Miss Fairfax looked distressed, and I thought she must be ill indeed if the thought of a ball did not lift her spirits, for I cannot believe her distress was at Emma being singled out in this way. Miss Fairfax is too generous for that.

Miss Fairfax was the only person who was silent, however. Everyone else broke out into conversation. As they discussed the ball, I found myself wondering why Churchill should be asking Emma for the first two dances. It was not his place to do so, though everyone else seems pleased with the idea. I found myself wishing I had asked her first.

However, the ball will very likely come to nothing as he is to return to his aunt in a few days" time.

I find myself hoping that he will never come back.


Thursday 11 March

Emma was full of the ball, and my hope that it would not take place proved a vain one. When I visited Hartfield, Emma could talk of nothing else. Frank Churchill had appealed to his aunt, who had graciously declared she could manage without him, with the result that he was to stay for a week beyond his appointed time.

I tried to be generous, for Emma has little enough to entertain her, but my tongue would not do what I wished it to do.

"If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing to say against it, but they shall not choose pleasures for me," I said.

"But you will be there?" Emma asked me, with a trace of anxiety.

I almost asked her what it was to her, but I managed to restrain myself just in time.

"Oh! yes, I must be there," I said. "I could not refuse; and I will keep as much awake as I can; but I would rather be at the Abbey, I confess."

"Surely you would rather be at the Crown, instead of sitting at home with your accounts?" she asked.

"I cannot see why," I answered bad-temperedly.

"Because you will have an opportunity of dancing."

"I do not care to dance," I remarked.

"You will at least take pleasure in seeing it," she said.

"Pleasure in seeing dancing! Not I, indeed. I never look at it. I do not know who does. Fine dancing,

I believe, like virtue, must be its own reward. Those who are standing by are usually thinking of something very different."

I felt annoyed with myself for saying it, but I could not take any pleasure in seeing Emma dance with Mr. Churchill.

Emma was quite angry, and I am not surprised. I was being churlish. Moreover, I was implying that her belief that people enjoyed to see fine dancing sprang from the vanity of those who were dancing, and that is not the case. I know it as well as she. And yet I could not be gracious with the thought of Frank Churchill in my mind.

Why I am so opposed to him I do not know. He is young and foolish and has odd fancies, but there is no real harm in him. And yet I cannot like him, do what I may. If Emma had not taken such a fancy to him, then it might have been different, but to hear her constantly talking about him puts me out of temper. He is no different from other young men his age, and I cannot see why she finds him so interesting.


Saturday 13 March

I have been punished for my gracelessness, for I find that Emma’s happiness is to be lost. Frank Churchill has had a letter from his uncle saying that his aunt is unwell, and that he must go home. I am sure the letter had more to do with his aunt’s selfishness than any illness. She could not bear to think of her nephew enjoying himself, that was all.

And I, I am almost as bad, for I could not bear to think of it, either. It was a warning to me, indeed, not to let bad temper rule my life.

"I am sorry for you, Emma, truly sorry," I said, when I joined her and her father for supper. "You,

Emma, who have so few opportunities for dancing, you are really out of luck; you are very much out of luck!"

I could tell how disappointed she was.

"We should not have delayed," she said. "We could have held the ball with far fewer arrangements." Mr. Woodhouse, however, was glad it was not to go ahead. "I am sorry for your disappointment, Emma," he began, "but I cannot think it a bad thing. No, I cannot think it a bad thing at all. Mrs. Weston was all for saying there were no draughts, but an inn, my dear, must always have them, and you would probably have taken cold."

Even in her disappointment, Emma did not grow impatient with him.

"We inspected the inn most particularly, Papa, you know we did," she said. "Besides, I have not despaired of holding the ball. Mr. Churchill must be with us again soon, Papa, and then it will go ahead."

She spoke bravely, but I could tell by her tone she did not believe it.

I tried to cheer her by inviting her and her father to the Abbey tomorrow for dinner. Mr. Woodhouse goes out so little that Emma is often forced to spend her time at home, but he is familiar with the Abbey, and after a little persuasion, I hoped he might give his consent.

It seemed as though he would do so, but at the last moment he decided that the horses would not like it, and invited me to Hartfield instead.

I was happy to accept. I could not promise Emma a ball, but I could promise her a cheerful evening with her friends, and a chance to talk of her lost ball to her heart’s content.


Monday 15 March

I was hoping that, now Frank Churchill is not in front of her, Emma would quickly forget him, but it is not to be. She talked of nothing but him this morning, or so it seemed to me.

The Westons joined us at Hartfield, and they were only too glad to talk of him. They did everything they could to promote his virtues with Emma, and I grew more and more impatient with every word.

They have a right to be delighted with their son, but they do not have a right to expect everyone else to be delighted with him as well.


Tuesday 16 March

I do not want to see Emma marry Frank Churchill, and so I said to Routledge this evening when, having travelled to London this morning to deal with a matter of business, I dined with him at the club.

"Churchill is not the man for Emma," I said. "He would encourage her rasher ideas, and lead her into temptation. He would be always jaunting off to London to have his hair cut or some other freak, and she would not like it. What is amusing in an acquaintance, and allowable in a friend, is less comfortable in a husband."

"Nevertheless, it sounds as though it would be a good match," he remarked.

"It would take her away from Hartfield and all her friends," I returned. "Churchill would carry her off to Enscombe in Yorkshire, and separate her from her father and sister as effectively as if he took her off to France. She would not be comfortable there, away from everyone and everything she knows. At the Abbey, she is only sixteen miles from her sister, and close to her father..."

"At the Abbey?" he asked.

"I mean, of course, that at Highbury she is only sixteen miles from her sister, and close to her father."

"But you said the Abbey," he pointed out. "Your mistake was revealing. You never seem to talk of anyone but Emma. You told me yourself that you have never met anyone you like better. It is as plain as a pikestaff. I have thought so ever since our last meeting. You should marry her, Knightley."

"Marry Emma? Nonsense! I have known her all my life."

"A very good basis for marriage. Think of your brother. He has known Isabella all his life, and I have yet to see a happier couple."

"No, it would not do. I am too old for her," I protested.

"Nonsense. You are in your prime."

"She is too young for me," I said, shaking my head.

"She is twenty-one. You"re a clever man, George," he said, "but sometimes you cannot see what is under your nose. Emma is the perfect wife for you, and you are the perfect husband for her. I have known it for many months. If you do not ask her yourself, then you cannot complain if someone else does."

"Good. I would like to see her married," I said. "Just not to Frank Churchill."

"Jealous?"

"Of course not! Why should I be jealous of a frippery fellow like Frank Churchill?"

He laughed at me, but then he grew serious.

"If she marries, your life would change," he said. "There would be no more evenings spent at Hartfield. Her marriage would take her away."

"She would never move far from her father. She would find a man from Surrey."

"And would you be able to sit with her every evening, if she did?" he asked.

"A man from Highbury then!" I said impatiently.

"Who? You have already discounted Elton, and quite right, too. She is too good for Elton. But who else is there? She will marry no one related to Highbury - unless she marries Weston’s son. He is the right age, and he is a good-looking man, by all accounts."

"She can do better than Frank Churchill! A man who does not know his duty, who writes flowery letters that deliver nothing but promise everything, a weakling who cannot do right when it is under his nose. Such a man will not do for Emma."

"She might not feel as you do. Women are strange creatures. They like a handsome face, and she must have someone, after all. Besides, on reflection, I think you are right. You are too old for Emma."

"I am not yet in my dotage!" I returned.

"Have it your own way!" he said. "You are too old for her, and not too old!"

"Perhaps, before you find a mate for me, you should find one for yourself," I said.

"I might have done."

I was immediately curious, and encouraged him to tell me about Miss Turner, a young lady he met at a soirée six weeks ago. He confided in me that he meant to marry her, if she would have him.