Bab Bab 22 · 第22章

Human nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting

situations, that a young person, who either marries or dies, is sure of

being kindly spoken of.

A week had not passed since Miss Hawkins’s name was first mentioned in

Highbury, before she was, by some means or other, discovered to have

every recommendation of person and mind; to be handsome, elegant,

highly accomplished, and perfectly amiable: and when Mr. Elton himself

arrived to triumph in his happy prospects, and circulate the fame of

her merits, there was very little more for him to do, than to tell her

Christian name, and say whose music she principally played.

Mr. Elton returned, a very happy man. He had gone away rejected and

mortified—disappointed in a very sanguine hope, after a series of what

appeared to him strong encouragement; and not only losing the right

lady, but finding himself debased to the level of a very wrong one. He

had gone away deeply offended—he came back engaged to another—and to

another as superior, of course, to the first, as under such

circumstances what is gained always is to what is lost. He came back

gay and self-satisfied, eager and busy, caring nothing for Miss

Woodhouse, and defying Miss Smith.

The charming Augusta Hawkins, in addition to all the usual advantages

of perfect beauty and merit, was in possession of an independent

fortune, of so many thousands as would always be called ten; a point of

some dignity, as well as some convenience: the story told well; he had

not thrown himself away—he had gained a woman of 10,000 _l_. or

thereabouts; and he had gained her with such delightful rapidity—the

first hour of introduction had been so very soon followed by

distinguishing notice; the history which he had to give Mrs. Cole of

the rise and progress of the affair was so glorious—the steps so quick,

from the accidental rencontre, to the dinner at Mr. Green’s, and the

party at Mrs. Brown’s—smiles and blushes rising in importance—with

consciousness and agitation richly scattered—the lady had been so

easily impressed—so sweetly disposed—had in short, to use a most

intelligible phrase, been so very ready to have him, that vanity and

prudence were equally contented.

He had caught both substance and shadow—both fortune and affection, and

was just the happy man he ought to be; talking only of himself and his

own concerns—expecting to be congratulated—ready to be laughed at—and,

with cordial, fearless smiles, now addressing all the young ladies of

the place, to whom, a few weeks ago, he would have been more cautiously

gallant.

The wedding was no distant event, as the parties had only themselves to

please, and nothing but the necessary preparations to wait for; and

when he set out for Bath again, there was a general expectation, which

a certain glance of Mrs. Cole’s did not seem to contradict, that when

he next entered Highbury he would bring his bride.

During his present short stay, Emma had barely seen him; but just

enough to feel that the first meeting was over, and to give her the

impression of his not being improved by the mixture of pique and

pretension, now spread over his air. She was, in fact, beginning very

much to wonder that she had ever thought him pleasing at all; and his

sight was so inseparably connected with some very disagreeable

feelings, that, except in a moral light, as a penance, a lesson, a

source of profitable humiliation to her own mind, she would have been

thankful to be assured of never seeing him again. She wished him very

well; but he gave her pain, and his welfare twenty miles off would

administer most satisfaction.

The pain of his continued residence in Highbury, however, must

certainly be lessened by his marriage. Many vain solicitudes would be

prevented—many awkwardnesses smoothed by it. A _Mrs._ _Elton_ would be

an excuse for any change of intercourse; former intimacy might sink

without remark. It would be almost beginning their life of civility

again.

Of the lady, individually, Emma thought very little. She was good

enough for Mr. Elton, no doubt; accomplished enough for

Highbury—handsome enough—to look plain, probably, by Harriet’s side. As

to connexion, there Emma was perfectly easy; persuaded, that after all

his own vaunted claims and disdain of Harriet, he had done nothing. On

that article, truth seemed attainable. _What_ she was, must be

uncertain; but _who_ she was, might be found out; and setting aside the

10,000 l., it did not appear that she was at all Harriet’s superior.

She brought no name, no blood, no alliance. Miss Hawkins was the

youngest of the two daughters of a Bristol—merchant, of course, he must

be called; but, as the whole of the profits of his mercantile life

appeared so very moderate, it was not unfair to guess the dignity of

his line of trade had been very moderate also. Part of every winter she

had been used to spend in Bath; but Bristol was her home, the very

heart of Bristol; for though the father and mother had died some years

ago, an uncle remained—in the law line—nothing more distinctly

honourable was hazarded of him, than that he was in the law line; and

with him the daughter had lived. Emma guessed him to be the drudge of

some attorney, and too stupid to rise. And all the grandeur of the

connexion seemed dependent on the elder sister, who was _very_ _well_

_married_, to a gentleman in a _great_ _way_, near Bristol, who kept

two carriages! That was the wind-up of the history; that was the glory

of Miss Hawkins.

Could she but have given Harriet her feelings about it all! She had

talked her into love; but, alas! she was not so easily to be talked out

of it. The charm of an object to occupy the many vacancies of Harriet’s

mind was not to be talked away. He might be superseded by another; he

certainly would indeed; nothing could be clearer; even a Robert Martin

would have been sufficient; but nothing else, she feared, would cure

her. Harriet was one of those, who, having once begun, would be always

in love. And now, poor girl! she was considerably worse from this

reappearance of Mr. Elton. She was always having a glimpse of him

somewhere or other. Emma saw him only once; but two or three times

every day Harriet was sure _just_ to meet with him, or _just_ to miss

him, _just_ to hear his voice, or see his shoulder, _just_ to have

something occur to preserve him in her fancy, in all the favouring

warmth of surprize and conjecture. She was, moreover, perpetually

hearing about him; for, excepting when at Hartfield, she was always

among those who saw no fault in Mr. Elton, and found nothing so

interesting as the discussion of his concerns; and every report,

therefore, every guess—all that had already occurred, all that might

occur in the arrangement of his affairs, comprehending income,

servants, and furniture, was continually in agitation around her. Her

regard was receiving strength by invariable praise of him, and her

regrets kept alive, and feelings irritated by ceaseless repetitions of

Miss Hawkins’s happiness, and continual observation of, how much he

seemed attached!—his air as he walked by the house—the very sitting of

his hat, being all in proof of how much he was in love!

Had it been allowable entertainment, had there been no pain to her

friend, or reproach to herself, in the waverings of Harriet’s mind,

Emma would have been amused by its variations. Sometimes Mr. Elton

predominated, sometimes the Martins; and each was occasionally useful

as a check to the other. Mr. Elton’s engagement had been the cure of

the agitation of meeting Mr. Martin. The unhappiness produced by the

knowledge of that engagement had been a little put aside by Elizabeth

Martin’s calling at Mrs. Goddard’s a few days afterwards. Harriet had

not been at home; but a note had been prepared and left for her,

written in the very style to touch; a small mixture of reproach, with a

great deal of kindness; and till Mr. Elton himself appeared, she had

been much occupied by it, continually pondering over what could be done

in return, and wishing to do more than she dared to confess. But Mr.

Elton, in person, had driven away all such cares. While he staid, the

Martins were forgotten; and on the very morning of his setting off for

Bath again, Emma, to dissipate some of the distress it occasioned,

judged it best for her to return Elizabeth Martin’s visit.

How that visit was to be acknowledged—what would be necessary—and what

might be safest, had been a point of some doubtful consideration.

Absolute neglect of the mother and sisters, when invited to come, would

be ingratitude. It must not be: and yet the danger of a renewal of the

acquaintance—!

After much thinking, she could determine on nothing better, than

Harriet’s returning the visit; but in a way that, if they had

understanding, should convince them that it was to be only a formal

acquaintance. She meant to take her in the carriage, leave her at the

Abbey Mill, while she drove a little farther, and call for her again so

soon, as to allow no time for insidious applications or dangerous

recurrences to the past, and give the most decided proof of what degree

of intimacy was chosen for the future.

She could think of nothing better: and though there was something in it

which her own heart could not approve—something of ingratitude, merely

glossed over—it must be done, or what would become of Harriet?