Jane stood up and stretched her arms. She hoped it had been a good evening. Perhaps Fabian and Prudence could meet in London. She began to plan lunches and dinners for them. Really, she was almost like Pandarus, she told herself, only it was to be a courtship and marriage according to the most decorous conventions. Fabian was a widower and Prudence was a spinster; there wasn’t even the embarrassment of divorce. No, when she thought it over, Jane decided that she was really much more like Emma Woodhouse.
Jane Austen, Emma
