“This man is almost too gallant to be in love,” thought Emma. “I should say so, but that I suppose there may be a hundred different ways of being in love.”
Chapter VII
The very day of Mr. Elton’s going to London produced a fresh occasion for Emma’s services towards her friend. Harriet had been at Hartfield, as usual, soon after breakfast; and, after a time, had gone home to return again to dinner. She returned, and with an agitated, hurried look, announced something extraordinary to have happened. She had heard, as soon as she got back to Mrs. Goddard’s, that Mr. Martin had been there an hour before, and finding she was not at home, had left a little parcel for her from one of his sisters, and gone away; and on opening this parcel, she had actually found, besides the two songs which she had lent Elizabeth to copy, a letter to herself; and this letter was from him, from Mr. Martin, and contained a direct proposal of marriage.
Who could have thought it? She was so surprized she did not know what to do. Yes, quite a proposal of marriage; and a very good letter, at least she thought so. And he wrote as if he really loved her very much – but she did not know – and so, she was come as fast as she could to ask Miss Woodhouse what she should do.
“Will you read the letter?” cried Harriet. “Pray do.”
Emma read, and was surprized. The style of the letter was much above her expectation. There were not merely no grammatical errors, but as a composition it would not have disgraced a gentleman; the language, though plain, was strong and unaffected, and the sentiments it conveyed very much to the credit of the writer. It was short, but expressed good sense, warm attachment, liberality, propriety, even delicacy of feeling. She paused over it, while Harriet stood anxiously watching for her opinion, with a “Well, well,” and at last asked, “Is it a good letter? or is it too short?”
“Yes, indeed, a very good letter,” replied Emma rather slowly, “so good a letter, Harriet, that I think one of his sisters must have helped him. I can hardly imagine the young man whom I saw talking with you the other day could express himself so well. No doubt he is a sensible man, and I suppose when he takes a pen in hand, his thoughts naturally find proper words. It is so with some men. Yes, I understand the sort of mind. A better written letter, Harriet (returning it,) than I had expected.”
“Well,” said the still waiting Harriet; “well – and – and what shall I do?”
“What shall you do! In what respect? Do you mean with regard to this letter?”
“Yes.”
“But what are you in doubt of? You must answer it of course – and speedily.”
“Yes. But what shall I say? Dear Miss Woodhouse, do advise me.”
“Oh no, no! the letter had much better be all your own. You will express yourself very properly, I am sure, you need not write with the appearance of sorrow for his disappointment.”
“You think I ought to refuse him then,” said Harriet, looking down.
“Ought to refuse him! My dear Harriet, what do you mean? Are you in any doubt as to that? I thought – but I beg your pardon, perhaps I have been under a mistake. I certainly have been misunderstanding you, if you feel in doubt as to the purport of your answer. I had imagined you were consulting me only as to the wording of it[40].”
Harriet was silent. Emma continued:
“You mean to return a favourable answer, I collect.”
“No, I do not; that is, I do not mean – What shall I do? What would you advise me to do? Pray, dear Miss Woodhouse, tell me what I ought to do.”
“I shall not give you any advice, Harriet. I will have nothing to do with it.”
“I did not think that he liked me so very much,” said Harriet, contemplating the letter.
Emma said,
“I am sure, Harriet, that if a woman doubts as to whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse him. If she can hesitate as to ‘Yes,’ she ought to say ‘No’ directly. I thought it my duty as a friend, and older than yourself, to say this to you. But I do not want to influence you.”
“Oh! no, I am sure you are very kind to me – but if you would… It is a very serious thing. It will be safer to say ‘No,’ perhaps. Do you think I had better say ‘No?’”
“Dear Harriet,” said Emma, smiling graciously, “you must be the best judge of your own happiness. If you prefer Mr. Martin to every other person; if you think him the most agreeable man you have ever been in company with, why should you hesitate? You blush, Harriet. Harriet, Harriet, do not deceive yourself. At this moment whom are you thinking of?”
Instead of answering, Harriet turned away confused, and stood thoughtfully by the fire; and though the letter was still in her hand, it was now mechanically twisted about without regard. Emma waited the result with impatience. At last, with some hesitation, Harriet said —
“Miss Woodhouse, I have now quite determined, and really almost made up my mind – to refuse Mr. Martin. Do you think I am right?”
“Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Harriet; you are doing just what you ought. Dear Harriet, I give myself joy of this. It would have grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which must have been the consequence of your marrying Mr. Martin. I could not have visited Mrs. Robert Martin, of Abbey-Mill Farm[41].”
The idea of it struck Harriet forcibly.
“You could not have visited me!” she cried. “No, to be sure you could not; but I never thought of that before. That would have been too dreadful! – What an escape! – Dear Miss Woodhouse, I would not give up the pleasure and honour of being intimate with you for anything in the world.”
“Indeed, Harriet, you would have thrown yourself out of all good society.”
“Dear me! It would have killed me never to come to Hartfield any more!”
“My dear! You banished to Abbey-Mill Farm! You confined to the society of the illiterate and vulgar all your life! The young man must have a pretty good opinion of himself.”
“But he is very good natured,” said Harriet; “and I shall always feel much obliged to him, and have a great regard for – but that is quite a different thing from – and you know, though he may like me, it does not follow that I should – and if one comes to compare them, there is no comparison at all, one is so very handsome and agreeable… However, I do really think Mr. Martin a very amiable young man, and have a great opinion of him.”
“Thank you, thank you, my own sweet little friend. We will not be parted. A woman is not to marry a man merely because she is asked, or because he is attached to her, and can write a tolerable letter.”
“Oh no; and it is but a short letter too.”
Emma felt the bad taste of her friend, but let it pass.
“Oh! yes, very. Nobody cares for a letter[42]; the thing is, to be always happy with pleasant companions. I am quite determined to refuse him. But how shall I do? What shall I say?”
Emma assured her there would be no difficulty in the answer, and advised to write it directly. This letter was written, and sealed, and sent. The business was finished, and Harriet safe.
“I shall never be invited to Abbey-Mill again,” said Harriet in a sorrowful tone.
Chapter VIII
Harriet slept at Hartfield that night. She had been spending more than half her time there, and Emma judged it best in every respect, safest and kindest, to keep her with them as much as possible just at present. She was obliged to go the next morning for