braves a contemporary ‘dance’
‘Father,’ said Emma, ‘I am invited by the Netherfield Ladies to attend a function for the 18–30 summer holiday.’
‘My dear Emma,’ replied her father. ‘Why this gazing to the future? The year is 1814. By 1830 we may all be subjects of the Emperor Bonaparte.’
‘But Father, we dance all night by the sea.’
‘I never had much opinion of the sea air,’ said Mr Woodhouse. ‘It is never safe to sit out of doors. And who shall chaperone you?’
‘All the Bennet girls will be there, Father, and Miss Bertram and Anne Elliot – and she’s twenty-seven! And we drink gallons of water and take little pills.’
‘I am pleased to hear there is some medicinal aspect to the entertainment,’ said Mr Woodhouse, ‘but I counsel you against too much water. It is injurious to the liver.’
When Emma arrived for the festivities upon the Cobb at Lyme she could not help remarking the absence of a band; such music as there was issued from a species of hurdy-gurdy operated by a gentleman from Sir Thomas Bertram’s plantations in Antigua.
A young man whose family was not known to the Woodhouses requested the pleasure of a dance, but Emma told him she was engaged by the Reverend Elton for the polka. ‘However, sir,’ she told him, ‘I should be obliged if you were to bear me in mind for the quadrille.’
Emma’s mind was thrown into conster nation by the noise of the music and it was with relief that she spotted at last a familiar acquaintance emerging from the seaside waters.
‘Mr Knightley!’ she cried.
‘Indeed,’ he replied, with an uncommon leer upon his face. ‘Though down here they call me “Twice Knightley”.’