“He writes like a sensible man,” replied Emma, when she had read the letter. “I honour his sincerity. It is very plain that he considers the good fortune of the engagement as all on my side, but that he is not without hope of my growing, in time, as worthy of your affection, as you think me already. Had he said any thing to bear a different construction, I should not have believed him.”
“My Emma, he means no such thing. He only means–”
“He and I should differ very little in our estimation of the two,” interrupted she, with a sort of serious smile–“much less, perhaps, than he is aware of, if we could enter without ceremony or reserve on the subject.”
“Emma, my dear Emma–”
“Oh!” she cried with more thorough gaiety, “if you fancy your brother does not do me justice, only wait till my dear father is in the secret, and hear his opinion. Depend upon it, he will be much farther from doing you justice. He will think all the happiness, all the advantage, on your side of the question; all the merit on mine. I wish I may not sink into `poor Emma’ with him at once.– His tender compassion towards oppressed worth can go no farther.”
“Ah!” he cried, “I wish your father might be half as easily convinced as John will be, of our having every right that equal worth can give, to be happy together. I am amused by one part of John’s letter– did you notice it?–where he says, that my information did not take him wholly by surprize, that he was rather in expectation of hearing something of the kind.”
“If I understand your brother, he only means so far as your having some thoughts of marrying. He had no idea of me. He seems perfectly unprepared for that.”
“Yes, yes–but I am amused that he should have seen so far into my feelings. What has he been judging by?–I am not conscious of any difference in my spirits or conversation that could prepare him at this time for my marrying any more than at another.– But it was so, I suppose. I dare say there was a difference when I was staying with them the other day. I believe I did not play with the children quite so much as usual. I remember one evening the poor boys saying, `Uncle seems always tired now.'”
The time was coming when the news must spread farther, and other persons’ reception of it tried. As soon as Mrs. Weston was sufficiently recovered to admit Mr. Woodhouse’s visits, Emma having it in view that her gentle reasonings should be employed in the cause, resolved first to announce it at home, and then at Randalls.– But how to break it to her father at last!–She had bound herself to do it, in such an hour of Mr. Knightley’s absence, or when it came to the point her heart would have failed her, and she must have put it off; but Mr. Knightley was to come at such a time, and follow up the beginning she was to make.–She was forced to speak, and to speak cheerfully too. She must not make it a more decided subject of misery to him, by a melancholy tone herself. She must not appear to think it a misfortune.–With all the spirits she could command, she prepared him first for something strange, and then, in a few words, said, that if his consent and approbation could be obtained–which, she trusted, would be attended with no difficulty, since it was a plan to promote the happiness of all– she and Mr. Knightley meant to marry; by which means Hartfield would receive the constant addition of that person’s company whom she knew he loved, next to his daughters and Mrs. Weston, best in the world.
Poor man!–it was at first a considerable shock to him, and he tried earnestly to dissuade her from it. She was reminded, more than once, of having always said she would never marry, and assured that it would be a great deal better for her to remain single; and told of poor Isabella, and poor Miss Taylor.–But it would not do. Emma hung about him affectionately, and smiled, and said it must be so; and that he must not class her with Isabella and Mrs. Weston, whose marriages taking them from Hartfield, had, indeed, made a melancholy change: but she was not going from Hartfield; she should be always there; she was introducing no change in their numbers or their comforts but for the better; and she was very sure that he would be a great deal the happier for having Mr. Knightley always at hand, when he were once got used to the idea.–Did he not love Mr. Knightley very much?– He would not deny that he did, she was sure.–Whom did he ever want to consult on business but Mr. Knightley?–Who was so useful to him, who so ready to write his letters, who so glad to assist him?– Who so cheerful, so attentive, so attached to him?–Would not he like to have him always on the spot?–Yes. That was all very true. Mr. Knightley could not be there too often; he should be glad to see him every day;–but they did see him every day as it was.–Why could not they go on as they had done?