Emma

“I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you
had very great amusement in tricking us all.—I am sure you had.—I am
sure it was a consolation to you.”

“Oh! no, no, no—how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most
miserable wretch!”

“Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was
a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us
all in.—Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the
truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same
situation. I think there is a little likeness between us.”

He bowed.

“If not in our dispositions,” she presently added, with a look of true
sensibility, “there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which
bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our
own.”

“True, true,” he answered, warmly. “No, not true on your side. You can
have no superior, but most true on mine.—She is a complete angel. Look
at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her
throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.—You will
be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my