“Jane Fairfax has feeling,” said Mr. Knightley—“I
do not accuse her of want of feeling. Her sensibilities,
I suspect, are strong—and her temper excellent
in its power of forbearance, patience, self-controul;
but it wants openness. She is reserved, more
reserved, I think, than she used to be—And
I love an open temper. No—till Cole
alluded to my supposed attachment, it had never entered
my head. I saw Jane Fairfax and conversed with
her, with admiration and pleasure always—but
with no thought beyond.”
“Well, Mrs. Weston,” said Emma triumphantly
when he left them, “what do you say now to Mr.
Knightley’s marrying Jane Fairfax?”
“Why, really, dear Emma, I say that he is so
very much occupied by the idea of not being
in love with her, that I should not wonder if it were
to end in his being so at last. Do not beat me.”
Every body in and about Highbury who had ever visited
Mr. Elton, was disposed to pay him attention on his
marriage. Dinner-parties and evening-parties
were made for him and his lady; and invitations flowed
in so fast that she had soon the pleasure of apprehending
they were never to have a disengaged day.
“I see how it is,” said she. “I
see what a life I am to lead among you. Upon
my word we shall be absolutely dissipated. We
really seem quite the fashion. If this is living
in the country, it is nothing very formidable.
From Monday next to Saturday, I assure you we have
not a disengaged day!—A woman with fewer
resources than I have, need not have been at a loss.”
No invitation came amiss to her. Her Bath habits
made evening-parties perfectly natural to her, and
Maple Grove had given her a taste for dinners.
She was a little shocked at the want of two drawing
rooms, at the poor attempt at rout-cakes, and there
being no ice in the Highbury card-parties. Mrs.
Bates, Mrs. Perry, Mrs. Goddard and others, were a
good deal behind-hand in knowledge of the world, but
she would soon shew them how every thing ought to
be arranged. In the course of the spring she
must return their civilities by one very superior
party—in which her card-tables should be
set out with their separate candles and unbroken packs
in the true style—and more waiters engaged
for the evening than their own establishment could
furnish, to carry round the refreshments at exactly
the proper hour, and in the proper order.
Emma, in the meanwhile, could not be satisfied without
a dinner at Hartfield for the Eltons. They must
not do less than others, or she should be exposed
to odious suspicions, and imagined capable of pitiful
resentment. A dinner there must be. After
Emma had talked about it for ten minutes, Mr. Woodhouse
felt no unwillingness, and only made the usual stipulation
of not sitting at the bottom of the table himself,
with the usual regular difficulty of deciding who
should do it for him.
