Give me the book, I will write it down, and then there can be no possible reflection on you." Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly separate the parts, so as to feel quite sure that her friend were not writing down a declaration of love.

It seemed too precious an offering for any degree of publicity.
"I shall never let that book go out of my own hands," said she.
"Very well," replied Emma; "a most natural feeling; and the longer it lasts, the better I shall be pleased.

But here is my father coming: you will not object to my reading the charade to him.

It will be giving him so much pleasure! He loves any thing of the sort, and especially any thing that pays woman a compliment.

He has the tenderest spirit of gallantry towards us all!--You must let me read it to him." Harriet looked grave.
"My dear Harriet, you must not refine too much upon this charade .-- You will betray your feelings improperly, if you are too conscious and too quick, and appear to affix more meaning, or even quite all the meaning which may be affixed to it.