Host/Reader

Her inviting you to town is certainly a vast thing in your favour.

And indeed, it speaks altogether so great a regard for you, that in all probability when she dies, you will not be forgotten.

She must have a great deal to leave.

Nothing at all I should rather suppose, for she has only her jointure which will descend to her children.

But it is not to be imagined that she lives up to her income.

Few people of common prudence will do that, and whatever she saves, she will be able to dispose of.

And do you not think it more likely that she should leave it to her daughters than to us?

Her daughters are both exceedingly well married, and therefore I cannot perceive the necessity of her remembering them farther.

Whereas, in my opinion, by her taking so much notice of you and treating you in this kind of way, she has given you a sort of claim on her future consideration, which a conscientious woman would not disregard.

Nothing can be kinder than her behavior, and she can hardly do all this without being aware of the expectation it raises.

But she raises none in those most concerned.

Indeed, brother, your anxiety for our welfare and prosperity carries you too far.

Why, to be sure, said he, seeming to recollect himself.

People have little, have very little in their power.

But my dear Eleanor, what is the matter with Marianne?

She looks very unwell, has lost her color and is grown quite thin.

Is she ill?

She is not well.

She has had a nervous complaint on her for several weeks.

I am sorry for that.