Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels


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She was, besides, which was the worst of all, so cold, so cautious! There was no getting at her real opinion. Wrapt up in a cloak of politeness, she seemed determined to hazard nothing. She was disgustingly, was suspiciously reserved.
There probably was something more to conceal than her own preference; Mr. Dixon, perhaps, had been very near changing one friend for the other, or been fixed only to Miss Campbell, for the sake of the future twelve thousand pounds.
The young man's conduct, and his sister's, seemed the result of real feeling, and she could not but pity them. As Harriet described it, there had been an interesting mixture of wounded affection and genuine delicacy in their behaviour. But she had believed them to be well-meaning, worthy people before; and
what difference did this make in the evils of the connexion? It was folly to be disturbed by it. Of course, he must be sorry to lose her —they must be all sorry. Ambition, as well as love, had probably been mortified. They might all have hoped to rise by Harriet's acquaintance: and besides, what was the value of Harriet's description?—So easily pleased —so little discerning;—what signified her praise?
at such a state of mind in poor Harriet —such a conclusion of Mr. Elton's importance with her!
to be rather glad that there had been such a meeting. It had been serviceable in deadening the first shock, without retaining any influence to alarm. As Harriet now lived, the Martins could not get at her, without seeking her, where hitherto they had wanted either the courage or the condescension to seek her; for since her refusal of the brother, the sisters never had been at Mrs. Goddard's; and a twelvemonth might pass without their being thrown together again, with any necessity, or even any power of speech.
Many vain solicitudes would be prevented —many awkwardnesses smoothed by it. A Mrs. Elton would be an excuse for any change of intercourse; former intimacy might sink without remark. It would be almost beginning their life of civility again.
She was good enough for Mr. Elton, no doubt; accomplished enough for Highbury— handsome enough—to look plain, probably, by Harriet's side. As to connexion,
after all his own vaunted claims and disdain of Harriet, he had done nothing. On that article, truth seemed attainable.
What she was, must be uncertain; but who she was, might be found out; and setting aside the 10,000 l., it did not appear that she was at all Harriet's superior.
She brought no name, no blood, no alliance. Miss Hawkins was the youngest of the two daughters of a Bristol— merchant, of course, he must be called; but, as the whole of the profits of his mercantile life appeared so very moderate, it was not unfair to guess the dignity of his line of trade had been very moderate also. Part of every winter she had been used to spend in Bath; but Bristol was her home, the very heart of Bristol; for though the father and mother had died some years ago, an uncle remained—in the law line— nothing more distinctly honourable was hazarded of him, than that he was in the law line; and with him the daughter had lived.
to be the drudge of some attorney, and too stupid to rise. And all the grandeur of the connexion seemed dependent on the elder sister, who was very well married, to a gentleman in a great way, near Bristol, who kept two carriages!
That was the wind-up of the history; that was the glory of Miss Hawkins.
Could she but have given Harriet her feelings about it all! She had talked her into love; but, alas! she was not so easily to be talked out of it. The charm of an object to occupy the many vacancies of Harriet's mind was not to be talked away. He might be superseded by another; he certainly would indeed; nothing could be clearer; even a Robert Martin would have been sufficient; but nothing else, she feared, would cure her. Harriet was one of those, who, having once begun, would be always in love.
And now, poor girl! she was considerably worse from this reappearance of Mr. Elton. She was always having a glimpse of him somewhere or other.
Absolute neglect of the mother and sisters, when invited to come, would be ingratitude. It must not be: and yet the danger of a renewal of the acquaintance—!
it must be done, or what would become of Harriet?
she thought Miss Smith was grown,
In that very room she had been measured last September, with her two friends. There were the pencilled marks and memorandums on the wainscot by the window. He had done it.
They all seemed to remember the day, the hour, the party, the occasion —
to be ready to return to the same good understanding; and they were just growing again like themselves,
when the carriage reappeared, and all was over.
Fourteen minutes to be given to those with whom she had thankfully passed six weeks not six months ago!—
how justly they might resent, how naturally Harriet must suffer. It was a bad business. She would have given a great deal, or endured a great deal, to have had the Martins in a higher rank of life.
They were so deserving, that a little higher should have been enough: but as it was, how could she have done otherwise?—Impossible!—She could not repent.
They must be separated; but there was a great deal of pain in the process—
he knew how to make himself agreeable;
That he should never have been able to indulge so amiable a feeling before,
whether the same suspicion of what might be expected from their knowing each other, which had taken strong possession of her mind, had ever crossed his;
whether his compliments were to be considered as marks of acquiescence, or proofs of defiance.
If he were deficient there, nothing should make amends for it.
It was not merely in fine words or hyperbolical compliment that he paid his duty; nothing could be more proper or pleasing than his whole manner to her —nothing could more agreeably denote his wish of considering her as a friend and securing her affection.
with such feelings as were now shewn, it could not be fairly supposed that he had been ever voluntarily absenting himself; that he had not been acting a part, or making a parade of insincere professions; and that Mr. Knightley certainly had not done him justice.
He seemed to have all the life and spirit, cheerful feelings, and social inclinations of his father, and nothing of the pride or reserve of Enscombe. Of pride, indeed, there was, perhaps, scarcely enough; his indifference to a confusion of rank, bordered too much on inelegance of mind. He could be no judge, however, of the evil he was holding cheap. It was but an effusion of lively spirits.
if he had paid it.
He was not exactly what she had expected; less of the man of the world in some of his notions, less of the spoiled child of fortune, therefore better than she had expected. His ideas seemed more moderate —his feelings warmer.
he did know what he was talking about, and
he shewed a very amiable inclination to settle early in life, and to marry, from worthy motives. He might not be aware of the inroads on domestic peace to be occasioned by no housekeeper's room, or a bad butler's pantry, but no doubt he did perfectly feel that Enscombe could not make him happy, and that whenever he were attached, he would willingly give up much of wealth to be allowed an early establishment.
There was certainly no harm in his travelling sixteen miles twice over on such an errand; but there was an air of foppery and nonsense in it which she could not approve. It did not accord with the rationality of plan, the moderation in expense, or even the unselfish warmth of heart, which
to discern in him yesterday. Vanity, extravagance, love of change, restlessness of temper, which must be doing something, good or bad; heedlessness as to the pleasure of his father and Mrs. Weston, indifferent as to how his conduct might appear in general; he became liable to all these charges.
The regular and best families
they would presume to invite— neither Donwell, nor Hartfield, nor Randalls. Nothing should tempt her to go, if they did; and she regretted that her father's known habits would be giving her refusal less meaning than she could wish. The Coles were very respectable in their way, but they ought to be taught that it was not for them to arrange the terms on which the superior families would visit them. This lesson, she very much feared, they would receive only from herself; she had little hope of Mr. Knightley, none of Mr. Weston.
she should like to have had the power of refusal;
she did not know that she might not have been tempted to accept.
what they advised her to do,
considering every thing, she was not absolutely without inclination for the party. The Coles expressed themselves so properly— there was so much real attention in the manner of it —so much consideration for her father.
how certainly Mrs. Goddard, if not Mrs. Bates, might be depended on for bearing him company—
As for his going, Emma did not wish him to think it possible, the hours would be too late, and the party too numerous.
There she sat— and who would have guessed how many tears she had been lately shedding?
To be in company, nicely dressed herself and seeing others nicely dressed, to sit and smile and look pretty, and say nothing, was enough for the happiness of the present hour.