Austen Said:

was unexpectedly summoned to town and must be absent on the very day. He might be able to join them in the evening, but certainly not to dinner.

Mrs. Elton, as elegant as lace and pearls could make her,

only to observe enough for Isabella's information— but Miss Fairfax was an old acquaintance and a quiet girl, and he could talk to her.

he had done his duty, and made every fair lady welcome and easy.

to be allowed to hand her into the dining-parlour,

He had returned to a late dinner, and walked to Hartfield as soon as it was over.

That a man who might have spent his evening quietly at home after a day of business in London, should set off again, and walk half a mile to another man's house, for the sake of being in mixed company till bed-time, of finishing his day in the efforts of civility and the noise of numbers,

A man who had been in motion since eight o'clock in the morning, and might now have been still, who had been long talking, and might have been silent, who had been in more than one crowd, and might have been alone!—Such a man, to quit the tranquillity and independence of his own fireside, and on the evening of a cold sleety April day rush out again into the world!—

Could he by a touch of his finger have instantly taken back his wife, there would have been a motive; but his coming would probably prolong rather than break up the party.

he had not the smallest doubt of being highly interesting to every body in the room.

it was from Frank, and to herself; he had met with it in his way, and had taken the liberty of opening it.

He was often hoping, intending to come —but was always prevented. His aunt could not bear to have him leave her.

Though much might be fancy, he could not doubt, when he looked back, that she was in a weaker state of health than she had been half a year ago. He did not believe it to proceed from any thing that care and medicine might not remove, or at least that she might not have many years of existence before her;

It was the very circumstance he could have wished for. Now, it would be really having Frank in their neighbourhood. What were nine miles to a young man?—An hour's ride. He would be always coming over. The difference in that respect of Richmond and London was enough to make the whole difference of seeing him always and seeing him never. Sixteen miles— — nay, eighteen — —it must be full eighteen to Manchester-street —was a serious obstacle. Were he ever able to get away, the day would be spent in coming and returning. There was no comfort in having him in London; he might as well be at Enscombe; but Richmond was the very distance for easy intercourse. Better than nearer!

his aunt felt already much better for the change, and

he had no doubt of being able to join them for twenty-four hours at any given time,

neither dear little Henry nor dear little John would have any thing the matter with them, while dear Emma were gone.

an engaged man,

it had been unpardonable rudeness;

he could not allow himself the pleasure of stopping at Hartfield, as he was to be at home by the middle of the day.

By a most fortunate chance his leaving Highbury had been delayed so as to bring him to her assistance at this critical moment. The pleasantness of the morning had induced him to walk forward, and leave his horses to meet him by another road, a mile or two beyond Highbury— and happening to have borrowed a pair of scissors the night before of Miss Bates, and to have forgotten to restore them, he had been obliged to stop at her door, and go in for a few minutes: he was therefore later than he had intended; and being on foot, was unseen by the whole party till almost close to them. The terror which the woman and boy had been creating in Harriet was then their own portion.

He had left them completely frightened; and Harriet eagerly clinging to him, and hardly able to speak, had just strength enough to reach Hartfield, before her spirits were quite overcome. It was his idea to bring her to Hartfield: he had thought of no other place.

He dared not stay longer than to see her well; these several delays left him not another minute to lose;

their promising never to go beyond the shrubbery again.

they were all very indifferent—

the story of Harriet and the gipsies,

That Emma was his object appeared indisputable. Every thing declared it; his own attentions, his father's hints, his mother-in-law's guarded silence; it was all in unison; words, conduct, discretion, and indiscretion, told the same story.

suspect him of some inclination to trifle with Jane Fairfax.

He could not understand it; but there were symptoms of intelligence between them— he thought so at least —symptoms of admiration on his side, which, having once observed, he could not persuade himself to think entirely void of meaning, however he might wish to escape any of Emma's errors of imagination.

there being a something of private liking, of private understanding even, between Frank Churchill and Jane.

How the delicacy, the discretion of his favourite could have been so lain asleep!

He feared there must be some decided involvement. Disingenuousness and double dealing

at every turn. These letters were but the vehicle for gallantry and trick. It was a child's play, chosen to conceal a deeper game on Frank Churchill's part.

he must —yes, he certainly must, as a friend— an anxious friend— give Emma some hint, ask her some question. He could not see her in a situation of such danger, without trying to preserve her. It was his duty.

Interference— fruitless interference.

Yet he would speak. He owed it to her, to risk any thing that might be involved in an unwelcome interference, rather than her welfare; to encounter any thing, rather than the remembrance of neglect in such a cause.

he had been proposing to Mrs. Elton, as her brother and sister had failed her, that the two parties should unite, and go together;

as Mrs. Elton had very readily acceded to it, so it was to be, if she had no objection.

Mr. Woodhouse must not, under the specious pretence of a morning drive, and an hour or two spent at Donwell, be tempted away to his misery.

to get Frank over to join them, if possible;

he should be glad to see him;

Mrs. Weston had been shewing them all to him, and now he would shew them all to Emma;—

He had been detained by a temporary increase of illness in her; a nervous seizure, which had lasted some hours—and he had quite given up every thought of coming, till very late;—and had he known how hot a ride he should have, and how late, with all his hurry, he must be, he believed he should not have come at all. The heat was excessive; he had never suffered any thing like it— almost wished he had staid at home— nothing killed him like heat— he could bear any degree of cold, etc., but heat was intolerable—

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.

Mr. Churchill was better than could be expected; and their first removal, on the departure of the funeral for Yorkshire, was to be to the house of a very old friend in Windsor, to whom Mr. Churchill had been promising a visit the last ten years.

she was suffering under severe headaches, and a nervous fever to a degree, which made him doubt the possibility of her going to Mrs. Smallridge's at the time proposed. Her health seemed for the moment completely deranged —appetite quite gone— and though there were no absolutely alarming symptoms, nothing touching the pulmonary complaint, which was the standing apprehension of the family, Mr. Perry was uneasy about her. He thought she had undertaken more than she was equal to, and that she felt it so herself, though she would not own it. Her spirits seemed overcome. Her present home, he could not but observe, was unfavourable to a nervous disorder:—confined always to one room;—he could have wished it otherwise— and her good aunt, though his very old friend, he must acknowledge to be not the best companion for an invalid of that description. Her care and attention could not be questioned; they were, in fact, only too great. He very much feared that Miss Fairfax derived more evil than good from them.

they were all well.—

Only that morning.

Yes.—

He had despaired at one period; he had received such an injunction to caution and silence, as for the time crushed every hope;—she had begun by refusing to hear him.—The change had perhaps been somewhat sudden;—her proposal of taking another turn, her renewing the conversation which she had just put an end to, might be a little extraordinary!—