Austen Said:

but Mr. Knightley had walked in then, soon after tea, and dissipated every melancholy fancy. Alas! such delightful proofs of Hartfield's attraction, as those sort of visits conveyed, might shortly be over. The picture which she had then drawn of the privations of the approaching winter, had proved erroneous; no friends had deserted them, no pleasures had been lost.—

But her present forebodings

would experience no similar contradiction.

The prospect before her now, was threatening to a degree that could not be entirely dispelled —that might not be even partially brightened. If all took place that might take place among the circle of her friends, Hartfield must be comparatively deserted; and she left to cheer her father with the spirits only of ruined happiness.

The child to be born at Randalls must be a tie there even dearer than herself; and Mrs. Weston's heart and time would be occupied by it. They should lose her; and, probably, in great measure, her husband also.—Frank Churchill would return among them no more; and Miss Fairfax, it was reasonable to suppose, would soon cease to belong to Highbury. They would be married, and settled either at or near Enscombe.

All that were good would be withdrawn; and if to these losses, the loss of Donwell were to be added, what would remain of cheerful or of rational society within their reach? Mr. Knightley to be no longer coming there for his evening comfort!—No longer walking in at all hours, as if ever willing to change his own home for their's!—How was it to be endured? And if he were to be lost to them for Harriet's sake; if he were to be thought of hereafter, as finding in Harriet's society all that he wanted; if Harriet were to be the chosen, the first, the dearest, the friend, the wife to whom he looked for all the best blessings of existence; what could be increasing Emma's wretchedness but the reflection never far distant from her mind, that it had been all her own work?

however inferior in spirit and gaiety might be the following and every future winter of her life to the past, it would yet find her more rational, more acquainted with herself, and leave her less to regret when it were gone.

their mutual friends;

When had he left them?—

He must have had a wet ride.—

He meant to walk with her,

he had perhaps been communicating his plans to his brother, and was pained by the manner in which they had been received.

he might have called at Mrs. Goddard's in his way.

she must say more before she were entitled to his clemency; but it was a hard case to be obliged still to lower herself in his opinion.

she would speak of something totally different— the children in Brunswick Square;

He was wishing to confide in her— perhaps to consult her;—cost her what it would, she would listen. She might assist his resolution, or reconcile him to it; she might give just praise to Harriet, or, by representing to him his own independence, relieve him from that state of indecision, which must be more intolerable than any alternative to such a mind as his.—

to see that Harriet's hopes had been entirely groundless, a mistake, a delusion, as complete a delusion as any of her own— that Harriet was nothing; that she was every thing herself; that what she had been saying relative to Harriet had been all taken as the language of her own feelings; and that her agitation, her doubts, her reluctance, her discouragement, had been all received as discouragement from herself.—

to rejoice that Harriet's secret had not escaped her, and to resolve that it need not, and should not.—

It was all the service she could now render her poor friend; for as to any of that heroism of sentiment which might have prompted her to entreat him to transfer his affection from herself to Harriet, as infinitely the most worthy of the two—or even the more simple sublimity of resolving to refuse him at once and for ever, without vouchsafing any motive, because he could not marry them both, Emma had it not.

She had led her friend astray, and it would be a reproach to her for ever;

how often it had been collected!—and how often had her eyes fallen on the same shrubs in the lawn, and observed the same beautiful effect of the western sun!

Her father—and Harriet. She could not be alone without feeling the full weight of their separate claims; and how to guard the comfort of both to the utmost, was the question.

She hardly knew yet what Mr. Knightley would ask;

never quitting her father.—

While he lived, it must be only an engagement; but

if divested of the danger of drawing her away, it might become an increase of comfort to him.—

How to do her best by Harriet, was of more difficult decision;—how to spare her from any unnecessary pain; how to make her any possible atonement; how to appear least her enemy?—

she would still avoid a meeting with her, and communicate all that need be told by letter;

it would be inexpressibly desirable to have her removed just now for a time from Highbury, and—

it might be practicable to get an invitation for her to Brunswick Square.—

Isabella had been pleased with Harriet; and a few weeks spent in London must give her some amusement.—

it in Harriet's nature to escape being benefited by novelty and variety, by the streets, the shops, and the children.—At any rate, it would be a proof of attention and kindness in herself, from whom every thing was due; a separation for the present; an averting of the evil day, when they must all be together again.

she wanted no explanations, she wanted only to have her thoughts to herself—and as for understanding any thing he wrote, she was sure she was incapable of it.—It must be waded through, however.

I owed Mrs. Elton gratitude for her attentions to Miss Fairfax.—

the child of good fortune.

he had been wrong, yet he had been less wrong than she had supposed—and he had suffered, and was very sorry—and he was so grateful to Mrs. Weston, and so much in love with Miss Fairfax, and she was so happy herself, that there was no being severe; and could he have entered the room, she must have shaken hands with him as heartily as ever.

Mrs. Weston's wishing it to be communicated; especially to one, who, like Mr. Knightley, had seen so much to blame in his conduct.

But that would not do. Mr. Weston was to call in the evening, and she must return it by him.

it,

Her own behaviour had been so very improper!

The child of good fortune!

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;

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.