Austen Said:

it must be by some attack of Mrs. Churchill that he was prevented coming.—

Miss Woodhouse was the very person she was in quest of.

"Will you be so kind,"

"when I am missed, as to say that I am gone home?—I am going this moment.—My aunt is not aware how late it is, nor how long we have been absent—but I am sure we shall be wanted, and I am determined to go directly.—I have said nothing about it to any body. It would only be giving trouble and distress. Some are gone to the ponds, and some to the lime walk. Till they all come in I shall not be missed; and when they do, will you have the goodness to say that I am gone?"

"Certainly, if you wish it;—but you are not going to walk to Highbury alone?"

"Yes— what should hurt me?—I walk fast. I shall be at home in twenty minutes."

"But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite alone. Let my father's servant go with you.—Let me order the carriage. It can be round in five minutes."

"Thank you, thank you —but on no account.—I would rather walk.—And for me to be afraid of walking alone!—I, who may so soon have to guard others!"

"That can be no reason for your being exposed to danger now. I must order the carriage. The heat even would be danger.—You are fatigued already."

"I am,"—

"I am fatigued; but it is not the sort of fatigue—quick walking will refresh me.—Miss Woodhouse, we all know at times what it is to be wearied in spirits. Mine, I confess, are exhausted. The greatest kindness you can shew me, will be to let me have my own way, and only say that I am gone when it is necessary."

"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, the comfort of being sometimes alone!"—

"Such a home, indeed! such an aunt!"

"I do pity you. And the more sensibility you betray of their just horrors, the more I shall like you."

"You will soon be cooler, if you sit still,"

Some people were always cross when they were hot.

his taking some refreshment; he would find abundance of every thing in the dining-room—

"I am glad I have done being in love with him. I should not like a man who is so soon discomposed by a hot morning. Harriet's sweet easy temper will not mind it."

"That may be —but not by sketches in Swisserland. You will never go to Swisserland. Your uncle and aunt will never allow you to leave England."

"You are sick of prosperity and indulgence. Cannot you invent a few hardships for yourself, and be contented to stay?"

"You are not quite so miserable, though, as when you first came. Go and eat and drink a little more, and you will do very well. Another slice of cold meat, another draught of Madeira and water, will make you nearly on a par with the rest of us."

"We are going to Box Hill to-morrow;—you will join us. It is not Swisserland, but it will be something for a young man so much in want of a change. You will stay, and go with us?"

"But you may come again in the cool of to-morrow morning."

"Then pray stay at Richmond."

"These are difficulties which you must settle for yourself. Chuse your own degree of crossness. I shall press you no more."

her acceptance;

While he was so dull, it was no wonder that Harriet should be dull likewise; and they were both insufferable.

"Yes, you were very cross; and I do not know what about, except that you were too late for the best strawberries. I was a kinder friend than you deserved. But you were humble. You begged hard to be commanded to come."

"It is hotter to-day."

"You are comfortable because you are under command."

"Perhaps I intended you to say so, but I meant self-command. You had, somehow or other, broken bounds yesterday, and run away from your own management; but to-day you are got back again—and as I cannot be always with you, it is best to believe your temper under your own command rather than mine."

"Dating from three o'clock yesterday. My perpetual influence could not begin earlier, or you would not have been so much out of humour before."

"Your gallantry is really unanswerable. But

nobody speaks except ourselves, and it is rather too much to be talking nonsense for the entertainment of seven silent people."

"Oh! no, no"—

"Upon no account in the world. It is the very last thing I would stand the brunt of just now. Let me hear any thing rather than what you are all thinking of. I will not say quite all. There are one or two, perhaps,

whose thoughts I might not be afraid of knowing."

"It is a sort of thing,"

"which I should not have thought myself privileged to inquire into. Though, perhaps, as the Chaperon of the party —I never was in any circle— exploring parties— young ladies— married women —"

"Oh! very well,"

"then I need not be uneasy.

That will just do for me, you know. I shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan't I?

Do not you all think I shall?"

"Ah! ma'am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me —but you will be limited as to number —only three at once."

"Ah!—well— to be sure. Yes, I see what she means,

and I will try to hold my tongue. I must make myself very disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend."

"No, no,"

"it will not reckon low. A conundrum of Mr. Weston's shall clear him and his next neighbour. Come, sir, pray let me hear it."

"Oh! for myself, I protest I must be excused,"

"I really cannot attempt —I am not at all fond of the sort of thing. I had an acrostic once sent to me upon my own name, which I was not at all pleased with. I knew who it came from. An abominable puppy!—You know who I mean