Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they had only accomplished some views of St. Mark’s Place, Venice, when Frank Churchill entered the room. Emma had not been thinking of him, she had forgotten to think of him⁠—but she was very glad to see him. Mrs. Weston would be at ease. The black mare was blameless; they were right who had named Mrs. Churchill as the cause. He had been detained by a temporary increase of illness in her; a nervous seizure, which had lasted some hours⁠—and he had quite given up every thought of coming, till very late;⁠—and had he known how hot a ride he should have, and how late, with all his hurry, he must be, he believed he should not have come at all. The heat was excessive; he had never suffered anything like it⁠—almost wished he had stayed at home⁠—nothing killed him like heat⁠—he could bear any degree of cold, etc. , but heat was intolerable⁠—and he sat down, at the greatest possible distance from the slight remains of