I do not believe I have ever seen Robert look so angry. Even last summer, when the boy who was to watch the pigs let them all out, he was very calm and controlled in his reaction. Now, however, his expression and tone are cold and hard as he walks quickly toward me, away from the house.
"Robert," I begin softly, but I do not know how to proceed.
"Were you – did you hear –?"
Yes, I did. I returned to Hartfield far sooner than expected and, while strolling through the garden, perceived that Miss Woodhouse was inside. As I approached, I realized she was engaged in a debate of some sort with Mr. Knightley, and I had best not interrupt. I was about to leave when I heard my name mentioned, and then I could not help staying to hear the rest.
"She is the natural daughter of nobody knows whom, with probably no settled provision at all, and certainly no respectable relations. She is known only as parlour-boarder at a common school. She is not a sensible girl, nor a girl of any information I felt that, as to fortune, in all probability he might do much better; and that as to a rational companion or useful helpmate, he could not do worse."
"Yes. I heard."
I feel quite foolish when, despite my awareness of my shortcomings and my indifference toward Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Knightley, tears begin to blur my vision.
"I went to Donwell to discuss some matters regarding the farm, but when I heard Mr. Knightley had come here, I decided to come to Highbury. Harriet, dearest, please do not cry. I cannot bear to think of you being hurt by their words. Certainly neither one gives you half as much credit as you deserve. And to think that Mr. Knightley – and I had thought him a gentleman!"
"He did not say anything that was not true."
He is about to protest when I change the subject.
"I had not realized before that our plan must include Mr. Knightley. They were speaking of my refusal. Say what you will, but Mr. Knightley's honest assessment of my prospects was not so difficult to face as Miss Woodhouse's denial of them."
We remain where we are until Mr. Knightley leaves. I take a few moments to compose myself, and upon my return, I force myself to speak cheerfully of Mr. Elton. Miss Nash told me that Mr. Perry met him on his way to London to get Miss Woodhouse's painting framed, though it means he will miss his whist-club night for the first time. She understands the situation quite well and only wished to share a bit of news, though in a way that she could not be accused of gossiping. Miss Woodhouse, however, fails to see that Mr. Elton considered his very enviable commission to be all for her.
Oh dear. Mr. Knightley has been away from Hartfield for so long I fear his disagreement with Miss Woodhouse is more serious than I first thought. She seems quite unaffected however, as she is wholly preoccupied by Mr. Elton. He has returned with her framed picture, which now hangs over the mantelpiece of the common sitting-room. I am quite tired of Mr. Elton. If I did not know better, I might surmise that she is as much in love with him as he is with her.
I am quite glad when I can slip away for an hour or two. Robert and I meet when and where we can, whether on the road or in town. I do wish I could come to the Martins' farm, but I fear it is too soon. Miss Woodhouse does not seem entirely confident that my feelings have passed. When we meet, we talk about the farm and his mother and sisters, as well as what we have seen and heard and read since our last meeting. He truly did get the book I suggested, and he says he is enjoying it immensely. Likewise, I am nearly through with a wonderful historical account he suggested I read.
When I must return to Hartfield, I feel far more relaxed and better able to indulge Miss Woodhouse in her attempts to improve my mind through extensive reading. It is unfortunate that she should lack the persistence to finish even one book.
Losing patience, I suggest we endeavor, instead, to write a little book of riddles. Miss Nash, who has a great many collections, is quite helpful, and Miss Woodhouse naturally asks Mr. Elton's assistance. Though he initially declines to participate, with many gallant and fine-sounding nothings, she is quite delighted when he does present her with a riddle. Blinded by her pride, she insists it is meant for me. What a fine joke that is!
My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,
Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.
Another view of man, my second brings,
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
But ah! united, what reverse we have!
Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown;
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
Thy ready wit the word will soon supply,
May its approval beam in that soft eye!
I read it twice before I catch his meaning. My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings – well of course, that is a royal court, quite popular in the novels I enjoy reading. The second part is more difficult, for at the mention of the seas, I think of another novel about a young lady whose courtship with a sailor came to a rather unfortunate end. Yes, that is it! The answer is courtship.
Miss Woodhouse looks on as I read it again and again. She must think I am quite ignorant as I wonder who its author is, and whether the answer could be a mermaid or a shark, all to keep from laughing at the last part. Certainly Mr. Elton would have to be very much in love if he described me as having ready wit.
She deigns to explain, and I am free to smile and laugh. I am quite nearly overcome, but finally, I must speak. I feel like an actress as I speak of his superiority. Finally, I see an opportunity to convince Miss Woodhouse of my preference.
"It is one thing to have very good sense in a common way, like everybody else, and if there is anything to say, to sit down and write a letter, and say just what you must, in a short way; and another, to write verses and charades like this."
And still another, surpassing virtue to be able to write an honest, heartfelt letter to one's love, which does not speak in riddles but asks plainly for her hand.
After some time, Mr. Woodhouse enters and the conversation turns to the upcoming visit of his elder daughter, Mrs. Isabella Knightley, her husband, Mr. John Knightley, and their children. Still later, Mr. Elton arrives to make his excuses; it seems he is engaged tonight with Mr. Cole and therefore cannot come to dinner. The poor man looks quite confused when Miss Woodhouse tells him we have entered part of his riddle into my collection and leaves quickly. Still, I am sure he took her words as an acceptance, or at least an encouragement. Miss Woodhouse leaves soon after he does, so now I may laugh at the two of them.