Austen Said:

to believe their performance would, indeed, have such nature and feeling in it as must ensure their credit, and make it a very suffering exhibition to herself.

Whatever might be its effect, however, she must stand the brunt of it again that very day.

She could not come. Dr. Grant, professing an indisposition,

could not spare his wife.

Why was not Miss Crawford to be applied to as well? Or why had not she rather gone to her own room, as she had felt to be safest, instead of attending the rehearsal at all? She had known it would irritate and distress her; she had known it her duty to keep away. She was properly punished.

She would do her best.

it only as a vexatious interruption for the evening,

an earnest of the most serious determination,

by all means to pay his respects to Sir Thomas without delay,

such an unlooked-for premature arrival as a most untoward event,

Sir Thomas had been twice as long on his passage, or were still in Antigua.

the possibility of the rehearsal being renewed after tea, when the bustle of receiving Sir Thomas were over, and he might be at leisure to be amused by it.

Mr. Yates's accompanying them and spending the evening at the Parsonage.

He had never been so kind, so very kind to her in his life. His manner seemed changed, his voice was quick from the agitation of joy; and all that had been awful in his dignity seemed lost in tenderness.

It would be the last— in all probability —the last scene on that stage;

there could not be a finer. The house would close with the greatest eclat.

To be a second time disappointed in the same way was an instance of very severe ill-luck;

he should certainly attack the baronet on the absurdity of his proceedings, and argue him into a little more rationality.

He had known many disagreeable fathers before, and often been struck with the inconveniences they occasioned, but never, in the whole course of his life, had he seen one of that class so unintelligibly moral, so infamously tyrannical as Sir Thomas. He was not a man to be endured but for his children's sake, and he might be thankful to his fair daughter Julia that Mr. Yates did yet mean to stay a few days longer under his roof.

whether there were any plans for resuming the play after the present happy interruption

because, in that case, he should make a point of returning to Mansfield at any time required by the party: he was going away immediately, being to meet his uncle at Bath without delay; but if there were any prospect of a renewal of Lovers' Vows, he should hold himself positively engaged, he should break through every other claim, he should absolutely condition with his uncle for attending them whenever he might be wanted. The play should not be lost by his absence.

He was going, and, if not voluntarily going, voluntarily intending to stay away; for, excepting what might be due to his uncle, his engagements were all self-imposed. He might talk of necessity, but she knew his independence. The hand which had so pressed hers to his heart! the hand and the heart were alike motionless and passive now!

He was gone— he had touched her hand for the last time, he had made his parting bow,

you seemed almost as fearful of notice and praise as other women were of neglect.

his great attention, his paternal kindness, but he was quite mistaken in supposing she had the smallest desire of breaking through her engagement, or was sensible of any change of opinion or inclination since her forming it. She had the highest esteem for Mr. Rushworth's character and disposition, and could not have a doubt of her happiness with him.

determined

to behave more cautiously to Mr. Rushworth in future, that her father might not be again suspecting her.

Henry Crawford had destroyed her happiness, but he should not know that he had done it; he should not destroy her credit, her appearance, her prosperity, too. He should not have to think of her as pining in the retirement of Mansfield for him, rejecting Sotherton and London, independence and splendour, for his sake.

Independence was more needful than ever; the want of it at Mansfield more sensibly felt. She was less and less able to endure the restraint which her father imposed. The liberty which his absence had given was now become absolutely necessary.

She must escape from him and Mansfield as soon as possible, and find consolation in fortune and consequence, bustle and the world, for a wounded spirit.

her wishing very much to hear it,

her having never yet heard it since its being in Mansfield.

to call again, to take them in her walk whenever she could, to come and hear more of the harp,

his mother had been inquiring for her,

he had walked down to the Parsonage on purpose to bring her back.

he did mean to go with her. He too was taking leave.

the invitation should be accepted;

so particularly desirable for her in the intimacy which he saw with so much pleasure established,

for what was it after all whether she went or staid? but if her uncle were to be a great while considering and deciding, and with very grave looks, and those grave looks directed to her, and at last decide against her, she might not be able to appear properly submissive and indifferent.

she was very much obliged to her aunt Bertram for sparing her,

she was endeavouring to put her aunt's evening work in such a state as to prevent her being missed.

there would be a something to do and to suffer for it, which she could not think lightly of;

Edmund's being so soon to take orders, coming upon her like a blow that had been suspended, and still hoped uncertain and at a distance,

She had begun to think of him; she felt that she had, with great regard, with almost decided intentions;

but she would now meet him with his own cool feelings.

It was plain that he could have no serious views, no true attachment, by fixing himself in a situation which he must know she would never stoop to. She would learn to match him in his indifference. She would henceforth admit his attentions without any idea beyond immediate amusement. If he could so command his affections, hers should do her no harm.

to apply for information as to the probable period of the Antwerp's return from the Mediterranean, etc.;

She had feeling, genuine feeling.It would be something to be loved by such a girl, to excite the first ardours of her young unsophisticated mind!

She interested him more than he had foreseen. A fortnight was not enough.

he wished he had been a William Price, distinguishing himself and working his way to fortune and consequence with so much self-respect and happy ardour, instead of what he was!