over the fields too—(speaking in a tone of great ill usage,) which made it so much worse. And then not to find him at home! I assure you I am not at all pleased. And no apology left, no message for me. The housekeeper declared she knew nothing of my being expected.—Very extraordinary!—And nobody knew at all which way he was gone. Perhaps to Hartfield, perhaps to the Abbey Mill, perhaps into his woods.—Miss Woodhouse this is not like our friend Knightley.—Can you explain it?”

Emma amused herself by protesting that it was very extraordinary indeed, and that she had not a syllable to say for him.

“I cannot imagine,” cried Mrs. Elton, (feeling the indignity as a wife ought to do,) “ I cannot imagine how he could do such a thing by you, of all the people in the world! The very last person whom one should expect to be forgotten!—My dear Mr. E. he must have a message for you, I am sure he must.—Not even Knightley could be so very eccentric;-- and his servants forgot it. Depend upon it that was the case: and very likely to happen with the Donwell servants, who are all, I have often observed, extremely awkward and remiss.—I am sure I would not have such a creature as his Harry stand at our sideboard for any consideration. And as for Mrs. Hodges, Wright holds her very cheap indeed.--She promised Wright a receipt, and never sent it.”

“I met William Larkins,” continued Mr. Elton, “as I got near the house, and he told me I should not find his master at home, but I did not believe him.—William seemed rather our of humour. He did not know what was come to his master lately, he said, but he could hardly ever get the speech of him. I have nothing to do with William’s wants, but it really is of very great importance that I should see Knightley to-day; and it becomes a matter, therefore, of very serious inconvenience that I should have had this hot walk to no purpose.”

Emma felt that she could not do better than go home directly. In all probability she was at this very time waited for there; and Mr. Knightly might be preserved from sinking deeper in aggression towards Mr. Elton, if not towards William Larkins. She was pleased, on taking leave, to find Miss Fairfax determined to attend her out of the room, to go with her even down stairs; it gave her an opportunity which she immediately made use of, to say,

“It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possibility. Had you not been surrounded by other friends, I might have been tempted to introduce a subject, to ask questions, to speak more openly than might have been strictly correct. – I feel that I should certainly have been impertinent.”

“Oh!” cried Jane, with a blush and an hesitation which Emma thought infinitely more becoming to her than all the elegance of her usual composure—“there would have been no danger. The danger would have been of my wearying you. You could not have gratified me more than by expressing an interest--. Indeed, Miss Woodhouse, (speaking more collectedly,) with the consciousness which I have of misconduct, very great misconduct, it is particularly consoling to me to know that those of my friends, whose good opinion is most worth preserving, are not disgusted to such a degree as to—I have not time for half that I could wish to say. I long to make apologies, excuses, to urge something for myself. I feel it so very due. But unfortunately—in short, if your compassion does not stand my friend—“

“Oh! You are too scrupulous, indeed you are,” cried Emma, warmly, and taking her hand. “You owe me no apologies; and everybody to whom you might be supposed to owe them, so is perfectly satisfied, so delighted even—“

“You are very kind, but I know what my manners were to you.—So cold and artificial!—I had