about everyone that he often says things without thinking.'
'An explosive combination.'
'But at least we are not exploding. How good it is to be friends again. No, do not tell me that it is my own fault, for I am sure you must bear your share of the blame. You stayed away from Hartfield when you should have come for my father's sake, if not mine. He missed you.'
'And you? Did you miss me?'
'I will not tell you, for fear it will make you vain,' she said mischievously.
'I am not so reticent. I will tell you, knowing it cannot make you vain, for you are vain already.'
'For shame!' she cried. 'And so you missed me?'
'I missed my visits to Hartfield. I would rather spend an evening here than anywhere else.'
'And that must do as a compliment, I suppose, for I shall never get one better. I am glad we are friends again,' she said.
I returned to the Abbey in good spirits, and I am looking forward to resuming my daily visits to Hartfield.
Friday 18 December
John arrived at the Abbey early this morning, bringing with him his two eldest children. They ran wild in the garden as John and I talked. I told him of my concerns about Elton raising his eyes to Emma.
'Elton and Emma? That would be a dreadful marriage,' he replied.
'There is no danger of a match. She has enough awareness of her own worth not to throw herself away on Elton,' I said.
'Then what is the danger?' John said.
'I think she may be headed for a very unpleasant scene. If I do not miss my guess, he is getting ready to declare himself.'
'And what do you want me to do about it?'
'I want you to observe them, and see if you think I am right. And then, if I am, I want you to tell me whether I should give Emma a hint of it.'
'Very well. I will keep my eyes open. Have you spoken of this to anyone else?'
'No. I know of no one who would take it seriously, or if they did, they would worry about it.'
'You may rely on me.'
'And now, come and see the pony.'
We walked round to the stables and John looked the pony over with a critical eye, then pronounced himself pleased. The boys were delighted, and John and I gave them turns at riding.
I did not know who enjoyed it more: the boys; John and I; or old Hayton, who said he remembered when John and I were that age, and that Henry and John were just like us.
We returned to Hartfield for luncheon, and we found Mr Woodhouse playing with Bella. Emma was playing with the baby, and George was looking at a book.
Mr Woodhouse was alarmed to learn that the boys had been riding on such a cold morning, and we all joined in assuring him that they had been well wrapped up against the cold.
John remarked: 'Your friend Perry thinks riding a healthful kind of exercise. It is just the sort of thing for young boys. They find the fresh air invigorating, and they learn to do something of importance. It would be a sorry man who could not ride.'
Before an argument could ensue, Emma called John to join her, and I occupied Mr Woodhouse with an account of the plans I had for the home farm.
Saturday 19 December
Isabella amused herself this morning by visiting all her friends in Highbury and showing off her children, and when she had done, John brought the eldest two boys to the Abbey for another riding lesson.
When we returned to Hartfield, we found that Harriet and Elton were also there. I was pleased, as I knew it would give John a chance to observe them and decide whether Elton was partial to Emma, or to Harriet, or whether he was partial to neither, but was simply indulging in an excess of civility to the ladies.
For myself, I could see no sign of preference for Harriet in Elton's looks and conversation, but I could see a great deal of preference for Emma. As she and I talked of our fondness for spruce-beer, Elton was determined to like it also.
'Spruce-beer--the very thing for this season,' he said.
'Do you like it, Harriet?' asked Emma, involving her friend in the conversation.
'I hardly know. I do not believe I have ever drunk
'An explosive combination.'
'But at least we are not exploding. How good it is to be friends again. No, do not tell me that it is my own fault, for I am sure you must bear your share of the blame. You stayed away from Hartfield when you should have come for my father's sake, if not mine. He missed you.'
'And you? Did you miss me?'
'I will not tell you, for fear it will make you vain,' she said mischievously.
'I am not so reticent. I will tell you, knowing it cannot make you vain, for you are vain already.'
'For shame!' she cried. 'And so you missed me?'
'I missed my visits to Hartfield. I would rather spend an evening here than anywhere else.'
'And that must do as a compliment, I suppose, for I shall never get one better. I am glad we are friends again,' she said.
I returned to the Abbey in good spirits, and I am looking forward to resuming my daily visits to Hartfield.
Friday 18 December
John arrived at the Abbey early this morning, bringing with him his two eldest children. They ran wild in the garden as John and I talked. I told him of my concerns about Elton raising his eyes to Emma.
'Elton and Emma? That would be a dreadful marriage,' he replied.
'There is no danger of a match. She has enough awareness of her own worth not to throw herself away on Elton,' I said.
'Then what is the danger?' John said.
'I think she may be headed for a very unpleasant scene. If I do not miss my guess, he is getting ready to declare himself.'
'And what do you want me to do about it?'
'I want you to observe them, and see if you think I am right. And then, if I am, I want you to tell me whether I should give Emma a hint of it.'
'Very well. I will keep my eyes open. Have you spoken of this to anyone else?'
'No. I know of no one who would take it seriously, or if they did, they would worry about it.'
'You may rely on me.'
'And now, come and see the pony.'
We walked round to the stables and John looked the pony over with a critical eye, then pronounced himself pleased. The boys were delighted, and John and I gave them turns at riding.
I did not know who enjoyed it more: the boys; John and I; or old Hayton, who said he remembered when John and I were that age, and that Henry and John were just like us.
We returned to Hartfield for luncheon, and we found Mr Woodhouse playing with Bella. Emma was playing with the baby, and George was looking at a book.
Mr Woodhouse was alarmed to learn that the boys had been riding on such a cold morning, and we all joined in assuring him that they had been well wrapped up against the cold.
John remarked: 'Your friend Perry thinks riding a healthful kind of exercise. It is just the sort of thing for young boys. They find the fresh air invigorating, and they learn to do something of importance. It would be a sorry man who could not ride.'
Before an argument could ensue, Emma called John to join her, and I occupied Mr Woodhouse with an account of the plans I had for the home farm.
Saturday 19 December
Isabella amused herself this morning by visiting all her friends in Highbury and showing off her children, and when she had done, John brought the eldest two boys to the Abbey for another riding lesson.
When we returned to Hartfield, we found that Harriet and Elton were also there. I was pleased, as I knew it would give John a chance to observe them and decide whether Elton was partial to Emma, or to Harriet, or whether he was partial to neither, but was simply indulging in an excess of civility to the ladies.
For myself, I could see no sign of preference for Harriet in Elton's looks and conversation, but I could see a great deal of preference for Emma. As she and I talked of our fondness for spruce-beer, Elton was determined to like it also.
'Spruce-beer--the very thing for this season,' he said.
'Do you like it, Harriet?' asked Emma, involving her friend in the conversation.
'I hardly know. I do not believe I have ever drunk
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