Emma

Woodhouse, you will not set yourself against it, and try to put
difficulties in the way. But you are too good for that, I am sure.”

Harriet was standing at one of the windows. Emma turned round to look
at her in consternation, and hastily said,

“Have you any idea of Mr. Knightley’s returning your affection?”

“Yes,” replied Harriet modestly, but not fearfully—“I must say that I
have.”

Emma’s eyes were instantly withdrawn; and she sat silently meditating,
in a fixed attitude, for a few minutes. A few minutes were sufficient
for making her acquainted with her own heart. A mind like hers, once
opening to suspicion, made rapid progress. She touched—she admitted—she
acknowledged the whole truth. Why was it so much worse that Harriet
should be in love with Mr. Knightley, than with Frank Churchill? Why
was the evil so dreadfully increased by Harriet’s having some hope of a
return? It darted through her, with the speed of an arrow, that Mr.
Knightley must marry no one but herself!

Her own conduct, as well as her own heart, was before her in the same
few minutes. She saw it all with a clearness which had never blessed
her before. How improperly had she been acting by Harriet! How