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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 469 pages of information about Emma.

“Such a home, indeed! such an aunt!” said Emma, as she turned back into the hall again.  “I do pity you.  And the more sensibility you betray of their just horrors, the more I shall like you.”

Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they had only accomplished some views of St. Mark’s Place, Venice, when Frank Churchill entered the room.  Emma had not been thinking of him, she had forgotten to think of him—­but she was very glad to see him.  Mrs. Weston would be at ease.  The black mare was blameless; they were right who had named Mrs. Churchill as the cause.  He had been detained by a temporary increase of illness in her; a nervous seizure, which had lasted some hours—­and he had quite given up every thought of coming, till very late;—­and had he known how hot a ride he should have, and how late, with all his hurry, he must be, he believed he should not have come at all.  The heat was excessive; he had never suffered any thing like it—­almost wished he had staid at home—­nothing killed him like heat—­he could bear any degree of cold, etc., but heat was intolerable—­and he sat down, at the greatest possible distance from the slight remains of Mr. Woodhouse’s fire, looking very deplorable.

“You will soon be cooler, if you sit still,” said Emma.

“As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again.  I could very ill be spared—­but such a point had been made of my coming!  You will all be going soon I suppose; the whole party breaking up.  I met one as I came—­Madness in such weather!—­absolute madness!”

Emma listened, and looked, and soon perceived that Frank Churchill’s state might be best defined by the expressive phrase of being out of humour.  Some people were always cross when they were hot.  Such might be his constitution; and as she knew that eating and drinking were often the cure of such incidental complaints, she recommended his taking some refreshment; he would find abundance of every thing in the dining-room—­and she humanely pointed out the door.

“No—­he should not eat.  He was not hungry; it would only make him hotter.”  In two minutes, however, he relented in his own favour; and muttering something about spruce-beer, walked off.  Emma returned all her attention to her father, saying in secret—­

“I am glad I have done being in love with him.  I should not like a man who is so soon discomposed by a hot morning.  Harriet’s sweet easy temper will not mind it.”

He was gone long enough to have had a very comfortable meal, and came back all the better—­grown quite cool—­and, with good manners, like himself—­able to draw a chair close to them, take an interest in their employment; and regret, in a reasonable way, that he should be so late.  He was not in his best spirits, but seemed trying to improve them; and, at last, made himself talk nonsense very agreeably.  They were looking over views in Swisserland.

“As soon as my aunt gets well, I shall go abroad,” said he.  “I shall never be easy till I have seen some of these places.  You will have my sketches, some time or other, to look at—­or my tour to read—­or my poem.  I shall do something to expose myself.”

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