Mr. Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the subject again, by the recurrence of his very frequent inquiry of "Well, my dears, how does your book go on?--Have you got any thing fresh?"
"Yes, papa; we have something to read you, something quite fresh. A piece of paper was found on the table this morning--(dropt, we suppose, by a fairy)--containing a very pretty charade, and we have just copied it in."
She read it to him, just as he liked to have any thing read, slowly and distinctly, and two or three times over, with explanations of every part as she proceeded--and he was very much pleased, and, as she had foreseen, especially struck with the complimentary conclusion.
"Aye, that's very just, indeed, that's very properly said. Very true. `Woman, lovely woman.' It is such a pretty charade, my dear, that I can easily guess what fairy brought it.--Nobody could have written so prettily, but you, Emma."
Emma only nodded, and smiled.--After a little thinking, and a very tender sigh, he added,
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