Austen Said:

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 He might be superseded by another; he certainly would indeed; nothing could be clearer; even a Robert Martin would have been sufficient; but nothing else, she feared, would cure her.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—

"This is too bad,"

"And now we shall just miss them; too provoking!—I do not know when I have been so disappointed."

"My dear, dear anxious friend,"—

"always overcareful for every body's comfort but your own; I see you now in all your little fidgets, going again and again into his room, to be sure that all is right."

"'Tis twelve; I shall not forget to think of you four hours hence; and by this time to-morrow, perhaps, or a little later, I may be thinking of the possibility of their all calling here. I am sure they will bring him soon."

he knew how to make himself agreeable;

That he should never have been able to indulge so amiable a feeling before,

"You cannot see too much perfection in Mrs. Weston for my feelings,"

"were you to guess her to be eighteen, I should listen with pleasure; but she would be ready to quarrel with you for using such words. Don't let her imagine that you have spoken of her as a pretty young woman."

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.

"I have heard her speak of the acquaintance,"

"she is a very elegant young woman."

"If you were never particularly struck by her manners before,"

"I think you will to-day. You will see her to advantage; see her and hear her —no, I am afraid you will not hear her at all, for she has an aunt who never holds her tongue."

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.

"And how did you think Miss Fairfax looking?"

"It was certainly never brilliant, but she would not allow it to have a sickly hue in general; and there was a softness and delicacy in her skin which gave peculiar elegance to the character of her face."

"Well,"

"there is no disputing about taste.—At least you admire her except her complexion."

"Did you see her often at Weymouth? Were you often in the same society?"

"Oh! yes, gloves and every thing. I do admire your patriotism. You will be adored in Highbury. You were very popular before you came, because you were Mr. Weston's son—but lay out half a guinea at Ford's, and your popularity will stand upon your own virtues."

"I merely asked, whether you had known much of Miss Fairfax and her party at Weymouth."

"Upon my word! you answer as discreetly as she could do herself. But her account of every thing leaves so much to be guessed, she is so very reserved, so very unwilling to give the least information about any body, that I really think you may say what you like of your acquaintance with her."

"You know Miss Fairfax's situation in life, I conclude; what she is destined to be?"

"I certainly do forget to think of her,"