Austen Said:

"Perhaps you may now begin to regret that you spent one whole day, out of so few, in having your hair cut."

"No,"

"that is no subject of regret at all. I have no pleasure in seeing my friends, unless I can believe myself fit to be seen."

"What is the matter?"

"Thank you for rousing me,"

"I believe I have been very rude; but really Miss Fairfax has done her hair in so odd a way— so very odd a way —that I cannot keep my eyes from her. I never saw any thing so outree!—Those curls!—This must be a fancy of her own. I see nobody else looking like her!—I must go and ask her whether it is an Irish fashion. Shall I?—Yes, I will —I declare I will —and you shall see how she takes it;—whether she colours."

"How?—They were invited, were not they?"

"They walked, I conclude. How else could they come?"

"Very likely,"

"nothing more likely. I know no man more likely than Mr. Knightley to do the sort of thing —to do any thing really good-natured, useful, considerate, or benevolent. He is not a gallant man, but he is a very humane one; and this, considering Jane Fairfax's ill-health, would appear a case of humanity to him;—and for an act of unostentatious kindness, there is nobody whom I would fix on more than on Mr. Knightley. I know he had horses to-day—for we arrived together; and I laughed at him about it, but he said not a word that could betray."

"Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax!"

"Dear Mrs. Weston, how could you think of such a thing?—Mr. Knightley!—Mr. Knightley must not marry!—You would not have little Henry cut out from Donwell?—Oh! no, no, Henry must have Donwell. I cannot at all consent to Mr. Knightley's marrying; and I am sure it is not at all likely. I am amazed that you should think of such a thing."

"Yes, I would. I could not bear to have Henry supplanted.—Mr. Knightley marry!—No, I have never had such an idea, and I cannot adopt it now. And Jane Fairfax, too, of all women!"

"But the imprudence of such a match!"

"I see no probability in it, unless you have any better foundation than what you mention. His good-nature, his humanity, as I tell you, would be quite enough to account for the horses. He has a great regard for the Bateses, you know, independent of Jane Fairfax —and is always glad to shew them attention. My dear Mrs. Weston, do not take to match-making. You do it very ill. Jane Fairfax mistress of the Abbey!—Oh! no, no;—every feeling revolts. For his own sake, I would not have him do so mad a thing."

"But Mr. Knightley does not want to marry. I am sure he has not the least idea of it. Do not put it into his head. Why should he marry?—He is as happy as possible by himself; with his farm, and his sheep, and his library, and all the parish to manage; and he is extremely fond of his brother's children. He has no occasion to marry, either to fill up his time or his heart."

"Nonsense! He does not care about Jane Fairfax. In the way of love, I am sure he does not. He would do any good to her, or her family; but—"

"If it would be good to her, I am sure it would be evil to himself; a very shameful and degrading connexion. How would he bear to have Miss Bates belonging to him?—To have her haunting the Abbey, and thanking him all day long for his great kindness in marrying Jane?—

And then fly off, through half a sentence, to her mother's old petticoat.

he could listen to her for ever.

"Then it can be no argument to prove that he is in love. But I do not think it is at all a likely thing for him to do. Mr. Knightley does nothing mysteriously."

"Very well; and if he had intended to give her one, he would have told her so."

"You take up an idea, Mrs. Weston, and run away with it; as you have many a time reproached me with doing. I see no sign of attachment —I believe nothing of the pianoforte—and proof only shall convince me that Mr. Knightley has any thought of marrying Jane Fairfax."

he knew nothing of the matter, and had no voice at all,

She could see nothing but evil in it.

It would be a great disappointment to Mr. John Knightley; consequently to Isabella. A real injury to the children— a most mortifying change, and material loss to them all;—a very great deduction from her father's daily comfort—and, as to herself, she could not at all endure the idea of Jane Fairfax at Donwell Abbey. A Mrs. Knightley for them all to give way to!—No —Mr. Knightley must never marry. Little Henry must remain the heir of Donwell.

"I often feel concern,"

"that I dare not make our carriage more useful on such occasions. It is not that I am without the wish; but you know how impossible my father would deem it that James should put-to for such a purpose."

"Quite out of the question, quite out of the question,"

"but you must often wish it, I am sure."

"This present from the Campbells,"

"this pianoforte is very kindly given."

"Yes,"

"But they would have done better had they given her notice of it. Surprizes are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable. I should have expected better judgment in Colonel Campbell."

"That will do,"

"you have sung quite enough for one evening— now be quiet."

"I think you could manage this without effort; the first part is so very trifling. The strength of the song falls on the second."

"That fellow,"

"thinks of nothing but shewing off his own voice. This must not be."

"Miss Bates, are you mad, to let your niece sing herself hoarse in this manner? Go, and interfere. They have no mercy on her."

This would be a trial. He was no dancer in general. If he were to be very alert in engaging Jane Fairfax now, it might augur something. There was no immediate appearance. No; he was talking to Mrs. Cole— he was looking on unconcerned; Jane was asked by somebody else, and he was still talking to Mrs. Cole.

"Perhaps it is as well,"

"I must have asked Miss Fairfax, and her languid dancing would not have agreed with me, after yours."

She must have delighted the Coles— worthy people, who deserved to be made happy!—And left a name behind her that would not soon die away.

It was hardly right; but it had been so strong an idea, that it would escape her, and his submission to all that she told, was a compliment to her penetration, which made it difficult for her to be quite certain that she ought to have held her tongue.

"Oh! if I could but play as well as you and Miss Fairfax!"

"Don't class us together, Harriet. My playing is no more like her's, than a lamp is like sunshine."

"Oh! dear—I think you play the best of the two. I think you play quite as well as she does. I am sure I had much rather hear you. Every body last night said how well you played."

"Those who knew any thing about it, must have felt the difference. The truth is, Harriet, that my playing is just good enough to be praised, but Jane Fairfax's is much beyond it."

"Well, I always shall think that you play quite as well as she does, or that if there is any difference nobody would ever find it out.