Had it been allowable entertainment, had there been
no pain to her friend, or reproach to herself, in
the waverings of Harriet’s mind, Emma would
have been amused by its variations. Sometimes
Mr. Elton predominated, sometimes the Martins; and
each was occasionally useful as a check to the other.
Mr. Elton’s engagement had been the cure of
the agitation of meeting Mr. Martin. The unhappiness
produced by the knowledge of that engagement had been
a little put aside by Elizabeth Martin’s calling
at Mrs. Goddard’s a few days afterwards.
Harriet had not been at home; but a note had been
prepared and left for her, written in the very style
to touch; a small mixture of reproach, with a great
deal of kindness; and till Mr. Elton himself appeared,
she had been much occupied by it, continually pondering
over what could be done in return, and wishing to
do more than she dared to confess. But Mr. Elton,
in person, had driven away all such cares. While
he staid, the Martins were forgotten; and on the very
morning of his setting off for Bath again, Emma, to
dissipate some of the distress it occasioned, judged
it best for her to return Elizabeth Martin’s
visit.
How that visit was to be acknowledged—what
would be necessary— and what might be safest,
had been a point of some doubtful consideration.
Absolute neglect of the mother and sisters, when
invited to come, would be ingratitude. It must
not be: and yet the danger of a renewal of the
acquaintance!—
After much thinking, she could determine on nothing
better, than Harriet’s returning the visit;
but in a way that, if they had understanding, should
convince them that it was to be only a formal acquaintance.
She meant to take her in the carriage, leave her at
the Abbey Mill, while she drove a little farther,
and call for her again so soon, as to allow no time
for insidious applications or dangerous recurrences
to the past, and give the most decided proof of what
degree of intimacy was chosen for the future.
She could think of nothing better: and though
there was something in it which her own heart could
not approve—something of ingratitude, merely
glossed over—it must be done, or what would
become of Harriet?
CHAPTER V
Small heart had Harriet for visiting. Only half
an hour before her friend called for her at Mrs. Goddard’s,
her evil stars had led her to the very spot where,
at that moment, a trunk, directed to The Rev. Philip
Elton, White-Hart, Bath, was to be seen under the
operation of being lifted into the butcher’s
cart, which was to convey it to where the coaches
past; and every thing in this world, excepting that
trunk and the direction, was consequently a blank.
She went, however; and when they reached the farm,
and she was to be put down, at the end of the broad,
neat gravel walk, which led between espalier apple-trees
to the front door, the sight of every thing which
had given her so much pleasure the autumn before,
was beginning to revive a little local agitation; and
when they parted, Emma observed her to be looking
around with a sort of fearful curiosity, which determined
her not to allow the visit to exceed the proposed
quarter of an hour. She went on herself, to give
that portion of time to an old servant who was married,
and settled in Donwell.
