“Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was twelve years old. So what? You never could persuade her to read half so much as you wished. You know you could not.”
“I dare say,” replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, “since we have parted, I can never remember Emma’s omitting to do anything I wished.”
“Emma is spoiled by being the cleverest of her family. At ten years old, she had the misfortune of being able to answer questions which puzzled her sister at seventeen. She was always quick and assured: Isabella slow and diffident. And ever since she was twelve, Emma has been mistress of the house. She inherits her mother’s talents.”
“I should have been sorry, Mr. Knightley, to be dependent on your recommendation, had I quitted Mr. Woodhouse’s family and wanted another situation; I do not think you would have spoken a good word for me to anybody. I am sure you always thought me unfit for the office I held[36].”
“Yes,” said he, smiling. “You are better placed here; very fit for a wife, but not at all for a governess. But you were preparing yourself to be an excellent wife all the time you were at Hartfield. You might not give Emma such a complete education as your powers would seem to promise; but you were receiving a very good education from her; and if Weston had asked me to recommend him a wife, I should certainly have named Miss Taylor.”
“Thank you. There will be very little merit in making a good wife to such a man as Mr. Weston.”
“But about Harriet Smith. I think her the very worst sort of companion that Emma could possibly have. She knows nothing herself, and looks upon Emma as knowing everything. She is a flatterer. Her ignorance is flattery. And as for Harriet, I will venture to say that she cannot gain by the acquaintance. She will grow just refined enough to be uncomfortable with those among whom birth and circumstances have placed her home.”
“Mr. Knightley, with all dear Emma’s little faults, she is an excellent creature. Where shall we see a better daughter, or a kinder sister, or a truer friend? No, no; she has qualities which may be trusted; she will never lead anyone really wrong.”
“Very well; I will not plague you any more. Emma shall be an angel.”
“I know that you all love her really too well to be unjust or unkind; but excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if I take the liberty of hinting, it’s better not to speak about Harriet Smith’s intimacy.”
“Yes, of course, it is very good advice, but I have a very sincere interest in Emma. There is an anxiety, a curiosity in what one feels for Emma. I wonder what will become of her!”
“So do I,” said Mrs. Weston gently, “very much.”
“She always declares she will never marry, which, of course, means just nothing at all. But I have no idea that she has yet ever seen a man she cared for. It would not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love with a proper man. I should like to see Emma in love, and it would do her good. But there is nobody hereabouts to attach her; and she goes so seldom from home.”
Chapter VI
Emma was quite convinced of Mr. Elton’s being in the fairest way of falling in love, if not in love already. He talked of Harriet, and praised her warmly. His perception of the striking improvement of Harriet’s manner, since her introduction at Hartfield, was one of the proofs of his growing attachment.
“You have given Miss Smith all that she required,” said he; “you have made her graceful and easy. She was a beautiful creature when she came to you, but, in my opinion, the attractions you have added are infinitely superior to what she received from nature.”
“I am glad you think I have been useful to her; but Harriet had all the natural grace of sweetness of temper and artlessness in herself. I have done very little. I have perhaps given her a little more decision of character.”
“Exactly so; so much superadded decision of character!”
Emma was not less pleased another day with the manner in which he seconded a sudden wish of hers, to have Harriet’s picture.
“Did you ever sit for your picture, Harriet?” said she.
“Oh! dear, no, never,” answered Harriet. “Why should my picture be drawn?”
No sooner was she out of sight, than Emma exclaimed,
“What an excellent picture of her would be! I would give any money for it. You do not know it I dare say, but two or three years ago I had a great passion for painting. And I could almost venture, if Harriet would sit to me. It would be such a delight to have her picture!”
“Oh, yes,” cried Mr. Elton; “it would indeed be a delight, Miss Woodhouse, to exercise so charming a talent in favour of your friend.”
“But I am afraid, Mr. Elton, Harriet will not like to sit. She thinks so little of her own beauty. Did not you observe her manner of answering me? ‘Why should my picture be drawn?’”
“Oh! yes, I observed it, I assure you. But still I cannot imagine she would not be persuaded.”
Harriet was soon back again, and the proposal almost immediately made. Emma wished to go to work directly. She had soon fixed on the size and sort of portrait. It was to be a whole-length in water-colours.
The sitting began; and Harriet, smiling and blushing, presented a very sweet mixture of youthful expression to the steady eyes of the artist. But Mr. Elton was fidgeting behind her and watching every touch. So Emma requested him to place himself elsewhere. It then occurred to her to employ him in reading.
Mr. Elton was happy to read aloud. Harriet listened, and Emma drew in peace. The sitting was altogether very satisfactory; Emma was quite enough pleased with the first day’s sketch to wish to go on. Harriet was to sit again the next day; and Mr. Elton entreated for the permission of attending and reading to them again.
“By all means[37]. We shall be most happy to consider you as one of the party.”
The whole progress of the picture was rapid and happy. Everybody who saw it was pleased.
“Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty she wanted,” observed Mrs. Weston. “The expression of the eye is most correct, but Miss Smith has not those eyebrows and eyelashes. It is the fault of her face that she has them not.”
“Do you think so?” replied Mr. Elton. “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, you know.”
“You have made her too tall, Emma,” said Mr. Knightley.
Emma knew that she had, but Mr. Elton warmly added,
“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. Exactly so indeed!”
“It is very pretty,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “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 like is, that she seems to be sitting out of doors, with only a little shawl over her shoulders – and it makes one think she must catch cold[38].”
“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.”
“You, sir, may say anything,” cried Mr. Elton, “but I must confess that I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing of Miss Smith out of doors! The naivete of Miss Smith’s manners – and altogether – Oh, it is most admirable! I cannot keep my eyes from it. I never saw such a likeness.”
The next thing was to get the picture framed; and here were a few difficulties. It must be done directly; it must be done in London. But Mr. Elton’s gallantry