And her delightful sense of humour shows up in an inimitable light the foolish weakness of a girl suffering from a purely imaginary love-affair. The occasion is after the disillusionment of poor sentimental Harriet as to the real feelings of Mr. Elton, whom she had been encouraged by Emma to regard as an unexpressed lover. “Harriet came one morning to Emma with a small parcel in her hand, and after sitting down and hesitating thus began— “‘Miss Woodhouse, if you are at leisure, I have something that I should like to tell you; a sort of confession to make—and then you know it will be over.’ “Emma was a good deal surprised, but begged her to speak.... “‘How could I be so long fancying myself—,’ cried Harriet warmly. ‘It seems like madness! I can see nothing at all extraordinary in him now, I do not care whether I meet him or not, except that of the two I had rather not see him; and indeed I would go any distance round to avoid him, but I do not envy his wife in the least; I neither admire her nor envy her as I have done. She is very charming, I daresay, and all that, but I think her very ill-tempered and disagreeable; I shall never forget her look the other night. However, I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, I wish her no evil. No, let them be ever so happy together, it will not give me another moment’s pang; and, to convince you that I have been speaking the truth, I am now going to destroy—what I ought to have destroyed long ago—what I ought never to have kept; I know that very well (blushing as she spoke). However, now I will destroy it all, and it is my particular wish to do it in your presence, that you may see how rational I am grown. Cannot you guess what this parcel holds?’ said she with a conscious look. “‘Not the least in the world. Did he ever give you anything?’ “‘No, I cannot call them gifts, but they are things that I have valued very much.’ “She held the parcel towards her and Emma read the words, ‘Most precious treasures’ on the top. Her curiosity was greatly excited. Harriet unfolded the parcel and she looked on with impatience. Within abundance of silver paper was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box, which Harriet opened; it was well lined with the softest cotton; but excepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of court-plaister. “‘Now,’ said Harriet, ‘you _must_ recollect.’ “‘No, indeed, I do not.’