Austen Said:

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.

"Pray, Emma,"

"may I ask in what lay the great amusement, the poignant sting of the last word given to you and Miss Fairfax? I saw the word, and am curious to know how it could be so very entertaining to the one, and so very distressing to the other."

"The joke,"

"seemed confined to you and Mr. Churchill."

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.

"My dear Emma,"

"do you think you perfectly understand the degree of acquaintance between the gentleman and lady we have been speaking of?"

"Have you never at any time had reason to think that he admired her, or that she admired him?"

"I have lately imagined that I saw symptoms of attachment between them— certain expressive looks, which I did not believe meant to be public."

"You had better explore to Donwell,"

"That may be done without horses. Come, and eat my strawberries. They are ripening fast."

"I cannot name a day,"

"till I have spoken to some others whom I would wish to meet you."

"I hope you will bring Elton,"

"but I will not trouble you to give any other invitations."

"No,"—

"there is but one married woman in the world whom I can ever allow to invite what guests she pleases to Donwell, and that one is—"

"No —Mrs. Knightley;—and till she is in being, I will manage such matters myself."

"You certainly will meet them if I can prevail; and I shall call on Miss Bates in my way home."

"Not quite. My idea of the simple and the natural will be to have the table spread in the dining-room. The nature and the simplicity of gentlemen and ladies, with their servants and furniture, I think is best observed by meals within doors. When you are tired of eating strawberries in the garden, there shall be cold meat in the house."

"I have not the least wish for it, I thank you."

"I will answer for it, that mine thinks herself full as clever, and would spurn any body's assistance."

"You will not find either, between Donwell and Highbury. Donwell Lane is never dusty, and now it is perfectly dry. Come on a donkey, however, if you prefer it. You can borrow Mrs. Cole's. I would wish every thing to be as much to your taste as possible."

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.

he should be glad to see him;

"These are my own concerns. I have a right to talk on such subjects, without being suspected of introducing Robert Martin."—

"Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear what we are all thinking of?"

"This explains the sort of clever thing that is wanted, and Mr. Weston has done very well for himself; but he must have knocked up every body else. Perfection should not have come quite so soon."

"Emma, I must once more speak to you as I have been used to do: a privilege rather endured than allowed, perhaps, but I must still use it. I cannot see you acting wrong, without a remonstrance. How could you be so unfeeling to Miss Bates? How could you be so insolent in your wit to a woman of her character, age, and situation?—Emma, I had not thought it possible."

"I assure you she did. She felt your full meaning. She has talked of it since.

I wish you could have heard

"They are blended,"

"I acknowledge; and, were she prosperous, I could allow much for the occasional prevalence of the ridiculous over the good. Were she a woman of fortune, I would leave every harmless absurdity to take its chance, I would not quarrel with you for any liberties of manner. Were she your equal in situation —but, Emma, consider how far this is from being the case. She is poor; she has sunk from the comforts she was born to; and, if she live to old age, must probably sink more. Her situation should secure your compassion. It was badly done, indeed! You, whom she had known from an infant, whom she had seen grow up from a period when her notice was an honour, to have you now, in thoughtless spirits, and the pride of the moment, laugh at her, humble her— and before her niece, too —and before others, many of whom (certainly some,) would be entirely guided by your treatment of her.—This is not pleasant to you, Emma—and it is very far from pleasant to me; but I must, I will,—I will tell you truths while I can; satisfied with proving myself your friend by very faithful counsel, and trusting that you will some time or other do me greater justice than you can do now."

"I would not go away without seeing you, but I have no time to spare, and therefore must now be gone directly. I am going to London, to spend a few days with John and Isabella. Have you any thing to send or say, besides the 'love,' which nobody carries?"

"Yes— rather —I have been thinking of it some little time."

"Emma, you have been no friend to Harriet Smith."—

they were all well.—

Only that morning.

Yes.—

"He had just looked into the dining-room, and as he was not wanted there, preferred being out of doors."—

"Have I?"

"of what nature?"

"If you mean Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I have heard that already."

"I had a few lines on parish business from Mr. Weston this morning, and at the end of them he gave me a brief account of what had happened."