Austen Said:

His last journey to London had been undertaken with no other view than that of introducing her brother in Hill Street, and prevailing on the Admiral to exert whatever interest he might have for getting him on. This had been his business. He had communicated it to no creature: he had not breathed a syllable of it even to Mary; while uncertain of the issue, he could not have borne any participation of his feelings, but this had been his business;

she had created sensations which his heart had never known before, and that everything he had done for William was to be placed to the account of his excessive and unequalled attachment to her,

all as nonsense, as mere trifling and gallantry, which meant only to deceive for the hour;

she could not but feel that it was treating her improperly and unworthily, and in such a way as she had not deserved; but it was like himself, and entirely of a piece with what she had seen before;

It was all beyond belief! He was inexcusable, incomprehensible! But such were his habits that he could do nothing without a mixture of evil. He had previously made her the happiest of human beings, and now he had insulted— she knew not what to say, how to class, or how to regard it. She would not have him be serious, and yet what could excuse the use of such words and offers, if they meant but to trifle?

But William was a lieutenant. That was a fact beyond a doubt, and without an alloy. She would think of it for ever and forget all the rest. Mr. Crawford would certainly never address her so again: he must have seen how unwelcome it was to her; and in that case, how gratefully she could esteem him for his friendship to William!

though he might think nothing of what had passed, it would be quite distressing to her to see him again so soon.

He had a note to deliver from his sister.

it was evident that she meant to compliment her on her brother's attachment, and even to appear to believe it serious.

There was everything in the world against their being serious but his words and manner. Everything natural, probable, reasonable, was against it; all their habits and ways of thinking, and all her own demerits.

How could she have excited serious attachment in a man who had seen so many, and been admired by so many, and flirted with so many, infinitely her superiors; who seemed so little open to serious impressions, even where pains had been taken to please him; who thought so slightly, so carelessly, so unfeelingly on all such points; who was everything to everybody, and seemed to find no one essential to him? And farther, how could it be supposed that his sister, with all her high and worldly notions of matrimony, would be forwarding anything of a serious nature in such a quarter? Nothing could be more unnatural in either.

Everything might be possible rather than serious attachment, or serious approbation of it toward her.

no more than what he might often have expressed towards her cousins and fifty other women.

wishing not to appear to think anything really intended,

she had never known a day of greater agitation, both of pain and pleasure; but happily the pleasure was not of a sort to die with the day; for every day would restore the knowledge of William's advancement, whereas the pain, she hoped, would return no more.

She had no doubt that her note must appear excessively ill-written, that the language would disgrace a child, for her distress had allowed no arrangement; but at least it would assure them both of her being neither imposed on nor gratified by Mr. Crawford's attentions.

If Mr. Crawford would but go away!

go and take his sister with him, as he was to do, and as he returned to Mansfield on purpose to do. And why it was not done already she could not devise, for Miss Crawford certainly wanted no delay.

His coming might have nothing to do with her, but she must avoid seeing him if possible;

there to remain, during the whole of his visit, unless actually sent for;

Mr. Crawford had come and would go without her being obliged to know anything of the matter.

she did feel almost ashamed of herself, after such a picture as her uncle had drawn, for not liking Mr. Crawford.

She would rather die than own the truth;

Self-willed, obstinate, selfish, and ungrateful. He thought her all this. She had deceived his expectations; she had lost his good opinion. What was to become of her?

miserable

The past, present, future, everything was terrible.

Selfish and ungrateful! to have appeared so to him! She was miserable for ever. She had no one to take her part, to counsel, or speak for her. Her only friend was absent. He might have softened his father; but all, perhaps all, would think her selfish and ungrateful. She might have to endure the reproach again and again; she might hear it, or see it, or know it to exist for ever in every connexion about her.

yet, if he really loved her, and were unhappy too! It was all wretchedness together.

To be spared from her aunt Norris's interminable reproaches!

Anything might be bearable rather than such reproaches. Even to see Mr. Crawford would be less overpowering.

to prove to him that she did desire his comfort, and sought to regain his favour;

Not to excite suspicion by her look or manner was now an object worth attaining; and she felt equal to almost anything that might save her from her aunt Norris.

A fire! it seemed too much;

Sir Thomas could have leisure to think of such a trifle again;

he did not mean there should be any change, and

it was only her own conscience that could fancy any;

all the reason she had to bless the kindness which saved her from the same spirit of reproach, exerted on a more momentous subject.

she had done right:

her judgment had not misled her. For the purity of her intentions she could answer;

her uncle's displeasure was abating, and would abate farther as he considered the matter with more impartiality, and felt, as a good man must feel, how wretched, and how unpardonable, how hopeless, and how wicked it was to marry without affection.

When the meeting with which she was threatened for the morrow was past, she could not but flatter herself that the subject would be finally concluded, and Mr. Crawford once gone from Mansfield,

everything would soon be as if no such subject had existed. She would not, could not believe, that Mr. Crawford's affection for her could distress him long; his mind was not of that sort. London would soon bring its cure. In London he would soon learn to wonder at his infatuation, and be thankful for the right reason in her which had saved him from its evil consequences.

she did love him, though she might not know it herself;

he should be able in time to make those feelings what he wished.

He would not despair: he would not desist. He had every well-grounded reason for solid attachment; he knew her to have all the worth that could justify the warmest hopes of lasting happiness with her;

her rather as one who had never thought on the subject enough to be in danger; who had been guarded by youth, a youth of mind as lovely as of person; whose modesty had prevented her from understanding his attentions, and who was still overpowered by the suddenness of addresses so wholly unexpected, and the novelty of a situation which her fancy had never taken into account.

Must it not follow of course, that, when he was understood, he should succeed?

Love such as his, in a man like himself, must with perseverance secure a return, and at no great distance;

how he could, after such language from her as she felt herself obliged to use, was not to be understood.

she did not love him, could not love him, was sure she never should love him;