Her own conduct, as well as her own heart, was before her in the same few minutes.  She saw it all with a clearness which had never blessed her before.  How improperly had she been acting by Harriet!  How inconsiderate, how indelicate, how irrational, how unfeeling had been her conduct!  What blindness, what madness, had led her on!  It struck her with dreadful force, and she was ready to give it every bad name in the world.  Some portion of respect for herself, however, in spite of all these demerits—­ some concern for her own appearance, and a strong sense of justice by Harriet—­(there would be no need of compassion to the girl who believed herself loved by Mr. Knightley—­but justice required that she should not be made unhappy by any coldness now,) gave Emma the resolution to sit and endure farther with calmness, with even apparent kindness.—­For her own advantage indeed, it was fit that the utmost extent of Harriet’s hopes should be enquired into; and Harriet had done nothing to forfeit the regard and interest which had been so voluntarily formed and maintained—­or to deserve to be slighted by the person, whose counsels had never led her right.—­ Rousing from reflection, therefore, and subduing her emotion, she turned to Harriet again, and, in a more inviting accent, renewed the conversation; for as to the subject which had first introduced it, the wonderful story of Jane Fairfax, that was quite sunk and lost.—­ Neither of them thought but of Mr. Knightley and themselves.

Harriet, who had been standing in no unhappy reverie, was yet very glad to be called from it, by the now encouraging manner of such a judge, and such a friend as Miss Woodhouse, and only wanted invitation, to give the history of her hopes with great, though trembling delight.—­Emma’s tremblings as she asked, and as she listened, were better concealed than Harriet’s, but they were not less.  Her voice was not unsteady; but her mind was in all the perturbation that such a development of self, such a burst of threatening evil, such a confusion of sudden and perplexing emotions, must create.—­ She listened with much inward suffering, but with great outward patience, to Harriet’s detail.—­Methodical, or well arranged, or very well delivered, it could not be expected to be; but it contained, when separated from all the feebleness and tautology of the narration, a substance to sink her spirit—­ especially with the corroborating circumstances, which her own memory brought in favour of Mr. Knightley’s most improved opinion of Harriet.

Harriet had been conscious of a difference in his behaviour ever since those two decisive dances.—­Emma knew that he had, on that occasion, found her much superior to his expectation.  From that evening, or at least from the time of Miss Woodhouse’s encouraging her to think of him, Harriet had begun to be sensible of his talking to her much more than he had been used to do, and of his having indeed quite a different manner towards her; a manner of kindness