Mr. Knightley’s Diary

"I see her purpose! She wanted him to spend the evening thinking of her little friend, and perhaps calling in at Mrs. Goddard’s to ask after Miss Smith, instead of dining at Randalls."

"I thought you said that Elton was in love with Emma, not Harriet?" asked John with a frown.

"Not in love. I said his ambition tended in that direction. But they are at cross-purposes. Emma’s ambitions are in a different quarter. She thinks that he will marry her friend."

"What! The parlour boarder?"

"Yes."

"Has Emma taken leave of her senses?" he asked.

"The girl is pretty."

"And so are a hundred other girls. He has only to go to Brighton, or Bath, to find plenty of well-born, pretty young ladies with a handsome dowry, who would not turn down a handsome vicar."

I brought him back to the point, asking if he had warned Emma, and learning that he had.

"And what did she reply?" I asked.

"That I was mistaken. That she and Mr. Elton were friends and nothing more."

"Foolish girl! Well, she has been warned. If he proposes now, at least it will not take her entirely by surprise."

"He will not get a chance tonight," John said. "I have offered to take him in my carriage. And once at the Westons he will get no time alone with her."

I was reassured. Even so, I had followed Emma’s progress with such interest, for so many years, that I was curious to know what the evening would bring.

When I arrived, the first party from Hartfield was already there. Isabella and Mr. Woodhouse were sitting by the fire, waiting for Emma, Elton and John.

Emma’s party soon followed, and Emma greeted Mrs. Weston fondly. I have always been glad of the affection they share.

Emma took a seat, and Mr. Elton sat next to her. He was very solicitous, asking her if she was warm enough, asking if her father were comfortable, and crowning it by calling attention to some of her drawings, which hung in Mrs. Weston’s drawing-room.

"Remarkable," he said. "Such a way with line. Quite exquisite. You are fortunate to have them, Mrs.

Weston."

Mrs. Weston agreed, but Emma looked uncomfortable. I guessed that Elton’s flattery was not to her taste. Either that, or my brother’s caution had given her pause, and she was now considering whether he could be right, and whether Mr. Elton’s object could be herself.

She did not have long to think of it, however, for the subject of Frank Churchill was soon raised.

"We want only two more to be just the right number. I should like to see two more here, your pretty little friend, Harriet, and my son, and then I should say we were quite complete," said Weston. "I believe you did not hear me telling the others in the drawing-room that we are expecting Frank?" he went on, growing expansive as he addressed Emma. "I had a letter from him this morning, and he will be with us within a fortnight."

"Oh, yes, that would be perfect," said Emma with genuine enthusiasm.

She, along with the rest of Highbury, has long been wondering about Frank Churchill.

"He has been wanting to come to us, ever since September," said Weston, "but he cannot command his own time. He has those to please who must be pleased, and who (between ourselves) are sometimes to be pleased only by a good many sacrifices. But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the second week in January."

Emma spoke of his son at length to Weston. She could not say too much to please him.

After dinner the ladies withdrew, and Mr. Woodhouse went with them. He has no interest in business or politics, and sees his attendance as a compliment to the ladies.

When they had departed, we talked of the parish and the war, our farming troubles and our hopes for the coming year. Weston was convivial, resisting any effort to break up the gentlemen by passing the port again. He liked nothing better than to have a group of friends round his table.

I saw Elton looking at the clock once or twice, but otherwise he bore his separation from the ladies well. At last, Weston could delay us no longer, and we left our seats.

"I am going to take a walk," said John, as we left the dining-room. "I need some fresh air after Weston’s good food. Do you care to join me?"

"No, thank you," I said.

Truth to tell, I wanted to see how Emma got on with Elton. The other gentlemen demurred, and John set out.

On arriving in the drawing-room, I was not surprised to see Elton making for Emma, and, with scarcely an invitation, he seated himself between her and Mrs. Weston. He began to speak of Harriet at once, saying he hoped that Emma would not risk catching a cold from her friend.

Really, he was as bad as her father, with his talk of colds! She quickly gew weary of his attentions, and I became sure of one thing: she was finally convinced that she was his object, and not Harriet. No matter how many times she tried to turn the conversation back to her friend, he would not have it. Everything he said was about her.