“Oh! you amuse me excessively. I am delighted
to find that you can vouchsafe to let your imagination
wander—but it will not do— very
sorry to check you in your first essay—but
indeed it will not do. There is no admiration
between them, I do assure you; and the appearances
which have caught you, have arisen from some peculiar
circumstances—feelings rather of a totally
different nature— it is impossible exactly
to explain:—there is a good deal of nonsense
in it—but the part which is capable of being
communicated, which is sense, is, that they are as
far from any attachment or admiration for one another,
as any two beings in the world can be. That is,
I presume it to be so on her side, and I can
answer for its being so on his. I will
answer for the gentleman’s indifference.”
She spoke with a confidence which staggered, with
a satisfaction which silenced, Mr. Knightley.
She was in gay spirits, and would have prolonged
the conversation, wanting to hear the particulars
of his suspicions, every look described, and all the
wheres and hows of a circumstance which highly entertained
her: but his gaiety did not meet hers.
He found he could not be useful, and his feelings
were too much irritated for talking. That he
might not be irritated into an absolute fever, by
the fire which Mr. Woodhouse’s tender habits
required almost every evening throughout the year,
he soon afterwards took a hasty leave, and walked
home to the coolness and solitude of Donwell Abbey.
CHAPTER VI
After being long fed with hopes of a speedy visit
from Mr. and Mrs. Suckling, the Highbury world were
obliged to endure the mortification of hearing that
they could not possibly come till the autumn.
No such importation of novelties could enrich their
intellectual stores at present. In the daily
interchange of news, they must be again restricted
to the other topics with which for a while the Sucklings’
coming had been united, such as the last accounts of
Mrs. Churchill, whose health seemed every day to supply
a different report, and the situation of Mrs. Weston,
whose happiness it was to be hoped might eventually
be as much increased by the arrival of a child, as
that of all her neighbours was by the approach of it.
Mrs. Elton was very much disappointed. It was
the delay of a great deal of pleasure and parade.
Her introductions and recommendations must all wait,
and every projected party be still only talked of.
So she thought at first;—but a little consideration
convinced her that every thing need not be put off.
Why should not they explore to Box Hill though the
Sucklings did not come? They could go there
again with them in the autumn. It was settled
that they should go to Box Hill. That there
was to be such a party had been long generally known:
it had even given the idea of another. Emma
had never been to Box Hill; she wished to see what
every body found so well worth seeing, and she and
Mr. Weston had agreed to chuse some fine morning and
drive thither. Two or three more of the chosen
only were to be admitted to join them, and it was to
be done in a quiet, unpretending, elegant way, infinitely
superior to the bustle and preparation, the regular
eating and drinking, and picnic parade of the Eltons
and the Sucklings.
