Chapter: Emma's very good opinion of Frank Churchill was a little shaken the
following day, by hearing that he was gone off to London, merely to have
his hair cut. A sudden freak seemed to have seized him at breakfast, and
he had sent for a chaise and set off, intending to return to dinner,
but with no more important view that appeared than having his hair cut.
There was certainly no harm in his travelling sixteen miles twice over
on such an errand; but there was an air of foppery and nonsense in it
which she could not approve. It did not accord with the rationality of
plan, the moderation in expense, or even the unselfish warmth of heart,
which she had believed herself to discern in him yesterday. Vanity,
extravagance, love of change, restlessness of temper, which must be
doing something, good or bad; heedlessness as to the pleasure of his
father and Mrs. Weston, indifferent as to how his conduct might appear
in general; he became liable to all these charges. His father only
called him a coxcomb, and thought it a very good story; but that Mrs.
Weston did not like it, was clear enough, by her passing it over as
quickly as possible, and making no other comment than that "all young
people would have their little whims."

With the exception of this little blot, Emma found that his visit
hitherto had given her friend only good ideas of him. Mrs. Weston
was very ready to say how attentive and pleasant a companion he made
himself--how much she saw to like in his disposition altogether. He
appeared to have a very open temper--certainly a very cheerful and
lively one; she could observe nothing wrong in his notions, a great deal
decidedly right; he spoke of his uncle with warm regard, was fond of
talking of him--said he would be the best man in the world if he were
left to himself; and though there was no being attached to the aunt, he
acknowledged her kindness with gratitude, and seemed to mean always to
speak of her with respect. This was all very promising; and, but for
such an unfortunate fancy for having his hair cut, there was nothing to
denote him unworthy of the distinguished honour which her imagination
had given him; the honour, if not of being really in love with her,
of being at least very near it, and saved only by her own
indifference--(for still her resolution held of never marrying)--the
honour, in short, of being marked out for her by all their joint
acquaintance.

Mr. Weston, on his side, added a virtue to the account which must
have some weight. He gave her to understand that Frank admired her
extremely--thought her very beautiful and very charming; and with so
much to be said for him altogether, she found she must not judge him
harshly. As Mrs. Weston observed, "all young people would have their
little whims."

There was one person among his new acquaintance in Surry, not so
leniently disposed. In general he was judged, throughout the parishes of
Donwell and Highbury, with great candour; liberal allowances were made
for the little excesses of such a handsome young man--one who smiled so
often and bowed so well; but there was one spirit among them not to be
softened, from its power of censure, by bows or smiles--Mr. Knightley.
The circumstance was told him at Hartfield; for the moment, he was
silent; but Emma heard him almost immediately afterwards say to himself,
over a newspaper he held in his hand, "Hum! just the trifling, silly
fellow I took him for." She had half a mind to resent; but an instant's
observation convinced her that it was really said only to relieve his
own feelings, and not meant to provoke; and therefore she let it pass.

Although in one instance the bearers of not good tidings, Mr. and
Mrs. Weston's visit this morning was in another respect particularly
opportune. Something occurred while they were at Hartfield, to make Emma
want their advice; and, which was still more lucky, she wanted exactly
the advice they gave.

This was the occurrence:--The Coles had been settled some years in
Highbury, and were very good sort of people--friendly, liberal, and
unpretending; but, on the other hand, they were of low origin, in trade,
and only moderately genteel. On their first coming into the country,
they had lived in proportion to their income, quietly, keeping little
company, and that little unexpensively; but the last year or two had
brought them a considerable increase of means--the house in town had
yielded greater profits, and fortune in general had smiled on them. With
their wealth, their views increased; their want of a larger house, their
inclination for more company. They added to their house, to their number
of servants, to their expenses of every sort; and by this time were,
in fortune and style of living, second only to the family at Hartfield.
Their love of society, and their new dining-room, prepared every body
for their keeping dinner-company; and a few parties, chiefly among the
single men, had already taken place. The regular and best families Emma
could hardly suppose they would presume to invite--neither Donwell, nor
Hartfield, nor Randalls. Nothing should tempt _her_ to go, if they did;
and she regretted that her father's known habits would be giving
her refusal less meaning than she could wish. The Coles were very
respectable in their way, but they ought to be taught that it was not
for them to arrange the terms on which the superior families would visit
them. This lesson, she very much feared, they would receive only from
herself; she had little hope of Mr. Knightley, none of Mr. Weston.

But she had made up her mind how to meet this presumption so many weeks
before it appeared, that when the insult came at last, it found her
very differently affected. Donwell and Randalls had received their
invitation, and none had come for her father and herself; and Mrs.
Weston's accounting for it with "I suppose they will not take the
liberty with you; they know you do not dine out," was not quite
sufficient. She felt that she should like to have had the power of
refusal; and afterwards, as the idea of the party to be assembled there,
consisting precisely of those whose society was dearest to her, occurred
again and again, she did not know that she might not have been tempted
to accept. Harriet was to be there in the evening, and the Bateses. They
had been speaking of it as they walked about Highbury the day before,
and Frank Churchill had most earnestly lamented her absence. Might
not the evening end in a dance? had been a question of his. The bare
possibility of it acted as a farther irritation on her spirits; and
her being left in solitary grandeur, even supposing the omission to be
intended as a compliment, was but poor comfort.

It was the arrival of this very invitation while the Westons were at
Hartfield, which made their presence so acceptable; for though her first
remark, on reading it, was that "of course it must be declined," she so
very soon proceeded to ask them what they advised her to do, that their
advice for her going was most prompt and successful.

She owned that, considering every thing, she was not absolutely
without inclination for the party. The Coles expressed themselves so
properly--there was so much real attention in the manner of it--so much
consideration for her father. "They would have solicited the honour
earlier, but had been waiting the arrival of a folding-screen from
London, which they hoped might keep Mr. Woodhouse from any draught of
air, and therefore induce him the more readily to give them the honour
of his company." Upon the whole, she was very persuadable; and it being
briefly settled among themselves how it might be done without neglecting
his comfort--how certainly Mrs. Goddard, if not Mrs. Bates, might be
depended on for bearing him company--Mr. Woodhouse was to be talked
into an acquiescence of his daughter's going out to dinner on a day now
near at hand, and spending the whole evening away from him. As for _his_
going, Emma did not wish him to think it possible, the hours would be
too late, and the party too numerous. He was soon pretty well resigned.

"I am not fond of dinner-visiting," said he--"I never was. No more is
Emma. Late hours do not agree with us. I am sorry Mr. and Mrs. Cole
should have done it. I think it would be much better if they would come
in one afternoon next summer, and take their tea with us--take us
in their afternoon walk; which they might do, as our hours are so
reasonable, and yet get home without being out in the damp of the
evening. The dews of a summer evening are what I would not expose any
body to. However, as they are so very desirous to have dear Emma dine
with them, and as you will both be there, and Mr. Knightley too, to take
care of her, I cannot wish to prevent it, provided the weather be what
it ought, neither damp, nor cold, nor windy." Then turning to Mrs.
Weston, with a look of gentle reproach--"Ah! Miss Taylor, if you had not
married, you would have staid at home with me."

"Well, sir," cried Mr. Weston, "as I took Miss Taylor away, it is
incumbent on me to supply her place, if I can; and I will step to Mrs.
Goddard in a moment, if you wish it."

But the idea of any thing to be done in a _moment_, was increasing,
not lessening, Mr. Woodhouse's agitation. The ladies knew better how
to allay it. Mr. Weston must be quiet, and every thing deliberately
arranged.

With this treatment, Mr. Woodhouse was soon composed enough for talking
as usual. "He should be happy to see Mrs. Goddard. He had a great regard
for Mrs. Goddard; and Emma should write a line, and invite her. James
could take the note. But first of all, there must be an answer written
to Mrs. Cole."

"You will make my excuses, my dear, as civilly as possible. You will say
that I am quite an invalid, and go no where, and therefore must decline
their obliging invitation; beginning with my _compliments_, of course.
But you will do every thing right. I need not tell you what is to be
done. We must remember to let James know that the carriage will be
wanted on Tuesday. I shall have no fears for you with him. We have never
been there above once since the new approach was made; but still I have
no doubt that James will take you very safely. And when you get there,
you must tell him at what time you would have him come for you again;
and you had better name an early hour. You will not like staying late.
You will get very tired when tea is over."

"But you would not wish me to come away before I am tired, papa?"

"Oh! no, my love; but you will soon be tired. There will be a great many
people talking at once. You will not like the noise."

"But, my dear sir," cried Mr. Weston, "if Emma comes away early, it will
be breaking up the party."

"And no great harm if it does," said Mr. Woodhouse. "The sooner every
party breaks up, the better."

"But you do not consider how it may appear to the Coles. Emma's going
away directly after tea might be giving offence. They are good-natured
people, and think little of their own claims; but still they must
feel that any body's hurrying away is no great compliment; and Miss
Woodhouse's doing it would be more thought of than any other person's in
the room. You would not wish to disappoint and mortify the Coles, I am
sure, sir; friendly, good sort of people as ever lived, and who have
been your neighbours these _ten_ years."

"No, upon no account in the world, Mr. Weston; I am much obliged to
you for reminding me. I should be extremely sorry to be giving them any
pain. I know what worthy people they are. Perry tells me that Mr. Cole
never touches malt liquor. You would not think it to look at him, but
he is bilious--Mr. Cole is very bilious. No, I would not be the means
of giving them any pain. My dear Emma, we must consider this. I am sure,
rather than run the risk of hurting Mr. and Mrs. Cole, you would stay a
little longer than you might wish. You will not regard being tired. You
will be perfectly safe, you know, among your friends."

"Oh yes, papa. I have no fears at all for myself; and I should have no
scruples of staying as late as Mrs. Weston, but on your account. I am
only afraid of your sitting up for me. I am not afraid of your not being
exceedingly comfortable with Mrs. Goddard. She loves piquet, you
know; but when she is gone home, I am afraid you will be sitting up by
yourself, instead of going to bed at your usual time--and the idea of
that would entirely destroy my comfort. You must promise me not to sit
up."

He did, on the condition of some promises on her side: such as that,
if she came home cold, she would be sure to warm herself thoroughly; if
hungry, that she would take something to eat; that her own maid should
sit up for her; and that Serle and the butler should see that every
thing were safe in the house, as usual.

 Emma's good opinion of Frank Churchill is injured when he makes a day trip to London just to have his hair cut. Though Emma does not feel inclined to give up her vow to remain single, she decides that Frank is pleasing enough that she does not mind being associated with him in other people's minds. Mr. Knightley thinks Frank is a silly young man, just as he had suspected. Meanwhile, an invitation from the Coles, successful tradespeople who live in Highbury, creates a conundrum for Emma. She had originally decided that she would not accept an invitation from the nouveau-riche family, but when everyone except the Woodhouses receives an invitation to a dinner party at the Coles' home, Emma feels left out. When an invitation arrives, she decides to accept it

