Her mutterings were chiefly to her husband; and he murmured, in reply,

“Very true, my love, very true.  Exactly so, indeed—­quite unheard of—­ but some ladies say any thing.  Better pass it off as a joke.  Every body knows what is due to you.”

“It will not do,” whispered Frank to Emma; “they are most of them affronted.  I will attack them with more address.  Ladies and gentlemen—­I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse to say, that she waives her right of knowing exactly what you may all be thinking of, and only requires something very entertaining from each of you, in a general way.  Here are seven of you, besides myself, (who, she is pleased to say, am very entertaining already,) and she only demands from each of you either one thing very clever, be it prose or verse, original or repeated—­or two things moderately clever—­ or three things very dull indeed, and she engages to laugh heartily at them all.”

“Oh! very well,” exclaimed Miss Bates, “then I need not be uneasy. `Three things very dull indeed.’  That will just do for me, you know.  I shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan’t I? (looking round with the most good-humoured dependence on every body’s assent)—­Do not you all think I shall?”

Emma could not resist.

“Ah! ma’am, but there may be a difficulty.  Pardon me—­but you will be limited as to number—­only three at once.”

Miss Bates, deceived by the mock ceremony of her manner, did not immediately catch her meaning; but, when it burst on her, it could not anger, though a slight blush shewed that it could pain her.

“Ah!—­well—­to be sure.  Yes, I see what she means, (turning to Mr. Knightley,) and I will try to hold my tongue.  I must make myself very disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend.”

“I like your plan,” cried Mr. Weston.  “Agreed, agreed.  I will do my best.  I am making a conundrum.  How will a conundrum reckon?”

“Low, I am afraid, sir, very low,” answered his son;—­“but we shall be indulgent—­especially to any one who leads the way.”

“No, no,” said Emma, “it will not reckon low.  A conundrum of Mr. Weston’s shall clear him and his next neighbour.  Come, sir, pray let me hear it.”

“I doubt its being very clever myself,” said Mr. Weston.  “It is too much a matter of fact, but here it is.—­What two letters of the alphabet are there, that express perfection?”

“What two letters!—­express perfection!  I am sure I do not know.”

“Ah! you will never guess.  You, (to Emma), I am certain, will never guess.—­I will tell you.—­M. and A.—­Em-ma.—­Do you understand?”

Understanding and gratification came together.  It might be a very indifferent piece of wit, but Emma found a great deal to laugh at and enjoy in it—­and so did Frank and Harriet.—­It did not seem to touch the rest of the party equally; some looked very stupid about it, and Mr. Knightley gravely said,