I must beg Mrs. Elton’s pardon for differing from her, in remarking how far Jane Austen—with her hero and heroine—was above selfish insular prejudices, in contemplating the humane, kindly arrangement which did not fear to unite, in one household, kindred, old and young, of different generations.
Harriet’s visit to London has been protracted to a month’s duration, and Emma is rather anxiously anticipating her friend’s return in company with John Knightley and his wife, when Mr. Knightley walks in one morning, to tell her some news which he will not undertake to define as either good or bad.
She cries, it is good, for she sees him trying not to smile.
“I am afraid,” he said, composing his features, “I am very much afraid, my dear Emma, that you will not smile when you hear it.” He goes on to observe there is one subject on which they differ—does she not recollect it—Harriet Smith?
Emma’s cheeks flush, and she feels afraid for what is coming.
“You are prepared for the worst, I see, and very bad it is. Harriet Smith marries Robert Martin.”
Emma gives a violent start.
It is so, indeed. Mr. Knightley has had it from Robert Martin himself. He left him not half an hour before.
Still Emma sits, the picture of amazement.
Mr. Knightley prepares to try to reconcile her to the fact.