She made her plan; she would speak of something totally different--the children in Brunswick Square; and she only waited for breath to begin, when Mr.Knightley startled her, by saying, "You will not ask me what is the point of envy .-- You are determined, I see, to have no curiosity .-- You are wise--but _I_ cannot be wise.

Emma, I must tell you what you will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid the next moment." "Oh! then, don't speak it, don't speak it," she eagerly cried.

"Take a little time, consider, do not commit yourself." "Thank you," said he, in an accent of deep mortification, and not another syllable followed.
Emma could not bear to give him pain.

He was wishing to confide in her--perhaps to consult her;--cost her what it would, she would listen.
She might assist his resolution, or reconcile him to it; she might give just praise to Harriet, or, by representing to him his own independence, relieve him from that state of indecision, which must be more intolerable than any alternative to such a mind as his .-- They had reached the house.
"You are going in, I suppose ?" said he.
"No,"-- replied Emma--quite confirmed by the depressed manner in which he still spoke--"I should like to take another turn.

Mr.Perry is not gone." And, after proceeding a few steps, she added--"I stopped you ungraciously, just now, Mr.Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave you pain .-- But if you have any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, or to ask my opinion of any thing that you may have in contemplation--as a friend, indeed, you may command me .-- I will hear whatever you like.