Austen Said:

"what became of Mr. Perry's plan of setting up his carriage?"

"Nay, I had it from you. You wrote me word of it three months ago."

"Indeed you did. I remember it perfectly. You mentioned it as what was certainly to be very soon. Mrs. Perry had told somebody, and was extremely happy about it.

she thought

You must remember it now?"

"Never! really, never!—Bless me! how could it be?—Then I must have dreamt it— but I was completely persuaded—Miss Smith, you walk as if you were tired. You will not be sorry to find yourself at home."

"No, sir,"

"I seem to have had it from nobody.—Very odd!—I really was persuaded of Mrs. Weston's having mentioned it in one of her letters to Enscombe, many weeks ago, with all these particulars—but as

she declares

of course it must have been a dream. I am a great dreamer. I dream of every body at Highbury when I am away—and when I have gone through my particular friends, then I begin dreaming of Mr. and Mrs. Perry."

"Miss Woodhouse,"

"have your nephews taken away their alphabets— their box of letters? It used to stand here. Where is it? This is a sort of dull-looking evening, that ought to be treated rather as winter than summer. We had great amusement with those letters one morning. I want to puzzle you again."

How the delicacy, the discretion of his favourite could have been so lain asleep!

He feared there must be some decided involvement. Disingenuousness and double dealing

at every turn. These letters were but the vehicle for gallantry and trick. It was a child's play, chosen to conceal a deeper game on Frank Churchill's part.

"I will give it to her— shall I?"—

he must —yes, he certainly must, as a friend— an anxious friend— give Emma some hint, ask her some question. He could not see her in a situation of such danger, without trying to preserve her. It was his duty.

"Pray, Emma,"

"may I ask in what lay the great amusement, the poignant sting of the last word given to you and Miss Fairfax? I saw the word, and am curious to know how it could be so very entertaining to the one, and so very distressing to the other."

"The joke,"

"seemed confined to you and Mr. Churchill."

Interference— fruitless interference.

Yet he would speak. He owed it to her, to risk any thing that might be involved in an unwelcome interference, rather than her welfare; to encounter any thing, rather than the remembrance of neglect in such a cause.

"My dear Emma,"

"do you think you perfectly understand the degree of acquaintance between the gentleman and lady we have been speaking of?"

"Have you never at any time had reason to think that he admired her, or that she admired him?"

"I have lately imagined that I saw symptoms of attachment between them— certain expressive looks, which I did not believe meant to be public."

"You had better explore to Donwell,"

"That may be done without horses. Come, and eat my strawberries. They are ripening fast."

"I cannot name a day,"

"till I have spoken to some others whom I would wish to meet you."

"I hope you will bring Elton,"

"but I will not trouble you to give any other invitations."

"No,"—

"there is but one married woman in the world whom I can ever allow to invite what guests she pleases to Donwell, and that one is—"

"No —Mrs. Knightley;—and till she is in being, I will manage such matters myself."

"You certainly will meet them if I can prevail; and I shall call on Miss Bates in my way home."

"Not quite. My idea of the simple and the natural will be to have the table spread in the dining-room. The nature and the simplicity of gentlemen and ladies, with their servants and furniture, I think is best observed by meals within doors. When you are tired of eating strawberries in the garden, there shall be cold meat in the house."

"I have not the least wish for it, I thank you."

"I will answer for it, that mine thinks herself full as clever, and would spurn any body's assistance."

"You will not find either, between Donwell and Highbury. Donwell Lane is never dusty, and now it is perfectly dry. Come on a donkey, however, if you prefer it. You can borrow Mrs. Cole's. I would wish every thing to be as much to your taste as possible."

Mr. Woodhouse must not, under the specious pretence of a morning drive, and an hour or two spent at Donwell, be tempted away to his misery.

he should be glad to see him;

"These are my own concerns. I have a right to talk on such subjects, without being suspected of introducing Robert Martin."—

"His aunt was so much better, that he had not a doubt of getting over to them."—

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 any thing like it— almost wished he had staid at home— nothing killed him like heat— he could bear any degree of cold, etc., but heat was intolerable—

"As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again. I could very ill be spared—but such a point had been made of my coming! You will all be going soon I suppose; the whole party breaking up. I met one as I came— — Madness in such weather!—absolute madness!"

"No —he should not eat. He was not hungry; it would only make him hotter."

"As soon as my aunt gets well, I shall go abroad,"

"I shall never be easy till I have seen some of these places. You will have my sketches, some time or other, to look at—or my tour to read—or my poem. I shall do something to expose myself."