Mr. Frank Churchill did not come after all. When the proposed time drew near, Mrs. Weston’s fears were justified in the arrival of a letter of excuse. For the present, he could not be spared, to his “very great mortification and regret; but still he looked forward with the hope of coming to Randalls in the near future.”
Mrs. Weston, who was now exceedingly happy to have just learned that she was going to have a baby, was exceedingly disappointed by the news about Frank—much more disappointed, in fact, than her husband.
For half an hour, Mr. Weston was surprised and sorry; but then he began to perceive that Frank’s coming two or three months later would be a much better plan, a better time of year, better weather, and that he would be able to stay considerably longer with them. These feelings rapidly restored his comfort, while Mrs. Weston, of a more apprehensive disposition, foresaw nothing but a repetition of excuses and delays.
Emma was not at this time in a state of spirits to really care about Mr. Frank Churchill’s not coming. She wanted, rather, to be quiet and out of temptation. But for the sake of friendship with the Westons, she expressed appropriate disappointment.
She was the first to announce it to Mr. George Knightley; and after he complimented Emma again on her valour during the vampire attack at Randalls, he remarked upon the conduct of the Churchills in keeping Frank away. Emma found herself involved in a disagreement with Mr. Knightley again.
“The Churchills are very likely at fault,” said Mr. Knightley coolly, “but I daresay he would come if he wanted to.”
“I do not know why you should say so,” replied Emma. “He wishes exceedingly to come, but his uncle and aunt will not spare him.”
“I cannot believe that he has not the power of coming, if he made a point of it.”
“How odd you are! What has Mr. Frank Churchill done to make you suppose him such an unnatural creature?”
Unnatural creature? Of all people, he thought, I am not supposing him to be an unnatural creature. No one with pale skin and black eyes, who never sleeps nor ages nor prefers human blood to that of small animals could be considered unnatural.
“It is natural for Mr. Frank Churchill to care only for his own pleasure, after living with those who have set the example. It is natural that a young man, brought up by those who are proud, luxurious, and selfish, should be proud, luxurious, and selfish too. If Frank Churchill had wanted to see his father, he would have arranged it between September and January. A man of twenty-three certainly has the ability to arrange such a visit.”
“That’s easily said,” replied Emma, “and easily felt by you, who have always been your own master. You do not know what it is to have other tempers to manage.”
“It is inconceivable that a man of twenty-three should not have liberty of mind or body. We know that he has much money and leisure. We hear of him forever at some party or resort—up all night, dark circles under his eyes—this proves that he can leave the Churchills whenever he chooses.”
“Yes, sometimes he can.”
“And those times are whenever he thinks it worth his while, whenever there is any temptation of pleasure.”
“It is very unfair to judge anybody’s conduct without an intimate knowledge of their situation. We need to be acquainted with Mrs. Churchill’s temper before we pretend to decide what her nephew can do.”
“There is one thing, Emma, which a man can always do if he chooses, and that is his duty. It is Frank Churchill’s duty to pay this visit to his father. He knows it is true, by his promises and letters. If he wished to do it, it would be done. He should say at once, simply and resolutely, to Mrs. Churchill, ‘I must go and see my father immediately. I know he would be hurt by such a mark of disrespect to him if I did not.’”
“Such language for a young man entirely dependent on his aunt and uncle!” said Emma, laughing. “Nobody but you, Mr. Knightley, would imagine Mr. Frank Churchill to be making such a speech to the uncle and aunt who have brought him up and still provide for him! How can you imagine such conduct practicable? Does not your heart beat with human compassion?”
“Not in the least, Emma. Depend upon it, a sensible man would find no difficulty in it. He would feel himself in the right; and doing so would do him more good, raise him higher, and fix his interest stronger with the people he depended on. They would feel that the nephew who had done right by his father would do right by them.”
“We shall never agree about him,” cried Emma, “but that is nothing extraordinary. I have not the least idea of his being a weak young man—I feel sure that he is not.”
“Yes, he had all the advantages of sitting still when he ought to move, and of leading a life of mere idle pleasure, and fancying himself extremely expert in finding excuses for it. I should even imagine that, in the heat of a confrontation with the wild creatures of the night, he would blanch and faint along with the ladies present, rather than take up his sword to defend them.”
“You seem determined to think ill of him.”
“Me! Not at all,” replied Mr. Knightley, rather displeased. “I do not want to think ill of him. I should be as ready to acknowledge his merits as any other man; but I hear of none, except what are merely personal—that he is well-grown and good-looking, with smooth, pleasing manners.”
“Well, if he has nothing else to recommend him, he will be a treasure at Highbury. We do not often look upon fine young men, well-bred and agreeable. Can you not imagine, Mr. Knightley, what a sensation his coming will produce? There will be but one subject throughout the parishes of Highbury, but one interest, one object of curiosity—it will all be Mr. Frank Churchill. We shall think and speak of nobody else.”
“You will excuse my not being so overpowered. If I find him conversable, I shall be glad of his acquaintance; but if he is only a chattering dandy, he will not occupy much of my time or thoughts.”
“My idea of him,” replied Emma, “is that he can adapt his conversation to the taste of everybody and has the power and wish of being universally agreeable. To you, he will talk of farming; to me, of drawing or music; and so on to everybody, having enough general information to speak extremely well on all subjects; that is my idea of him.”
“And my idea of him,” said Mr. Knightley warmly, “is that if he turns out anything like that, he will be the most insufferable fellow who never took a breath! What! At twenty-three to be such a great man, a practiced politician who reads everybody’s character and dispenses his flatteries round? My dear Emma, your own good sense could not endure such a person. And I might even be put to sleep by him, impossible as that may seem.”
“I shall say no more about him,” cried Emma. “You turn everything to evil. We are both prejudiced; you against, I for him; and we have no chance of agreeing till he is really here.”
“Prejudiced! I am not prejudiced.”
“But I am, very much, and without being at all ashamed of it. My love for Mr. and Mrs. Weston gives me a decided prejudice in his favour.”
“He is a person I never think of at all,” said Mr. Knightley, with a degree of vexation which made Emma immediately talk of something else, though she could not comprehend why he should be angry.
To take a dislike to a young man just because he was of a different disposition was unworthy of the open mind which she always used to acknowledge in Mr. George Knightley; for all the high opinion Mr. Knightley had of himself, Emma had never before supposed it could make him unjust to the merits of another man.