"It is a point which no one can presume to decide for him," said Emma, struggling with certain painful recollections.
"After all," added he, "there is no such disparity in their years—only fifteen or thereabouts—the jointure might be sometime in his possession."
"I should really be obliged, if you would find some other subject of conversation, Sir William," replied Emma, decidedly, "I do not think it good taste to criticise our hostess."
"Suppose we talk of her daughter, then?" replied he, quietly, "don't you think her rather over-dressed?"
"No," said Emma, "but I think you had better let the whole family alone."
"I think I will follow your advice and choose another subject—what shall it be?—shall we talk of yourself? Confide to me all your peculiar tastes—your wonderful aversions—your never dying friendships. How many bosom friends have you, Miss Watson?"
"None, except my sister," said Emma, amused.
"Your sister! oh, fie! no one thinks of making a friend of a sister—that is quite a burlesque—a friend's brother is, of course, a favorite—but one's own brothers or sisters are quite out of the question."
"Well, then, I am badly off indeed, for I have no friend."
"Indeed! I wish you would take me as one."