Page:Austen - Sense and Sensibility, vol. III, 1811.djvu/183

 its nature. Some vague report had reached her before of my attachment to some young lady in Devonshire, and what had passed within her observation the preceding evening had marked who the young lady was, and made her more jealous than ever. Affecting that air of playfulness, therefore, which is delightful in a woman one loves, she opened the letter directly, and read its contents. She was well paid for her impudence. She read what made her wretched. Her wretchedness I could have borne, but her passion—her malice—At all events it must be appeased. And in short—what do you think of my wife’s stile of letter-writing?—delicate—tender—truly feminine—was it not?”

“Your wife!—The letter was in your own hand writing.”

“Yes, but I had only the credit of servilely copying such sentences as I Rh