“Do you think so?” replied he.  “I cannot agree with you.  It appears to me a most perfect resemblance in every feature.  I never saw such a likeness in my life.  We must allow for the effect of shade, you know.”

“You have made her too tall, Emma,” said Mr. Knightley.

Emma knew that she had, but would not 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.