Austen Said:

"Was he handsome?"—

"She believed he was reckoned a very fine young man."

"Was he agreeable?"—

"He was generally thought so."

"Did he appear a sensible young man; a young man of information?"—

"At a watering-place, or in a common London acquaintance, it was difficult to decide on such points. Manners were all that could be safely judged of, under a much longer knowledge than they had yet had of Mr. Churchill. She believed every body found his manners pleasing."

Emma could not forgive her.

"I am happy you approved,"

"but I hope I am not often deficient in what is due to guests at Hartfield."

"Miss Fairfax is reserved."

"You think her diffident. I do not see it."

"Oh! no; I was pleased with my own perseverance in asking questions; and amused to think how little information I obtained."

"She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep one's eyes from. I am always watching her to admire; and I do pity her from my heart."

"My dear papa, I sent the whole hind-quarter. I knew you would wish it. There will be the leg to be salted, you know, which is so very nice, and the loin to be dressed directly in any manner they like."

"News! Oh! yes, I always like news. What is it?—why do you smile so?—where did you hear it?—at Randalls?"

'Shall I go down instead? for I think you have a little cold, and Patty has been washing the kitchen.'—

"Mr. Elton going to be married!"

"He will have every body's wishes for his happiness."

"No —I have never seen Mr. Elton,"

"is he— is he a tall man?"

"Who shall answer that question?"

"My father would say 'yes,' Mr. Knightley 'no;' and Miss Bates and I that he is just the happy medium. When you have been here a little longer, Miss Fairfax, you will understand that Mr. Elton is the standard of perfection in Highbury, both in person and mind."

it did him no lasting benefit.

"As to who, or what Miss Hawkins is, or how long he has been acquainted with her,"

"nothing I suppose can be known. One feels that it cannot be a very long acquaintance. He has been gone only four weeks."

"You are silent, Miss Fairfax— but I hope you mean to take an interest in this news. You, who have been hearing and seeing so much of late on these subjects, who must have been so deep in the business on Miss Campbell's account —we shall not excuse your being indifferent about Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins."

"When I have seen Mr. Elton,"

"I dare say I shall be interested—but I believe it requires that with me. And as it is some months since Miss Campbell married, the impression may be a little worn off."

"Quite wrong, my dear aunt; there is no likeness at all."

"Handsome! Oh! no —far from it— certainly plain. I told you he was plain."

"Oh! as for me, my judgment is worth nothing. Where I have a regard, I always think a person well-looking. But I gave what I believed the general opinion, when I called him plain."

"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what do you think has happened!"

"She had set out from Mrs. Goddard's half an hour ago— she had been afraid it would rain —she had been afraid it would pour down every moment—but she thought she might get to Hartfield first —she had hurried on as fast as possible; but then, as she was passing by the house where a young woman was making up a gown for her, she thought she would just step in and see how it went on; and though she did not seem to stay half a moment there, soon after she came out it began to rain, and she did not know what to do; so she ran on directly, as fast as she could, and took shelter at Ford's."—

"And so, there she had set, without an idea of any thing in the world, full ten minutes, perhaps— when, all of a sudden, who should come in— to be sure it was so very odd!—but they always dealt at Ford's —who should come in, but Elizabeth Martin and her brother!—Dear Miss Woodhouse! only think. I thought I should have fainted. I did not know what to do. I was sitting near the door— Elizabeth saw me directly; but he did not; he was busy with the umbrella. I am sure she saw me, but she looked away directly, and took no notice; and they both went to quite the farther end of the shop; and I kept sitting near the door!—Oh! dear; I was so miserable! I am sure I must have been as white as my gown. I could not go away you know, because of the rain; but I did so wish myself anywhere in the world but there.—Oh! dear, Miss Woodhouse— well, at last, I fancy, he looked round and saw me; for instead of going on with her buyings, they began whispering to one another. I am sure they were talking of me; and I could not help thinking that he was persuading her to speak to me—(do you think he was, Miss Woodhouse?)—for presently she came forward— came quite up to me, and

asked me

how I did,

and seemed ready to shake hands, if I would. She did not do any of it in the same way that she used; I could see she was altered; but, however, she seemed to try to be very friendly, and we shook hands, and stood talking some time; but I know no more what I said—I was in such a tremble! —I remember

she said

she was sorry we never met now;

which I thought almost too kind! Dear, Miss Woodhouse, I was absolutely miserable! By that time, it was beginning to hold up, and I was determined that nothing should stop me from getting away—and then— only think!—I found he was coming up towards me too— slowly you know, and as if he did not quite know what to do; and so he came and spoke, and I answered—and I stood for a minute, feeling dreadfully, you know, one can't tell how; and then I took courage, and said it did not rain, and I must go; and so off I set; and I had not got three yards from the door, when he came after me, only

to say,

Oh! dear, I thought it would have been the death of me! So I said, I was very much obliged to him: you know I could not do less; and then he went back to Elizabeth, and I came round by the stables— I believe I did—but I hardly knew where I was, or any thing about it. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, I would rather done any thing than have it happen: and yet, you know, there was a sort of satisfaction in seeing him behave so pleasantly and so kindly. And Elizabeth, too. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, do talk to me and make me comfortable again."

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?

"It might be distressing, for the moment,"

"but you seem to have behaved extremely well; and it is over—and may never— can never, as a first meeting, occur again, and therefore you need not think about it."

"very true,"

"would not think about it;"

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.