Host

The confession completely renewed her first shame, and the sight of Harriet's tears made her think that she should never be in charity with herself again.

Harriet bore the intelligence very well, blaming nobody.

and in everything testifying such an ingenuousness of disposition and lowly opinion of herself, as must appear with particular advantage at that moment to her friend.

Emma was in the humour to value simplicity and modesty to the utmost, and all that was amiable, all that ought to be attaching, seemed on Harriet's side, not her own.

Harriet did not consider herself as having anything to complain of.

The affection of such a man as Mr Elton would have been too great a distinction.

She never could have deserved him, and nobody but so partial and kind a friend as Miss Woodhouse would have thought it possible.

Her tears fell abundantly.

But her grief was so truly artless that no dignity could have made it more respectable in Emma's eyes.

And she listened to her and tried to console her with all her heart and understanding, really for the time convinced that Harriet was the superior creature of the two.

and that to resemble her would be more for her own welfare and happiness than all that genius or intelligence could do.

It was rather too late in the day to set about being simple-minded and ignorant, but she left her with every previous resolution confirmed of being humble and discreet, and repressing imagination all the rest of her life,

Her second duty now, inferior only to her father's claims, was to promote Harriet's comfort and endeavour to prove her own affection in some better method than by matchmaking.

She got her to Hartfield and showed her the most unvarying kindness, striving to occupy and amuse her, and by books and conversation, to drive Mr. Elton from her thoughts.

The time she knew must be allowed for this being thoroughly done, and she could suppose herself but an indifferent judge of such matters in general, and very inadequate to sympathize in an attachment to Mr. Elton in particular, but it seemed to her reasonable that at Harriet's age, and with the entire extinction of all hope,

Such a progress might be made towards a state of composure by the time of Mr. Elton's return as to allow them all to meet again in the common routine of acquaintance without any danger of betraying sentiments or increasing them.

Harriet did think him all perfection, and maintained the non-existence of anybody equal to him in person or goodness, and did, in truth, prove herself more resolutely in love than Emma had foreseen.

But yet it appeared to her so natural, so inevitable to strive against an inclination of that sort unrequited, that she could not comprehend its continuing very long in equal force.

If Mr. Elton, on his return, made his own indifference as evident and indubitable as she could not doubt he would anxiously do, she could not imagine Harriet's persisting to place her happiness in the sight or the recollection of him.

Their being fixed, so absolutely fixed in the same place, was bad for each, for all three