CHAPTER XII
關燈
小
中
大
Mr.Knightleywastodinewiththem—ratheragainsttheinclinationofMr.Woodhouse,whodidnotlikethatanyoneshouldsharewithhiminIsabella’sfirstday.Emma’ssenseofrighthoweverhaddecideditandbesidestheconsiderationofwhatwasduetoeachbrother,shehadparticularpleasure,fromthecircumstanceofthelatedisagreementbetweenMr.Knightleyandherself,inprocuringhimtheproperinvitation.
Shehopedtheymightnowbecomefriendsagain.Shethoughtitwastimetomakeup.Making-upindeedwouldnotdo.Shecertainlyhadnotbeeninthewrong,andhewouldneverownthathehad.Concessionmustbeoutofthequestionbutitwastimetoappeartoforgetthattheyhadeverquarrelledandshehopeditmightratherassisttherestorationoffriendship,thatwhenhecameintotheroomshehadoneofthechildrenwithher—theyoungest,anicelittlegirlabouteightmonthsold,whowasnowmakingherfirstvisittoHartfield,andveryhappytobedancedaboutinheraunt’sarms.Itdidassistforthoughhebeganwithgravelooksandshortquestions,hewassoonledontotalkofthemallintheusualway,andtotakethechildoutofherarmswithalltheunceremoniousnessofperfectamity.Emmafelttheywerefriendsagainandtheconvictiongivingheratfirstgreatsatisfaction,andthenalittlesauciness,shecouldnothelpsaying,ashewasadmiringthebaby,
“Whatacomfortitis,thatwethinkalikeaboutournephewsandnieces.Astomenandwomen,ouropinionsaresometimesverydifferentbutwithregardtothesechildren,Iobserveweneverdisagree.”
“Ifyouwereasmuchguidedbynatureinyourestimateofmenandwomen,andaslittleunderthepoweroffancyandwhiminyourdealingswiththem,asyouarewherethesechildrenareconcerned,wemightalwaysthinkalike.”
“Tobesure—ourdiscordanciesmustalwaysarisefrommybeinginthewrong.”
“Yes,”saidhe,smiling—“andreasongood.Iwassixteenyearsoldwhenyouwereborn.”
“Amaterialdifferencethen,”shereplied—“andnodoubtyouweremuchmysuperiorinjudgmentatthatperiodofourlivesbutdoesnotthelapseofone-and-twentyyearsbringourunderstandingsagooddealnearer?”
“Yes—agooddealnearer.”
“Butstill,notnearenoughtogivemeachanceofbeingright,ifwethinkdifferently.”
“Ihavestilltheadvantageofyoubysixteenyears’experience,andbynotbeingaprettyyoungwomanandaspoiledchild.Come,mydearEmma,letusbefriends,andsaynomoreaboutit.Tellyouraunt,littleEmma,thatsheoughttosetyouabetterexamplethantoberenewingoldgrievances,andthatifshewerenotwrongbefore,sheisnow.”
“That’strue,”shecried—“verytrue.LittleEmma,growupabetterwomanthanyouraunt.Beinfinitelyclevererandnothalfsoconceited.Now,Mr.Knightley,awordortwomore,andIhavedone.Asfarasgoodintentionswent,wewerebothright,andImustsaythatnoeffectsonmysideoftheargumenthaveyetprovedwrong.IonlywanttoknowthatMr.Martinisnotvery,verybitterlydisappointed.”
“Amancannotbemoreso,”washisshort,fullanswer.
“Ah!—IndeedIamverysorry.—Come,shakehandswithme.”
Thishadjusttakenplaceandwithgreatcordiality,whenJohnKnightleymadehisappearance,and“Howd’yedo,George?”and“John,howareyou?”succeededinthetrueEnglishstyle,buryingunderacalmnessthatseemedallbutindifference,therealattachme
