Austen Said:

their going up into her room, where they might have a comfortable coze, without disturbing Dr. and Mrs. Grant, who were together in the drawing-room.

"But what shall you have by way of necklace?"

"Shall not you wear your brother's cross?"

she did not know how either to wear the cross, or to refrain from wearing it.

to chuse from among several gold chains and necklaces.

Fanny's taking one for the cross and to keep for her sake,

"You see what a collection I have,"

"more by half than I ever use or think of. I do not offer them as new. I offer nothing but an old necklace. You must forgive the liberty, and oblige me."

The gift was too valuable.

she might not be accused of pride or indifference, or some other littleness;

to know which might be least valuable;

But this was an unworthy feeling.

Miss Crawford had anticipated her wants with a kindness which proved her a real friend.

"When I wear this necklace I shall always think of you,"

"and feel how very kind you were."

"You must think of somebody else too, when you wear that necklace,"

"You must think of Henry, for it was his choice in the first place. He gave it to me, and with the necklace I make over to you all the duty of remembering the original giver. It is to be a family remembrancer. The sister is not to be in your mind without bringing the brother too."

To take what had been the gift of another person, of a brother too, impossible! it must not be!

"My dear child,"

"what are you afraid of? Do you think Henry will claim the necklace as mine, and fancy you did not come honestly by it? or are you imagining he would be too much flattered by seeing round your lovely throat an ornament which his money purchased three years ago, before he knew there was such a throat in the world? or perhaps"—

"you suspect a confederacy between us, and that what I am now doing is with his knowledge and at his desire?"

"Well, then,"

"to convince me that you suspect no trick, and are as unsuspicious of compliment as I have always found you, take the necklace and say no more about it. Its being a gift of my brother's need not make the smallest difference in your accepting it, as I assure you it makes none in my willingness to part with it. He is always giving me something or other. I have such innumerable presents from him that it is quite impossible for me to value or for him to remember half. And as for this necklace, I do not suppose I have worn it six times: it is very pretty, but I never think of it; and though you would be most heartily welcome to any other in my trinket-box, you have happened to fix on the very one which, if I have a choice, I would rather part with and see in your possession than any other. Say no more against it, I entreat you. Such a trifle is not worth half so many words."

He evidently tried to please her: he was gallant, he was attentive, he was something like what he had been to her cousins: he wanted, she supposed, to cheat her of her tranquillity as he had cheated them; and whether he might not have some concern in this necklace— she could not be convinced that he had not,

for Miss Crawford, complaisant as a sister, was careless as a woman and a friend.

"Oh! cousin, stop a moment, pray stop!"

"I cannot attempt to thank you,"

"thanks are out of the question. I feel much more than I can possibly express. Your goodness in thinking of me in such a way is beyond—"

"No, no, it is not. I want to consult you."

"Oh, this is beautiful indeed! This is the very thing, precisely what I wished for! This is the only ornament I have ever had a desire to possess. It will exactly suit my cross. They must and shall be worn together. It comes, too, in such an acceptable moment. Oh, cousin, you do not know how acceptable it is."

Fanny could not but admit the superior power of one pleasure over his own mind, though it might have its drawback.

"If it had been given to me in the first instance,"

"I should not have thought of returning it; but being her brother's present, is not it fair to suppose that she would rather not part with it, when it is not wanted?"

"No, it is not handsomer, not at all handsomer in its way, and, for my purpose, not half so fit. The chain will agree with William's cross beyond all comparison better than the necklace."

She was one of his two dearest— that must support her.

But the other: the first!

She had never heard him speak so openly before, and though it told her no more than what she had long perceived, it was a stab, for it told of his own convictions and views.

They were decided. He would marry Miss Crawford.

she was one of his two dearest,

Could she believe Miss Crawford to deserve him, it would be— oh, how different would it be —how far more tolerable! But he was deceived in her: he gave her merits which she had not; her faults were what they had ever been, but he saw them no longer.

To call or to fancy it a loss, a disappointment, would be a presumption for which she had not words strong enough to satisfy her own humility.

To think of him as Miss Crawford might be justified in thinking, would in her be insanity. To her he could be nothing under any circumstances; nothing dearer than a friend. Why did such an idea occur to her even enough to be reprobated and forbidden? It ought not to have touched on the confines of her imagination. She would endeavour to be rational, and to deserve the right of judging of Miss Crawford's character, and the privilege of true solicitude for him by a sound intellect and an honest heart.

for the original plan was that William should go up by the mail from Northampton the following night, which would not have allowed him an hour's rest before he must have got into a Portsmouth coach; and though this offer of Mr. Crawford's would rob her of many hours of his company, she was too happy in having William spared from the fatigue of such a journey,

To dance without much observation or any extraordinary fatigue, to have strength and partners for about half the evening, to dance a little with Edmund, and not a great deal with Mr. Crawford, to see William enjoy himself, and be able to keep away from her aunt Norris,

it had been about the same hour that she had returned from the Parsonage, and found Edmund in the East room.

"Suppose I were to find him there again to-day!"

"No, I have not been out at all."

he had soon ceased to think of her countenance. He did not appear in spirits: something unconnected with her was probably amiss.

She never has danced with a clergyman, she says, and she never will.

"I am very sorry that anything has occurred to distress you. This ought to be a day of pleasure. My uncle meant it so."