第 三十五 章 · 第35章

When the ladies returned to the drawing-room after dinner, Emma found

it hardly possible to prevent their making two distinct parties;—with

so much perseverance in judging and behaving ill did Mrs. Elton engross

Jane Fairfax and slight herself. She and Mrs. Weston were obliged to be

almost always either talking together or silent together. Mrs. Elton

left them no choice. If Jane repressed her for a little time, she soon

began again; and though much that passed between them was in a

half-whisper, especially on Mrs. Elton’s side, there was no avoiding a

knowledge of their principal subjects: The post-office—catching

cold—fetching letters—and friendship, were long under discussion; and

to them succeeded one, which must be at least equally unpleasant to

Jane—inquiries whether she had yet heard of any situation likely to

suit her, and professions of Mrs. Elton’s meditated activity.

“Here is April come!” said she, “I get quite anxious about you. June

will soon be here.”

“But I have never fixed on June or any other month—merely looked

forward to the summer in general.”

“But have you really heard of nothing?”

“I have not even made any inquiry; I do not wish to make any yet.”

“Oh! my dear, we cannot begin too early; you are not aware of the

difficulty of procuring exactly the desirable thing.”

“I not aware!” said Jane, shaking her head; “dear Mrs. Elton, who can

have thought of it as I have done?”

“But you have not seen so much of the world as I have. You do not know

how many candidates there always are for the _first_ situations. I saw

a vast deal of that in the neighbourhood round Maple Grove. A cousin of

Mr. Suckling, Mrs. Bragge, had such an infinity of applications; every

body was anxious to be in her family, for she moves in the first

circle. Wax-candles in the schoolroom! You may imagine how desirable!

Of all houses in the kingdom Mrs. Bragge’s is the one I would most wish

to see you in.”

“Colonel and Mrs. Campbell are to be in town again by midsummer,” said

Jane. “I must spend some time with them; I am sure they will want

it;—afterwards I may probably be glad to dispose of myself. But I would

not wish you to take the trouble of making any inquiries at present.”

“Trouble! aye, I know your scruples. You are afraid of giving me

trouble; but I assure you, my dear Jane, the Campbells can hardly be

more interested about you than I am. I shall write to Mrs. Partridge in

a day or two, and shall give her a strict charge to be on the look-out

for any thing eligible.”

“Thank you, but I would rather you did not mention the subject to her;

till the time draws nearer, I do not wish to be giving any body

trouble.”

“But, my dear child, the time is drawing near; here is April, and June,

or say even July, is very near, with such business to accomplish before

us. Your inexperience really amuses me! A situation such as you

deserve, and your friends would require for you, is no everyday

occurrence, is not obtained at a moment’s notice; indeed, indeed, we

must begin inquiring directly.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, but this is by no means my intention; I make no

inquiry myself, and should be sorry to have any made by my friends.

When I am quite determined as to the time, I am not at all afraid of

being long unemployed. There are places in town, offices, where inquiry

would soon produce something—Offices for the sale—not quite of human

flesh—but of human intellect.”

“Oh! my dear, human flesh! You quite shock me; if you mean a fling at

the slave-trade, I assure you Mr. Suckling was always rather a friend

to the abolition.”

“I did not mean, I was not thinking of the slave-trade,” replied Jane;

“governess-trade, I assure you, was all that I had in view; widely

different certainly as to the guilt of those who carry it on; but as to

the greater misery of the victims, I do not know where it lies. But I

only mean to say that there are advertising offices, and that by

applying to them I should have no doubt of very soon meeting with

something that would do.”

“Something that would do!” repeated Mrs. Elton. “Aye, _that_ may suit

your humble ideas of yourself;—I know what a modest creature you are;

but it will not satisfy your friends to have you taking up with any

thing that may offer, any inferior, commonplace situation, in a family

not moving in a certain circle, or able to command the elegancies of

life.”

“You are very obliging; but as to all that, I am very indifferent; it

would be no object to me to be with the rich; my mortifications, I

think, would only be the greater; I should suffer more from comparison.

A gentleman’s family is all that I should condition for.”

“I know you, I know you; you would take up with any thing; but I shall

be a little more nice, and I am sure the good Campbells will be quite

on my side; with your superior talents, you have a right to move in the

first circle. Your musical knowledge alone would entitle you to name

your own terms, have as many rooms as you like, and mix in the family

as much as you chose;—that is—I do not know—if you knew the harp, you

might do all that, I am very sure; but you sing as well as play;—yes, I

really believe you might, even without the harp, stipulate for what you

chose;—and you must and shall be delightfully, honourably and

comfortably settled before the Campbells or I have any rest.”

“You may well class the delight, the honour, and the comfort of such a

situation together,” said Jane, “they are pretty sure to be equal;

however, I am very serious in not wishing any thing to be attempted at

present for me. I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mrs. Elton, I am

obliged to any body who feels for me, but I am quite serious in wishing

nothing to be done till the summer. For two or three months longer I

shall remain where I am, and as I am.”

“And I am quite serious too, I assure you,” replied Mrs. Elton gaily,

“in resolving to be always on the watch, and employing my friends to

watch also, that nothing really unexceptionable may pass us.”

In this style she ran on; never thoroughly stopped by any thing till

Mr. Woodhouse came into the room; her vanity had then a change of

object, and Emma heard her saying in the same half-whisper to Jane,

“Here comes this dear old beau of mine, I protest!—Only think of his

gallantry in coming away before the other men!—what a dear creature he

is;—I assure you I like him excessively. I admire all that quaint,

old-fashioned politeness; it is much more to my taste than modern ease;

modern ease often disgusts me. But this good old Mr. Woodhouse, I wish

you had heard his gallant speeches to me at dinner. Oh! I assure you I

began to think my cara sposo would be absolutely jealous. I fancy I am

rather a favourite; he took notice of my gown. How do you like

it?—Selina’s choice—handsome, I think, but I do not know whether it is

not over-trimmed; I have the greatest dislike to the idea of being

over-trimmed—quite a horror of finery. I must put on a few ornaments

now, because it is expected of me. A bride, you know, must appear like

a bride, but my natural taste is all for simplicity; a simple style of

dress is so infinitely preferable to finery. But I am quite in the

minority, I believe; few people seem to value simplicity of dress,—show

and finery are every thing. I have some notion of putting such a

trimming as this to my white and silver poplin. Do you think it will

look well?”

The whole party were but just reassembled in the drawing-room when Mr.

Weston made his appearance among them. He had returned to a late

dinner, and walked to Hartfield as soon as it was over. He had been too

much expected by the best judges, for surprize—but there was great joy.

Mr. Woodhouse was almost as glad to see him now, as he would have been

sorry to see him before. John Knightley only was in mute

astonishment.—That a man who might have spent his evening quietly at

home after a day of business in London, should set off again, and walk

half a mile to another man’s house, for the sake of being in mixed

company till bed-time, of finishing his day in the efforts of civility

and the noise of numbers, was a circumstance to strike him deeply. A

man who had been in motion since eight o’clock in the morning, and

might now have been still, who had been long talking, and might have

been silent, who had been in more than one crowd, and might have been

alone!—Such a man, to quit the tranquillity and independence of his own

fireside, and on the evening of a cold sleety April day rush out again

into the world!—Could he by a touch of his finger have instantly taken

back his wife, there would have been a motive; but his coming would

probably prolong rather than break up the party. John Knightley looked

at him with amazement, then shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I could

not have believed it even of _him_.”

Mr. Weston meanwhile, perfectly unsuspicious of the indignation he was

exciting, happy and cheerful as usual, and with all the right of being

principal talker, which a day spent anywhere from home confers, was

making himself agreeable among the rest; and having satisfied the

inquiries of his wife as to his dinner, convincing her that none of all

her careful directions to the servants had been forgotten, and spread

abroad what public news he had heard, was proceeding to a family

communication, which, though principally addressed to Mrs. Weston, he

had not the smallest doubt of being highly interesting to every body in

the room. He gave her a letter, it was from Frank, and to herself; he

had met with it in his way, and had taken the liberty of opening it.

“Read it, read it,” said he, “it will give you pleasure; only a few

lines—will not take you long; read it to Emma.”

The two ladies looked over it together; and he sat smiling and talking

to them the whole time, in a voice a little subdued, but very audible

to every body.

“Well, he is coming, you see; good news, I think. Well, what do you say

to it?—I always told you he would be here again soon, did not I?—Anne,

my dear, did not I always tell you so, and you would not believe me?—In

town next week, you see—at the latest, I dare say; for _she_ is as

impatient as the black gentleman when any thing is to be done; most

likely they will be there to-morrow or Saturday. As to her illness, all

nothing of course. But it is an excellent thing to have Frank among us

again, so near as town. They will stay a good while when they do come,

and he will be half his time with us. This is precisely what I wanted.

Well, pretty good news, is not it? Have you finished it? Has Emma read

it all? Put it up, put it up; we will have a good talk about it some

other time, but it will not do now. I shall only just mention the

circumstance to the others in a common way.”

Mrs. Weston was most comfortably pleased on the occasion. Her looks and

words had nothing to restrain them. She was happy, she knew she was

happy, and knew she ought to be happy. Her congratulations were warm

and open; but Emma could not speak so fluently. _She_ was a little

occupied in weighing her own feelings, and trying to understand the

degree of her agitation, which she rather thought was considerable.

Mr. Weston, however, too eager to be very observant, too communicative

to want others to talk, was very well satisfied with what she did say,

and soon moved away to make the rest of his friends happy by a partial

communication of what the whole room must have overheard already.

It was well that he took every body’s joy for granted, or he might not

have thought either Mr. Woodhouse or Mr. Knightley particularly

delighted. They were the first entitled, after Mrs. Weston and Emma, to

be made happy;—from them he would have proceeded to Miss Fairfax, but

she was so deep in conversation with John Knightley, that it would have

been too positive an interruption; and finding himself close to Mrs.

Elton, and her attention disengaged, he necessarily began on the

subject with her.