Austen Said:

"Emma, my dear Emma—"

"Ah!"

"I wish your father might be half as easily convinced as John will be, of our having every right that equal worth can give, to be happy together. I am amused by one part of John's letter— — did you notice it?—where he says, that my information did not take him wholly by surprize, that he was rather in expectation of hearing something of the kind."

"Yes, yes—but I am amused that he should have seen so far into my feelings. What has he been judging by?—I am not conscious of any difference in my spirits or conversation that could prepare him at this time for my marrying any more than at another.—But it was so, I suppose. I dare say there was a difference when I was staying with them the other day. I believe I did not play with the children quite so much as usual. I remember one evening the poor boys saying, 'Uncle seems always tired now.'"

"I have something to tell you, Emma; some news."

"I do not know which it ought to be called."

"I am afraid,"

"I am very much afraid, my dear Emma, that you will not smile when you hear it."

"There is one subject,"

"I hope but one, on which we do not think alike."

"Does nothing occur to you?—Do not you recollect?—Harriet Smith."

"Have you heard from her yourself this morning?"

"You have, I believe, and know the whole."

"You are prepared for the worst, I see— and very bad it is. Harriet Smith marries Robert Martin."

"It is so, indeed,"

"I have it from Robert Martin himself. He left me not half an hour ago."

"You like it, my Emma, as little as I feared.—I wish our opinions were the same. But in time they will. Time, you may be sure, will make one or the other of us think differently; and, in the meanwhile, we need not talk much on the subject."

"I mean that he has done it,"

"and been accepted."

"It is a very simple story. He went to town on business three days ago, and I got him to take charge of some papers which I was wanting to send to John.—He delivered these papers to John, at his chambers, and was

asked by him

My friend Robert could not resist. They called for him in their way; were all extremely amused; and my brother asked him to dine with them the next day— which he did —and in the course of that visit (as I understand) he found an opportunity of speaking to Harriet; and certainly did not speak in vain.—She made him, by her acceptance, as happy even as he is deserving. He came down by yesterday's coach, and was with me this morning immediately after breakfast, to report his proceedings, first on my affairs, and then on his own. This is all that I can relate of the how, where, and when. Your friend Harriet will make a much longer history when you see her.—She will give you all the minute particulars, which only woman's language can make interesting.—In our communications we deal only in the great.—However, I must say, that Robert Martin's heart seemed for him, and to me, very overflowing; and that

he did mention,

without its being much to the purpose,

that

on quitting their box at Astley's, my brother took charge of Mrs. John Knightley and little John, and he followed with Miss Smith and Henry; and that at one time they were in such a crowd, as to make Miss Smith rather uneasy."

"Emma, my love, you said that this circumstance would not now make you unhappy; but I am afraid it gives you more pain than you expected. His situation is an evil—but you must consider it as what satisfies your friend; and I will answer for your thinking better and better of him as you know him more. His good sense and good principles would delight you.—As far as the man is concerned, you could not wish your friend in better hands. His rank in society I would alter if I could, which is saying a great deal I assure you, Emma.—You laugh at me about William Larkins; but I could quite as ill spare Robert Martin."

her to look up and smile;

"You ought to know your friend best,"

"but I should say she was a good-tempered, soft-hearted girl, not likely to be very, very determined against any young man who told her he loved her."

"Do you dare say this?"

"Do you dare to suppose me so great a blockhead, as not to know what a man is talking of?—What do you deserve?"

"I am quite sure,"

"that

he told me

she had accepted him;

and that there was no obscurity, nothing doubtful, in the words he used; and I think I can give you a proof that it must be so.

He asked my opinion as to

what he was now to do. He knew of no one but Mrs. Goddard to whom he could apply for information of her relations or friends. Could I mention any thing more fit to be done, than to go to Mrs. Goddard?

I assured him that I could not.

Then,

he said,

he would endeavour to see her in the course of this day."

"You are materially changed since we talked on this subject before."

"And I am changed also; for I am now very willing to grant you all Harriet's good qualities. I have taken some pains for your sake, and for Robert Martin's sake, (whom I have always had reason to believe as much in love with her as ever,) to get acquainted with her. I have often talked to her a good deal. You must have seen that I did. Sometimes, indeed, I have thought you were half suspecting me of pleading poor Martin's cause, which was never the case; but, from all my observations, I am convinced of her being an artless, amiable girl, with very good notions, very seriously good principles, and placing her happiness in the affections and utility of domestic life.—Much of this, I have no doubt, she may thank you for."

"I have to thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for a very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said."

"Is not she looking well?"

"Better than she ever used to do?—You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her."

"The shame,"

"is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?—I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none."