This appeal to her affections did more than all the
rest. The idea of wanting gratitude and consideration
for Miss Woodhouse, whom she really loved extremely,
made her wretched for a while, and when the violence
of grief was comforted away, still remained powerful
enough to prompt to what was right and support her
in it very tolerably.
“You, who have been the best friend I ever had
in my life— Want gratitude to you!—Nobody
is equal to you!—I care for nobody as I
do for you!—Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how
ungrateful I have been!”
Such expressions, assisted as they were by every thing
that look and manner could do, made Emma feel that
she had never loved Harriet so well, nor valued her
affection so highly before.
“There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart,”
said she afterwards to herself. “There
is nothing to be compared to it. Warmth and tenderness
of heart, with an affectionate, open manner, will
beat all the clearness of head in the world, for attraction,
I am sure it will. It is tenderness of heart
which makes my dear father so generally beloved—which
gives Isabella all her popularity.— I have
it not—but I know how to prize and respect
it.—Harriet is my superior in all the charm
and all the felicity it gives. Dear Harriet!—I
would not change you for the clearest-headed, longest-sighted,
best-judging female breathing. Oh! the coldness
of a Jane Fairfax!—Harriet is worth a hundred
such—And for a wife— a sensible
man’s wife—it is invaluable.
I mention no names; but happy the man who changes
Emma for Harriet!”
Mrs. Elton was first seen at church: but though
devotion might be interrupted, curiosity could not
be satisfied by a bride in a pew, and it must be left
for the visits in form which were then to be paid,
to settle whether she were very pretty indeed, or only
rather pretty, or not pretty at all.
Emma had feelings, less of curiosity than of pride
or propriety, to make her resolve on not being the
last to pay her respects; and she made a point of
Harriet’s going with her, that the worst of
the business might be gone through as soon as possible.
She could not enter the house again, could not be
in the same room to which she had with such vain artifice
retreated three months ago, to lace up her boot, without
recollecting. A thousand vexatious thoughts
would recur. Compliments, charades, and horrible
blunders; and it was not to be supposed that poor
Harriet should not be recollecting too; but she behaved
very well, and was only rather pale and silent.
The visit was of course short; and there was so much
embarrassment and occupation of mind to shorten it,
that Emma would not allow herself entirely to form
an opinion of the lady, and on no account to give
one, beyond the nothing-meaning terms of being “elegantly
dressed, and very pleasing.”
She did not really like her. She would not be
in a hurry to find fault, but she suspected that there
was no elegance;—ease, but not elegance.—
She was almost sure that for a young woman, a stranger,
a bride, there was too much ease. Her person
was rather good; her face not unpretty; but neither
feature, nor air, nor voice, nor manner, were elegant.
Emma thought at least it would turn out so.
