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particularly in its favour. Such things in general cannot be too short."
Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most satisfactory comparisons were rising in her mind.
"It is one thing," said she, presently—her cheeks in a glow—"to have very good sense in a common way, like every body else, and if there is any thing to say, to sit down and write a letter, and say just what you must, in a short way; and another, to write verses and charades like this."
Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection of Mr. Martin's prose.
"Such sweet lines!" continued Harriet—"these two last!—But how shall I ever be able to return the paper, or say I have found it out?—Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what can we do about that?"
"Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here this evening, I dare say, and then I will give it him back,
and
