about spruce-beer. Mr. Knightley had been telling him something about brewing spruce-beer, and he wanted to put it down; but when he took out his pencil, there was so little lead that he soon cut it all away, and it would not do, so you lent him another, and this was left upon the table as good for nothing. But I kept my eye on it; and, as soon as I dared, caught it up, and never parted with it again from that moment.”
“I do remember it,” cried Emma; “I perfectly remember it.—Talking about spruce-beer.—Oh! yes— Mr. Knightley and I both saying we liked it, and Mr. Elton’s seeming resolved to learn to like it too. I perfectly remember it.—Stop; Mr. Knightley was standing just here, was not he? I have an idea he was standing just here.”
“Ah! I do not know. I cannot recollect.—It is very odd, but I cannot recollect.— Mr. Elton was sitting here, I remember, much about where I am now.”—
“Well, go on.”
“Oh! that’s all. I have nothing more to show you, or to say—except that I am now going to throw them both behind the fire, and I wish you to see me do it.”
“My poor dear Harriet! and have you actually found happiness in treasuring up these things?”
“Yes, simpleton as I was!—but I am quite ashamed of it now, and wish I could forget as easily as I can burn them. It was very wrong of me, you know, to keep any remembrances, after he was married. I knew it was—but had not resolution enough to part with them.”
“But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court-plaster?—I have not a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the court-plaster might be useful.”