Isabella stept in after her father; John Knightley, forgetting that he did not belong to their party, stept in after his wife very naturally; so that Emma found, on being escorted and followed into the second carriage by Mr. Elton, that the door was to be lawfully shut on them, and that they were to have a tete-a-tete drive.  It would not have been the awkwardness of a moment, it would have been rather a pleasure, previous to the suspicions of this very day; she could have talked to him of Harriet, and the three-quarters of a mile would have seemed but one.  But now, she would rather it had not happened.  She believed he had been drinking too much of Mr. Weston’s good wine, and felt sure that he would want to be talking nonsense.

To restrain him as much as might be, by her own manners, she was immediately preparing to speak with exquisite calmness and gravity of the weather and the night; but scarcely had she begun, scarcely had they passed the sweep-gate and joined the other carriage, than she found her subject cut up—­her hand seized—­her attention demanded, and Mr. Elton actually making violent love to her:  availing himself of the precious opportunity, declaring sentiments which must be already well known, hoping—­fearing—­adoring—­ready to die if she refused him; but flattering himself that his ardent attachment and unequalled love and unexampled passion could not fail of having some effect, and in short, very much resolved on being seriously accepted as soon as possible.  It really was so.  Without scruple—­without apology—­ without much apparent diffidence, Mr. Elton, the lover of Harriet, was professing himself her lover.  She tried to stop him; but vainly; he would go on, and say it all.  Angry as she was, the thought of the moment made her resolve to restrain herself when she did speak.  She felt that half this folly must be drunkenness, and therefore could hope that it might belong only to the passing hour.  Accordingly, with a mixture of the serious and the playful, which she hoped would best suit his half and half state, she replied,

“I am very much astonished, Mr. Elton.  This to me! you forget yourself—­ you take me for my friend—­any message to Miss Smith I shall be happy to deliver; but no more of this to me, if you please.”

“Miss Smith!—­message to Miss Smith!—­What could she possibly mean!”—­ And he repeated her words with such assurance of accent, such boastful pretence of amazement, that she could not help replying with quickness,

“Mr. Elton, this is the most extraordinary conduct! and I can account for it only in one way; you are not yourself, or you could not speak either to me, or of Harriet, in such a manner.  Command yourself enough to say no more, and I will endeavour to forget it.”

But Mr. Elton had only drunk wine enough to elevate his spirits, not at all to confuse his intellects.  He perfectly knew his own meaning; and having warmly protested against her suspicion as most injurious, and slightly touched upon his respect for Miss Smith as her friend,—­ but acknowledging his wonder that Miss Smith should be mentioned at all,—­he resumed the subject of his own passion, and was very urgent for a favourable answer.