“That may be—­but not by sketches in Swisserland.  You will never go to Swisserland.  Your uncle and aunt will never allow you to leave England.”

“They may be induced to go too.  A warm climate may be prescribed for her.  I have more than half an expectation of our all going abroad.  I assure you I have.  I feel a strong persuasion, this morning, that I shall soon be abroad.  I ought to travel.  I am tired of doing nothing.  I want a change.  I am serious, Miss Woodhouse, whatever your penetrating eyes may fancy—­I am sick of England—­ and would leave it to-morrow, if I could.”

“You are sick of prosperity and indulgence.  Cannot you invent a few hardships for yourself, and be contented to stay?”

“I sick of prosperity and indulgence!  You are quite mistaken.  I do not look upon myself as either prosperous or indulged.  I am thwarted in every thing material.  I do not consider myself at all a fortunate person.”

“You are not quite so miserable, though, as when you first came.  Go and eat and drink a little more, and you will do very well.  Another slice of cold meat, another draught of Madeira and water, will make you nearly on a par with the rest of us.”

“No—­I shall not stir.  I shall sit by you.  You are my best cure.”

“We are going to Box Hill to-morrow;—­you will join us.  It is not Swisserland, but it will be something for a young man so much in want of a change.  You will stay, and go with us?”

“No, certainly not; I shall go home in the cool of the evening.”

“But you may come again in the cool of to-morrow morning.”

“No—­It will not be worth while.  If I come, I shall be cross.”

“Then pray stay at Richmond.”

“But if I do, I shall be crosser still.  I can never bear to think of you all there without me.”

“These are difficulties which you must settle for yourself.  Chuse your own degree of crossness.  I shall press you no more.”

The rest of the party were now returning, and all were soon collected.  With some there was great joy at the sight of Frank Churchill; others took it very composedly; but there was a very general distress and disturbance on Miss Fairfax’s disappearance being explained.  That it was time for every body to go, concluded the subject; and with a short final arrangement for the next day’s scheme, they parted.  Frank Churchill’s little inclination to exclude himself increased so much, that his last words to Emma were,

“Well;—­if you wish me to stay and join the party, I will.”

She smiled her acceptance; and nothing less than a summons from Richmond was to take him back before the following evening.

CHAPTER VII