Mr. Weston meanwhile, perfectly unsuspicious of the indignation he was exciting, happy and cheerful as usual, and with all the right of being principal talker, which a day spent anywhere from home confers, was making himself agreeable among the rest; and having satisfied the inquiries of his wife as to his dinner, convincing her that none of all her careful directions to the servants had been forgotten, and spread abroad what public news he had heard, was proceeding to a family communication, which, though principally addressed to Mrs. Weston, he had not the smallest doubt of being highly interesting to every body in the room.  He gave her a letter, it was from Frank, and to herself; he had met with it in his way, and had taken the liberty of opening it.

“Read it, read it,” said he, “it will give you pleasure; only a few lines—­will not take you long; read it to Emma.”

The two ladies looked over it together; and he sat smiling and talking to them the whole time, in a voice a little subdued, but very audible to every body.

“Well, he is coming, you see; good news, I think.  Well, what do you say to it?—­I always told you he would be here again soon, did not I?—­Anne, my dear, did not I always tell you so, and you would not believe me?—­In town next week, you see—­at the latest, I dare say; for she is as impatient as the black gentleman when any thing is to be done; most likely they will be there to-morrow or Saturday.  As to her illness, all nothing of course.  But it is an excellent thing to have Frank among us again, so near as town.  They will stay a good while when they do come, and he will be half his time with us.  This is precisely what I wanted.  Well, pretty good news, is not it?  Have you finished it?  Has Emma read it all?  Put it up, put it up; we will have a good talk about it some other time, but it will not do now.  I shall only just mention the circumstance to the others in a common way.”

Mrs. Weston was most comfortably pleased on the occasion.  Her looks and words had nothing to restrain them.  She was happy, she knew she was happy, and knew she ought to be happy.  Her congratulations were warm and open; but Emma could not speak so fluently. She was a little occupied in weighing her own feelings, and trying to understand the degree of her agitation, which she rather thought was considerable.

Mr. Weston, however, too eager to be very observant, too communicative to want others to talk, was very well satisfied with what she did say, and soon moved away to make the rest of his friends happy by a partial communication of what the whole room must have overheard already.

It was well that he took every body’s joy for granted, or he might not have thought either Mr. Woodhouse or Mr. Knightley particularly delighted.  They were the first entitled, after Mrs. Weston and Emma, to be made happy;—­from them he would have proceeded to Miss Fairfax, but she was so deep in conversation with John Knightley, that it would have been too positive an interruption; and finding himself close to Mrs. Elton, and her attention disengaged, he necessarily began on the subject with her.