Today we visit a poor family, and I cannot deny that Miss Woodhouse is very kind and genuinely interested in helping them. When we leave, we spend some time reflecting on the condition of the family and our desire to improve it. Suddenly, who should come up the road but Mr. Elton.
No, I am no longer angry with Miss Woodhouse for her well-meaning scheming. I find it quite impossible when I consider that her actions, though wrong,have been well meaning, and she must be truly, thoroughly convinced of her own fantasy. In truth, I am quite ashamed to think of how uncharitable I have been toward her, and as Christmas approaches, it seems more than usually desirable to be at peace with everyone.
Now I can only smile to myself when I see her contriving to leave us alone, first taking a narrow path and then breaking off her bootlace. I said earlier that I wished to see Mr. Elton's house, for, though it is not very large or handsome, there is something about it which interests me, and it seems as if I am the only person in town who has not seen its interior. I was quite aware that Miss Woodhouse would attribute more meaning to this than there was. Now, as we step inside, she smiles with satisfaction and promptly disappears.
As I listen, with polite interest, to Mr. Elton, I cannot help thinking of Miss Woodhouse's earlier declaration of indifference toward marriage. She said she had "very little intention of ever marrying at all." I can hardly believe it, as I told her. She spoke of love and admitted she is entirely inexperienced in that area. She quite sensibly explained that she wants nothing at present and would be a fool to change her situation for any inducement besides love.
I only wish she did not speak of Miss Bates as she did. "So silly – so satisfied – so smiling – so prosing – so undistinguishing and unfastidious" – are these such great crimes? She truly is very kind and well meaning, not at all disagreeable, as Miss Woodhouse would consider a poor old maid. Certainly, she is not too good natured and too silly to suit me.
The conversation turned to nieces and nephews, to Miss Bates's niece, Jane Fairfax, in particular. From Miss Woodhouse's speech regarding that lady, I detected not a little jealousy.
Oh, dear. Where is Miss Woodhouse? It has been a full ten minutes since she went with the housekeeper to procure something with which to fix her boot. The door between us remains open; she cannot think Mr. Elton would make a declaration like this. Certainly she is speaking with the housekeeper.
Now I must attend to what Mr. Elton is saying. We stand by the windows as he drops hints of his admiration for Miss Woodhouse. Miss Woodhouse finally appears, and we leave.
Ah, freedom! As the visit of Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley approaches, Miss Woodhouse has little time to force me into Mr. Elton's company, and I spend a few days with the Martins.
"You are to meet Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley?" asks Elizabeth after supper on the last day of my visit.
"Yes. Do you know much about them?"
"We have seen them in church and in town a few times. Mrs. Knightley seems much like her father, over-cautious about her health, but very kind and amiable, and Mr. John Knightley is very clever."
Our conversation soon turns to novels and music. Elizabeth coaxes me to play a simple piece with her on the pianoforte and tells me I am much improved since my last visit. I blush slightly, unwilling to admit I have practiced the piece a great deal since she first taught me and Robert said it was a favorite of his. He enters now, with a tired smile, and we speak some more before retiring for the night.
A lady must remain perfectly composed at all times, under any circumstance, for the sake of her reputation. But I am not Miss Woodhouse of Hartfield, nor even a gentlewoman; I am Harriet Smith of Mrs. Goddard's School and I know not where, engaged to Mr. Robert Martin, a respectable man, and if he has no qualms about our present situation, neither do I. As we take a narrow path through the woods to town, I lean upon his arm and say what I have been feeling for some time now.
"Oh, Robert, I am so tired!"
I fear I sound nearly hysterical as I tell him how little I look forward to Miss Woodhouse's party.
"But of course I must go," I finish morosely.
Robert look at me intently before asking, "My dear, are you feeling well?"
"Yes, quite well."
"Hmm, I think not. You sound as if you have a bit of a cold."
"Oh? Yes, perhaps I do."
"Are you often ill at this time of year?"
"As a child I was, but I believe my health is much improved now."
"It is growing cold, and you have no scarf. You coughed earlier. Did you not say you felt a tickle in your throat?"
"I did indeed. Well, I suppose I cannot go to the party now."
I let out a giggle but quickly stop myself. I have heard it said that Mr. Knightley told Miss Woodhouse he had noticed I had stopped giggling, as a credit to her influence, and I do wish to be a proper wife for Robert, rather than behaving like a silly schoolgirl. When he looks at me, however, it is not disapproval in his eyes.
"Ah, there it is! It has been some time since I heard that melodious sound, and I must say I have missed it indeed."
We continue down the path toward town and part ways before coming within sight of the first building. I pause to watch him go, and once he is gone, I try to sing some very difficult pieces, so after a few minutes, my throat truly hurts. Now that I think of it, I am cold, and I have a slight headache. Upon my return to school, I tell Mrs. Goddard I fear I am coming down with something. She is very kind and attentive and makes some tea.