shake hands with you—and to give you joy in person.”
He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness.
“Is not she looking well?” said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. “Better than she ever used to do?—You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her.”
But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.—Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing.
“I can never think of it,” she cried, “without extreme shame.”
“The shame,” he answered, “is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?—I mean of late. Early, I know you had none.”
“I never had the smallest, I assure you.”
“That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near—and I wish I had – it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.—It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing.”
“It is not now worth a regret,” said Emma.
“I have some hope,” resumed he, “of my uncle’s being persuaded to pay a visit at Randall’s; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.–But now, I am at such a distance from her—is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?—Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of the reconciliation. Do not you pity me?