Austen Said:

his good fortune in finding them all at home— coming unexpectedly as he did— all collected together exactly as he could have wished, but dared not depend on.

how dreadfully she must have missed him, and how impossible it would have been for her to bear a lengthened absence.

he found that he could not be any longer in the house without just looking into his own dear room,

Some one was talking there in a very loud accent; he did not know the voice —more than talking— almost hallooing.

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.

making part of a ridiculous exhibition in the midst of theatrical nonsense,

The young people had been very inconsiderate in forming the plan; they ought to have been capable of a better decision themselves; but they were young; and, excepting Edmund, he believed, of unsteady characters; and with greater surprise, therefore, he must regard her acquiescence in their wrong measures, her countenance of their unsafe amusements, than that such measures and such amusements should have been suggested.

where the present pleasure of those she loved was at stake, her kindness did sometimes overpower her judgment.

of his being then at least as far off as Northampton.

another day or two would suffice to wipe away every outward memento of what had been, even to the destruction of every unbound copy of Lovers' Vows in the house,

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,

his falling in love with Julia had come to nothing;

but with so many to care for, how was it possible for even her activity to keep pace with her wishes?

She could not, did not like him.

Advantageous as would be the alliance, and long standing and public as was the engagement, her happiness must not be sacrificed to it. Mr. Rushworth had, perhaps, been accepted on too short an acquaintance, and, on knowing him better, she was repenting.

to be open and sincere,

assured her that every inconvenience should be braved, and the connexion entirely given up, if she felt herself unhappy in the prospect of it. He would act for her and release her.

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.

Mr. Rushworth was young enough to improve. Mr. Rushworth must and would improve in good society; and if Maria could now speak so securely of her happiness with him, speaking certainly without the prejudice, the blindness of love, she ought to be believed. Her feelings, probably, were not acute; he had never supposed them to be so; but her comforts might not be less on that account; and if she could dispense with seeing her husband a leading, shining character, there would certainly be everything else in her favour. A well-disposed young woman, who did not marry for love, was in general but the more attached to her own family; and the nearness of Sotherton to Mansfield must naturally hold out the greatest temptation, and would, in all probability, be a continual supply of the most amiable and innocent enjoyments.

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.

Mrs. Rushworth was quite ready to retire, and make way for the fortunate young woman whom her dear son had selected;

for she had made the match; she had done everything;

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.

to eat his mutton with him the next day;

the pleasure of her company too.

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.