As she thought less of his inebriety, she thought more of his inconstancy and presumption; and with fewer struggles for politeness, replied,

“It is impossible for me to doubt any longer.  You have made yourself too clear.  Mr. Elton, my astonishment is much beyond any thing I can express.  After such behaviour, as I have witnessed during the last month, to Miss Smith—­such attentions as I have been in the daily habit of observing—­to be addressing me in this manner—­this is an unsteadiness of character, indeed, which I had not supposed possible!  Believe me, sir, I am far, very far, from gratified in being the object of such professions.”

“Good Heaven!” cried Mr. Elton, “what can be the meaning of this?—­ Miss Smith!—­I never thought of Miss Smith in the whole course of my existence—­never paid her any attentions, but as your friend:  never cared whether she were dead or alive, but as your friend.  If she has fancied otherwise, her own wishes have misled her, and I am very sorry—­extremely sorry—­But, Miss Smith, indeed!—­Oh!  Miss Woodhouse! who can think of Miss Smith, when Miss Woodhouse is near!  No, upon my honour, there is no unsteadiness of character.  I have thought only of you.  I protest against having paid the smallest attention to any one else.  Every thing that I have said or done, for many weeks past, has been with the sole view of marking my adoration of yourself.  You cannot really, seriously, doubt it.  No!—­(in an accent meant to be insinuating)—­I am sure you have seen and understood me.”

It would be impossible to say what Emma felt, on hearing this—­ which of all her unpleasant sensations was uppermost.  She was too completely overpowered to be immediately able to reply:  and two moments of silence being ample encouragement for Mr. Elton’s sanguine state of mind, he tried to take her hand again, as he joyously exclaimed—­

“Charming Miss Woodhouse! allow me to interpret this interesting silence.  It confesses that you have long understood me.”

“No, sir,” cried Emma, “it confesses no such thing.  So far from having long understood you, I have been in a most complete error with respect to your views, till this moment.  As to myself, I am very sorry that you should have been giving way to any feelings—­ Nothing could be farther from my wishes—­your attachment to my friend Harriet—­your pursuit of her, (pursuit, it appeared,) gave me great pleasure, and I have been very earnestly wishing you success:  but had I supposed that she were not your attraction to Hartfield, I should certainly have thought you judged ill in making your visits so frequent.  Am I to believe that you have never sought to recommend yourself particularly to Miss Smith?—­that you have never thought seriously of her?”