Emma

With insufferable vanity had she believed herself in the secret of
every body’s feelings; with unpardonable arrogance proposed to arrange
every body’s destiny. She was proved to have been universally mistaken;
and she had not quite done nothing—for she had done mischief. She had
brought evil on Harriet, on herself, and she too much feared, on Mr.
Knightley.—Were this most unequal of all connexions to take place, on
her must rest all the reproach of having given it a beginning; for his
attachment, she must believe to be produced only by a consciousness of
Harriet’s;—and even were this not the case, he would never have known
Harriet at all but for her folly.

Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!—It was a union to distance every
wonder of the kind.—The attachment of Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax
became commonplace, threadbare, stale in the comparison, exciting no
surprize, presenting no disparity, affording nothing to be said or
thought.—Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!—Such an elevation on her
side! Such a debasement on his! It was horrible to Emma to think how it
must sink him in the general opinion, to foresee the smiles, the
sneers, the merriment it would prompt at his expense; the mortification