Emma

like Jane; I wish I were. I will answer for it _she_ never betrayed the
least thing in the world. Where is she?—Oh! just behind. Perfectly
remember Mrs. Perry’s coming.—Extraordinary dream, indeed!”

They were entering the hall. Mr. Knightley’s eyes had preceded Miss
Bates’s in a glance at Jane. From Frank Churchill’s face, where he
thought he saw confusion suppressed or laughed away, he had
involuntarily turned to hers; but she was indeed behind, and too busy
with her shawl. Mr. Weston had walked in. The two other gentlemen
waited at the door to let her pass. Mr. Knightley suspected in Frank
Churchill the determination of catching her eye—he seemed watching her
intently—in vain, however, if it were so—Jane passed between them into
the hall, and looked at neither.

There was no time for farther remark or explanation. The dream must be
borne with, and Mr. Knightley must take his seat with the rest round
the large modern circular table which Emma had introduced at Hartfield,
and which none but Emma could have had power to place there and
persuade her father to use, instead of the small-sized Pembroke, on
which two of his daily meals had, for forty years been crowded. Tea