Emma

really cannot attempt—I am not at all fond of the sort of thing. I had
an acrostic once sent to me upon my own name, which I was not at all
pleased with. I knew who it came from. An abominable puppy!—You know
who I mean (nodding to her husband). These kind of things are very well
at Christmas, when one is sitting round the fire; but quite out of
place, in my opinion, when one is exploring about the country in
summer. Miss Woodhouse must excuse me. I am not one of those who have
witty things at every body’s service. I do not pretend to be a wit. I
have a great deal of vivacity in my own way, but I really must be
allowed to judge when to speak and when to hold my tongue. Pass us, if
you please, Mr. Churchill. Pass Mr. E., Knightley, Jane, and myself. We
have nothing clever to say—not one of us.

“Yes, yes, pray pass _me_,” added her husband, with a sort of sneering
consciousness; “_I_ have nothing to say that can entertain Miss
Woodhouse, or any other young lady. An old married man—quite good for
nothing. Shall we walk, Augusta?”

“With all my heart. I am really tired of exploring so long on one spot.
Come, Jane, take my other arm.”

Jane declined it, however, and the husband and wife walked off. “Happy