Emma

not have thought it possible that I could be supposed to mean any other
person. Mr. Frank Churchill, indeed! I do not know who would ever look
at him in the company of the other. I hope I have a better taste than
to think of Mr. Frank Churchill, who is like nobody by his side. And
that you should have been so mistaken, is amazing!—I am sure, but for
believing that you entirely approved and meant to encourage me in my
attachment, I should have considered it at first too great a
presumption almost, to dare to think of him. At first, if you had not
told me that more wonderful things had happened; that there had been
matches of greater disparity (those were your very words);—I should not
have dared to give way to—I should not have thought it possible—But if
_you_, who had been always acquainted with him—”

“Harriet!” cried Emma, collecting herself resolutely—“Let us understand
each other now, without the possibility of farther mistake. Are you
speaking of—Mr. Knightley?”

“To be sure I am. I never could have an idea of any body else—and so I
thought you knew. When we talked about him, it was as clear as
possible.”

“Not quite,” returned Emma, with forced calmness, “for all that you