Austen Said:

"Poor girl!"

"She thinks herself wrong, then, for having consented to a private engagement?"

"Poor girl!"

"She loves him then excessively, I suppose. It must have been from attachment only, that she could be led to form the engagement. Her affection must have overpowered her judgment."

"I am afraid,"

"that I must often have contributed to make her unhappy."

"If I did not know her to be happy now,"

"which, in spite of every little drawback from her scrupulous conscience, she must be, I could not bear these thanks;—for, oh! Mrs. Weston, if there were an account drawn up of the evil and the good I have done Miss Fairfax!—Well

this is all to be forgotten. You are very kind to bring me these interesting particulars. They shew her to the greatest advantage. I am sure she is very good— I hope she will be very happy. It is fit that the fortune should be on his side, for I think the merit will be all on hers."

"Oh! perfectly. I am always well, you know. Be sure to give me intelligence of the letter as soon as possible."

"You have some news to hear, now you are come back, that will rather surprize you."

"Oh! the best nature in the world— a wedding."

"How is it possible?"

"You probably have been less surprized than any of us, for you have had your suspicions.—I have not forgotten that you once tried to give me a caution.—I wish I had attended to it—but—

I seem to have been doomed to blindness."

"You are very kind—but you are mistaken—and I must set you right.— I am not in want of that sort of compassion. My blindness to what was going on, led me to act by them in a way that I must always be ashamed of, and I was very foolishly tempted to say and do many things which may well lay me open to unpleasant conjectures, but I have no other reason to regret that I was not in the secret earlier."

"Mr. Knightley,"

"I am in a very extraordinary situation. I cannot let you continue in your error; and yet, perhaps, since my manners gave such an impression, I have as much reason to be ashamed of confessing that I never have been at all attached to the person we are speaking of, as it might be natural for a woman to feel in confessing exactly the reverse.—But I never have."

"I have very little to say for my own conduct.—I was tempted by his attentions, and allowed myself to appear pleased.—An old story, probably—a common case—and no more than has happened to hundreds of my sex before; and yet it may not be the more excusable in one who sets up as I do for Understanding. Many circumstances assisted the temptation. He was the son of Mr. Weston —he was continually here —I always found him very pleasant—and, in short, for

"let me swell out the causes ever so ingeniously, they all centre in this at last— my vanity was flattered, and I allowed his attentions. Latterly, however— for some time, indeed —I have had no idea of their meaning any thing.—I thought them a habit, a trick, nothing that called for seriousness on my side. He has imposed on me, but he has not injured me. I have never been attached to him. And now I can tolerably comprehend his behaviour. He never wished to attach me. It was merely a blind to conceal his real situation with another.—It was his object to blind all about him; and no one, I am sure, could be more effectually blinded than myself—except that I was not blinded— that it was my good fortune— that, in short, I was somehow or other safe from him."

"I have no doubt of their being happy together,"

"I believe them to be very mutually and very sincerely attached."

"You speak as if you envied him."

"Oh! then, don't speak it, don't speak it,"

"Take a little time, consider, do not commit yourself."

"No,"—

"I should like to take another turn. Mr. Perry is not gone."

"I stopped you ungraciously, just now, Mr. Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave you pain.—But if you have any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, or to ask my opinion of any thing that you may have in contemplation—as a friend, indeed, you may command me.—I will hear whatever you like. I will tell you exactly what I think."

"Not at all. I should wish it."

"And I have not forgotten,"

"how sure you were that

You pass it over very handsomely—but you were perfectly right."

"You had better go on,"

"Nay, nay, read on.—You will find how very much he suffers."

"She had engaged

and, by the bye, I wonder how Mrs. Elton bears the disappointment?"

"I wish you would read it with a kinder spirit towards him."

"You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as I am; but still you must, at least I hope you must, think the better of him for it. I hope it does him some service with you."

"While her dear father lived, any change of condition must be impossible for her. She could never quit him."

"Ah! there is one difficulty unprovided for,"

"I am sure William Larkins will not like it. You must get his consent before you ask mine."

"Is Mr. Elton gone on foot to Donwell?—He will have a hot walk."

"Have not you mistaken the day?"

"I am almost certain that the meeting at the Crown is not till to-morrow.—Mr. Knightley was at Hartfield yesterday, and spoke of it as for Saturday."

"It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possibility. Had you not been surrounded by other friends, I might have been tempted to introduce a subject, to ask questions, to speak more openly than might have been strictly correct.—I feel that I should certainly have been impertinent."

"Oh! you are too scrupulous, indeed you are,"

"You owe me no apologies; and every body to whom you might be supposed to owe them, is so perfectly satisfied, so delighted even—"

"Pray say no more. I feel that all the apologies should be on my side. Let us forgive each other at once. We must do whatever is to be done quickest, and I think our feelings will lose no time there. I hope you have pleasant accounts from Windsor?"

"And the next news, I suppose, will be, that we are to lose you— — just as I begin to know you."

"Nothing can be actually settled yet, perhaps,"