Emma had no longer an alarm for Henry; his interest
was yet safe; and she led off the dance with genuine
spirit and enjoyment. Not more than five couple
could be mustered; but the rarity and the suddenness
of it made it very delightful, and she found herself
well matched in a partner. They were a couple
worth looking at.
Two dances, unfortunately, were all that could be
allowed. It was growing late, and Miss Bates
became anxious to get home, on her mother’s
account. After some attempts, therefore, to be
permitted to begin again, they were obliged to thank
Mrs. Weston, look sorrowful, and have done.
“Perhaps it is as well,” said Frank Churchill,
as he attended Emma to her carriage. “I
must have asked Miss Fairfax, and her languid dancing
would not have agreed with me, after your’s.”
Emma did not repent her condescension in going to
the Coles. The visit afforded her many pleasant
recollections the next day; and all that she might
be supposed to have lost on the side of dignified
seclusion, must be amply repaid in the splendour of
popularity. She must have delighted the Coles—worthy
people, who deserved to be made happy!—And
left a name behind her that would not soon die away.
Perfect happiness, even in memory, is not common;
and there were two points on which she was not quite
easy. She doubted whether she had not transgressed
the duty of woman by woman, in betraying her suspicions
of Jane Fairfax’s feelings to Frank Churchill.
It was hardly right; but it had been so strong an idea,
that it would escape her, and his submission to all
that she told, was a compliment to her penetration,
which made it difficult for her to be quite certain
that she ought to have held her tongue.
The other circumstance of regret related also to Jane
Fairfax; and there she had no doubt. She did
unfeignedly and unequivocally regret the inferiority
of her own playing and singing. She did most
heartily grieve over the idleness of her childhood—and
sat down and practised vigorously an hour and a half.
She was then interrupted by Harriet’s coming
in; and if Harriet’s praise could have satisfied
her, she might soon have been comforted.
“Oh! if I could but play as well as you and
Miss Fairfax!”
“Don’t class us together, Harriet.
My playing is no more like her’s, than a lamp
is like sunshine.”
“Oh! dear—I think you play the best
of the two. I think you play quite as well as
she does. I am sure I had much rather hear you.
Every body last night said how well you played.”
“Those who knew any thing about it, must have
felt the difference. The truth is, Harriet, that
my playing is just good enough to be praised, but
Jane Fairfax’s is much beyond it.”
“Well, I always shall think that you play quite
as well as she does, or that if there is any difference
nobody would ever find it out. Mr. Cole said
how much taste you had; and Mr. Frank Churchill talked
a great deal about your taste, and that he valued taste
much more than execution.”
