Emma | Page 6

passed through. He had
never been an unhappy man; his own temper had secured him from that,
even in his first marriage; but his second must shew him how delightful
a well-judging and truly amiable woman could be, and must give him
the pleasantest proof of its being a great deal better to choose than to be
chosen, to excite gratitude than to feel it.
He had only himself to please in his choice: his fortune was his own;
for as to Frank, it was more than being tacitly brought up as his uncle's

heir, it had become so avowed an adoption as to have him assume the
name of Churchill on coming of age. It was most unlikely, therefore,
that he should ever want his father's assistance. His father had no
apprehension of it. The aunt was a capricious woman, and governed her
husband entirely; but it was not in Mr. Weston's nature to imagine that
any caprice could be strong enough to affect one so dear, and, as he
believed, so deservedly dear. He saw his son every year in London, and
was proud of him; and his fond report of him as a very fine young man
had made Highbury feel a sort of pride in him too. He was looked on as
sufficiently belonging to the place to make his merits and prospects a
kind of common concern.
Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury, and a lively
curiosity to see him prevailed, though the compliment was so little
returned that he had never been there in his life. His coming to visit his
father had been often talked of but never achieved.
Now, upon his father's marriage, it was very generally proposed, as a
most proper attention, that the visit should take place. There was not a
dissentient voice on the subject, either when Mrs. Perry drank tea with
Mrs. and Miss Bates, or when Mrs. and Miss Bates returned the visit.
Now was the time for Mr. Frank Churchill to come among them; and
the hope strengthened when it was understood that he had written to his
new mother on the occasion. For a few days, every morning visit in
Highbury included some mention of the handsome letter Mrs. Weston
had received. "I suppose you have heard of the handsome letter Mr.
Frank Churchill has written to Mrs. Weston? I understand it was a very
handsome letter, indeed. Mr. Woodhouse told me of it. Mr. Woodhouse
saw the letter, and he says he never saw such a handsome letter in his
life."
It was, indeed, a highly prized letter. Mrs. Weston had, of course,
formed a very favourable idea of the young man; and such a pleasing
attention was an irresistible proof of his great good sense, and a most
welcome addition to every source and every expression of
congratulation which her marriage had already secured. She felt herself
a most fortunate woman; and she had lived long enough to know how

fortunate she might well be thought, where the only regret was for a
partial separation from friends whose friendship for her had never
cooled, and who could ill bear to part with her.
She knew that at times she must be missed; and could not think,
without pain, of Emma's losing a single pleasure, or suffering an hour's
ennui, from the want of her companionableness: but dear Emma was of
no feeble character; she was more equal to her situation than most girls
would have been, and had sense, and energy, and spirits that might be
hoped would bear her well and happily through its little difficulties and
privations. And then there was such comfort in the very easy distance
of Randalls from Hartfield, so convenient for even solitary female
walking, and in Mr. Weston's disposition and circumstances, which
would make the approaching season no hindrance to their spending half
the evenings in the week together.
Her situation was altogether the subject of hours of gratitude to Mrs.
Weston, and of moments only of regret; and her satisfaction--her more
than satisfaction--her cheerful enjoyment, was so just and so apparent,
that Emma, well as she knew her father, was sometimes taken by
surprize at his being still able to pity `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