"Indeed I am," replied Emma, quite ashamed at the idea of supervision in such a particular, "I have never been controlled in either receiving or writing a letter."
"I consider that an exceedingly improper liberty for a young girl," observed Mrs. Watson drily, "at your time of life, under age, I should hold your guardian as very culpable if he took no account of your letters, and I am much mistaken if your brother does not expect, as a matter of course, to overlook all the correspondence you chose to carry on."
"Surely he cannot consider it necessary," remonstrated Emma seriously, "at my age—it is not as if I were a baby quite, but I am almost twenty."
"Possibly so, but whilst you are under age you are his ward, and must have to submit to any restrictions he lays on you with a good grace. It's no use colouring and pouting, there's nothing like bearing things with a good temper, and not giving yourself airs and graces about it. There's your letter!"
Emma took the letter, and observed, as she put it in her pocket:
"If you will show me what you want done, I shall be happy to oblige you."
"Read your letter first, Emma, it may be a matter of business, and you should never delay business—your brother always says, 'do what is to be done directly, and do it yourself.'"
Emma silently drew forth the letter, and breaking the seal read the following words:
"My dear Miss Watson,
"I am sorry to trouble you with any unpleasant subjects, but I cannot forbear mentioning a circumstance which nearly concerns your family; and when you know the particulars, you can judge for yourself. Mr. Tom Musgrove, whom I had, as you know, reason to suppose engaged to one of your sisters, is now in town, and has not only been for some time past paying great attention to a young lady of fortune, a friend of my own, but, as I understand, has denied all engagement to Miss Watson, spoken very disparagingly of her, and even shewn letters written by her under the impression that such an engagement existed. Not knowing precisely how affairs stood between your sister and Mr. M., I dare not interfere, lest by revealing what she may perhaps wish concealed, I should injure her, and mortify you. I shall not, however, feel justified in preserving silence much longer, unless I am positively assured that all engagement is at an end between them. If she has released him from the promise to which we both are witnesses, it may be important to preserve silence on its previous existence, but if, as I cannot help suspecting, he has only released himself, has deceived or deserted her, I cannot allow my friend to be misled by him, and must insist on having his conduct cleared up and set in a proper light. I am sorry to be obliged to trouble you, as I feel convinced that whether secretly deceiving, openly deserting your sister, he is certainly using her extremely ill: you know I never had a good opinion of his character. I am over-whelmed with gaiety, and look back with a feeling of regret to the tranquil hours at Osborne Castle.