Austen Said:

"About two hundred a year."

"A very simple one — to be of use to Mr. Ferrars."

she thought Fanny might have borne with composure, an acquisition of wealth to her brother, by which neither she nor her child could be possibly impoverished.

"But why should such precaution be used? — Though it is not to be supposed that Mrs. Ferrars can have the smallest satisfaction in knowing that her son has money enough to live upon, — for THAT must be quite out of the question; yet why, upon her late behaviour, is she supposed to feel at all? — She has done with her son, she cast him off for ever, and has made all those over whom she had any influence, cast him off likewise. Surely, after doing so, she cannot be imagined liable to any impression of sorrow or of joy on his account — she cannot be interested in any thing that befalls him. — She would not be so weak as to throw away the comfort of a child, and yet retain the anxiety of a parent!"

"You surprise me; I should think it must nearly have escaped her memory by THIS time."

"The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair."

"I only mean that I suppose, from your manner of speaking, it must be the same to Miss Morton whether she marry Edward or Robert."

"Have you ever seen the lady?"

all her friends seemed determined to send her to Delaford; — a place, in which, of all others, she would now least chuse to visit, or wish to reside;

perfectly the gentleman in his behaviour to all his visitors, and only occasionally rude to his wife and her mother; she found him very capable of being a pleasant companion, and only prevented from being so always, by too great an aptitude to fancy himself as much superior to people in general, as he must feel himself to be to Mrs. Jennings and Charlotte. For the rest of his character and habits, they were marked, as far as Elinor could perceive, with no traits at all unusual in his sex and time of life. He was nice in his eating, uncertain in his hours; fond of his child, though affecting to slight it; and idled away the mornings at billiards, which ought to have been devoted to business. She liked him, however, upon the whole, much better than she had expected, and in her heart was not sorry that she could like him no more; — not sorry to be driven by the observation of his Epicurism, his selfishness, and his conceit, to rest with complacency on the remembrance of Edward's generous temper, simple taste, and diffident feelings.

"Is mama coming? — "

"Not yet,"

"but she will be here, I hope, before it is long. It is a great way, you know, from hence to Barton."

"But she must not go round by London,"

"I shall never see her, if she goes by London."

It was lower and quicker than ever!

The comfort of such a friend at that moment as Colonel Brandon — or such a companion for her mother, —

a companion whose judgment would guide, whose attendance must relieve, and whose friendship might soothe her! — as far as the shock of such a summons COULD be lessened to her, his presence, his manners, his assistance, would lessen it.

all relief might soon be in vain, that every thing had been delayed too long,

At ten o'clock,

or at least not much later her mother would be relieved from the dreadful suspense in which she must now be travelling towards them. The Colonel, too! — perhaps scarcely less an object of pity! — Oh! — how slow was the progress of time which yet kept them in ignorance!

"No, sir,"

"I shall NOT stay. Your business cannot be with ME. The servants, I suppose, forgot to tell you that Mr. Palmer was not in the house."

"With me!" —

"well, sir, — be quick — and if you can — less violent."

"Pray be quick, sir," —

"I have no time to spare."

"We hope she is."

he must be in liquor;

"Mr. Willoughby, I advise you at present to return to Combe — I am not at leisure to remain with you longer. — Whatever your business may be with me, will it be better recollected and explained to-morrow."

"At Marlborough!" —

"Mr. Willoughby, you OUGHT to feel, and I certainly DO — that after what has passed — your coming here in this manner, and forcing yourself upon my notice, requires a very particular excuse. — What is it, that you mean by it?"—

"Is this the real reason of your coming?"

"If that is all, you may be satisfied already, — for Marianne DOES — she has LONG forgiven you."

"It is hardly worth while, Mr. Willoughby, for you to relate, or for me to listen any longer. Such a beginning as this cannot be followed by any thing. — Do not let me be pained by hearing any thing more on the subject."

"You did then,"

"believe yourself at one time attached to her?"

"I have,"

"I have heard it all. And how you will explain away any part of your guilt in that dreadful business, I confess is beyond my comprehension."

"Your indifference, however, towards that unfortunate girl — I must say it, unpleasant to me as the discussion of such a subject may well be — your indifference is no apology for your cruel neglect of her. Do not think yourself excused by any weakness, any natural defect of understanding on her side, in the wanton cruelty so evident on yours. You must have known, that while you were enjoying yourself in Devonshire pursuing fresh schemes, always gay, always happy, she was reduced to the extremest indigence."

"Well, sir, and what said Mrs. Smith?"

"Why did you call, Mr. Willoughby?"

"a note would have answered every purpose. — Why was it necessary to call?"

"Did you tell her that you should soon return?"

"Well, sir,"

"and this is all?"

"Yes, I saw every note that passed."

"This is not right, Mr. Willoughby. — Remember that you are married. Relate only what in your conscience you think necessary for me to hear."

"Watched us out of the house!"

"We are assured of it."