Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable homeand happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings ofexistence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with verylittle to distress or vex her.She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate,indulgent father; and had, in consequence of her sister's marriage, beenmistress of his house from a very early period. Her mother had diedtoo long ago for her to have more than an indistinct remembrance ofher caresses; and her place had been supplied by an excellent woman asgoverness, who had fallen little short of a mother in affection.Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in Mr. Woodhouse's family, less as agoverness than a friend, very fond of both daughters, but particularlyof Emma. Between _them_ it was more the intimacy of sisters. Even beforeMiss Taylor had ceased to hold the nominal office of governess, themildness of her temper had hardly allowed her to impose any restraint;and the shadow of authority being now long passed away, they had beenliving together as friend and friend very mutually attached, and Emmadoing just what she liked; highly esteeming Miss Taylor's judgment, butdirected chiefly by her own.The real evils, indeed, of Emma's situation were the power of havingrather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little toowell of herself; these were the disadvantages which threatened alloy toher many enjoyments. The danger, however, was at present so unperceived,that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her.Sorrow came--a gentle sorrow--but not at all in the shape of anydisagreeable consciousness.--Miss Taylor married. It was Miss Taylor'sloss which first brought grief. It was on the wedding-day of thisbeloved friend that Emma first sat in mournful thought of anycontinuance. The wedding over, and the bride-people gone, her father andherself were left to dine together, with no prospect of a third to cheera long evening. Her father composed himself to sleep after dinner, asusual, and she had then only to sit and think of what she had lost.The event had every promise of happiness for her friend. Mr. Westonwas a man of unexceptionable character, easy fortune, suitable age, andpleasant manners; and there was some satisfaction in consideringwith what self-denying, generous friendship she had always wished andpromoted the match; but it was a black morning's work for her. The wantof Miss Taylor would be felt every hour of every day. She recalled herpast kindness--the kindness, the affection of sixteen years--how she hadtaught and how she had played with her from five years old--how she haddevoted all her powers to attach and amuse her in health--and hownursed her through the various illnesses of childhood. A large debt ofgratitude was owing here; but the intercourse of the last sevenyears, the equal footing and perfect unreserve which had soon followedIsabella's marriage, on their being left to each other, was yet adearer, tenderer recollection. She had been a friend and companion suchas few possessed: intelligent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowingall the ways of the family, interested in all its concerns, andpeculiarly interested in herself, in every pleasure, every scheme ofhers--one to whom she could speak every thought as it arose, and who hadsuch an affection for her as could never find fault.How was she to bear the change?--It was true that her friend was goingonly half a mile from them; but Emma was aware that great must be thedifference between a Mrs. Weston, only half a mile from them, and a MissTaylor in the house; and with all her advantages, natural and domestic,she was now in great danger of suffering from intellectual solitude. Shedearly loved her father, but he was no companion for her. He could notmeet her in conversation, rational or playful.