“I know how highly you think of Jane Fairfax,” said Emma. Little Henry was in her thoughts, and a mixture of alarm and delicacy made her irresolute what else to say.

“Yes,” he replied, “anybody may know how highly I think of her.”

“And yet,” said Emma, beginning hastily and with an arch look, but soon stopping⁠—it was better, however, to know the worst at once⁠—she hurried on⁠—“And yet, perhaps, you may hardly be aware yourself how highly it is. The extent of your admiration may take you by surprise some day or other.”

Mr. Knightley was hard at work upon the lower buttons of his thick leather gaiters, and either the exertion of getting them together, or some other cause, brought the colour into his face, as he answered,

“Oh! are you there?⁠—But you are miserably behindhand. Mr. Cole gave me a hint of it six weeks ago.”