Love Hot

Love Hot : Part 4

'poor Miss Taylor,' when they left her at Randalls in the centre of every domestic

comfort, or saw her go away in the evening attended by her pleasant husband to

a carriage of her own. But never did she go without Mr. Woodhouse's giving a

gentle sigh, and saying, “Ah, poor Miss Taylor! She would be very glad to stay.”

There was no recovering Miss Taylor—nor much likelihood of ceasing to pity

her; but a few weeks brought some alleviation to Mr. Woodhouse. The

compliments of his neighbours were over; he was no longer teased by being

wished joy of so sorrowful an event; and the wedding-cake, which had been a

great distress to him, was all eat up. His own stomach could bear nothing rich,

and he could never believe other people to be different from himself. What was

unwholesome to him he regarded as unfit for any body; and he had, therefore,

earnestly tried to dissuade them from having any wedding-cake at all, and when

that proved vain, as earnestly tried to prevent any body's eating it. He had been

at the pains of consulting Mr. Perry, the apothecary, on the subject. Mr. Perry

was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man, whose frequent visits were one of the

comforts of Mr. Woodhouse's life; and upon being applied to, he could not but

acknowledge (though it seemed rather against the bias of inclination) that

wedding-cake might certainly disagree with many—perhaps with most people,

unless taken moderately. With such an opinion, in confirmation of his own, Mr.

Woodhouse hoped to influence every visitor of the newly married pair; but still

the cake was eaten; and there was no rest for his benevolent nerves till it was all

gone.

There was a strange rumour in Highbury of all the little Perrys being seen with

a slice of Mrs. Weston's wedding-cake in their hands: but Mr. Woodhouse would

never believe it.

________________________

CHAPTER III

Mr. Woodhouse was fond of society in his own way. He liked very much to

have his friends come and see him; and from various united causes, from his

long residence at Hartfield, and his good nature, from his fortune, his house, and

his daughter, he could command the visits of his own little circle, in a great

measure, as he liked. He had not much intercourse with any families beyond that

circle; his horror of late hours, and large dinner-parties, made him unfit for any

acquaintance but such as would visit him on his own terms. Fortunately for him,

Highbury, including Randalls in the same parish, and Donwell Abbey in the

parish adjoining, the seat of Mr. Knightley, comprehended many such. Not

unfrequently, through Emma's persuasion, he had some of the chosen and the

best to dine with him: but evening parties were what he preferred; and, unless he

fancied himself at any time unequal to company, there was scarcely an evening

in the week in which Emma could not make up a card-table for him.

Real, long-standing regard brought the Westons and Mr. Knightley; and by

Mr. Elton, a young man living alone without liking it, the privilege of

exchanging any vacant evening of his own blank solitude for the elegancies and

society of Mr. Woodhouse's drawing-room, and the smiles of his lovely daughter,

was in no danger of being thrown away.

After these came a second set; among the most come-at-able of whom were

Mrs. and Miss Bates, and Mrs. Goddard, three ladies almost always at the

service of an invitation from Hartfield, and who were fetched and carried home

so often, that Mr. Woodhouse thought it no hardship for either James or the

horses. Had it taken place only once a year, it would have been a grievance.

Mrs. Bates, the widow of a former vicar of Highbury, was a very old lady,

almost past every thing but tea and quadrille. She lived with her single daughter

in a very small way, and was considered with all the regard and respect which a

harmless old lady, under such untoward circumstances, can excite. Her daughter

enjoyed a most uncommon degree of popularity for a woman neither young,

handsome, rich, nor married. Miss Bates stood in the very worst predicament in

the world for having much of the public favour; and she had no intellectual

superiority to make atonement to herself, or frighten those who might hate her

into outward respect. She had never boasted either beauty or cleverness. Her

youth had passed without distinction, and her middle of life was devoted to the

care of a failing mother, and the endeavour to make a small income go as far as

possible. And yet she was a happy woman, and a woman whom no one named

without good-will. It was her own universal good-will and contented temper

which worked such wonders. She loved every body, was interested in every

body's happiness, quicksighted to every body's merits; thought herself a most

fortunate creature, and surrounded with blessings in such an excellent mother,

and so many good neighbours and friends, and a home that wanted for nothing.

The simplicity and cheerfulness of her nature, her contented and grateful spirit,

were a recommendation to every body, and a mine of felicity to herself. She was

a great talker upon little matters, which exactly suited Mr. Woodhouse, full of

trivial communications and harmless gossip.

Mrs. Goddard was the mistress of a School—not of a seminary, or an

establishment, or any thing which professed, in long sentences of refined

nonsense, to combine liberal acquirements with elegant morality, upon new

principles and new systems—and where young ladies for enormous pay might

be screwed out of health and into vanity—but a real, honest, old-fashioned

Boarding-school, where a reasonable quantity of accomplishments were sold at a

reasonable price, and where girls might be sent to be out of the way, and

scramble themselves into a little education, without any danger of coming back

prodigies. Mrs. Goddard's school was in high repute—and very deservedly; for

Highbury was reckoned a particularly healthy spot: she had an ample house and

garden, gave the children plenty of wholesome food, let them run about a great

deal in the summer, and in winter dressed their chilblains with her own hands. It

was no wonder that a train of twenty young couple now walked after her to

church. She was a plain, motherly kind of woman, who had worked hard in her

youth, and now thought herself entitled to the occasional holiday of a tea-visit;

and having formerly owed much to Mr. Woodhouse's kindness, felt his particular

claim on her to leave her neat parlour, hung round with fancy-work, whenever

she could, and win or lose a few sixpences by his fireside.

These were the ladies whom Emma found herself very frequently able to

collect; and happy was she, for her father's sake, in the power; though, as far as

she was herself concerned, it was no remedy for the absence of Mrs. Weston.

She was delighted to see her father look comfortable, and very much pleased

with herself for contriving things so well; but the quiet prosings of three such

women made her feel that every evening so spent was indeed one of the long

evenings she had fearfully anticipated.

As she sat one morning, looking forward to exactly such a close of the present

day, a note was brought from Mrs. Goddard, requesting, in most respectful....