Mrs. Weston

They had not long been seated and composed when Mr. Woodhouse, with a melancholy shake of the head and a sigh, called his daughter's attention to the sad change at Hartfield since she had been there last.

Ah, my dear, poor Miss Taylor, it is a grievous business.

Oh, yes, sir, cried she, with ready sympathy.

How you must miss her, and dear Emma too.

Mr. Weston is really as kind as herself.

Papa, if you speak in that melancholy way, you will be giving Isabella a false idea of us all.

Everybody must be aware that Miss Taylor must be missed.

But everybody ought also to be assured that Mr. and Mrs. Weston do really prevent our missing her by any means to the extent we ourselves anticipated, which is the exact truth.

It is his own idea.

Mrs. Weston sees no objection to it, provided you are satisfied.

This is what we all feel.

Oh, you were perfectly right.

I felt how right you were the whole time, but was too anxious for securing anything to like to yield.

Is not it a good exchange? You consent, I hope you consent." "It appears to me a plan that nobody can object to, if Mr.

and Mrs. Weston do not.

I think it admirable, and as far as I can answer for myself, shall be most happy.

Either because he did not dance himself, or because the plan had been formed without his being consulted, he seemed resolved that it should not interest him, determined against its exciting any present curiosity, or affording him any future amusement.

To her voluntary communications, Emma could get no more approving reply than, Very well, if the Westons think it worthwhile to be at all this trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing to say against it, but that they shall not choose pleasures for me.

Oh, yes, I must be there.

I could not refuse, and I will keep as much awake as I can.

After Emma had talked about it for ten minutes, Mr. Woodhouse felt no unwillingness, and only made the usual stipulation of not sitting at the bottom of the table himself, with the usual regular difficulty of deciding who should do it for him.

The persons to be invited required little thought.

Besides the Eltons, it must be the Westons and Mr. Knightley, so far as it was all of course, and it was hardly less inevitable that poor little Harriet must be asked to make the eighth.

But this invitation was not given with equal satisfaction, and on many accounts Emma was particularly pleased by Harriet's begging to be allowed to decline it.

And though Harriet might already have caught the eye of Mr. Martin, Emma could not countenance such a match with a mere gentleman farmer, especially one who she believes can barely read.

We now join Emma's friends, Mr. Knightley and Mrs. Weston, who perhaps know her better than anyone, but what do they make of her new friendship with Harriet? And how will Emma step up her campaign to bring her timid new acquaintance into Mr.

Elton's orbit? Now, if you're sitting comfortably, then I'll begin.

From the Noiser Podcast Network, this is Emma, Part Three.

Chapter Five.

"I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston," said Mr. Knightley, "of this great intimacy between Emma and Harriet Smith, but I think it a bad thing." "A bad thing? Do, do you really think it a bad thing? Why so?" "I think they will neither of them do the other any good." "You surprise me," replied Mrs.

Weston.

"Emma must do Harriet good, and by supplying her with a new object of interest, Harriet may be said to do Emma good.

Join me as we step into the village of Highbury, home to the wealthy, clever, and handsome Emma Woodhouse and her aging, fretful father.

With her dear friend and governess, Miss Taylor, having just married in a match Emma credits herself with having arranged, she now turns to others in her circle with whom to play Cupid.

But when the arrival of new friends and long-awaited visitors coincides with a mystery to solve, will Emma's sleuthing also lead her to revelations about herself? Will she ever heed her dashing friend, Mr.

Knightley, and his warnings about her meddling? And will anything or anyone dislodge our heroine's determination not to marry? Now, if you're sitting comfortably, then I'll begin.

She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate, indulgent father, and had, in consequence of her sister's marriage, been mistress of his house from a very early period.

Her mother had died too long ago for her to have more than an indistinct remembrance of her caresses, and her place had been supplied by an excellent woman as governess, who had fallen little short of a mother in affection.

Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in Mr. Woodhouse's family, less as a governess than a friend, very fond of both daughters, but particularly of Emma.

Between them, it was more the intimacy of sisters.