Emma heard that Frank wrote in the highest spirits
of this arrangement, and seemed most fully to appreciate
the blessing of having two months before him of such
near neighbourhood to many dear friends—
for the house was taken for May and June. She
was told that now he wrote with the greatest confidence
of being often with them, almost as often as he could
even wish.
Emma saw how Mr. Weston understood these joyous prospects.
He was considering her as the source of all the happiness
they offered. She hoped it was not so.
Two months must bring it to the proof.
Mr. Weston’s own happiness was indisputable.
He was quite delighted. It was the very circumstance
he could have wished for. Now, it would be really
having Frank in their neighbourhood. What were
nine miles to a young man?—An hour’s
ride. He would be always coming over. The
difference in that respect of Richmond and London was
enough to make the whole difference of seeing him
always and seeing him never. Sixteen miles—nay,
eighteen—it must be full eighteen to Manchester-street—was
a serious obstacle. Were he ever able to get
away, the day would be spent in coming and returning.
There was no comfort in having him in London; he might
as well be at Enscombe; but Richmond was the very
distance for easy intercourse. Better than nearer!
One good thing was immediately brought to a certainty
by this removal,— the ball at the Crown.
It had not been forgotten before, but it had been
soon acknowledged vain to attempt to fix a day.
Now, however, it was absolutely to be; every preparation
was resumed, and very soon after the Churchills had
removed to Richmond, a few lines from Frank, to say
that his aunt felt already much better for the change,
and that he had no doubt of being able to join them
for twenty-four hours at any given time, induced them
to name as early a day as possible.
Mr. Weston’s ball was to be a real thing.
A very few to-morrows stood between the young people
of Highbury and happiness.
Mr. Woodhouse was resigned. The time of year
lightened the evil to him. May was better for
every thing than February. Mrs. Bates was engaged
to spend the evening at Hartfield, James had due notice,
and he sanguinely hoped that neither dear little Henry
nor dear little John would have any thing the matter
with them, while dear Emma were gone.
No misfortune occurred, again to prevent the ball.
The day approached, the day arrived; and after a
morning of some anxious watching, Frank Churchill,
in all the certainty of his own self, reached Randalls
before dinner, and every thing was safe.
No second meeting had there yet been between him and
Emma. The room at the Crown was to witness it;—but
it would be better than a common meeting in a crowd.
Mr. Weston had been so very earnest in his entreaties
for her arriving there as soon as possible after themselves,
for the purpose of taking her opinion as to the propriety
and comfort of the rooms before any other persons came,
that she could not refuse him, and must therefore spend
some quiet interval in the young man’s company.
She was to convey Harriet, and they drove to the
Crown in good time, the Randalls party just sufficiently
before them.
