Emma

said she, “that I cannot have a doubt as to Mr. Elton’s intentions. You
are his object—and you will soon receive the completest proof of it. I
thought it must be so. I thought I could not be so deceived; but now,
it is clear; the state of his mind is as clear and decided, as my
wishes on the subject have been ever since I knew you. Yes, Harriet,
just so long have I been wanting the very circumstance to happen that
has happened. I could never tell whether an attachment between you and
Mr. Elton were most desirable or most natural. Its probability and its
eligibility have really so equalled each other! I am very happy. I
congratulate you, my dear Harriet, with all my heart. This is an
attachment which a woman may well feel pride in creating. This is a
connexion which offers nothing but good. It will give you every thing
that you want—consideration, independence, a proper home—it will fix
you in the centre of all your real friends, close to Hartfield and to
me, and confirm our intimacy for ever. This, Harriet, is an alliance
which can never raise a blush in either of us.”

“Dear Miss Woodhouse!”—and “Dear Miss Woodhouse,” was all that Harriet,
with many tender embraces could articulate at first; but when they did