Emma

Emma Woodhouse was handsome, clever, and rich, and in almost twenty-one years of life she had known very little trouble or sorrow.Her mother had died when she was small, and since her elder sister married, Emma had been the mistress of her father’s comfortable house.The only real dangers in her happy life were that she was used to having her own way, and that she thought rather too well of herself.

For sixteen years her governess, Miss Taylor, had been less a teacher than a dear friend, and had let Emma do exactly as she pleased.Now Miss Taylor had married Mr. Weston and gone to live half a mile away, and the house felt suddenly quiet and empty.Emma liked to say that she herself had arranged the whole match, and was very proud of it.

Her father, Mr. Woodhouse, was a gentle, nervous old man who worried about draughts, damp, and rich food, and who hated any kind of change.All evening he sighed over “poor Miss Taylor,” as though she had met with some misfortune instead of a happy marriage.He wished she had never married at all, and could not be comforted that she now lived so near.

That evening Mr. Knightley called, a sensible man of about thirty-seven who had known the family for years.He was almost the only person who ever told Emma of her faults, and he did it kindly but plainly.When Emma boasted of making the marriage, he said she had only made a lucky guess, and that a young lady had no business match-making.

Emma laughed and declared that she would make just one more match.She had chosen a wife for Mr. Elton, the young clergyman, who had been in the village a whole year and really ought not to stay single.Mr. Knightley told her to leave Mr. Elton to choose for himself, but Emma had quite made up her mind.

Mr. Woodhouse fretted that his guests would catch cold on the walk home, and begged them to wrap up warmly.And so the long, sad evening ended gently, with Emma already dreaming of her next piece of clever planning.