Free Emma by Katie Blu Page A

tittle-tattle of Highbury yet. Hitherto I fancy you and I are the only people to whom his looks and manners have explained themselves.”
    Harriet blushed and smiled, and said something about wondering that people should like her so much. The idea of Mr Elton was certainly cheering, but still, after a time, she was tender-hearted again towards the rejected Mr Martin.
    “Now he has got my letter,” said she softly. “I wonder what they are all doing—whether his sisters know—if he is unhappy, they will be unhappy too. I hope he will not mind it so very much.”
    “Let us think of those among our absent friends who are more cheerfully employed,” cried Emma. “At this moment, perhaps, Mr Elton is showing your picture to his mother and sisters, telling how much more beautiful is the original, and after being asked for it five or six times, allowing them to hear your name, your own dear name.”
    “My picture! But he has left my picture in Bond Street.”
    “Has he so! Then I know nothing of Mr Elton. No, my dear little modest Harriet, depend upon it, the picture will not be in Bond Street till just before he mounts his horse tomorrow. It is his companion all this evening, his solace, his delight. It opens his designs to his family, it introduces you among them, it diffuses through the party those pleasantest feelings of our nature, eager curiosity and warm prepossession. How cheerful, how animated, how suspicious, how busy their imaginations all are!”
    Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew stronger.
     
     
 
 

Chapter Eight
     
     
     
    Harriet slept at Hartfield that night. For some weeks past she had been spending more than half her time there, and gradually getting to have a bedroom appropriated to herself, 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 an hour or two to Mrs Goddard’s, but it was then to be settled that she should return to Hartfield, to make a regular visit of some days.
    While she was gone Mr Knightley called, and sat some time with Mr Woodhouse and Emma, till Mr Woodhouse, who had previously made up his mind to walk out, was persuaded by his daughter not to defer it, and was induced by the entreaties of both, though against the scruples of his own civility, to leave Mr Knightley for that purpose. Mr Knightley, who had nothing of ceremony about him, was offering by his short, decided answers an amusing contrast to the protracted apologies and civil hesitations of the other.
    “Well, I believe, if you will excuse me, Mr Knightley, if you will not consider me as doing a very rude thing, I shall take Emma’s advice and go out for a quarter of an hour. As the sun is out, I believe I had better take my three turns while I can. I treat you without ceremony, Mr Knightley. We invalids think we are privileged people.”
    “My dear sir, do not make a stranger of me.”
    “I leave an excellent substitute in my daughter. Emma will be happy to entertain you. And therefore I think I will beg your excuse and take my three turns—my winter walk.”
    “You cannot do better, sir.”
    “I would ask for the pleasure of your company, Mr Knightley, but I am a very slow walker, and my pace would be tedious to you, and besides, you have another long walk before you, to Donwell Abbey.”
    “Thank you, sir, thank you, I am going this moment myself, and I think the sooner you go the better. I will fetch your greatcoat and open the garden door for you.”
    Mr Woodhouse at last was off, but Mr Knightley, instead of being immediately off likewise, sat down again beside her, seemingly inclined for more chat. He began speaking of Harriet, and speaking of her with more voluntary praise than Emma had ever heard before.
    “I cannot rate her beauty as you do,” said he, “but she is a pretty little creature, and I am inclined to think very well of her disposition. Her character depends upon