“You are extremely kind,” said Jane; “but I cannot give up my early walk.  I am advised to be out of doors as much as I can, I must walk somewhere, and the post-office is an object; and upon my word, I have scarcely ever had a bad morning before.”

“My dear Jane, say no more about it.  The thing is determined, that is (laughing affectedly) as far as I can presume to determine any thing without the concurrence of my lord and master.  You know, Mrs. Weston, you and I must be cautious how we express ourselves.  But I do flatter myself, my dear Jane, that my influence is not entirely worn out.  If I meet with no insuperable difficulties therefore, consider that point as settled.”

“Excuse me,” said Jane earnestly, “I cannot by any means consent to such an arrangement, so needlessly troublesome to your servant.  If the errand were not a pleasure to me, it could be done, as it always is when I am not here, by my grandmama’s.”

“Oh! my dear; but so much as Patty has to do!—­And it is a kindness to employ our men.”

Jane looked as if she did not mean to be conquered; but instead of answering, she began speaking again to Mr. John Knightley.

“The post-office is a wonderful establishment!” said she.—­ “The regularity and despatch of it!  If one thinks of all that it has to do, and all that it does so well, it is really astonishing!”

“It is certainly very well regulated.”

“So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears!  So seldom that a letter, among the thousands that are constantly passing about the kingdom, is even carried wrong—­and not one in a million, I suppose, actually lost!  And when one considers the variety of hands, and of bad hands too, that are to be deciphered, it increases the wonder.”

“The clerks grow expert from habit.—­They must begin with some quickness of sight and hand, and exercise improves them.  If you want any farther explanation,” continued he, smiling, “they are paid for it.  That is the key to a great deal of capacity.  The public pays and must be served well.”

The varieties of handwriting were farther talked of, and the usual observations made.

“I have heard it asserted,” said John Knightley, “that the same sort of handwriting often prevails in a family; and where the same master teaches, it is natural enough.  But for that reason, I should imagine the likeness must be chiefly confined to the females, for boys have very little teaching after an early age, and scramble into any hand they can get.  Isabella and Emma, I think, do write very much alike.  I have not always known their writing apart.”

“Yes,” said his brother hesitatingly, “there is a likeness.  I know what you mean—­but Emma’s hand is the strongest.”

“Isabella and Emma both write beautifully,” said Mr. Woodhouse; “and always did.  And so does poor Mrs. Weston”—­with half a sigh and half a smile at her.