Emma

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The very day of Mr. Elton's going to London produced a fresh

occasion for Emma's services towards her friend. Harriet had been

at Hartfield, as usual, soon after breakfast; and, after a time,

had gone home to return again to dinner: she returned, and sooner

than had been talked of, and with an agitated, hurried look,

announcing something extraordinary to have happened which she was

longing to tell. Half a minute brought it all out. She had heard,

as soon as she got back to Mrs. Goddard's, that Mr. Martin had been

there an hour before, and finding she was not at home, nor

particularly expected, had left a little parcel for her from one of

his sisters, and gone away; and on opening this parcel, she had

actually found, besides the two songs which she had lent Elizabeth

to copy, a letter to herself; and this letter was from him, from

Mr. Martin, and contained a direct proposal of marriage. "Who could

have thought it? She was so surprized she did not know what to do.

Yes, quite a proposal of marriage; and a very good letter, at least

she thought so. And he wrote as if he really loved her very

much—but she did not know—and so, she was come as fast as she could

to ask Miss Woodhouse what she should do.—" Emma was half-ashamed

of her friend for seeming so pleased and so doubtful.

"Upon my word," she cried, "the young man is determined not to

lose any thing for want of asking. He will connect himself well if

he can."

"Will you read the letter?" cried Harriet. "Pray do. I'd rather

you would."

Emma was not sorry to be pressed. She read, and was surprized.

The style of the letter was much above her expectation. There were

not merely no grammatical errors, but as a composition it would not

have disgraced a gentleman; the language, though plain, was strong

and unaffected, and the sentiments it conveyed very much to the

credit of the writer. It was short, but expressed good sense, warm

attachment, liberality, propriety, even delicacy of feeling. She

paused over it, while Harriet stood anxiously watching for her

opinion, with a "Well, well," and was at last forced to add, "Is it

a good letter? or is it too short?"

"Yes, indeed, a very good letter," replied Emma rather

slowly—"so good a letter, Harriet, that every thing considered, I

think one of his sisters must have helped him. I can hardly imagine

the young man whom I saw talking with you the other day could

express himself so well, if left quite to his own powers, and yet

it is not the style of a woman; no, certainly, it is too strong and

concise; not diffuse enough for a woman. No doubt he is a sensible

man, and I suppose may have a natural talent for—thinks strongly

and clearly—and when he takes a pen in hand, his thoughts naturally

find proper words. It is so with some men. Yes, I understand the

sort of mind. Vigorous, decided, with sentiments to a certain

point, not coarse. A better written letter, Harriet (returning it,)

than I had expected."

"Well," said the still waiting Harriet;—"well—and—and what shall

I do?"

"What shall you do! In what respect? Do you mean with regard to

this letter?"

"Yes."

"But what are you in doubt of? You must answer it of course—and

speedily."

"Yes. But what shall I say? Dear Miss Woodhouse, do advise

me."

"Oh no, no! the letter had much better be all your own. You will

express yourself very properly, I am sure. There is no danger of

your not being intelligible, which is the first thing. Your meaning

must be unequivocal; no doubts or demurs: and such expressions of

gratitude and concern for the pain you are inflicting as propriety

requires, will present themselves unbidden to your mind, I am

persuaded. You need not be prompted to write with the appearance of

sorrow for his disappointment."

"You think I ought to refuse him then," said Harriet, looking

down.

"Ought to refuse him! My dear Harriet, what do you mean? Are you

in any doubt as to that? I thought—but I beg your pardon, perhaps I

have been under a mistake. I certainly have been misunderstanding

you, if you feel in doubt as to the purport of your answer. I had

imagined you were consulting me only as to the wording of it."

Harriet was silent. With a little reserve of manner, Emma

continued:

"You mean to return a favourable answer, I collect."

"No, I do not; that is, I do not mean—What shall I do? What

would you advise me to do? Pray, dear Miss Woodhouse, tell me what

I ought to do."

"I shall not give you any advice, Harriet. I will have nothing

to do with it. This is a point which you must settle with your

feelings."

"I had no notion that he liked me so very much," said Harriet,

contemplating the letter. For a little while Emma persevered in her

silence; but beginning to apprehend the bewitching flattery of that

letter might be too powerful, she thought it best to say,

"I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a woman

doubts as to whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly

ought to refuse him. If she can hesitate as to `Yes,' she ought to

say `No' directly. It is not a state to be safely entered into with

doubtful feelings, with half a heart. I thought it my duty as a

friend, and older than yourself, to say thus much to you. But do

not imagine that I want to influence you."

"Oh! no, I am sure you are a great deal too kind to—but if you

would just advise me what I had best do—No, no, I do not mean

that—As you say, one's mind ought to be quite made up—One should

not be hesitating—It is a very serious thing.—It will be safer to

say `No,' perhaps.—Do you think I had better say `No?'"

"Not for the world," said Emma, smiling graciously, "would I

advise you either way. You must be the best judge of your own

happiness. If you prefer Mr. Martin to every other person; if you

think him the most agreeable man you have ever been in company

with, why should you hesitate? You blush, Harriet.—Does any body

else occur to you at this moment under such a definition? Harriet,

Harriet, do not deceive yourself; do not be run away with by

gratitude and compassion. At this moment whom are you thinking

of?"

The symptoms were favourable.—Instead of answering, Harriet

turned away confused, and stood thoughtfully by the fire; and

though the letter was still in her hand, it was now mechanically

twisted about without regard. Emma waited the result with

impatience, but not without strong hopes. At last, with some

hesitation, Harriet said—

"Miss Woodhouse, as you will not give me your opinion, I must do

as well as I can by myself; and I have now quite determined, and

really almost made up my mind—to refuse Mr. Martin. Do you think I

am right?"

"Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Harriet; you are doing

just what you ought. While you were at all in suspense I kept my

feelings to myself, but now that you are so completely decided I

have no hesitation in approving. Dear Harriet, I give myself joy of

this. It would have grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which

must have been the consequence of your marrying Mr. Martin. While

you were in the smallest degree wavering, I said nothing about it,

because I would not influence; but it would have been the loss of a

friend to me. I could not have visited Mrs. Robert Martin, of

Abbey-Mill Farm. Now I am secure of you for ever."

Harriet had not surmised her own danger, but the idea of it

struck her forcibly.

"You could not have visited me!" she cried, looking aghast. "No,

to be sure you could not; but I never thought of that before. That

would have been too dreadful!—What an escape!—Dear Miss Woodhouse,

I would not give up the pleasure and honour of being intimate with

you for any thing in the world."

"Indeed, Harriet, it would have been a severe pang to lose you;

but it must have been. You would have thrown yourself out of all

good society. I must have given you up."

"Dear me!—How should I ever have borne it! It would have killed

me never to come to Hartfield any more!"

"Dear affectionate creature!—You banished to Abbey-Mill

Farm!—You confined to the society of the illiterate and vulgar all

your life! I wonder how the young man could have the assurance to

ask it. He must have a pretty good opinion of himself."

"I do not think he is conceited either, in general," said

Harriet, her conscience opposing such censure; "at least, he is

very good natured, and I shall always feel much obliged to him, and

have a great regard for—but that is quite a different thing

from—and you know, though he may like me, it does not follow that I

should—and certainly I must confess that since my visiting here I

have seen people—and if one comes to compare them, person and

manners, there is no comparison at all, one is so very handsome and

agreeable. However, I do really think Mr. Martin a very amiable

young man, and have a great opinion of him; and his being so much

attached to me—and his writing such a letter—but as to leaving you,

it is what I would not do upon any consideration."

"Thank you, thank you, my own sweet little friend. We will not

be parted. A woman is not to marry a man merely because she is

asked, or because he is attached to her, and can write a tolerable

letter."

"Oh no;—and it is but a short letter too."

Emma felt the bad taste of her friend, but let it pass with a

"very true; and it would be a small consolation to her, for the

clownish manner which might be offending her every hour of the day,

to know that her husband could write a good letter."

"Oh! yes, very. Nobody cares for a letter; the thing is, to be

always happy with pleasant companions. I am quite determined to

refuse him. But how shall I do? What shall I say?"

Emma assured her there would be no difficulty in the answer, and

advised its being written directly, which was agreed to, in the

hope of her assistance; and though Emma continued to protest

against any assistance being wanted, it was in fact given in the

formation of every sentence. The looking over his letter again, in

replying to it, had such a softening tendency, that it was

particularly necessary to brace her up with a few decisive

expressions; and she was so very much concerned at the idea of

making him unhappy, and thought so much of what his mother and

sisters would think and say, and was so anxious that they should

not fancy her ungrateful, that Emma believed if the young man had

come in her way at that moment, he would have been accepted after

all.

This letter, however, was written, and sealed, and sent. The

business was finished, and Harriet safe. She was rather low all the

evening, but Emma could allow for her amiable regrets, and

sometimes relieved them by speaking of her own affection, sometimes

by bringing forward the idea of Mr. Elton.

"I shall never be invited to Abbey-Mill again," was said in

rather a sorrowful tone.

"Nor, if you were, could I ever bear to part with you, my

Harriet. You are a great deal too necessary at Hartfield to be

spared to Abbey-Mill."

"And I am sure I should never want to go there; for I am never

happy but at Hartfield."

Some time afterwards it was, "I think Mrs. Goddard would be very

much surprized if she knew what had happened. I am sure Miss Nash

would—for Miss Nash thinks her own sister very well married, and it

is only a linen-draper."

"One should be sorry to see greater pride or refinement in the

teacher of a school, Harriet. I dare say Miss Nash would envy you

such an opportunity as this of being married. Even this conquest

would appear valuable in her eyes. As to any thing superior for

you, I suppose she is quite in the dark. The attentions of a

certain person can hardly be among the tittle-tattle of Highbury

yet. Hitherto I fancy you and I are the only people to whom his

looks and manners have explained themselves."

Harriet blushed and smiled, and said something about wondering

that people should like her so much. The idea of Mr. Elton was

certainly cheering; but still, after a time, she was tender-hearted

again towards the rejected Mr. Martin.

"Now he has got my letter," said she softly. "I wonder what they

are all doing—whether his sisters know—if he is unhappy, they will

be unhappy too. I hope he will not mind it so very much."

"Let us think of those among our absent friends who are more

cheerfully employed," cried Emma. "At this moment, perhaps, Mr.

Elton is shewing your picture to his mother and sisters, telling

how much more beautiful is the original, and after being asked for

it five or six times, allowing them to hear your name, your own

dear name."

"My picture!—But he has left my picture in Bond-street."

"Has he so!—Then I know nothing of Mr. Elton. No, my dear little

modest Harriet, depend upon it the picture will not be in

Bond-street till just before he mounts his horse to-morrow. It is

his companion all this evening, his solace, his delight. It opens

his designs to his family, it introduces you among them, it

diffuses through the party those pleasantest feelings of our

nature, eager curiosity and warm prepossession. How cheerful, how

animated, how suspicious, how busy their imaginations all are!"

Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew stronger.