CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VII


Emma's very good opinion of Frank Churchill was a little shaken
the following day, by hearing that he was gone off to London,
merely to have his hair cut. A sudden freak seemed to have seized him
at breakfast, and he had sent for a chaise and set off, intending to
return to dinner, but with no more important view that appeared than
having his hair cut. There was certainly no harm in his travelling
sixteen miles twice over on such an errand; but there was an air
of foppery and nonsense in it which she could not approve. It did
not accord with the rationality of plan, the moderation in expense,
or even the unselfish warmth of heart, which she had believed herself
to discern in him yesterday. Vanity, extravagance, love of change,
restlessness of temper, which must be doing something, good or bad;
heedlessness as to the pleasure of his father and Mrs. Weston,
indifferent as to how his conduct might appear in general; he became
liable to all these charges. His father only called him a coxcomb,
and thought it a very good story; but that Mrs. Weston did not like it,
was clear enough, by her passing it over as quickly as possible,
and making no other comment than that "all young people would have
their little whims."

With the exception of this little blot, Emma found that his visit
hitherto had given her friend only good ideas of him. Mrs. Weston
was very ready to say how attentive and pleasant a companion he
made himself--how much she saw to like in his disposition altogether.
He appeared to have a very open temper--certainly a very cheerful
and lively one; she could observe nothing wrong in his notions,
a great deal decidedly right; he spoke of his uncle with warm regard,
was fond of talking of him--said he would be the best man in the
world if he were left to himself; and though there was no being
attached to the aunt, he acknowledged her kindness with gratitude,
and seemed to mean always to speak of her with respect.
This was all very promising; and, but for such an unfortunate fancy
for having his hair cut, there was nothing to denote him unworthy
of the distinguished honour which her imagination had given him;
the honour, if not of being really in love with her, of being
at least very near it, and saved only by her own indifference--
(for still her resolution held of never marrying)--the honour, in short,
of being marked out for her by all their joint acquaintance.

Mr. Weston, on his side, added a virtue to the account which must
have some weight. He gave her to understand that Frank admired
her extremely--thought her very beautiful and very charming;
and with so much to be said for him altogether, she found she must
not judge him harshly. As Mrs. Weston observed, "all young people
would have their little whims."

There was one person among his new acquaintance in Surry, not so
leniently disposed. In general he was judged, throughout the parishes
of Donwell and Highbury, with great candour; liberal allowances
were made for the little excesses of such a handsome young man--
one who smiled so often and bowed so well; but there was one spirit
among them not to be softened, from its power of censure, by bows
or smiles--Mr. Knightley. The circumstance was told him at Hartfield;
for the moment, he was silent; but Emma heard him almost immediately
afterwards say to himself, over a newspaper he held in his hand,
"Hum! just the trifling, silly fellow I took him for." She had
half a mind to resent; but an instant's observation convinced
her that it was really said only to relieve his own feelings,
and not meant to provoke; and therefore she let it pass.

Although in one instance the bearers of not good tidings,
Mr. and Mrs. Weston's visit this morning was in another respect
particularly opportune. Something occurred while they were
at Hartfield, to make Emma want their advice; and, which was
still more lucky, she wanted exactly the advice they gave.

This was the occurrence:--The Coles had been settled some years
in Highbury, and were very good sort of people--friendly, liberal,
and unpretending; but, on the other hand, they were of low origin,
in trade, and only moderately genteel. On their first coming into
the country, they had lived in proportion to their income, quietly,
keeping little company, and that little unexpensively; but the last
year or two had brought them a considerable increase of means--
the house in town had yielded greater profits, and fortune in general
had smiled on them. With their wealth, their views increased;
their want of a larger house, their inclination for more company.
They added to their house, to their number of servants,
to their expenses of every sort; and by this time were, in fortune
and style of living, second only to the family at Hartfield.
Their love of society, and their new dining-room, prepared every body
for their keeping dinner-company; and a few parties, chiefly among
the single men, had already taken place. The regular and best
families Emma could hardly suppose they would presume to invite--
neither Donwell, nor Hartfield, nor Randalls. Nothing should
tempt _her_ to go, if they did; and she regretted that her father's
known habits would be giving her refusal less meaning than she
could wish. The Coles were very respectable in their way, but they
ought to be taught that it was not for them to arrange the terms
on which the superior families would visit them. This lesson,
she very much feared, they would receive only from herself;
she had little hope of Mr. Knightley, none of Mr. Weston.

But she had made up her mind how to meet this presumption so many
weeks before it appeared, that when the insult came at last,
it found her very differently affected. Donwell and Randalls
had received their invitation, and none had come for her father
and herself; and Mrs. Weston's accounting for it with "I suppose
they will not take the liberty with you; they know you do not
dine out," was not quite sufficient. She felt that she should
like to have had the power of refusal; and afterwards, as the idea
of the party to be assembled there, consisting precisely of those
whose society was dearest to her, occurred again and again,
she did not know that she might not have been tempted to accept.
Harriet was to be there in the evening, and the Bateses. They had
been speaking of it as they walked about Highbury the day before,
and Frank Churchill had most earnestly lamented her absence.
Might not the evening end in a dance? had been a question of his.
The bare possibility of it acted as a farther irritation on her spirits;
and her being left in solitary grandeur, even supposing the omission
to be intended as a compliment, was but poor comfort.

It was the arrival of this very invitation while the Westons were
at Hartfield, which made their presence so acceptable; for though her
first remark, on reading it, was that "of course it must be declined,"
she so very soon proceeded to ask them what they advised her to do,
that their advice for her going was most prompt and successful.

She owned that, considering every thing, she was not absolutely
without inclination for the party. The Coles expressed themselves
so properly--there was so much real attention in the manner of it--
so much consideration for her father. "They would have solicited the
honour earlier, but had been waiting the arrival of a folding-screen
from London, which they hoped might keep Mr. Woodhouse from any draught
of air, and therefore induce him the more readily to give them the
honour of his company." Upon the whole, she was very persuadable;
and it being briefly settled among themselves how it might be
done without neglecting his comfort--how certainly Mrs. Goddard,
if not Mrs. Bates, might be depended on for bearing him company--
Mr. Woodhouse was to be talked into an acquiescence of his daughter's
going out to dinner on a day now near at hand, and spending
the whole evening away from him. As for _his_ going, Emma did
not wish him to think it possible, the hours would be too late,
and the party too numerous. He was soon pretty well resigned.

"I am not fond of dinner-visiting," said he--"I never was.
No more is Emma. Late hours do not agree with us. I am sorry
Mr. and Mrs. Cole should have done it. I think it would be
much better if they would come in one afternoon next summer,
and take their tea with us--take us in their afternoon walk;
which they might do, as our hours are so reasonable, and yet get home
without being out in the damp of the evening. The dews of a summer
evening are what I would not expose any body to. However, as they
are so very desirous to have dear Emma dine with them, and as you
will both be there, and Mr. Knightley too, to take care of her,
I cannot wish to prevent it, provided the weather be what it ought,
neither damp, nor cold, nor windy." Then turning to Mrs. Weston,
with a look of gentle reproach--"Ah! Miss Taylor, if you had
not married, you would have staid at home with me."

"Well, sir," cried Mr. Weston, "as I took Miss Taylor away,
it is incumbent on me to supply her place, if I can; and I will
step to Mrs. Goddard in a moment, if you wish it."

But the idea of any thing to be done in a _moment_, was increasing,
not lessening, Mr. Woodhouse's agitation. The ladies knew better
how to allay it. Mr. Weston must be quiet, and every thing
deliberately arranged.

With this treatment, Mr. Woodhouse was soon composed enough
for talking as usual. "He should be happy to see Mrs. Goddard.
He had a great regard for Mrs. Goddard; and Emma should write a line,
and invite her. James could take the note. But first of all,
there must be an answer written to Mrs. Cole."

"You will make my excuses, my dear, as civilly as possible. You will
say that I am quite an invalid, and go no where, and therefore must
decline their obliging invitation; beginning with my _compliments_,
of course. But you will do every thing right. I need not tell you
what is to be done. We must remember to let James know that the carriage
will be wanted on Tuesday. I shall have no fears for you with him.
We have never been there above once since the new approach was made;
but still I have no doubt that James will take you very safely.
And when you get there, you must tell him at what time you would
have him come for you again; and you had better name an early hour.
You will not like staying late. You will get very tired when tea
is over."

"But you would not wish me to come away before I am tired, papa?"

"Oh! no, my love; but you will soon be tired. There will be
a great many people talking at once. You will not like the noise."

"But, my dear sir," cried Mr. Weston, "if Emma comes away early,
it will be breaking up the party."

"And no great harm if it does," said Mr. Woodhouse. "The sooner
every party breaks up, the better."

"But you do not consider how it may appear to the Coles.
Emma's going away directly after tea might be giving offence.
They are good-natured people, and think little of their own claims;
but still they must feel that any body's hurrying away is no
great compliment; and Miss Woodhouse's doing it would be more thought
of than any other person's in the room. You would not wish to disappoint
and mortify the Coles, I am sure, sir; friendly, good sort of people
as ever lived, and who have been your neighbours these _ten_ years."

"No, upon no account in the world, Mr. Weston; I am much obliged
to you for reminding me. I should be extremely sorry to be giving
them any pain. I know what worthy people they are. Perry tells
me that Mr. Cole never touches malt liquor. You would not think
it to look at him, but he is bilious--Mr. Cole is very bilious.
No, I would not be the means of giving them any pain. My dear Emma,
we must consider this. I am sure, rather than run the risk of hurting
Mr. and Mrs. Cole, you would stay a little longer than you might wish.
You will not regard being tired. You will be perfectly safe,
you know, among your friends."

"Oh yes, papa. I have no fears at all for myself; and I should have
no scruples of staying as late as Mrs. Weston, but on your account.
I am only afraid of your sitting up for me. I am not afraid
of your not being exceedingly comfortable with Mrs. Goddard.
She loves piquet, you know; but when she is gone home, I am afraid
you will be sitting up by yourself, instead of going to bed at your
usual time--and the idea of that would entirely destroy my comfort.
You must promise me not to sit up."

He did, on the condition of some promises on her side: such as that,
if she came home cold, she would be sure to warm herself thoroughly;
if hungry, that she would take something to eat; that her own maid
should sit up for her; and that Serle and the butler should see
that every thing were safe in the house, as usual.