CHAPTER XVI

　　Every body in and about Highbury who had ever visited Mr. Elton, was disposed to pay him attention on his marriage. Dinner-parties and evening-parties were made for him and his lady; and invitations flowed in so fast that she had soon the pleasure of apprehending they were never to have a disengaged day.

　　"I see how it is," said she. "I see what a life I am to lead among you. Upon my word we shall be absolutely dissipated. We really seem quite the fashion. If this is living in the country, it is nothing very formidable. From Monday next to Saturday, I assure you we have not a disengaged day!——A woman with fewer resources than I have, need not have been at a loss."

　　"This is very true," said she, "at least as far as relates to me, which was all that was meant——and it is very shameful.——Of the same age—— and always knowing her——I ought to have been more her friend.—— She will never like me now. I have neglected her too long. But I will shew her greater attention than I have done."
Every invitation was successful. They were all disengaged and all happy.—— The preparatory interest of this dinner, however, was not yet over. A circumstance rather unlucky occurred. The two eldest little Knightleys were engaged to pay their grandpapa and aunt a visit of some weeks in the spring, and their papa now proposed bringing them, and staying one whole day at Hartfield——which one day would be the very day of this party.——His professional engagements did not allow of his being put off, but both father and daughter were disturbed by its happening so. Mr. Woodhouse considered eight persons at dinner together as the utmost that his nerves could bear—— and here would be a ninth——and Emma apprehended that it would be a ninth very much out of humour at not being able to come even to Hartfield for forty-eight hours without falling in with a dinner-party.

　　"I hope you did not venture far, Miss Fairfax, this morning, or I am sure you must have been wet.——We scarcely got home in time. I hope you turned directly."
　"I went only to the post-office," said she, "and reached home before the rain was much. It is my daily errand. I always fetch the letters when I am here. It saves trouble, and is a something to get me out. A walk before breakfast does me good."

　　"Not a walk in the rain, I should imagine."

　　"No, but it did not absolutely rain when I set out."

　　Mr. John Knightley smiled, and replied,

　　"That is to say, you chose to have your walk, for you were not six yards from your own door when I had the pleasure of meeting you; and Henry and John had seen more drops than they could count long before. The post-office has a great charm at one period of our lives. When you have lived to my age, you will begin to think letters are never worth going through the rain for."

　　There was a little blush, and then this answer,

　　"I must not hope to be ever situated as you are, in the midst of every dearest connexion, and therefore I cannot expect that simply growing older should make me indifferent about letters."

　　"Indifferent! Oh! no——I never conceived you could become indifferent. Letters are no matter of indifference; they are generally a very positive curse."

　　"You are speaking of letters of business; mine are letters of friendship."

　　"I have often thought them the worst of the two," replied he coolly. "Business, you know, may bring money, but friendship hardly ever does."

　　"Ah! you are not serious now. I know Mr. John Knightley too well—— I am very sure he understands the value of friendship as well as any body. I can easily believe that letters are very little to you, much less than to me, but it is not your being ten years older than myself which makes the difference, it is not age, but situation. You have every body dearest to you always at hand, I, probably, never shall again; and therefore till I have outlived all my affections, a post-office, I think, must always have power to draw me out, in worse weather than to-day."