Austen Said:

"I perfectly agree with you, sir,"—

"You did behave very shamefully. You never wrote a truer line."

"This is very bad.—He had induced her to place herself, for his sake, in a situation of extreme difficulty and uneasiness, and it should have been his first object to prevent her from suffering unnecessarily.—She must have had much more to contend with, in carrying on the correspondence, than he could. He should have respected even unreasonable scruples, had there been such; but hers were all reasonable. We must look to her one fault, and remember that she had done a wrong thing in consenting to the engagement, to bear that she should have been in such a state of punishment."

Her own behaviour had been so very improper!

"There is no saying much for the delicacy of our good friends, the Eltons,"

"His feelings are natural.—What! actually resolve to break with him entirely!—

She felt

the engagement to be a source of repentance and misery to each— she dissolved it.—

What view this gives of her sense of his behaviour!—Well, he must be a most extraordinary —"

"Nay, nay, read on.—You will find how very much he suffers."

"I hope he does,"

"'Smallridge!'—What does this mean? What is all this?"

"She had engaged

to go as governess to Mrs. Smallridge's children —a dear friend of Mrs. Elton's — —a neighbour of Maple Grove;

and, by the bye, I wonder how Mrs. Elton bears the disappointment?"

"Say nothing, my dear Emma, while you oblige me to read —not even of Mrs. Elton. Only one page more. I shall soon have done. What a letter the man writes!"

"I wish you would read it with a kinder spirit towards him."

"Well, there is feeling here.—He does seem to have suffered in finding her ill.—Certainly, I can have no doubt of his being fond of her.

'Dearer, much dearer than ever.'

I hope he may long continue to feel all the value of such a reconciliation.—He is a very liberal thanker, with his thousands and tens of thousands.—

'Happier than I deserve.'

Come, he knows himself there.

'Miss Woodhouse calls me the child of good fortune.'—Those were Miss Woodhouse's words, were they?— And a fine ending— and there is the letter.

The child of good fortune!

That was your name for him, was it?"

"You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as I am; but still you must, at least I hope you must, think the better of him for it. I hope it does him some service with you."

"Yes, certainly it does. He has had great faults, faults of inconsideration and thoughtlessness; and I am very much of his opinion in thinking him likely to be happier than he deserves: but still as he is, beyond a doubt, really attached to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it may be hoped, have the advantage of being constantly with her, I am very ready to believe his character will improve, and acquire from hers the steadiness and delicacy of principle that it wants. And now, let me talk to you of something else. I have another person's interest at present so much at heart, that I cannot think any longer about Frank Churchill. Ever since I left you this morning, Emma, my mind has been hard at work on one subject."

how to be able to ask her to marry him, without attacking the happiness of her father.

"While her dear father lived, any change of condition must be impossible for her. She could never quit him."

The impossibility of her quitting her father,

as strongly as herself; but the inadmissibility of any other change, he could not agree to. He had been thinking it over most deeply, most intently; he had at first hoped to induce Mr. Woodhouse to remove with her to Donwell; he had wanted to believe it feasible, but his knowledge of Mr. Woodhouse would not suffer him to deceive himself long; and now he confessed his persuasion, that such a transplantation would be a risk of her father's comfort, perhaps even of his life, which must not be hazarded. Mr. Woodhouse taken from Hartfield!—No, he felt that it ought not to be attempted. But the plan which had arisen on the sacrifice of this, he trusted his dearest Emma would not find in any respect objectionable; it was, that he should be received at Hartfield; that so long as her father's happiness in other words his life—required Hartfield to continue her home, it should be his likewise.

all the affection it evinced.

in quitting Donwell, he must be sacrificing a great deal of independence of hours and habits;

in living constantly with her father, and in no house of his own, there would be much, very much, to be borne with.

She promised to think of it,

him to think of it more;

no reflection could alter his wishes or his opinion on the subject. He had given it, he could assure her, very long and calm consideration; he had been walking away from William Larkins the whole morning, to have his thoughts to himself.

"Ah! there is one difficulty unprovided for,"

"I am sure William Larkins will not like it. You must get his consent before you ask mine."

to think of it;

to think of it, with the intention of finding it a very good scheme.

This proposal of his, this plan of marrying and continuing at Hartfield— the more she contemplated it, the more pleasing it became.

His evils seemed to lessen, her own advantages to increase, their mutual good to outweigh every drawback.

Such a companion for herself in the periods of anxiety and cheerlessness before her!—Such a partner in all those duties and cares to which time must be giving increase of melancholy!

but every blessing of her own seemed to involve and advance the sufferings of her friend, who must now be even excluded from Hartfield. The delightful family party which Emma was securing for herself, poor Harriet must, in mere charitable caution, be kept at a distance from. She would be a loser in every way. Emma could not deplore her future absence as any deduction from her own enjoyment. In such a party, Harriet would be rather a dead weight than otherwise; but for the poor girl herself, it seemed a peculiarly cruel necessity that was to be placing her in such a state of unmerited punishment.

In time, of course, Mr. Knightley would be forgotten, that is, supplanted; but this could not be expected to happen very early. Mr. Knightley himself would be doing nothing to assist the cure;—not like Mr. Elton. Mr. Knightley, always so kind, so feeling, so truly considerate for every body, would never deserve to be less worshipped than now; and it really was too much to hope even of Harriet, that she could be in love with more than three men in one year.

How much worse, had they been obliged to meet!

It might be only her own consciousness; but it seemed as if an angel only could have been quite without resentment under such a stroke.

There was a communication before her, one which she only could be competent to make— the confession of her engagement to her father;

to defer the disclosure till Mrs. Weston were safe and well. No additional agitation should be thrown at this period among those she loved—and the evil should not act on herself by anticipation before the appointed time.—A fortnight, at least, of leisure and peace of mind, to crown every warmer, but more agitating, delight, should be hers.