Mr. Knightley’s Diary

Emma’s matchmaking continued today and Elton, poor man, had no idea of what she was about.

She asked him outright what he thought of her little friend. It was impossible to make anything of his convoluted answer, for although he said how much she had improved, and how she had now acquired the polish she had been wanting, his every remark reflected well on Emma: it was Emma who had improved her; Emma who had given her polish.

As the evening wore on, I began to have a suspicion that Elton was doing more than flattering a well-connected young woman. I began to think he was lifting his eyes to Emma herself.

Perhaps I was imagining it, but there seemed something more than an ill-judged civility in his words, perhaps the admiration of a man who hoped to be admitted as a suitor?

The latter would be interesting indeed! He has no hope of succeeding, but the very idea of his assuming that he has a chance of success will teach Emma a lesson in humility which I can never hope to surpass.

What, Miss Woodhouse of Hartfield to marry Mr. Elton! She would be horrified if she knew. I mean to pay them close attention, and see how things develop!

December

Tuesday 1 December

It seems that Emma’s present interest in sketching is to last for a little longer, at least. I found her taking Harriet’s likeness, as she had intended, when I called on her this morning. Elton, as is usual these days, was in attendance.

Mr. Woodhouse and I withdrew for a time as I helped him to write some letters of business, and then we both returned to the drawing-room. We found Emma and her friend hard at work. Harriet was posing, and Emma’s sketch was already well-developed.

Elton was standing behind Emma, fidgeting, and not knowing what to do with himself.

He spoke to me when I entered the room, seemingly glad of something to say.

"Miss Woodhouse has decided to paint her friend full-length, like the portrait of Mr. John Knightley."

I went over to Emma and looked at what she had done. Mrs. Weston was watching the progress of the drawing, too, and her eye had not failed to see that Emma’s portrait was flattering.

"Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty she wanted," she said to Elton. "The expression of the eye is most correct, but Harriet has not those eyebrows and eyelashes. It is the fault of her face that she has them not."

"Do you think so?" he replied "I cannot agree with you. It appears to me a most perfect resemblance in every feature. I never saw such a likeness in my life. We must allow for the effect of shade, you know."

Something had to be done to counteract this flattery, and so I said: "You have made her too tall,

Emma."

I could tell by her expression that she knew she had, but she would not admit it.

"Oh, no! certainly not too tall; not in the least too tall. Consider, she is sitting down - which naturally presents a different - which in short gives exactly the idea - and the proportions must be preserved, you know. Proportions, foreshortening. Oh, no! it gives one exactly the idea of such a height as Harriet’s. Exactly so indeed!" said her would-be suitor.

"It is very pretty," said Mr. Woodhouse, always ready to praise his daughter. "So prettily done! Just as your drawings always are, my dear. I do not know anybody who draws so well as you do. The only thing I do not thoroughly like is, that she seems to be sitting out of doors, with only a little shawl over her shoulders. It makes one think she must catch cold."

"But, my dear Papa, it is supposed to be summer; a warm day in summer. Look at the tree."

"But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear," said he.

His is a nervous disposition indeed. It not only objects to people sitting out of doors, but it objects to them being drawn as if they were out of doors, when in reality they are sitting inside by a fire!

Elton plunged in again.

"You, sir, may say any thing," he cried, "but I must confess that I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing of Harriet out of doors; and the tree is touched with such inimitable spirit! Any other situation would have been much less in character. The naïvety of Harriet’s manners - and altogether - Oh, it is most admirable! I cannot keep my eyes from it. I never saw such a likeness."

I did not know whether to be amused or exasperated by his nonsense, any more than I knew whether to be amused or exasperated by the way Emma received it. She took it all as compliments for her friend, little perceiving that the flattery was all for her. I am sure of it: Emma is Elton’s object.

If she was not so young, and so dear to me, I would be amused and nothing else, but I am dismayed on Emma’s behalf. She thinks she has only to throw Elton and Harriet together, and Harriet’s pretty face will do the rest. But Elton will settle for a pretty fortune, rather than a pretty face, and oh! Emma, what will you think, when you perceive the truth?

"We must have it framed," said Elton.