“I hope I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing
my son to you,” said Mr. Weston.
Mrs. Elton, very willing to suppose a particular compliment
intended her by such a hope, smiled most graciously.
“You have heard of a certain Frank Churchill,
I presume,” he continued— “and
know him to be my son, though he does not bear my name.”
“Oh! yes, and I shall be very happy in his acquaintance.
I am sure Mr. Elton will lose no time in calling on
him; and we shall both have great pleasure in seeing
him at the Vicarage.”
“You are very obliging.—Frank will
be extremely happy, I am sure.— He is to
be in town next week, if not sooner. We have
notice of it in a letter to-day. I met the letters
in my way this morning, and seeing my son’s
hand, presumed to open it—though it was
not directed to me—it was to Mrs. Weston.
She is his principal correspondent, I assure you.
I hardly ever get a letter.”
“And so you absolutely opened what was directed
to her! Oh! Mr. Weston— (laughing
affectedly) I must protest against that.—A
most dangerous precedent indeed!—I beg
you will not let your neighbours follow your example.—Upon
my word, if this is what I am to expect, we married
women must begin to exert ourselves!—Oh!
Mr. Weston, I could not have believed it of you!”
“Aye, we men are sad fellows. You must
take care of yourself, Mrs. Elton.—This
letter tells us—it is a short letter—written
in a hurry, merely to give us notice—it
tells us that they are all coming up to town directly,
on Mrs. Churchill’s account—she has
not been well the whole winter, and thinks Enscombe
too cold for her— so they are all to move
southward without loss of time.”
“Indeed!—from Yorkshire, I think.
Enscombe is in Yorkshire?”
“Yes, they are about one hundred and ninety
miles from London. a considerable journey.”
“Yes, upon my word, very considerable.
Sixty-five miles farther than from Maple Grove to
London. But what is distance, Mr. Weston, to
people of large fortune?—You would be amazed
to hear how my brother, Mr. Suckling, sometimes flies
about. You will hardly believe me—
but twice in one week he and Mr. Bragge went to London
and back again with four horses.”
“The evil of the distance from Enscombe,”
said Mr. Weston, “is, that Mrs. Churchill, as
we understand, has not been able to leave
the sofa for a week together. In Frank’s
last letter she complained, he said, of being too
weak to get into her conservatory without having both
his arm and his uncle’s! This, you know,
speaks a great degree of weakness—but now
she is so impatient to be in town, that she means
to sleep only two nights on the road.—So
Frank writes word. Certainly, delicate ladies
have very extraordinary constitutions, Mrs. Elton.
You must grant me that.”
