unprepared I was!—for I had reason to believe her very lately more determined against him, much more, than she was before.”
“You ought to know your friend best,” replied Mr. Knightley; “but I should say she was a good-tempered, soft-hearted girl, not likely to be very, very determined against any young man who told her he loved her.”
Emma could not help laughing as she answered, “Upon my word, I believe you know her quite as well as I do.—But, Mr. Knightley, are you perfectly sure that she has absolutely and downright accepted him.—I could suppose she might in time—but can she already?—Did not you misunderstand him?—You were both talking of other things; of business, shows of cattle, or new drills—and might not you, in the confusion of so many subjects, mistake him?—It was not Harriet’s hand that he was certain of—it was the dimensions of some famous ox.”
The contrast between the countenance and air of Mr. Knightley and Robert Martin was, at this moment, so strong to Emma’s feelings, and so strong was the recollection of all that had so recently passed on Harriet’s side, so fresh the sound of those words spoken with such emphasis, “No, I hope I know better than to think of Robert Martin,” that she was really expecting the intelligence to prove, in some measure, premature. It could not be otherwise.
“Do you dare say this?” cried Mr. Knightley. “Do you dare to suppose me so great a blockhead, as to not know what a man is talking of?—What do you deserve?”
“Oh! I always deserve the best treatment, because I never put up with any other; and therefore, you must give me a plain, direct answer. Are you quite sure that you understand the terms on which Mr. Martin and Harriet now are?”