to have been done, even had his time been longer.--He had staid on, however, vigorously, day after day--till this very morning's post had conveyed the history of Jane Fairfax.-- Then, with the gladness which must be felt, nay, which he did not scruple to feel, having never believed Frank Churchill to be at all deserving Emma, was there so much fond solicitude, so much keen anxiety for her, that he could stay no longer. He had ridden home through the mill; and had walked up directly after dinner, to see how this sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults,1 bore the discovery.
He had found her agitated and low.-- Frank Churchill was a villain.--He heard her declare that she had never loved him. Frank Churchill's character was not desperate.--She was his own Emma, by hand and word, when they returned into the house; and if he could have thought of Frank Churchill then, he might have deemed him a very good sort of fellow.
WHAT totally different feelings did Emma take back into the house from what she had brought out!--she had then been only daring to hope for a little respite of suffering;-- she was now in an exquisite flutter of happiness, and such happiness moreover as she believed must still be greater when the flutter should have passed away.
They sat down to tea--the same party round the same table--how often it had been collected!--and how often had her eyes fallen on the same shrubs in the lawn, and observed the same beautiful effect of the western sun!--But never in such a state of spirits, never in anything like it; and it was with difficulty that she could summon enough of her usual self to be the attentive lady of the house, or even the attentive daughter.
Poor Mr. Woodhouse little suspected what was plotting