Emma, by Jane Austen
Chapter XII
Mr. Knightley was to dine with them — rather against the inclination of Mr. Woodhouse, who didn't like that anybody should share with him in Isabella’s first day. Emma’s sense of right however had decided it; and besides the consideration of what was thanks to each brother, she had particular pleasure, from the circumstance of the late disagreement between Mr. Knightley and herself, in procuring him the right invitation.
She hoped they could now become friends again. She thought it had been time to form up. Making-up indeed wouldn't do. She certainly had not been within the wrong, and he would never own that he had. Concession must be out of the question; but it had been time to seem to forget that that they had ever quarrelled; and she or he hoped it'd rather assist the restoration of friendship, that when he came into the space she had one among the youngsters together with her — the youngest, a pleasant female child about eight months old, who was now making her first visit to Hartfield, and really happy to be danced about in her aunt’s arms. It did assist; for though he began with grave looks and short questions, he was soon led on to speak of all of them within the usual way, and to require the kid out of her arms with all the unceremoniousness of perfect amity. Emma felt they were friends again; and therefore the conviction giving her initially great satisfaction, then a touch sauciness, she couldn't help saying, as he was admiring the baby,
“What a comfort it's , that we expect alike about our nephews and nieces. on men and ladies , our opinions are sometimes very different; but with reference to these children, I observe we never disagree.”
“If you were the maximum amount guided naturally in your estimate of men and ladies , and as little under the facility of fancy and whim in your dealings with them, as you're where these children are concerned, we'd always think alike.”
“To make certain — our discordancies should arise from my being within the wrong.”
“Yes,” said he, smiling —”and reason good. i used to be sixteen years old once you were born.”
“A material difference then,” she replied —”and little question you were much my superior in judgment at that period of our lives; but doesn't the lapse of one-and-twenty years bring our understandings an honest deal nearer?”
“Yes — an honest deal nearer.”
“But still, not near enough to offer me an opportunity of being right, if we expect differently.”
“I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years’ experience, and by not being a reasonably girl and a spoiled child. Come, my dear Emma, allow us to be friends, and say no more about it. Tell your aunt, little Emma, that she need to set you a far better example than to be renewing old grievances, which if she weren't wrong before, she is now.”
“That’s true,” she cried —”very true. Little Emma, get older a far better woman than your aunt. Be infinitely cleverer and not half so conceited. Now, Mr. Knightley, a word or two more, and that i have done. As far nearly as good intentions went, we were both right, and that i must say that no effects on my side of the argument have yet proved wrong. I only want to understand that Mr. Martin isn't very, very bitterly disappointed.”
“A man can't be more so,” was his short, full answer.
“Ah! — Indeed i'm very sorry. — Come, greet with me.”
This had just taken place and with great cordiality, when John Knightley made his appearance, and “How d’ye do, George?” and “John, how are you?” succeeded within the true English style, burying under a calmness that seemed about indifference, the important attachment which might have led either of them, if requisite, to try to to every thing for the great of the opposite .
The evening was quiet and conversable, as Mr. Woodhouse declined cards entirely for the sake of comfortable talk together with his dear Isabella, and therefore the little party made two natural divisions; on one side he and his daughter; on the opposite the 2 Mr. Knightleys; their subjects totally distinct, or very rarely mixing — and Emma only occasionally joining in one or the opposite .
The brothers talked of their own concerns and pursuits, but principally of these of the elder, whose temper was by much the foremost communicative, and who was always the greater talker. As a magistrate, he had generally some point of law to consult John about, or, at least, some curious anecdote to give; and as a farmer, as keeping in hand the home-farm at Donwell, he had to inform what every field was in touch next year, and to offer all such local information as couldn't fail of being interesting to a brother whose home it had equally been the longest a part of his life, and whose attachments were strong. The plan of a drain, the change of a fence, the felling of a tree, and therefore the destination of each acre for wheat, turnips, or spring corn, was entered into with the maximum amount equality of interest by John, as his cooler manners rendered possible; and if his willing brother ever left him any thing to inquire about, his inquiries even approached a tone of eagerness.
While they were thus comfortably occupied, Mr. Woodhouse was enjoying a full flow of happy regrets and fearful affection together with his daughter.
“My poor dear Isabella,” said he, fondly taking her hand, and interrupting, for a couple of moments, her busy labours for a few one among her five children —”How long it's , how terribly long ago you were here! and the way tired you want to plan your journey! you want to attend bed early, my dear — and that i recommend a touch gruel to you before you go. — You and that i will have a pleasant basin of gruel together. My dear Emma, suppose we all have a touch gruel.”
Emma couldn't suppose any such thing, knowing as she did, that both the Mr. Knightleys were as unpersuadable thereon article as herself — and two basins only were ordered. After a touch more discourse in praise of gruel, with some wondering at its not being taken every evening by every one , he proceeded to mention , with an air of grave reflection,
“It was a clumsy business, my dear, your spending the autumn at South End rather than coming here. I never had much opinion of the ocean air.”
“Mr. Wingfield most strenuously recommended it, sir — or we should always not have gone. He recommended it for all the youngsters , but particularly for the weakness in little Bella’s throat — both sea air and bathing.”
“Ah! my dear, but Perry had many doubts about the ocean doing her any good; and on myself, I even have been long perfectly convinced, though perhaps I never told you so before, that the ocean is extremely rarely of use to any body. i'm sure it almost killed me once.”
“Come, come,” cried Emma, feeling this to be an unsafe subject, “I must beg you to not talk about the ocean . It makes me envious and miserable — I who haven't seen it! South End is prohibited, if you please. My dear Isabella, I even have not heard you create one inquiry about Mr. Perry yet; and he never forgets you.”
“Oh! good Mr. Perry — how is he, sir?”
“Why, pretty much ; but almost well. Poor Perry is bilious, and he has not time to require care of himself — he tells me he has not time to require care of himself — which is extremely sad — but he's always wanted all around the country. I suppose there's not a person in such practice anywhere. on the other hand there's not so clever a person any where.”
“And Mrs. Perry and therefore the children, how are they? do the youngsters grow? I even have an excellent regard for Mr. Perry. I hope he are going to be calling soon. He are going to be so pleased to ascertain my little ones.”
“I hope he are going to be here to-morrow, for I even have an issue or two to ask him about myself of some consequence. And, my dear, whenever he comes, you had better let him check out little Bella’s throat.”
“Oh! my dear sir, her throat is such a lot better that I even have hardly any uneasiness about it. Either bathing has been of the best service to her, alternatively it's to be attributed to a superb embrocation of Mr. Wingfield’s, which we've been applying sometimes ever since August.”
“It isn't very likely, my dear, that bathing should are of use to her — and if I had known you were wanting an embrocation, i might have spoken to —
“You seem to me to possess forgotten Mrs. and Miss Bates,” said Emma, “I haven't heard one inquiry after them.”
“Oh! the great Bateses — i'm quite ashamed of myself — but you mention them in most of your letters. I hope they're quite well. Good old Mrs. Bates — i will be able to call upon her to-morrow, and take my children. — they're always so pleased to ascertain my children. — which excellent Miss Bates! — such thorough worthy people! — How are they, sir?”
“Why, pretty well, my dear, upon the entire . But poor Mrs. Bates had a nasty cold a few month ago.”
“How sorry I am! But colds were never so prevalent as they need been this autumn. Mr. Wingfield told me that he has never known them more general or heavy — except when it's been quite influenza.”
“That has been an honest deal the case, my dear; but to not the degree you mention. Perry says that colds are very general, but not so heavy as he has fairly often known them in November. Perry doesn't call it altogether a sickly season.”
“No, I don't know that Mr. Wingfield considers it very sickly except —
“Ah! my poor dear child, the reality is, that in London it's always a sickly season. Nobody is healthy in London, nobody are often . it's a dreadful thing to possess you forced to measure there! thus far off! — and therefore the air so bad!”
“No, indeed — we aren't in the least during a bad air. Our a part of London is extremely superior to most others! — you want to not confound us with London generally , my dear sir. The neighbourhood of Brunswick Square is extremely different from most the remainder . We are so very airy! I should be unwilling, I own, to measure in the other a part of the town — there's hardly the other that I might be satisfied to possess my children in: but we are so remarkably airy! — Mr. Wingfield thinks the vicinity of Brunswick Square decidedly the foremost favourable on air.”
“Ah! my dear, it's not like Hartfield. you create the simplest of it — but after you've got been every week at Hartfield, you're all of you different creatures; you are doing not appear as if an equivalent . Now I cannot say, that i feel you're any of you looking well at the present .”
“I am sorry to listen to you say so, sir; but I assure you, excepting those little nervous head-aches and palpitations which i'm never entirely free from anywhere, i'm quite well myself; and if the youngsters were rather pale before they visited bed, it had been only because they were a touch more tired than usual, from their journey and therefore the happiness of coming. I hope you'll think better of their looks to-morrow; for I assure you Mr. Wingfield told me, that he didn't believe he had ever sent us off altogether, in such good case. I trust, at least, that you simply don't think Mr. Knightley looking ill,” turning her eyes with affectionate anxiety towards her husband.
“Middling, my dear; I cannot compliment you. i feel Mr. John Knightley very faraway from looking well.”
“What is that the matter, sir? — Did you speak to me?” cried Mr. John Knightley, hearing his own name.
“I am sorry to seek out , my love, that my father doesn't think you looking well — but I hope it's only from being a touch fatigued. I could have wished, however, as you recognize , that you simply had seen Mr. Wingfield before you left home.”
“My dear Isabella,”— exclaimed he hastily —”pray don't concern yourself about my looks. Be satisfied with doctoring and coddling yourself and therefore the children, and let me look as I chuse.”
“I didn't thoroughly understand what you were telling your brother,” cried Emma, “about your friend Mr. Graham’s meaning to have a bailiff from Scotland, to seem after his new estate. what is going to it answer? won't the old prejudice be too strong?”
And she talked during this way goodbye and successfully that, when forced to offer her attention again to her father and sister, she had nothing worse to listen to than Isabella’s kind inquiry after Jane Fairfax; and Jane Fairfax, though no great favourite together with her generally , she was at that moment very happy to help in praising.
“That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax!” said Mrs. John Knightley. — “It is goodbye since I even have seen her, except now then for a flash accidentally in town! What happiness it must be to her good old grandmother and excellent aunt, when she involves visit them! I always regret excessively on dear Emma’s account that she can't be more at Highbury; but now their daughter is married, I suppose Colonel and Mrs. Campbell won't be ready to spare her in the least . She would be such a pleasant companion for Emma.”
Mr. Woodhouse agreed thereto all, but added,
“Our little friend Harriet Smith, however, is simply such another pretty quite youth . you'll like Harriet. Emma couldn't have a far better companion than Harriet.”
“I am most happy to listen to it — but only Jane Fairfax one knows to be so very accomplished and superior! — and exactly Emma’s age.”
This topic was discussed very happily, et al. succeeded of comparable moment, and gave up the ghost with similar harmony; but the evening didn't close without a touch return of agitation. The gruel came and supplied an excellent deal to be said — much praise and lots of comments — undoubting decision of its wholesomeness for each constitution, and pretty severe Philippics upon the various houses where it had been never met with tolerable — but, unfortunately, among the failures which the daughter had to instance, the foremost recent, and thus most prominent, was in her own cook at South End, a girl hired for the time, who never had been ready to understand what she meant by a basin of nice smooth gruel, thin, but not too thin. Often as she had wished for and ordered it, she had never been ready to get any thing tolerable. Here was a dangerous opening.
“Ah!” said Mr. Woodhouse, shaking his head and fixing his eyes on her with tender concern. — The ejaculation in Emma’s ear expressed, “Ah! there's without stopping of the sad consequences of your getting to South End. It doesn't bear talking of.” And for a touch while she hoped he wouldn't talk about it, which a silent rumination might suffice to revive him to the relish of his own smooth gruel. After an interval of some minutes, however, he began with,
“I shall always be very sorry that you simply visited the ocean this autumn, rather than coming here.”
“But why do you have to be sorry, sir? — I assure you, it did the youngsters an excellent deal of excellent .”
“And, moreover, if you want to attend the ocean , it had better not are to South End. South End is an unhealthy place. Perry was surprized to listen to you had fixed upon South End.”
“I know there's such a thought with many of us , but indeed it's quite mistake, sir. — We all had our health perfectly well there, never found the smallest amount inconvenience from the mud; and Mr. Wingfield says it's entirely an error to suppose the place unhealthy; and that i am sure he could also be trusted , for he thoroughly understands the character of the air, and his own brother and family are there repeatedly.”
“You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you went anywhere. — Perry was every week at Cromer once, and he holds it to be the simplest of all the sea-bathing places. A fine open sea, he says, and really pure air. And, by what I understand, you would possibly have had lodgings there quite faraway from the ocean — 1 / 4 of a mile off — very comfortable. you ought to have consulted Perry.”
“But, my dear sir, the difference of the journey — only consider how great it might are . — An hundred miles, perhaps, rather than forty.”
“Ah! my dear, as Perry says, where health is at stake, nothing else should be considered; and if one is to travel, there's not much to chuse between forty miles and an hundred. — Better not move in the least , better stay in London altogether than travel forty miles to urge into a worse air. this is often just what Perry said. It appeared to him a really ill-judged measure.”
