred to him that it might be the wish of the parties. And my commission from him, madam, is to say, that if the family wish is such, his lease of Kellynch shall be cancelled, and he and my sister will provide themselves with another home, without imagining themselves to be doing anything which under similar circumstances would not be done for them. This is all, madam. A very few words in reply from you will be sufficient. That I should be the person commissioned on this subject is extraordinary! - and believe me, madam, it is no less painful. A very few words, however, will put an end to the awkwardness and distress we may both be feeling." Anne spoke a word or two, but they were un-intelligible. And before she could command herself, he replied, "If you only tell me that the Admiral may address a line to Sir Walter, it will be enough. Pronounce only the words 'he may'. I shall immediately follow him with your message." This was spoken, as with a fortitude which seemed to meet the message. "No sir" said Anne. "There is no message. You are misinformed. The Adml is misinformed. I do justice to the kindness of his intentions, but he is quite mistaken. There is no truth in any such report." He was a moment silent. She turned her eyes towards him for the first time since his re-entering the room. His colour was varying, and he was looking at her with all the power and keenness, which she believed no other eyes than his, possessed. "No truth in any such report!" he repeated. "No truth in any part of it?" "None." He had been standing by a chair, enjoying the relief of leaning on it, or of playing with it; he now sat down, drew it a little nearer to her and looked, with an expression which had something more than penetration in it, something softer. Her countenance did not discourage. It was a silent, but a very powerful dialogue; on his side supplication, on her's acceptance. Still, a little nearer, and a hand taken and pressed, and "Anne, my own dear Anne!" bursting forth in the fullness of exquisite feeling, and all suspense and indecision were over. They were re-united. They were restored to all that had been lost. They were carried back to the past, with only an increase of attachment and confidence, and only such a flutter of present delight as made them little fit for the interruption of Mrs Croft, when she joined them not long afterwards. She probably, in the observations of the next ten minutes, saw something to suspect, and though it was hardly possible for a woman of her description to wish the mantua-maker had imprisoned her longer, she might be very likely wishing for some excuse to run about the house, some storm to break the windows above, or a summons to the Admiral's shoemaker below. Fortune favoured them all, however, in another way - in a gentle, steady rain - just happily set in as the Admiral returned and Anne rose to go. She was earnestly invited to stay dinner; a note was dispatched to Camden Place, and she staid, staid till ten at night. And during that time, the husband and wife, either by the wife's contrivance, or by simply going on in their usual way, were frequently out of the room together - gone up stairs to hear a noise, or down stairs to settle their accounts, or upon the landing place to trim the lamp. And these precious moments were turned to so good an account that all the most anxious feelings of the past were gone through. Before they parted at night, Anne had the felicity of being assured in the first place that (so far from being altered for the worse!) she had gained inexpressibly in personal loveliness; and that as to character, her's was now fixed on his mind as perfection itself, maintaining the just medium of fortitude and gentleness; that he had never ceased to love and prefer her, though it had been only at Uppercross that he had learnt to do her justice, and only at Lyme that he had begun to understand his own sensations; that at Lyme he had received lessons of more than one kind; the passing admiration of Mr Elliot had at least roused him, and the scenes on the Cobb and at Capt. Harville's had fixed her superiority. In his preceding attempts to attach himself to Louisa Musgrove (the attempts of anger & pique), he protested that he had continually felt the impossibility of really caring for Louisa, though till that day, till the leisure for reflection which followed it, he had not understood the perfect excellence of the mind, with which Louisa's could so ill bear a comparison, or the perfect, the unrivalled hold it possessed over his own. There he had learnt to distinguish between the steadiness of principle and the obstinacy of self-will, between the darings of heedlessness, and the resolution of a collected mind. There he had seen everything to exalt in his estimation the woman he had lost, and there begun to deplore the pride, the folly, the madness of resentment which had kept him from trying to regain her, when thrown in his way. From that period to the present had his penance been the most severe..

Variations of this sentence are said at 8:41 and 13:44. In the first one the word “remembers” is part of the sentence. I am assuming here, however it may refer to situations in which it is forgotten, which probably often happens. In the second one, this may refer to love not being able to be physically carried, as it is non-corporeal, so it may be sort of a joke. Anyway it may also simply be a slip of the actor, which noone from the production caught.😌

@@IndomitableT Interesting points. Thank you very much for weighing in.

I think that it is a witty observation of Austen's. When leaving one person to visit others that are known by them, it was probably normal to ask if they wanted to send an item or information, and the standard reply would be "oh, just give them my love" which would be as meaningless as most salutations and therefore forgotten about.

@@carolynhorn6347 Ah, yes. That may very well be it. Thank you.

Emma was most sincerely interested. Her heart had been long growing kinder towards Jane; and this picture of her present sufferings acted as a cure of every former ungenerous suspicion, and left her nothing but pity; and the remembrance of the less just and less gentle sensations of the past, obliged her to admit that Jane might very naturally resolve on seeing Mrs. Cole or any other steady friend, when she might not bear to see herself. She spoke as she felt, with earnest regret and solicitude-sincerely wishing that the circumstances which she collected from Miss Bates to be now actually determined on, might be as much for Miss Fairfax’s advantage and comfort as possible. “It must be a severe trial to them all. She had understood it was to be delayed till Colonel Campbell’s return.” “So very kind!” replied Miss Bates. “But you are always kind.” There was no bearing such an “always;” and to break through her dreadful gratitude, Emma made the direct inquiry of- “Where-may I ask?-is Miss Fairfax going?” “To a Mrs. Smallridge-charming woman-most superior-to have the charge of her three little girls-delightful children. Impossible that any situation could be more replete with comfort; if we except, perhaps, Mrs. Suckling’s own family, and Mrs. Bragge’s; but Mrs. Smallridge is intimate with both, and in the very same neighbourhood:-lives only four miles from Maple Grove. Jane will be only four miles from Maple Grove.” “Mrs. Elton, I suppose, has been the person to whom Miss Fairfax owes-” “Yes, our good Mrs. Elton. The most indefatigable, true friend. She would not take a denial. She would not let Jane say, ‘No;’ for when Jane first heard of it, (it was the day before yesterday, the very morning we were at Donwell,) when Jane first heard of it, she was quite decided against accepting the offer, and for the reasons you mention; exactly as you say, she had made up her mind to close with nothing till Colonel Campbell’s return, and nothing should induce her to enter into any engagement at present-and so she told Mrs. Elton over and over again-and I am sure I had no more idea that she would change her mind!-but that good Mrs. Elton, whose judgment never fails her, saw farther than I did. It is not every body that would have stood out in such a kind way as she did, and refuse to take Jane’s answer; but she positively declared she would not write any such denial yesterday, as Jane wished her; she would wait-and, sure enough, yesterday evening it was all settled that Jane should go. Quite a surprize to me! I had not the least idea!-Jane took Mrs. Elton aside, and told her at once, that upon thinking over the advantages of Mrs. Smallridge’s situation, she had come to the resolution of accepting it.-I did not know a word of it till it was all settled.” “You spent the evening with Mrs. Elton?” “Yes, all of us; Mrs. Elton would have us come. It was settled so, upon the hill, while we were walking about with Mr. Knightley. ‘You must all spend your evening with us,’ said she-‘I positively must have you all come.’” “Mr. Knightley was there too, was he?” “No, not Mr. Knightley; he declined it from the first; and though I thought he would come, because Mrs. Elton declared she would not let him off, he did not;-but my mother, and Jane, and I, were all there, and a very agreeable evening we had. Such kind friends, you know, Miss Woodhouse, one must always find agreeable, though every body seemed rather fagged after the morning’s party. Even pleasure, you know, is fatiguing-and I cannot say that any of them seemed very much to have enjoyed it. However, I shall always think it a very pleasant party, and feel extremely obliged to the kind friends who included me in it.” “Miss Fairfax, I suppose, though you were not aware of it, had been making up her mind the whole day?” “I dare say she had.” “Whenever the time may come, it must be unwelcome to her and all her friends-but I hope her engagement will have every alleviation that is possible-I mean, as to the character and manners of the family.” “Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse. Yes, indeed, there is every thing in the world that can make her happy in it. Except the Sucklings and Bragges, there is not such another nursery establishment, so liberal and elegant, in all Mrs. Elton’s acquaintance. Mrs. Smallridge, a most delightful woman!-A style of living almost equal to Maple Grove-and as to the children, except the little Sucklings and little Bragges, there are not such elegant sweet children anywhere. Jane will be treated with such regard and kindness!-It will be nothing but pleasure, a life of pleasure.-And her salary!-I really cannot venture to name her salary to you, Miss Woodhouse. Even you, used as you are to great sums, would hardly believe that so much could be given to a young person like Jane.” “Ah! madam,” cried Emma, “if other children are at all like what I remember to have been myself, I should think five times the amount of what I have ever yet heard named as a salary on such occasions, dearly earned.” “You are so noble in your ideas!” “And when is Miss Fairfax to leave you?” “Very soon, very soon, indeed; that’s the worst of it. Within a fortnight. Mrs. Smallridge is in a great hurry. My poor mother does not know how to bear it. So then, I try to put it out of her thoughts, and say, Come ma’am, do not let us think about it any more.” “Her friends must all be sorry to lose her; and will not Colonel and Mrs. Campbell be sorry to find that she has engaged herself before their return?” “Yes; Jane says she is sure they will; but yet, this is such a situation as she cannot feel herself justified in declining. I was so astonished when she first told me what she had been saying to Mrs. Elton, and when Mrs. Elton at the same moment came congratulating me upon it! It was before tea-stay-no, it could not be before tea, because we were just going to cards-and yet it was before tea, because I remember thinking-Oh! no, now I recollect, now I have it; something happened before tea, but not that. Mr. Elton was called out of the room before tea, old John Abdy’s son wanted to speak with him. Poor old John, I have a great regard for him; he was clerk to my poor father twenty-seven years; and now, poor old man, he is bed-ridden, and very poorly with the rheumatic gout in his joints-I must go and see him to-day; and so will Jane, I am sure, if she gets out at all. And poor John’s son came to talk to Mr. Elton about relief from the parish; he is very well to do himself, you know, being head man at the Crown, ostler, and every thing of that sort, but still he cannot keep his father without some help; and so, when Mr. Elton came back, he told us what John ostler had been telling him, and then it came out about the chaise having been sent to Randalls to take Mr. Frank Churchill to Richmond. That was what happened before tea. It was after tea that Jane spoke to Mrs. Elton.” Miss Bates would hardly give Emma time to say how perfectly new this circumstance was to her; but as without supposing it possible that she could be ignorant of any of the particulars of Mr. Frank Churchill’s going, she proceeded to give them all, it was of no consequence. What Mr. Elton had learned from the ostler on the subject, being the accumulation of the ostler’s own knowledge, and the knowledge of the servants at Randalls, was, that a messenger had come over from Richmond soon after the return of the party from Box Hill-which messenger, however, had been no more than was expected; and that Mr. Churchill had sent his nephew a few lines, containing, upon the whole, a tolerable account of Mrs. Churchill, and only wishing him not to delay coming back beyond the next morning early; but that Mr. Frank Churchill having resolved to go home directly, without waiting at all, and his horse seeming to have got a cold, Tom had been sent off immediately for the Crown chaise, and the ostler had stood out and seen it pass by, the boy going a good pace, and driving very steady. There was nothing in all this either to astonish or interest, and it caught Emma’s attention only as it united with the subject which already engaged her mind. The contrast between Mrs. Churchill’s importance in the world, and Jane Fairfax’s, struck her; one was every thing, the other nothing-and she sat musing on the difference of woman’s destiny, and quite unconscious on what her eyes were fixed, till roused by Miss Bates’s saying, “Aye, I see what you are thinking of, the pianoforte. What is to become of that?-Very true. Poor dear Jane was talking of it just now.-‘You must go,’ said she. ‘You and I must part. You will have no business here.-Let it stay, however,’ said she; ‘give it houseroom till Colonel Campbell comes back. I shall talk about it to him; he will settle for me; he will help me out of all my difficulties.’-And to this day, I do believe, she knows not whether it was his present or his daughter’s.” Now Emma was obliged to think of the pianoforte; and the remembrance of all her former fanciful and unfair conjectures was so little pleasing, that she soon allowed herself to believe her visit had been long enough; and, with a repetition of every thing that she could venture to say of the good wishes which she really felt, took leave. *Emma Vol III, Chapter 8*

Emma’s pensive meditations, as she walked home, were not interrupted; but on entering the parlour, she found those who must rouse her. Mr. Knightley and Harriet had arrived during her absence, and were sitting with her father.-Mr. Knightley immediately got up, and in a manner decidedly graver than usual, said, “I would not go away without seeing you, but I have no time to spare, and therefore must now be gone directly. I am going to London, to spend a few days with John and Isabella. Have you any thing to send or say, besides the ‘love,’ which nobody carries?” “Nothing at all. But is not this a sudden scheme?” “Yes-rather-I have been thinking of it some little time.” Emma was sure he had not forgiven her; he looked unlike himself. Time, however, she thought, would tell him that they ought to be friends again. While he stood, as if meaning to go, but not going-her father began his inquiries. “Well, my dear, and did you get there safely?-And how did you find my worthy old friend and her daughter?-I dare say they must have been very much obliged to you for coming. Dear Emma has been to call on Mrs. and Miss Bates, Mr. Knightley, as I told you before. She is always so attentive to them!” Emma’s colour was heightened by this unjust praise; and with a smile, and shake of the head, which spoke much, she looked at Mr. Knightley.-It seemed as if there were an instantaneous impression in her favour, as if his eyes received the truth from hers, and all that had passed of good in her feelings were at once caught and honoured.- He looked at her with a glow of regard. She was warmly gratified-and in another moment still more so, by a little movement of more than common friendliness on his part.-He took her hand;-whether she had not herself made the first motion, she could not say-she might, perhaps, have rather offered it-but he took her hand, pressed it, and certainly was on the point of carrying it to his lips-when, from some fancy or other, he suddenly let it go.-Why he should feel such a scruple, why he should change his mind when it was all but done, she could not perceive.-He would have judged better, she thought, if he had not stopped.-The intention, however, was indubitable; and whether it was that his manners had in general so little gallantry, or however else it happened, but she thought nothing became him more.-It was with him, of so simple, yet so dignified a nature.-She could not but recall the attempt with great satisfaction. It spoke such perfect amity.-He left them immediately afterwards-gone in a moment. He always moved with the alertness of a mind which could neither be undecided nor dilatory, but now he seemed more sudden than usual in his disappearance. Emma could not regret her having gone to Miss Bates, but she wished she had left her ten minutes earlier;-it would have been a great pleasure to talk over Jane Fairfax’s situation with Mr. Knightley.-Neither would she regret that he should be going to Brunswick Square, for she knew how much his visit would be enjoyed-but it might have happened at a better time-and to have had longer notice of it, would have been pleasanter.-They parted thorough friends, however; she could not be deceived as to the meaning of his countenance, and his unfinished gallantry;-it was all done to assure her that she had fully recovered his good opinion.-He had been sitting with them half an hour, she found. It was a pity that she had not come back earlier! In the hope of diverting her father’s thoughts from the disagreeableness of Mr. Knightley’s going to London; and going so suddenly; and going on horseback, which she knew would be all very bad; Emma communicated her news of Jane Fairfax, and her dependence on the effect was justified; it supplied a very useful check,-interested, without disturbing him. He had long made up his mind to Jane Fairfax’s going out as governess, and could talk of it cheerfully, but Mr. Knightley’s going to London had been an unexpected blow. “I am very glad, indeed, my dear, to hear she is to be so comfortably settled. Mrs. Elton is very good-natured and agreeable, and I dare say her acquaintance are just what they ought to be. I hope it is a dry situation, and that her health will be taken good care of. It ought to be a first object, as I am sure poor Miss Taylor’s always was with me. You know, my dear, she is going to be to this new lady what Miss Taylor was to us. And I hope she will be better off in one respect, and not be induced to go away after it has been her home so long.” *Emma Vol III, Chapter 9*

Understanding and gratification came together. It might be a very indifferent piece of wit, but Emma found a great deal to laugh at and enjoy in it-and so did Frank and Harriet.-It did not seem to touch the rest of the party equally; some looked very stupid about it, and Mr. Knightley gravely said, “This explains the sort of clever thing that is wanted, and Mr. Weston has done very well for himself; but he must have knocked up every body else. Perfection should not have come quite so soon.” “Oh! for myself, I protest I must be excused,” said Mrs. Elton; “I really cannot attempt-I am not at all fond of the sort of thing. I had an acrostic once sent to me upon my own name, which I was not at all pleased with. I knew who it came from. An abominable puppy!-You know who I mean (nodding to her husband). These kind of things are very well at Christmas, when one is sitting round the fire; but quite out of place, in my opinion, when one is exploring about the country in summer. Miss Woodhouse must excuse me. I am not one of those who have witty things at every body’s service. I do not pretend to be a wit. I have a great deal of vivacity in my own way, but I really must be allowed to judge when to speak and when to hold my tongue. Pass us, if you please, Mr. Churchill. Pass Mr. E., Knightley, Jane, and myself. We have nothing clever to say-not one of us. “Yes, yes, pray pass me,” added her husband, with a sort of sneering consciousness; “I have nothing to say that can entertain Miss Woodhouse, or any other young lady. An old married man-quite good for nothing. Shall we walk, Augusta?” “With all my heart. I am really tired of exploring so long on one spot. Come, Jane, take my other arm.” Jane declined it, however, and the husband and wife walked off. “Happy couple!” said Frank Churchill, as soon as they were out of hearing:-“How well they suit one another!-Very lucky-marrying as they did, upon an acquaintance formed only in a public place!-They only knew each other, I think, a few weeks in Bath! Peculiarly lucky!-for as to any real knowledge of a person’s disposition that Bath, or any public place, can give-it is all nothing; there can be no knowledge. It is only by seeing women in their own homes, among their own set, just as they always are, that you can form any just judgment. Short of that, it is all guess and luck-and will generally be ill-luck. How many a man has committed himself on a short acquaintance, and rued it all the rest of his life!” Miss Fairfax, who had seldom spoken before, except among her own confederates, spoke now. “Such things do occur, undoubtedly.”-She was stopped by a cough. Frank Churchill turned towards her to listen. “You were speaking,” said he, gravely. She recovered her voice. “I was only going to observe, that though such unfortunate circumstances do sometimes occur both to men and women, I cannot imagine them to be very frequent. A hasty and imprudent attachment may arise-but there is generally time to recover from it afterwards. I would be understood to mean, that it can be only weak, irresolute characters, (whose happiness must be always at the mercy of chance,) who will suffer an unfortunate acquaintance to be an inconvenience, an oppression for ever.” He made no answer; merely looked, and bowed in submission; and soon afterwards said, in a lively tone, “Well, I have so little confidence in my own judgment, that whenever I marry, I hope some body will chuse my wife for me. Will you? (turning to Emma.) Will you chuse a wife for me?-I am sure I should like any body fixed on by you. You provide for the family, you know, (with a smile at his father). Find some body for me. I am in no hurry. Adopt her, educate her.” “And make her like myself.” “By all means, if you can.” “Very well. I undertake the commission. You shall have a charming wife.” “She must be very lively, and have hazle eyes. I care for nothing else. I shall go abroad for a couple of years-and when I return, I shall come to you for my wife. Remember.” Emma was in no danger of forgetting. It was a commission to touch every favourite feeling. Would not Harriet be the very creature described? Hazle eyes excepted, two years more might make her all that he wished. He might even have Harriet in his thoughts at the moment; who could say? Referring the education to her seemed to imply it. “Now, ma’am,” said Jane to her aunt, “shall we join Mrs. Elton?” “If you please, my dear. With all my heart. I am quite ready. I was ready to have gone with her, but this will do just as well. We shall soon overtake her. There she is-no, that’s somebody else. That’s one of the ladies in the Irish car party, not at all like her.-Well, I declare-” They walked off, followed in half a minute by Mr. Knightley. Mr. Weston, his son, Emma, and Harriet, only remained; and the young man’s spirits now rose to a pitch almost unpleasant. Even Emma grew tired at last of flattery and merriment, and wished herself rather walking quietly about with any of the others, or sitting almost alone, and quite unattended to, in tranquil observation of the beautiful views beneath her. The appearance of the servants looking out for them to give notice of the carriages was a joyful sight; and even the bustle of collecting and preparing to depart, and the solicitude of Mrs. Elton to have her carriage first, were gladly endured, in the prospect of the quiet drive home which was to close the very questionable enjoyments of this day of pleasure. Such another scheme, composed of so many ill-assorted people, she hoped never to be betrayed into again. While waiting for the carriage, she found Mr. Knightley by her side. He looked around, as if to see that no one were near, and then said, “Emma, I must once more speak to you as I have been used to do: a privilege rather endured than allowed, perhaps, but I must still use it. I cannot see you acting wrong, without a remonstrance. How could you be so unfeeling to Miss Bates? How could you be so insolent in your wit to a woman of her character, age, and situation?-Emma, I had not thought it possible.” Emma recollected, blushed, was sorry, but tried to laugh it off. “Nay, how could I help saying what I did?-Nobody could have helped it. It was not so very bad. I dare say she did not understand me.” “I assure you she did. She felt your full meaning. She has talked of it since. I wish you could have heard how she talked of it-with what candour and generosity. I wish you could have heard her honouring your forbearance, in being able to pay her such attentions, as she was for ever receiving from yourself and your father, when her society must be so irksome.” “Oh!” cried Emma, “I know there is not a better creature in the world: but you must allow, that what is good and what is ridiculous are most unfortunately blended in her.” “They are blended,” said he, “I acknowledge; and, were she prosperous, I could allow much for the occasional prevalence of the ridiculous over the good. Were she a woman of fortune, I would leave every harmless absurdity to take its chance, I would not quarrel with you for any liberties of manner. Were she your equal in situation-but, Emma, consider how far this is from being the case. She is poor; she has sunk from the comforts she was born to; and, if she live to old age, must probably sink more. Her situation should secure your compassion. It was badly done, indeed! You, whom she had known from an infant, whom she had seen grow up from a period when her notice was an honour, to have you now, in thoughtless spirits, and the pride of the moment, laugh at her, humble her-and before her niece, too-and before others, many of whom (certainly some,) would be entirely guided by your treatment of her.-This is not pleasant to you, Emma-and it is very far from pleasant to me; but I must, I will,-I will tell you truths while I can; satisfied with proving myself your friend by very faithful counsel, and trusting that you will some time or other do me greater justice than you can do now.” While they talked, they were advancing towards the carriage; it was ready; and, before she could speak again, he had handed her in. He had misinterpreted the feelings which had kept her face averted, and her tongue motionless. They were combined only of anger against herself, mortification, and deep concern. She had not been able to speak; and, on entering the carriage, sunk back for a moment overcome-then reproaching herself for having taken no leave, making no acknowledgment, parting in apparent sullenness, she looked out with voice and hand eager to shew a difference; but it was just too late. He had turned away, and the horses were in motion. She continued to look back, but in vain; and soon, with what appeared unusual speed, they were half way down the hill, and every thing left far behind. She was vexed beyond what could have been expressed-almost beyond what she could conceal. Never had she felt so agitated, mortified, grieved, at any circumstance in her life. She was most forcibly struck. The truth of this representation there was no denying. She felt it at her heart. How could she have been so brutal, so cruel to Miss Bates! How could she have exposed herself to such ill opinion in any one she valued! And how suffer him to leave her without saying one word of gratitude, of concurrence, of common kindness! Time did not compose her. As she reflected more, she seemed but to feel it more. She never had been so depressed. Happily it was not necessary to speak. There was only Harriet, who seemed not in spirits herself, fagged, and very willing to be silent; and Emma felt the tears running down her cheeks almost all the way home, without being at any trouble to check them, extraordinary as they were. *Emma, Vol III, Chapter 7*

@@carolynhorn6347 Thank you so much! 😊

@@Sojourners3 Thank you so much! It was my pleasure. 😊

@@CCC-rd3gc Надеюсь, в этом видео хорошо работает опция перевода субтитров на русский язык. 🙂 Если мне не удастся включить опцию перевода субтитров для более ранних видео, я попробую создать русские субтитры с помощью перевода Гугл и загрузить их напрямую. (I hope the option of subtitle translation into Russian is working well in this video. In case I am not able to get the option of subtitle translation enabled for the earlier videos, I'll try to create Russian subtitles using Google translation and upload it directly.)

@@Love.and.Freindship всё нормально :) тем более, что я немного знаю английский и что-то корректирую в процессе просмотра видео, совмещая субтитры и звук, насколько мне помогает моё знание языка.

Да, я это поняла. Очень необычно :)

A very few days had passed after this adventure, when Harriet came one morning to Emma with a small parcel in her hand, and after sitting down and hesitating, thus began: “Miss Woodhouse-if you are at leisure-I have something that I should like to tell you-a sort of confession to make-and then, you know, it will be over.” Emma was a good deal surprized; but begged her to speak. There was a seriousness in Harriet’s manner which prepared her, quite as much as her words, for something more than ordinary. “It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish,” she continued, “to have no reserves with you on this subject. As I am happily quite an altered creature in one respect, it is very fit that you should have the satisfaction of knowing it. I do not want to say more than is necessary-I am too much ashamed of having given way as I have done, and I dare say you understand me.” “Yes,” said Emma, “I hope I do.” “How I could so long a time be fancying myself!...” cried Harriet, warmly. “It seems like madness! I can see nothing at all extraordinary in him now.-I do not care whether I meet him or not-except that of the two I had rather not see him-and indeed I would go any distance round to avoid him-but I do not envy his wife in the least; I neither admire her nor envy her, as I have done: she is very charming, I dare say, and all that, but I think her very ill-tempered and disagreeable-I shall never forget her look the other night!-However, I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, I wish her no evil.-No, let them be ever so happy together, it will not give me another moment’s pang: and to convince you that I have been speaking truth, I am now going to destroy-what I ought to have destroyed long ago-what I ought never to have kept-I know that very well (blushing as she spoke).-However, now I will destroy it all-and it is my particular wish to do it in your presence, that you may see how rational I am grown. Cannot you guess what this parcel holds?” said she, with a conscious look. “Not the least in the world.-Did he ever give you any thing?” “No-I cannot call them gifts; but they are things that I have valued very much.” She held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the words Most precious treasures on the top. Her curiosity was greatly excited. Harriet unfolded the parcel, and she looked on with impatience. Within abundance of silver paper was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box, which Harriet opened: it was well lined with the softest cotton; but, excepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of court-plaister. “Now,” said Harriet, “you must recollect.” “No, indeed I do not.” “Dear me! I should not have thought it possible you could forget what passed in this very room about court-plaister, one of the very last times we ever met in it!-It was but a very few days before I had my sore throat-just before Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley came-I think the very evening.-Do not you remember his cutting his finger with your new penknife, and your recommending court-plaister?-But, as you had none about you, and knew I had, you desired me to supply him; and so I took mine out and cut him a piece; but it was a great deal too large, and he cut it smaller, and kept playing some time with what was left, before he gave it back to me. And so then, in my nonsense, I could not help making a treasure of it-so I put it by never to be used, and looked at it now and then as a great treat.” “My dearest Harriet!” cried Emma, putting her hand before her face, and jumping up, “you make me more ashamed of myself than I can bear. Remember it? Aye, I remember it all now; all, except your saving this relic-I knew nothing of that till this moment-but the cutting the finger, and my recommending court-plaister, and saying I had none about me!-Oh! my sins, my sins!-And I had plenty all the while in my pocket!-One of my senseless tricks!-I deserve to be under a continual blush all the rest of my life.-Well-(sitting down again)-go on-what else?” “And had you really some at hand yourself? I am sure I never suspected it, you did it so naturally.” “And so you actually put this piece of court-plaister by for his sake!” said Emma, recovering from her state of shame and feeling divided between wonder and amusement. And secretly she added to herself, “Lord bless me! when should I ever have thought of putting by in cotton a piece of court-plaister that Frank Churchill had been pulling about! I never was equal to this.” “Here,” resumed Harriet, turning to her box again, “here is something still more valuable, I mean that has been more valuable, because this is what did really once belong to him, which the court-plaister never did.” Emma was quite eager to see this superior treasure. It was the end of an old pencil,-the part without any lead. “This was really his,” said Harriet.-“Do not you remember one morning?-no, I dare say you do not. But one morning-I forget exactly the day-but perhaps it was the Tuesday or Wednesday before that evening, he wanted to make a memorandum in his pocket-book; it was about spruce-beer. Mr. Knightley had been telling him something about brewing spruce-beer, and he wanted to put it down; but when he took out his pencil, there was so little lead that he soon cut it all away, and it would not do, so you lent him another, and this was left upon the table as good for nothing. But I kept my eye on it; and, as soon as I dared, caught it up, and never parted with it again from that moment.” “I do remember it,” cried Emma; “I perfectly remember it.-Talking about spruce-beer.-Oh! yes-Mr. Knightley and I both saying we liked it, and Mr. Elton’s seeming resolved to learn to like it too. I perfectly remember it.-Stop; Mr. Knightley was standing just here, was not he? I have an idea he was standing just here.” “Ah! I do not know. I cannot recollect.-It is very odd, but I cannot recollect.-Mr. Elton was sitting here, I remember, much about where I am now.”- “Well, go on.” “Oh! that’s all. I have nothing more to shew you, or to say-except that I am now going to throw them both behind the fire, and I wish you to see me do it.” “My poor dear Harriet! and have you actually found happiness in treasuring up these things?” “Yes, simpleton as I was!-but I am quite ashamed of it now, and wish I could forget as easily as I can burn them. It was very wrong of me, you know, to keep any remembrances, after he was married. I knew it was-but had not resolution enough to part with them.” “But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court-plaister?-I have not a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the court-plaister might be useful.” “I shall be happier to burn it,” replied Harriet. “It has a disagreeable look to me. I must get rid of every thing.-There it goes, and there is an end, thank Heaven! of Mr. Elton.” “And when,” thought Emma, “will there be a beginning of Mr. Churchill?” *_Emma, Vol III, Chapter 4_*

She had soon afterwards reason to believe that the beginning was already made, and could not but hope that the gipsy, though she had told no fortune, might be proved to have made Harriet’s.-About a fortnight after the alarm, they came to a sufficient explanation, and quite undesignedly. Emma was not thinking of it at the moment, which made the information she received more valuable. She merely said, in the course of some trivial chat, “Well, Harriet, whenever you marry I would advise you to do so and so”-and thought no more of it, till after a minute’s silence she heard Harriet say in a very serious tone, “I shall never marry.” Emma then looked up, and immediately saw how it was; and after a moment’s debate, as to whether it should pass unnoticed or not, replied, “Never marry!-This is a new resolution.” “It is one that I shall never change, however.” After another short hesitation, “I hope it does not proceed from-I hope it is not in compliment to Mr. Elton?” “Mr. Elton indeed!” cried Harriet indignantly.-“Oh! no”-and Emma could just catch the words, “so superior to Mr. Elton!” She then took a longer time for consideration. Should she proceed no farther?-should she let it pass, and seem to suspect nothing?-Perhaps Harriet might think her cold or angry if she did; or perhaps if she were totally silent, it might only drive Harriet into asking her to hear too much; and against any thing like such an unreserve as had been, such an open and frequent discussion of hopes and chances, she was perfectly resolved.-She believed it would be wiser for her to say and know at once, all that she meant to say and know. Plain dealing was always best. She had previously determined how far she would proceed, on any application of the sort; and it would be safer for both, to have the judicious law of her own brain laid down with speed.-She was decided, and thus spoke- “Harriet, I will not affect to be in doubt of your meaning. Your resolution, or rather your expectation of never marrying, results from an idea that the person whom you might prefer, would be too greatly your superior in situation to think of you. Is not it so?” “Oh! Miss Woodhouse, believe me I have not the presumption to suppose- Indeed I am not so mad.-But it is a pleasure to me to admire him at a distance-and to think of his infinite superiority to all the rest of the world, with the gratitude, wonder, and veneration, which are so proper, in me especially.” “I am not at all surprized at you, Harriet. The service he rendered you was enough to warm your heart.” “Service! oh! it was such an inexpressible obligation!-The very recollection of it, and all that I felt at the time-when I saw him coming-his noble look-and my wretchedness before. Such a change! In one moment such a change! From perfect misery to perfect happiness!” “It is very natural. It is natural, and it is honourable.-Yes, honourable, I think, to chuse so well and so gratefully.-But that it will be a fortunate preference is more than I can promise. I do not advise you to give way to it, Harriet. I do not by any means engage for its being returned. Consider what you are about. Perhaps it will be wisest in you to check your feelings while you can: at any rate do not let them carry you far, unless you are persuaded of his liking you. Be observant of him. Let his behaviour be the guide of your sensations. I give you this caution now, because I shall never speak to you again on the subject. I am determined against all interference. Henceforward I know nothing of the matter. Let no name ever pass our lips. We were very wrong before; we will be cautious now.-He is your superior, no doubt, and there do seem objections and obstacles of a very serious nature; but yet, Harriet, more wonderful things have taken place, there have been matches of greater disparity. But take care of yourself. I would not have you too sanguine; though, however it may end, be assured your raising your thoughts to him, is a mark of good taste which I shall always know how to value.” Harriet kissed her hand in silent and submissive gratitude. Emma was very decided in thinking such an attachment no bad thing for her friend. Its tendency would be to raise and refine her mind-and it must be saving her from the danger of degradation. *_Emma, Vol III, Chapter 4_*