Frank turned instantly to Emma, to claim her former promise; and boasted himself an engaged man, which his father looked his most perfect approbation of—­and it then appeared that Mrs. Weston was wanting him to dance with Mrs. Elton himself, and that their business was to help to persuade him into it, which was done pretty soon.—­ Mr. Weston and Mrs. Elton led the way, Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse followed.  Emma must submit to stand second to Mrs. Elton, though she had always considered the ball as peculiarly for her.  It was almost enough to make her think of marrying.  Mrs. Elton had undoubtedly the advantage, at this time, in vanity completely gratified; for though she had intended to begin with Frank Churchill, she could not lose by the change.  Mr. Weston might be his son’s superior.—­ In spite of this little rub, however, Emma was smiling with enjoyment, delighted to see the respectable length of the set as it was forming, and to feel that she had so many hours of unusual festivity before her.—­ She was more disturbed by Mr. Knightley’s not dancing than by any thing else.—­There he was, among the standers-by, where he ought not to be; he ought to be dancing,—­not classing himself with the husbands, and fathers, and whist-players, who were pretending to feel an interest in the dance till their rubbers were made up,—­so young as he looked!—­ He could not have appeared to greater advantage perhaps anywhere, than where he had placed himself.  His tall, firm, upright figure, among the bulky forms and stooping shoulders of the elderly men, was such as Emma felt must draw every body’s eyes; and, excepting her own partner, there was not one among the whole row of young men who could be compared with him.—­He moved a few steps nearer, and those few steps were enough to prove in how gentlemanlike a manner, with what natural grace, he must have danced, would he but take the trouble.—­Whenever she caught his eye, she forced him to smile; but in general he was looking grave.  She wished he could love a ballroom better, and could like Frank Churchill better.—­ He seemed often observing her.  She must not flatter herself that he thought of her dancing, but if he were criticising her behaviour, she did not feel afraid.  There was nothing like flirtation between her and her partner.  They seemed more like cheerful, easy friends, than lovers.  That Frank Churchill thought less of her than he had done, was indubitable.

The ball proceeded pleasantly.  The anxious cares, the incessant attentions of Mrs. Weston, were not thrown away.  Every body seemed happy; and the praise of being a delightful ball, which is seldom bestowed till after a ball has ceased to be, was repeatedly given in the very beginning of the existence of this.  Of very important, very recordable events, it was not more productive than such meetings usually are.  There was one, however, which Emma thought something of.—­The two last dances before supper were