24 December

24 December, Christmas Eve, is the date of the dinner party at Randalls that marks a decisive turning point in Emma's understanding of Mr. Elton's true intentions, exposing the collapse of her matchmaking scheme and precipitating her painful self-reckoning.

The Dinner Engagement at Randalls

Mr. Weston would take no denial; they must all dine at Randalls one day, even Mr. Woodhouse was persuaded to think it a possible thing in preference to a division of the party. The hours were to be early, as well as the numbers few, Mr. Woodhouse's habits and inclination being consulted in every thing. The evening before this great event—for it was a very great event that Mr. Woodhouse should dine out, on the 24th of December—had been spent by Harriet at Hartfield, and she had gone home so much indisposed with a cold that, but for her own earnest wish of being nursed by Mrs. Goddard, Emma could not have allowed her to leave the house. Emma called on her the next day and found her doom already signed with regard to Randalls: she was very feverish and had a bad sore throat, too ill and low to resist the authority which excluded her from this delightful engagement.

Mr. Elton's Revealed Indifference to Harriet

Emma sat with Harriet as long as she could, raising her spirits by representing how much Mr. Elton's would be depressed when he knew her state. She had not advanced many yards from Mrs. Goddard's door when she was met by Mr. Elton himself, evidently coming towards it. As they walked on slowly together in conversation about the invalid, they were overtaken by Mr. John Knightley returning from the daily visit to Donwell with his two eldest boys. Emma was just describing the nature of her friend's complaint—a throat very much inflamed, with a great deal of heat about her, a quick, low pulse—when Mr. Elton looked all alarm and exclaimed about a sore throat, hoping it was not infectious. Emma, who was not really at all frightened herself, tranquillised this excess of apprehension by assurances of Mrs. Goddard's experience and care, but then added, as if quite another subject, that it was so cold and looked so very much like snow that if it were to any other place or with any other party she should really try not to go out today, and that in Mr. Elton's case she should certainly excuse herself. Mr. Elton looked as if he did not very well know what answer to make, muttering acknowledgment of its being very cold, but hardly had she so spoken when she found her brother was civilly offering a seat in his carriage if the weather were Mr. Elton's only objection, and Mr. Elton actually accepting the offer with much prompt satisfaction. Never had his broad handsome face expressed more pleasure than at this moment; never had his smile been stronger nor his eyes more exulting than when he next looked at her. Emma said to herself that this was most strange—after she had got him off so well, to choose to go into company and leave Harriet ill behind—and concluded that there must be in many men, especially single men, such a passion for dining out that any thing gives way to it.

The Carriage Ride and Mr. Elton's Declaration

Mr. Woodhouse had so completely made up his mind to the visit that in spite of the increasing coldness he set forward at last most punctually with his eldest daughter in his own carriage. The cold was severe, and by the time the second carriage was in motion a few flakes of snow were finding their way down. Emma soon saw that her companion, Mr. John Knightley, was not in the happiest humour; the preparing and the going abroad in such weather with the sacrifice of his children after dinner were disagreeables which he did not by any means like. They arrived, the carriage turned, the step was let down, and Mr. Elton, spruce, black, and smiling, was with them instantly. Emma thought with pleasure of some change of subject, but Mr. Elton was all obligation and cheerfulness, so very cheerful in his civilities indeed that she began to think he must have received a different account of Harriet from what had reached her. Her report from Mrs. Goddard's was not so pleasant as she had hoped—"Not better" was her answer. His face lengthened immediately, and his voice was the voice of sentiment as he answered, grieved to find that Miss Smith was not better, by no means better, rather worse. Emma smiled and answered that her visit was of use to the nervous part of her complaint, she hoped, but not even she could charm away a sore throat. This was very proper; the sigh which accompanied it was really estimable, but it should have lasted longer. Emma was rather in dismay when only half a minute afterwards he began to speak of other things in a voice of the greatest alacrity and enjoyment, praising the use of a sheepskin for carriages and observing that Christmas weather was quite seasonable. Mr. John Knightley looked as if he did not comprehend the pleasure, but said only, coolly, that he could not wish to be snowed up a week at Randalls. At another time Emma might have been amused, but she was too much astonished now at Mr. Elton's spirits for other feelings; Harriet seemed quite forgotten in the expectation of a pleasant party.

The Aftermath and Emma's Self-Reckoning

After the dinner, when the party was breaking up, Mr. Elton contrived to share Emma's carriage for the drive home. He made violent love to her, declaring sentiments which must be already well known, hoping, fearing, adoring, ready to die if she refused him. Emma was completely overpowered; she had been in a most complete error with respect to his views. He protested that he had never thought seriously of Harriet—never paid her any attentions but as her friend—and that every thing he had said or done for many weeks past had been with the sole view of marking his adoration of herself. Emma saw that she had been deceived, and that her own behaviour to him had been so complaisant and obliging as might warrant a man of ordinary observation in fancying himself a very decided favourite. The first error and the worst lay at her door: it was foolish, it was wrong, to take so active a part in bringing any two people together. She had actually talked poor Harriet into being very much attached to this man. She went to bed with nothing settled but the conviction of her having blundered most dreadfully. The youth and natural cheerfulness of morning, however, brought a return of spirits; she got up more disposed for comfort, more ready to see alleviations of the evil before her. It was a great consolation that Mr. Elton should not be really in love with her, that Harriet's nature should not be of that superior sort in which the feelings are most acute and retentive, and that there could be no necessity for any body's knowing what had passed except the three principals. The sight of a great deal of snow on the ground did her further service, for any thing was welcome that might justify their all three being quite asunder at present. Though Christmas Day, she could not go to church; the ground covered with snow, and the atmosphere in that unsettled state between frost and thaw, made her for many days a most honourable prisoner, with no intercourse with Harriet possible but by note, and no need to find excuses for Mr. Elton's absenting himself.