"Exactly so, dear Jane, with your usual candour and penetration, you have precisely described her character."
"Yes," said Mrs. Watson, with an air of great satisfaction, "I hope I can see through people a little. If there is one quality I pride myself on, it is my penetration. I am blessed, I acknowledge, with a singular facility for discerning characters, and what I think I must say. I speak my feelings almost unconsciously!"
"You are a wonderfully clever creature, Jane; I am sure I never knew any one to be compared to you; but, as to Emma, I think it's her intimacy with the Osbornes that has set her up so abominably; really, since she has been there so much, there is no speaking to her sometimes."
"That is often the case where young girls are much noticed by those above them in rank, Margaret; I wonder what they saw in her to like so much—even if they thought her pretty—which I do not—I don't see why they should notice her for that—do you think Lord Osborne liked her?"
"I really don't know—he used to look at her—and he danced with her—and called on her—I sometimes thought he did care for her."
"I wish I could devise any means of bringing them together; if I were quite sure on that point, it would make a great difference; but I don't suppose anything will come of it now. There's the postman's knock—just step out in the passage and bring in the letters here; I know Mr. Watson is out, so I can get a peep at his dispatches now."
Margaret did as she was desired and returned presently with a handful of letters. Mrs. Watson took them on her lap and examined the post-mark and address of each. Several were, from their size and appearance, letters of business—she put them aside—over one she paused:
"Here's one in a lady's hand," said she, "and to my husband! London, I wonder who that's from? I never saw the seal before or the hand writing—there's some mystery there. I wonder whether it's from some mistress or improper person? I dare say it is—men are always deceiving one!"
"Oh, Jane!" cried Margaret, "that's impossible! You, of all people, cannot fear a rival. Robert could not serve you so!"
"Oh! the best of women, my dear, fare no better than the worst, with some men; the best of men are worth very little; and, as to Mr. Watson, he's no better than his neighbours. I can tell you I would not trust him without watching—and I'll see him open and read that letter, or my name is not Jane Watson; but let's see—" turning again to her letters; "what else have we here? One for me—one for Elizabeth—who's that from? look Margaret!"