Mr. Knightley’s Diary

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.