Austen Said:

And now, poor girl! she was considerably worse from this reappearance of Mr. Elton. She was always having a glimpse of him somewhere or other.

Absolute neglect of the mother and sisters, when invited to come, would be ingratitude. It must not be: and yet the danger of a renewal of the acquaintance—!

it must be done, or what would become of Harriet?

how justly they might resent, how naturally Harriet must suffer. It was a bad business. She would have given a great deal, or endured a great deal, to have had the Martins in a higher rank of life.

They were so deserving, that a little higher should have been enough: but as it was, how could she have done otherwise?—Impossible!—She could not repent.

They must be separated; but there was a great deal of pain in the process—

he knew how to make himself agreeable;

That he should never have been able to indulge so amiable a feeling before,

whether the same suspicion of what might be expected from their knowing each other, which had taken strong possession of her mind, had ever crossed his;

whether his compliments were to be considered as marks of acquiescence, or proofs of defiance.

If he were deficient there, nothing should make amends for it.

It was not merely in fine words or hyperbolical compliment that he paid his duty; nothing could be more proper or pleasing than his whole manner to her —nothing could more agreeably denote his wish of considering her as a friend and securing her affection.

with such feelings as were now shewn, it could not be fairly supposed that he had been ever voluntarily absenting himself; that he had not been acting a part, or making a parade of insincere professions; and that Mr. Knightley certainly had not done him justice.

He seemed to have all the life and spirit, cheerful feelings, and social inclinations of his father, and nothing of the pride or reserve of Enscombe. Of pride, indeed, there was, perhaps, scarcely enough; his indifference to a confusion of rank, bordered too much on inelegance of mind. He could be no judge, however, of the evil he was holding cheap. It was but an effusion of lively spirits.

if he had paid it.

He was not exactly what she had expected; less of the man of the world in some of his notions, less of the spoiled child of fortune, therefore better than she had expected. His ideas seemed more moderate —his feelings warmer.

he did know what he was talking about, and

he shewed a very amiable inclination to settle early in life, and to marry, from worthy motives. He might not be aware of the inroads on domestic peace to be occasioned by no housekeeper's room, or a bad butler's pantry, but no doubt he did perfectly feel that Enscombe could not make him happy, and that whenever he were attached, he would willingly give up much of wealth to be allowed an early establishment.

There was certainly no harm in his travelling sixteen miles twice over on such an errand; but there was an air of foppery and nonsense in it which she could not approve. It did not accord with the rationality of plan, the moderation in expense, or even the unselfish warmth of heart, which

to discern in him yesterday. Vanity, extravagance, love of change, restlessness of temper, which must be doing something, good or bad; heedlessness as to the pleasure of his father and Mrs. Weston, indifferent as to how his conduct might appear in general; he became liable to all these charges.

The regular and best families

they would presume to invite— neither Donwell, nor Hartfield, nor Randalls. Nothing should tempt her to go, if they did; and she regretted that her father's known habits would be giving her refusal less meaning than she could wish. The Coles were very respectable in their way, but they ought to be taught that it was not for them to arrange the terms on which the superior families would visit them. This lesson, she very much feared, they would receive only from herself; she had little hope of Mr. Knightley, none of Mr. Weston.

she should like to have had the power of refusal;

she did not know that she might not have been tempted to accept.

what they advised her to do,

considering every thing, she was not absolutely without inclination for the party. The Coles expressed themselves so properly— there was so much real attention in the manner of it —so much consideration for her father.

how certainly Mrs. Goddard, if not Mrs. Bates, might be depended on for bearing him company—

As for his going, Emma did not wish him to think it possible, the hours would be too late, and the party too numerous.

There she sat— and who would have guessed how many tears she had been lately shedding?

To be in company, nicely dressed herself and seeing others nicely dressed, to sit and smile and look pretty, and say nothing, was enough for the happiness of the present hour.

Jane Fairfax did look and move superior; but Emma suspected she might have been glad to change feelings with Harriet, very glad to have purchased the mortification of having loved— yes, of having loved even Mr. Elton in vain— by the surrender of all the dangerous pleasure of knowing herself beloved by the husband of her friend.

what every body present must be thinking. She was his object, and every body must perceive it.

the society in Yorkshire —the extent of the neighbourhood about Enscombe, and the sort;

Enscombe could not satisfy, and

Highbury, taken at its best, might reasonably please a young man who had more retirement at home than he liked. His importance at Enscombe was very evident. He did not boast, but it naturally betrayed itself, that he had persuaded his aunt where his uncle could do nothing,

She could see nothing but evil in it.

It would be a great disappointment to Mr. John Knightley; consequently to Isabella. A real injury to the children— a most mortifying change, and material loss to them all;—a very great deduction from her father's daily comfort—and, as to herself, she could not at all endure the idea of Jane Fairfax at Donwell Abbey. A Mrs. Knightley for them all to give way to!—No —Mr. Knightley must never marry. Little Henry must remain the heir of Donwell.

This would be a trial. He was no dancer in general. If he were to be very alert in engaging Jane Fairfax now, it might augur something. There was no immediate appearance. No; he was talking to Mrs. Cole— he was looking on unconcerned; Jane was asked by somebody else, and he was still talking to Mrs. Cole.

She must have delighted the Coles— worthy people, who deserved to be made happy!—And left a name behind her that would not soon die away.

It was hardly right; but it had been so strong an idea, that it would escape her, and his submission to all that she told, was a compliment to her penetration, which made it difficult for her to be quite certain that she ought to have held her tongue.

what they had told her,

if she wanted plain muslin it was of no use to look at figured; and

a blue ribbon, be it ever so beautiful, would still never match her yellow pattern.

she had not yet possessed the instrument long enough to touch it without emotion; she must reason herself into the power of performance;

This amiable, upright, perfect Jane Fairfax was apparently cherishing very reprehensible feelings.

it really time to be at home; the visit had already lasted long;

Had she intended ever to marry him, it might have been worth while to pause and consider, and try to understand the value of his preference, and the character of his temper; but for all the purposes of their acquaintance, he was quite amiable enough.

for a few days they must be planning, proceeding and hoping in uncertainty —at the risk —

the great risk, of its being all in vain.

Either because he did not dance himself, or because the plan had been formed without his being consulted, he seemed resolved that it should not interest him, determined against its exciting any present curiosity, or affording him any future amusement.