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This was obliged to be repeated before it could be believed; and Mr. Knightley actually looked red with surprize and displeasure, as he stood up, in tall indignation, and said,. What is the foolish girl about? A man always imagines a woman to be ready for any body who asks her. But what is the meaning of this? Harriet Smith refuse Robert Martin? Emma, this is your doing. You persuaded her to refuse him. By your account, he does seem to have had some scruples.

It is a pity that they were ever got over. Emma, your infatuation about that girl blinds you. She is the natural daughter of nobody knows whom, with probably no settled provision at all, and certainly no respectable relations.

She is known only as parlour-boarder at a common school. She is not a sensible girl, nor a girl of any information. She has been taught nothing useful, and is too young and too simple to have acquired any thing herself.

At her age she can have no experience, and with her little wit, is not very likely ever to have any that can avail her. She is pretty, and she is good tempered, and that is all. My only scruple in advising the match was on his account, as being beneath his deserts, and a bad connexion for him.

I felt that, as to fortune, in all probability he might do much better; and that as to a rational companion or useful helpmate, he could not do worse.

But I could not reason so to a man in love, and was willing to trust to there being no harm in her, to her having that sort of disposition, which, in good hands, like his, might be easily led aright and turn out very well. The advantage of the match I felt to be all on her side; and had not the smallest doubt nor have I now that there would be a general cry-out upon her extreme good luck.

Even your satisfaction I made sure of. Martin is nothing more, a good match for my intimate friend! Not regret her leaving Highbury for the sake of marrying a man whom I could never admit as an acquaintance of my own! I wonder you should think it possible for me to have such feelings. I assure you mine are very different. I must think your statement by no means fair. They would be estimated very differently by others as well as myself; Mr.

Martin may be the richest of the two, but he is undoubtedly her inferior as to rank in society. She is not to pay for the offence of others, by being held below the level of those with whom she is brought up. After receiving a very indifferent education she is left in Mrs. Her friends evidently thought this good enough for her; and it was good enough.

She desired nothing better herself. Till you chose to turn her into a friend, her mind had no distaste for her own set, nor any ambition beyond it. She was as happy as possible with the Martins in the summer. She had no sense of superiority then. If she has it now, you have given it. You have been no friend to Harriet Smith, Emma. Robert Martin would never have proceeded so far, if he had not felt persuaded of her not being disinclined to him. I know him well.

He has too much real feeling to address any woman on the haphazard of selfish passion. And as to conceit, he is the farthest from it of any man I know. Depend upon it he had encouragement. It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct reply to this assertion; she chose rather to take up her own line of the subject again.

Martin; but, as I said before, are unjust to Harriet. She is not a clever girl, but she has better sense than you are aware of, and does not deserve to have her understanding spoken of so slightingly.

Waiving that point, however, and supposing her to be, as you describe her, only pretty and good-natured, let me tell you, that in the degree she possesses them, they are not trivial recommendations to the world in general, for she is, in fact, a beautiful girl, and must be thought so by ninety-nine people out of an hundred; and till it appears that men are much more philosophic on the subject of beauty than they are generally supposed; till they do fall in love with well-informed minds instead of handsome faces, a girl, with such loveliness as Harriet, has a certainty of being admired and sought after, of having the power of chusing from among many, consequently a claim to be nice.

Her good-nature, too, is not so very slight a claim, comprehending, as it does, real, thorough sweetness of temper and manner, a very humble opinion of herself, and a great readiness to be pleased with other people.

I am very much mistaken if your sex in general would not think such beauty, and such temper, the highest claims a woman could possess. Better be without sense, than misapply it as you do. I know that such a girl as Harriet is exactly what every man delights in—what at once bewitches his senses and satisfies his judgment. Harriet may pick and chuse. Were you, yourself, ever to marry, she is the very woman for you. And is she, at seventeen, just entering into life, just beginning to be known, to be wondered at because she does not accept the first offer she receives?

No—pray let her have time to look about her. You will puff her up with such ideas of her own beauty, and of what she has a claim to, that, in a little while, nobody within her reach will be good enough for her. Vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief.

Nothing so easy as for a young lady to raise her expectations too high. Miss Harriet Smith may not find offers of marriage flow in so fast, though she is a very pretty girl. Men of sense, whatever you may chuse to say, do not want silly wives. Men of family would not be very fond of connecting themselves with a girl of such obscurity—and most prudent men would be afraid of the inconvenience and disgrace they might be involved in, when the mystery of her parentage came to be revealed.

Let her marry Robert Martin, and she is safe, respectable, and happy for ever; but if you encourage her to expect to marry greatly, and teach her to be satisfied with nothing less than a man of consequence and large fortune, she may be a parlour-boarder at Mrs. Knightley, that there can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only be making each other more angry.

But as to my letting her marry Robert Martin, it is impossible; she has refused him, and so decidedly, I think, as must prevent any second application. She must abide by the evil of having refused him, whatever it may be; and as to the refusal itself, I will not pretend to say that I might not influence her a little; but I assure you there was very little for me or for any body to do. His appearance is so much against him, and his manner so bad, that if she ever were disposed to favour him, she is not now.

I can imagine, that before she had seen any body superior, she might tolerate him. He was the brother of her friends, and he took pains to please her; and altogether, having seen nobody better that must have been his great assistant she might not, while she was at Abbey-Mill, find him disagreeable.

But the case is altered now. She knows now what gentlemen are; and nothing but a gentleman in education and manner has any chance with Harriet. Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully unconcerned, but was really feeling uncomfortable and wanting him very much to be gone. She did not repent what she had done; she still thought herself a better judge of such a point of female right and refinement than he could be; but yet she had a sort of habitual respect for his judgment in general, which made her dislike having it so loudly against her; and to have him sitting just opposite to her in angry state, was very disagreeable.

He was thinking. The result of his thoughts appeared at last in these words. Your views for Harriet are best known to yourself; but as you make no secret of your love of match-making, it is fair to suppose that views, and plans, and projects you have;—and as a friend I shall just hint to you that if Elton is the man, I think it will be all labour in vain.

Elton is a very good sort of man, and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likely to make an imprudent match. He knows the value of a good income as well as any body. Elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally. He knows that he is a very handsome young man, and a great favourite wherever he goes; and from his general way of talking in unreserved moments, when there are only men present, I am convinced that he does not mean to throw himself away.

I have heard him speak with great animation of a large family of young ladies that his sisters are intimate with, who have all twenty thousand pounds apiece. I have done with match-making indeed. I could never hope to equal my own doings at Randalls. I shall leave off while I am well. He was very much vexed.

He felt the disappointment of the young man, and was mortified to have been the means of promoting it, by the sanction he had given; and the part which he was persuaded Emma had taken in the affair, was provoking him exceedingly. He walked off in more complete self-approbation than he left for her.

She was not so materially cast down, however, but that a little time and the return of Harriet were very adequate restoratives. The dread of such a failure after all became the prominent uneasiness; and when Harriet appeared, and in very good spirits, and without having any such reason to give for her long absence, she felt a satisfaction which settled her with her own mind, and convinced her, that let Mr.

He had frightened her a little about Mr. Elton; but when she considered that Mr. Knightley could not have observed him as she had done, neither with the interest, nor she must be allowed to tell herself, in spite of Mr. He certainly might have heard Mr.

Elton speak with more unreserve than she had ever done, and Mr. Elton might not be of an imprudent, inconsiderate disposition as to money matters; he might naturally be rather attentive than otherwise to them; but then, Mr. Knightley did not make due allowance for the influence of a strong passion at war with all interested motives. Knightley saw no such passion, and of course thought nothing of its effects; but she saw too much of it to feel a doubt of its overcoming any hesitations that a reasonable prudence might originally suggest; and more than a reasonable, becoming degree of prudence, she was very sure did not belong to Mr.

Martin, but to talk of Mr. Miss Nash had been telling her something, which she repeated immediately with great delight. Perry had been to Mrs. Elton, and found to his great surprize, that Mr.

Elton was actually on his road to London, and not meaning to return till the morrow, though it was the whist-club night, which he had been never known to miss before; and Mr. Perry had remonstrated with him about it, and told him how shabby it was in him, their best player, to absent himself, and tried very much to persuade him to put off his journey only one day; but it would not do; Mr.

Elton had been determined to go on, and had said in a very particular way indeed, that he was going on business which he would not put off for any inducement in the world; and something about a very enviable commission, and being the bearer of something exceedingly precious.

Perry could not quite understand him, but he was very sure there must be a lady in the case, and he told him so; and Mr. Elton only looked very conscious and smiling, and rode off in great spirits.

Miss Nash had told her all this, and had talked a great deal more about Mr. Elton could prefer, she should think the luckiest woman in the world; for, beyond a doubt, Mr.

Elton had not his equal for beauty or agreeableness. Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma could not quarrel with herself. He was so much displeased, that it was longer than usual before he came to Hartfield again; and when they did meet, his grave looks shewed that she was not forgiven.

She was sorry, but could not repent. On the contrary, her plans and proceedings were more and more justified and endeared to her by the general appearances of the next few days.

The Picture, elegantly framed, came safely to hand soon after Mr. Emma was soon perfectly satisfied of Mr. Elton, of the utmost advantage to the latter. In this age of literature, such collections on a very grand scale are not uncommon. Miss Nash, head-teacher at Mrs.

Emma assisted with her invention, memory and taste; and as Harriet wrote a very pretty hand, it was likely to be an arrangement of the first order, in form as well as quantity.

Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the business as the girls, and tried very often to recollect something worth their putting in. His good friend Perry, too, whom he had spoken to on the subject, did not at present recollect any thing of the riddle kind; but he had desired Perry to be upon the watch, and as he went about so much, something, he thought, might come from that quarter.

Elton was the only one whose assistance she asked. He was invited to contribute any really good enigmas, charades, or conundrums that he might recollect; and she had the pleasure of seeing him most intently at work with his recollections; and at the same time, as she could perceive, most earnestly careful that nothing ungallant, nothing that did not breathe a compliment to the sex should pass his lips. They owed to him their two or three politest puzzles; and the joy and exultation with which at last he recalled, and rather sentimentally recited, that well-known charade,.

The stupidest fellow! The very next day however produced some proof of inspiration. He called for a few moments, just to leave a piece of paper on the table containing, as he said, a charade, which a friend of his had addressed to a young lady, the object of his admiration, but which, from his manner, Emma was immediately convinced must be his own.

The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which Emma could understand. Take your own. But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not touch it; and Emma, never loth to be first, was obliged to examine it herself.

My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings, Lords of the earth! Another view of man, my second brings, Behold him there, the monarch of the seas! But ah! Thy ready wit the word will soon supply, May its approval beam in that soft eye!

Elton, very well indeed. I have read worse charades. Courtship —a very good hint. I give you credit for it. This is feeling your way. Approve my charade and my intentions in the same glance. Harriet exactly. Soft is the very word for her eye—of all epithets, the justest that could be given. All the better. A man must be very much in love, indeed, to describe her so. Knightley, I wish you had the benefit of this; I think this would convince you.

For once in your life you would be obliged to own yourself mistaken. An excellent charade indeed! Things must come to a crisis soon now. I have not an idea—I cannot guess it in the least. What can it possibly be? Do try to find it out, Miss Woodhouse.

Do help me. I never saw any thing so hard. Is it kingdom? I wonder who the friend was—and who could be the young lady. Do you think it is a good one? Can it be woman? Or a trident? Oh, no! It must be very clever, or he would not have brought it. Miss Woodhouse, do you think we shall ever find it out? My dear Harriet, what are you thinking of? Where would be the use of his bringing us a charade made by a friend upon a mermaid or a shark?

Give me the paper and listen. Another view of man, my second brings; Behold him there, the monarch of the seas! Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. A very proper compliment! Read it in comfort to yourself. There can be no doubt of its being written for you and to you. Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion. She read the concluding lines, and was all flutter and happiness. She could not speak. But she was not wanted to speak. It was enough for her to feel.

Emma spoke for her. You are his object—and you will soon receive the completest proof of it. I thought it must be so. I thought I could not be so deceived; but now, it is clear; the state of his mind is as clear and decided, as my wishes on the subject have been ever since I knew you. Yes, Harriet, just so long have I been wanting the very circumstance to happen that has happened. I could never tell whether an attachment between you and Mr. Elton were most desirable or most natural. Its probability and its eligibility have really so equalled each other!

I am very happy. I congratulate you, my dear Harriet, with all my heart. This is an attachment which a woman may well feel pride in creating. This is a connexion which offers nothing but good. It will give you every thing that you want—consideration, independence, a proper home—it will fix you in the centre of all your real friends, close to Hartfield and to me, and confirm our intimacy for ever.

This, Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush in either of us. It is so much beyond any thing I deserve. Elton, who might marry any body! There cannot be two opinions about him. He is so very superior. It is a certainty. Receive it on my judgment. It is a sort of prologue to the play, a motto to the chapter; and will be soon followed by matter-of-fact prose. I am sure, a month ago, I had no more idea myself! Eltons get acquainted—they do indeed—and really it is strange; it is out of the common course that what is so evidently, so palpably desirable—what courts the pre-arrangement of other people, should so immediately shape itself into the proper form.

You and Mr. Elton are by situation called together; you belong to one another by every circumstance of your respective homes. Your marrying will be equal to the match at Randalls. There does seem to be a something in the air of Hartfield which gives love exactly the right direction, and sends it into the very channel where it ought to flow.

A Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a long note on that passage. Elton should really be in love with me,—me, of all people, who did not know him, to speak to him, at Michaelmas!

And he, the very handsomest man that ever was, and a man that every body looks up to, quite like Mr. His company so sought after, that every body says he need not eat a single meal by himself if he does not chuse it; that he has more invitations than there are days in the week. And so excellent in the Church! Miss Nash has put down all the texts he has ever preached from since he came to Highbury.

Dear me! When I look back to the first time I saw him! How little did I think! And how beautiful we thought he looked! He was arm-in-arm with Mr. If they are anxious to see you happily married, here is a man whose amiable character gives every assurance of it;—if they wish to have you settled in the same country and circle which they have chosen to place you in, here it will be accomplished; and if their only object is that you should, in the common phrase, be well married, here is the comfortable fortune, the respectable establishment, the rise in the world which must satisfy them.

How nicely you talk; I love to hear you. You understand every thing. Elton are one as clever as the other. This charade!

Such things in general cannot be too short. Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most satisfactory comparisons were rising in her mind.

Miss Woodhouse, what can we do about that? You do nothing. He will be here this evening, I dare say, and then I will give it him back, and some nonsense or other will pass between us, and you shall not be committed. Trust to me. Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not write this beautiful charade into my book! I am sure I have not got one half so good. Granted;—for private enjoyment; and for private enjoyment keep them. They are not at all the less written you know, because you divide them.

The couplet does not cease to be, nor does its meaning change. But take it away, and all appropriation ceases, and a very pretty gallant charade remains, fit for any collection.

Depend upon it, he would not like to have his charade slighted, much better than his passion. A poet in love must be encouraged in both capacities, or neither. Give me the book, I will write it down, and then there can be no possible reflection on you. Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly separate the parts, so as to feel quite sure that her friend were not writing down a declaration of love.

It seemed too precious an offering for any degree of publicity. But here is my father coming: you will not object to my reading the charade to him. It will be giving him so much pleasure! He loves any thing of the sort, and especially any thing that pays woman a compliment. He has the tenderest spirit of gallantry towards us all! Do not be overpowered by such a little tribute of admiration. If he had been anxious for secrecy, he would not have left the paper while I was by; but he rather pushed it towards me than towards you.

Do not let us be too solemn on the business. He has encouragement enough to proceed, without our sighing out our souls over this charade. A piece of paper was found on the table this morning— dropt, we suppose, by a fairy —containing a very pretty charade, and we have just copied it in.

She read it to him, just as he liked to have any thing read, slowly and distinctly, and two or three times over, with explanations of every part as she proceeded—and he was very much pleased, and, as she had foreseen, especially struck with the complimentary conclusion. Very true. Emma only nodded, and smiled. Your dear mother was so clever at all those things! If I had but her memory! But I can remember nothing;—not even that particular riddle which you have heard me mention; I can only recollect the first stanza; and there are several.

Sorrow came—a gentle sorrow—but not at all in the shape of any disagreeable consciousness. It was Miss Taylor's loss which first brought grief. It was on the wedding-day of this beloved friend that Emma first sat in mournful thought of any continuance. The wedding over, and the bride-people gone, her father and herself were left to dine together, with no prospect of a third to cheer a long evening. Her father composed himself to sleep after dinner, as usual, and she had then only to sit and think of what she had lost.

The event had every promise of happiness for her friend. Weston was a man of unexceptionable character, easy fortune, suitable age, and pleasant manners; and there was some satisfaction in considering with what self-denying, generous friendship she had always wished and promoted the match; but it was a black morning's work for her.

The want of Miss Taylor would be felt every hour of every day. She recalled her past kindness—the kindness, the affection of sixteen years—how she had taught and how she had played with her from five years old—how she had devoted all her powers to attach and amuse her in health—and how nursed her through the various illnesses of childhood.

She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate, indulgent father; and had, in consequence of her sister's marriage, been mistress of his house from a very early period. Her mother had died too long ago for her to have more than an indistinct remembrance of her caresses; and her place had been supplied by an excellent woman as governess, who had fallen little short of a mother in affection.

Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in Mr. Woodhouse's family, less as a governess than a friend, very fond of both daughters, but particularly of Emma. Between them it was more the intimacy of sisters.

Even before Miss Taylor had ceased to hold the nominal office of governess, the mildness of her temper had hardly allowed her to impose any restraint; and the shadow of authority being now long passed away, they had been living together as friend and friend very mutually attached, and Emma doing just what she liked; highly esteeming Miss Taylor's judgment, but directed chiefly by her own. The real evils, indeed, of Emma's situation were the power of having rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too well of herself; these were the disadvantages which threatened alloy to her many enjoyments.

The danger, however, was at present so unperceived, that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her. Sorrow came—a gentle sorrow—but not at all in the shape of any disagreeable consciousness. It was Miss Taylor's loss which first brought grief.

It was on the wedding-day of this beloved friend that Emma first sat in mournful thought of any continuance. The wedding over, and the bride-people gone, her father and herself were left to dine together, with no prospect of a third to cheer a long evening.

Her father composed himself to sleep after dinner, as usual, and she had then only to sit and think of what she had lost. The event had every promise of happiness for her friend. Emma Jane Austen, Copyright notice These books are published in Australia and are out of copyright here. Connect your Kindle device with your computer using a USB cable.

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