“Me!” cried Harriet, colouring, and astonished. “Why should you caution me?⁠—You do not think I care about Mr. Frank Churchill.”

“I am delighted to hear you speak so stoutly on the subject,” replied Emma, smiling; “but you do not mean to deny that there was a time⁠—and not very distant either⁠—when you gave me reason to understand that you did care about him?”

“Him!⁠—never, never. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how could you so mistake me?” turning away distressed.

“Harriet!” cried Emma, after a moment’s pause⁠—“What do you mean?⁠—Good Heaven! what do you mean?⁠—Mistake you!⁠—Am I to suppose then?⁠—”

She could not speak another word.⁠—Her voice was lost; and she sat down, waiting in great terror till Harriet should answer.