“This man is almost too gallant to be in love,”
thought Emma. “I should say so, but that
I suppose there may be a hundred different ways of
being in love. He is an excellent young man,
and will suit Harriet exactly; it will be an `Exactly
so,’ as he says himself; but he does sigh and
languish, and study for compliments rather more than
I could endure as a principal. I come in for
a pretty good share as a second. But it is his
gratitude on Harriet’s account.”
CHAPTER VII
The very day of Mr. Elton’s going to London
produced a fresh occasion for Emma’s services
towards her friend. Harriet had been at Hartfield,
as usual, soon after breakfast; and, after a time,
had gone home to return again to dinner: she
returned, and sooner than had been talked of, and
with an agitated, hurried look, announcing something
extraordinary to have happened which she was longing
to tell. Half a minute brought it all out.
She had heard, as soon as she got back to Mrs. Goddard’s,
that Mr. Martin had been there an hour before, and
finding she was not at home, nor particularly expected,
had left a little parcel for her from one of his sisters,
and gone away; and on opening this parcel, she had
actually found, besides the two songs which she had
lent Elizabeth to copy, a letter to herself; and this
letter was from him, from Mr. Martin, and contained
a direct proposal of marriage. “Who could
have thought it? She was so surprized she did
not know what to do. Yes, quite a proposal of
marriage; and a very good letter, at least she thought
so. And he wrote as if he really loved her very
much—but she did not know—and
so, she was come as fast as she could to ask Miss
Woodhouse what she should do.—” Emma
was half-ashamed of her friend for seeming so pleased
and so doubtful.
“Upon my word,” she cried, “the
young man is determined not to lose any thing for
want of asking. He will connect himself well
if he can.”
“Will you read the letter?” cried Harriet.
“Pray do. I’d rather you would.”
Emma was not sorry to be pressed. She read,
and was surprized. The style of the letter was
much above her expectation. There were not merely
no grammatical errors, but as a composition it would
not have disgraced a gentleman; the language, though
plain, was strong and unaffected, and the sentiments
it conveyed very much to the credit of the writer.
It was short, but expressed good sense, warm attachment,
liberality, propriety, even delicacy of feeling.
She paused over it, while Harriet stood anxiously watching
for her opinion, with a “Well, well,”
and was at last forced to add, “Is it a good
letter? or is it too short?”
