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Elton must now be left to himself. It was no longer in Emma's
power to superintend his happiness or quicken his measures. The coming
of her sister's family was so very near at hand, that first in
anticipation, and then in reality, it became henceforth
her prime object of interest; and during the ten days of their stay at
Hartfield it was not to be expected--she did not herself expect-- that
any thing beyond occasional, fortuitous assistance could be afforded by
her to the lovers. They might advance rapidly if they would,
however; they must advance somehow or other whether they would or
no. She hardly wished to have more leisure for them.
There are people, who the more you do for them, the less they will do
Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having been longer than usual absent
from Surry, were exciting of course
rather more than the usual
interest. Till this year, every long vacation since their
marriage had been divided between Hartfield and Donwell Abbey; but all
the holidays of this autumn had been given to sea-bathing for the
children, and it was therefore many months since they had been seen in
a regular way by their Surry connexions, or seen at all by Mr.
Woodhouse, who could not be induced to get so far as London, even for
poor Isabella's sake; and who consequently was now most nervously and
apprehensively happy in forestalling this too short visit.
He thought much of the evils of the journey for her, and not a little
of the fatigues of his own horses and coachman who were to bring some
of the party the last half of the way; but his alarms were needless;
the sixteen miles being happily accomplished, and Mr. and Mrs. John
Knightley, their five children, and a competent number of
nursery-maids, all reaching Hartfield in safety. The bustle and joy of
such an arrival, the many to be talked to, welcomed, encouraged, and
variously dispersed and disposed of, produced a noise and confusion
which his nerves could not have borne under any other cause, nor have
endured much longer even for this; but the ways of Hartfield and the
feelings of her father were so respected by Mrs. John Knightley, that
in spite of maternal solicitude for the immediate enjoyment of her
little ones, and for their having instantly all the liberty and
attendance, all the
eating and drinking, and sleeping and playing, which they could
possibly wish for, without the smallest delay, the children were never
allowed to be long a disturbance to him, either in themselves or in any
restless attendance on them.
Mrs. John Knightley was a pretty, elegant little woman, of gentle,
quiet manners, and a disposition remarkably amiable and affectionate;
wrapt up in her family; a devoted wife, a doating mother, and so
tenderly attached to her father and sister that, but for these higher
ties, a warmer love might have seemed impossible. She could never see a
fault in any of them. She was not a woman of strong
or any quickness; and with this resemblance of her father, she
inherited also much of his constitution; was delicate in her own
health, over-careful of that of her children, had many fears and many
nerves, and was as fond of her own Mr. Wingfield in town as her father
could be of Mr. Perry. They were alike too, in a general
benevolence of temper, and a strong habit of regard for
every old acquaintance.
Mr. John Knightley was a tall, gentleman-like, and very clever man;
rising in his profession, domestic, and respectable in his private
character; but with reserved manners which prevented his being
generally pleasing; and capable of being sometimes out of humour. He
was not an ill-tempered man, not so often unreasonably cross as to
deserve such a reproach; but his temper was not his great perfection;
and, indeed, with such a worshipping wife, it was hardly possible that
any natural defects in it should not be increased. The
sweetness of her temper must hurt his. He had all the clearness and
quickness of mind which she wanted, and he could sometimes act an
ungracious, or say a severe thing.
He was not a great favourite with his fair sister-in-law. Nothing wrong
in him escaped her. She was quick in feeling the little
to Isabella, which Isabella never felt herself. Perhaps she might have
passed over more had his manners been flattering
to Isabella's sister, but they were only those of a calmly kind brother
and friend, without praise and without blindness; but hardly any degree
of personal compliment could have made her regardless of that greatest
fault of all in her eyes which he sometimes fell into, the want of
respectful forbearance towards her father. There he had not always the
patience that could have been wished. Mr. Woodhouse's peculiarities and
fidgetiness were sometimes provoking him to a rational remonstrance or
sharp retort equally ill-bestowed. It did not often happen; for Mr.
John Knightley had really a great regard for his father-in-law, and
generally a strong sense of what was due to him; but it was too often
for Emma's charity, especially as there was all the pain of
apprehension frequently to be endured, though the offence came
not. The beginning, however, of every visit displayed none
the properest feelings, and this being of necessity
so short might be hoped to pass away in unsullied cordiality. They had
not been long seated and composed when Mr. Woodhouse, with a melancholy
shake of the head and a sigh, called his daughter's attention to the
sad change at Hartfield since she had been there last.
"Ah, my dear," said he, "poor Miss Taylor--It is a grievous business."
"Oh yes, sir," cried she with ready sympathy, "how you must miss
her! And dear Emma, too!--What a dreadful loss to you both!--
have been so grieved for you.--I could not imagine how you could
possibly do without her.--It is a sad change indeed.--But I hope she is
pretty well, sir."
"Pretty well, my dear--I hope--pretty well.--I do not know but that the
place agrees with her tolerably."
Mr. John Knightley here asked Emma quietly whether there were any
doubts of the air of Randalls.
"Oh! no--none in the least. I never saw Mrs. Weston better in
life-- never looking so well. Papa is only speaking his own
"Very much to the honour of both," was the handsome reply.
"And do you see her, sir, tolerably
often?" asked Isabella in the plaintive tone which just suited her
Mr. Woodhouse hesitated.--"Not near so often, my dear, as I could wish."
"Oh! papa, we have missed seeing them but one entire day since they
married. Either in the morning or evening of every day,
one, have we seen either Mr. Weston or Mrs. Weston, and generally both,
either at Randalls or here--and as you may suppose, Isabella, most
frequently here. They are very, very kind in their
Mr. Weston is really as kind as herself. Papa, if you speak in that
melancholy way, you will be giving Isabella a false idea of us
all. Every body must be aware that Miss Taylor must be
but every body ought also to be assured that Mr. and Mrs. Weston do
really prevent our missing her by any means to the extent we ourselves
anticipated--which is the exact truth."
"Just as it should be," said Mr. John Knightley, "and just as I hoped
it was from your letters. Her wish of shewing you attention
not be doubted, and his being a disengaged and social man makes it all
easy. I have been always telling you, my love, that I had no
idea of the change being so very material to Hartfield as you
and now you have Emma's account, I hope you will be satisfied."
"Why, to be sure," said Mr. Woodhouse--"yes, certainly--I cannot deny
that Mrs. Weston, poor Mrs. Weston, does come and see us pretty often--
but then--she is always obliged to go away again."
"It would be very hard upon Mr. Weston if she did not, papa.-- You
quite forget poor Mr. Weston."
"I think, indeed," said John Knightley pleasantly, "that Mr. Weston has
some little claim. You and I, Emma, will venture to take the
of the poor husband. I, being a husband, and you not being a
wife, the claims of the man may very likely strike us with equal force.
As for Isabella, she has been married long enough to see the
convenience of putting all the Mr. Westons aside as much as she can."
"Me, my love," cried his wife, hearing and understanding only in
part.-- "Are you talking about me?--I am sure nobody ought to be, or
can be, a greater advocate for matrimony than I am; and if it had not
been for the misery of her leaving Hartfield, I should never have
thought of Miss Taylor but as the most fortunate woman in the world;
and as to
slighting Mr. Weston, that excellent Mr. Weston, I think there is
nothing he does not deserve. I believe he is one of the very
best-tempered men that ever existed. Excepting yourself and
brother, I do not know his equal for temper. I shall never
his flying Henry's kite for him that very windy day last Easter--and
ever since his particular kindness last September twelvemonth in
writing that note, at twelve o'clock at night, on purpose to assure me
that there was no scarlet fever at Cobham, I have been convinced there
could not be a more feeling heart nor a better man in existence.--If
any body can deserve him, it must be Miss Taylor."
"Where is the young man?" said John Knightley. "Has he been
here on this occasion--or has he not?"
"He has not been here yet," replied Emma. "There was a strong
expectation of his coming soon after the marriage, but it ended in
nothing; and I have not heard him mentioned lately."
"But you should tell them of the letter, my dear," said her father. "He
wrote a letter to poor Mrs. Weston, to congratulate her, and a very
proper, handsome letter it was. She shewed it to me. I
very well done of him indeed. Whether it was his own idea you
know, one cannot tell. He is but young, and his uncle,
"My dear papa, he is three-and-twenty. You forget how time passes."
"Three-and-twenty!--is he indeed?--Well, I could not have thought it--
and he was but two years old when he lost his poor mother!
time does fly indeed!--and my memory is very bad. However, it
an exceeding good, pretty letter, and gave Mr. and Mrs. Weston a great
deal of pleasure. I remember it was written from Weymouth,
dated Sept. 28th--and began, `My dear Madam,' but I forget how it went
on; and it was signed `F. C. Weston Churchill.'-- I remember that
"How very pleasing and proper of him!" cried the good-hearted Mrs. John
Knightley. "I have no doubt of his being a most amiable young
man. But how sad it is that he should not live at home with his father!
There is something so shocking in a child's being taken away from his
parents and natural home! I never could comprehend how Mr.
could part with him. To give up one's child! I
could think well of any body who proposed such a thing to any body
"Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy," observed Mr.
John Knightley coolly. "But you need not imagine Mr. Weston
have felt what you would feel in giving up Henry or John. Mr.
Weston is rather an easy, cheerful-tempered man,
than a man of strong feelings; he takes things as he finds them, and
makes enjoyment of them somehow or other, depending, I suspect, much
more upon what is called society for his comforts, that is, upon the
power of eating and drinking, and playing whist with his neighbours
five times a week, than upon family affection, or any thing that home
Emma could not like what bordered on a reflection on Mr. Weston, and
had half a mind to take it up; but she struggled, and let it
pass. She would keep the peace if possible; and there was
something honourable and valuable in the strong domestic habits, the
all-sufficiency of home to himself, whence resulted her brother's
disposition to look down on the common rate of social intercourse, and
those to whom it was important.--It had a high claim to forbearance.
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