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own
it; and Mr. Elton warmly added,
    “ Oh no! certainly not too
tall; not in the least too tall. Consider, she is sitting
down—which naturally presents a different—which in short gives
exactly the idea—and the proportions must be preserved, you know.
Proportions, fore-shortening. Oh no! it gives one exactly the idea
of such a height as Miss Smith’s. Exactly so indeed!”
    “ It is very pretty,” said
Mr. Woodhouse. “So prettily done! Just as your drawings always are,
my dear. I do not know any body who draws so well as you do. The
only thing I do not thoroughly like is, that she seems to be
sitting out of doors, with only a little shawl over her
shoulders—and it makes one think she must catch cold.”
    “ But, my dear papa, it is
supposed to be summer; a warm day in summer. Look at the
tree.”
    “ But it is never safe to
sit out of doors, my dear.”
    “ You, sir, may say any
thing,” cried Mr. Elton, “but I must confess that I regard it as a
most happy thought, the placing of Miss Smith out of doors; and the
tree is touched with such inimitable spirit! Any other situation
would have been much less in character. The naivete of Miss Smith’s
manners—and altogether—Oh, it is most admirable! I cannot keep my
eyes from it. I never saw such a likeness.”
    The next thing wanted was to get the picture
framed; and here were a few difficulties. It must be done directly;
it must be done in London; the order must go through the hands of
some intelligent person whose taste could be depended on; and
Isabella, the usual doer of all commissions, must not be applied
to, because it was December, and Mr. Woodhouse could not bear the
idea of her stirring out of her house in the fogs of December. But
no sooner was the distress known to Mr. Elton, than it was removed.
His gallantry was always on the alert. “Might he be trusted with
the commission, what infinite pleasure should he have in executing
it! he could ride to London at any time. It was impossible to say
how much he should be gratified by being employed on such an
errand.”
    “ He was too good! she could
not endure the thought! she would not give him such a troublesome
office for the world” —brought on the desired repetition of
entreaties and assurances—and a very few minutes settled the
business.
    Mr. Elton was to take the drawing to London,
chuse the frame, and give the directions; and Emma thought she
could so pack it as to ensure its safety without much incommoding
him, while he seemed mostly fearful of not being incommoded
enough.
    “ What a precious deposit!”
said he with a tender sigh, as he received it.
    “ This man is almost too
gallant to be in love,” thought Emma. “I should say so, but that I
suppose there may be a hundred different ways of being in love. He
is an excellent young man, and will suit Harriet exactly; it will
be an ‘Exactly so,’ as he says himself; but he does sigh and
languish, and study for compliments rather more than I could endure
as a principal. I come in for a pretty good share as a second. But
it is his gratitude on Harriet’s account.”
     
    * * * *
     

Chapter VII
     
    T he
very day of Mr. Elton’s going to London
produced a fresh occasion for Emma’s services towards her friend as
well as a new terror in Highbury. Harriet had been at Hartfield, as
usual, when the news came. The night of the past evening had
brought more death to them all. Mr. Johnson, a kind man of good
measure, had set out the night before on the simple errand of
fetching the apothecary for his ailing wife as she had been running
a most high and worrisome fever only to never return. His wife had
passed on in their home during his absence but her death was
natural and though sad not out of the ordinary as she had also
appeared overly billous. Mr. Johnson’s body had been found by Mr.
Martin dangling from a tree as if hung but not be any rope. The
whole of his mangled and limbless remains turned in the breeze of
the dawn as it spun