After this speech he was gone as soon as possible.
Emma could not think it too soon; for with all his
good and agreeable qualities, there was a sort of
parade in his speeches which was very apt to incline
her to laugh. She ran away to indulge the inclination,
leaving the tender and the sublime of pleasure to Harriet’s
share.
Though now the middle of December, there had yet been
no weather to prevent the young ladies from tolerably
regular exercise; and on the morrow, Emma had a charitable
visit to pay to a poor sick family, who lived a little
way out of Highbury.
Their road to this detached cottage was down Vicarage
Lane, a lane leading at right angles from the broad,
though irregular, main street of the place; and, as
may be inferred, containing the blessed abode of Mr.
Elton. A few inferior dwellings were first to
be passed, and then, about a quarter of a mile down
the lane rose the Vicarage, an old and not very good
house, almost as close to the road as it could be.
It had no advantage of situation; but had been very
much smartened up by the present proprietor; and,
such as it was, there could be no possibility of the
two friends passing it without a slackened pace and
observing eyes.—Emma’s remark was—
“There it is. There go you and your riddle-book
one of these days.”— Harriet’s
was—
“Oh, what a sweet house!—How very
beautiful!—There are the yellow curtains
that Miss Nash admires so much.”
“I do not often walk this way now,”
said Emma, as they proceeded, “but then
there will be an inducement, and I shall gradually
get intimately acquainted with all the hedges, gates,
pools and pollards of this part of Highbury.”
Harriet, she found, had never in her life been within
side the Vicarage, and her curiosity to see it was
so extreme, that, considering exteriors and probabilities,
Emma could only class it, as a proof of love, with
Mr. Elton’s seeing ready wit in her.
“I wish we could contrive it,” said she;
“but I cannot think of any tolerable pretence
for going in;—no servant that I want to
inquire about of his housekeeper—no message
from my father.”
She pondered, but could think of nothing. After
a mutual silence of some minutes, Harriet thus began
again—
“I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should
not be married, or going to be married! so charming
as you are!”—
Emma laughed, and replied,
“My being charming, Harriet, is not quite enough
to induce me to marry; I must find other people charming—one
other person at least. And I am not only, not
going to be married, at present, but have very little
intention of ever marrying at all.”
“Ah!—so you say; but I cannot believe
it.”
“I must see somebody very superior to any one
I have seen yet, to be tempted; Mr. Elton, you know,
(recollecting herself,) is out of the question:
and I do not wish to see any such person.
I would rather not be tempted. I cannot really
change for the better. If I were to marry, I
must expect to repent it.”
