“How d’ye do?—­how d’ye do?—­We have been sitting with your father—­ glad to see him so well.  Frank comes to-morrow—­I had a letter this morning—­we see him to-morrow by dinner-time to a certainty—­ he is at Oxford to-day, and he comes for a whole fortnight; I knew it would be so.  If he had come at Christmas he could not have staid three days; I was always glad he did not come at Christmas; now we are going to have just the right weather for him, fine, dry, settled weather.  We shall enjoy him completely; every thing has turned out exactly as we could wish.”

There was no resisting such news, no possibility of avoiding the influence of such a happy face as Mr. Weston’s, confirmed as it all was by the words and the countenance of his wife, fewer and quieter, but not less to the purpose.  To know that she thought his coming certain was enough to make Emma consider it so, and sincerely did she rejoice in their joy.  It was a most delightful reanimation of exhausted spirits.  The worn-out past was sunk in the freshness of what was coming; and in the rapidity of half a moment’s thought, she hoped Mr. Elton would now be talked of no more.

Mr. Weston gave her the history of the engagements at Enscombe, which allowed his son to answer for having an entire fortnight at his command, as well as the route and the method of his journey; and she listened, and smiled, and congratulated.

“I shall soon bring him over to Hartfield,” said he, at the conclusion.

Emma could imagine she saw a touch of the arm at this speech, from his wife.

“We had better move on, Mr. Weston,” said she, “we are detaining the girls.”

“Well, well, I am ready;”—­and turning again to Emma, “but you must not be expecting such a very fine young man; you have only had my account you know; I dare say he is really nothing extraordinary:”—­ though his own sparkling eyes at the moment were speaking a very different conviction.

Emma could look perfectly unconscious and innocent, and answer in a manner that appropriated nothing.

“Think of me to-morrow, my dear Emma, about four o’clock,” was Mrs. Weston’s parting injunction; spoken with some anxiety, and meant only for her.

“Four o’clock!—­depend upon it he will be here by three,” was Mr. Weston’s quick amendment; and so ended a most satisfactory meeting.  Emma’s spirits were mounted quite up to happiness; every thing wore a different air; James and his horses seemed not half so sluggish as before.  When she looked at the hedges, she thought the elder at least must soon be coming out; and when she turned round to Harriet, she saw something like a look of spring, a tender smile even there.

“Will Mr. Frank Churchill pass through Bath as well as Oxford?”—­ was a question, however, which did not augur much.

But neither geography nor tranquillity could come all at once, and Emma was now in a humour to resolve that they should both come in time.