Tell your aunt, little Emma, that she ought to set you a better example than to be renewing old grievances, and that if she were not wrong before, she is now." "That's true," she cried--"very true.

Little Emma, grow up a better woman than your aunt.

Be infinitely cleverer and not half so conceited.
Now, Mr.Knightley, a word or two more, and I have done.

As far as good intentions went, we were _both_ right, and I must say that no effects on my side of the argument have yet proved wrong.

I only want to know that Mr.Martin is not very, very bitterly disappointed." "A man cannot be more so," was his short, full answer.
"Ah!--Indeed I am very sorry .-- Come, shake hands with me." This had just taken place and with great cordiality, when John Knightley made his appearance, and "How d'ye do, George ?" and "John, how are you ?" succeeded in the true English style, burying under a calmness that seemed all but indifference, the real attachment which would have led either of them, if requisite, to do every thing for the good of the other.
The evening was quiet and conversable, as Mr.Woodhouse declined cards entirely for the sake of comfortable talk with his dear Isabella, and the little party made two natural divisions; on one side he and his daughter; on the other the two Mr.Knightleys; their subjects totally distinct, or very rarely mixing--and Emma only occasionally joining in one or the other.
The brothers talked of their own concerns and pursuits, but principally of those of the elder, whose temper was by much the most communicative, and who was always the greater talker.