“Oh! but it is a hundred times pleasanter to read the paragraph one’s self: one loses all the pleasure of the surprise by being told.—Well! whose was the other marriage?”
“Oh! my dear, I will not tell you—I will leave you the pleasure of the surprise.”
“But you see I cannot guess it.—How provoking you are, my dear! Do pray tell it me.”
“Our friend Mr. Granby.”
“Mr. Granby!—Dear! Why did not you make me guess? I should have guessed him directly: but why do you call him our friend? I am sure he is no friend of mine, nor ever was; I took an aversion to him, as you may remember, the very first day I saw him: I am sure he is no friend of mine.”
“I am sorry for it, my dear; but I hope you will go and see Mrs. Granby?”
“Not I, indeed, my dear.—Who was she?”
“Miss Cooke.”
“Cooke!—but there are so many Cookes.—Can’t you distinguish her any way?—Has she no Christian name?”
“Emma, I think—yes, Emma.”