Austen Said:

"Very well— and as Randalls, I suppose, is not likely to have less influence than heretofore, it strikes me as a possible thing, Emma, that Henry and John may be sometimes in the way. And if they are, I only beg you to send them home."

"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."

"It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish,"

"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."

"How I could so long a time be fancying myself!..."

"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

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?"

"No —I cannot call them gifts; but they are things that I have valued very much."

"Now,"

"you must recollect."

"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."

"And had you really some at hand yourself? I am sure I never suspected it, you did it so naturally."

"Here,"

"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."

"This was really his,"

"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."

"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."—

"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."

"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."

"I shall be happier to burn it,"

"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."

"I shall never marry."

"It is one that I shall never change, however."

"Mr. Elton indeed!"

"Oh! no"—

"so superior to Mr. Elton!"

"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."

"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!"

"Well, Miss Woodhouse!"

"is not this the oddest news that ever was?"

"About Jane Fairfax. Did you ever hear any thing so strange? Oh!—you need not be afraid of owning it to me, for Mr. Weston has told me himself. I met him just now.

He told me

and, therefore, I should not think of mentioning it to any body but you, but he said you knew it."

"Oh!

he told me all about it; that

that

How very odd!"

"Had you any idea,"

"of his being in love with her?—You, perhaps, might.—You

who can see into every body's heart; but nobody else—"

"Me!"

"Why should you caution me?—You do not think I care about Mr. Frank Churchill."

"Him!—never, never. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how could you so mistake me?"

"I should not have thought it possible,"

"that you could have misunderstood me! I know we agreed never to name him—but considering how infinitely superior he is to every body else, I should not have thought it possible that I could be supposed to mean any other person. Mr. Frank Churchill, indeed! I do not know who would ever look at him in the company of the other. I hope I have a better taste than to think of Mr. Frank Churchill, who is like nobody by his side. And that you should have been so mistaken, is amazing!—I am sure, but for believing that you entirely approved and meant to encourage me in my attachment, I should have considered it at first too great a presumption almost, to dare to think of him. At first,

if you had not told me that

that

(those were your very words);—I should not have dared to give way to— I should not have thought it possible— But if you, who had been always acquainted with him —"

"To be sure I am. I never could have an idea of any body else—and so I thought you knew. When we talked about him, it was as clear as possible."

"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how you do forget!"