Austen Said:

the graciousness of both mother and daughter towards the very person —

whom of all others, had they known as much as she did, they would have been most anxious to mortify;

"This is admiration of a very particular kind! — what is Miss Morton to us? — who knows, or who cares, for her? — it is Elinor of whom WE think and speak."

"Dear, dear Elinor, don't mind them. Don't let them make YOU unhappy."

She had found in her every thing that could tend to make a farther connection between the families undesirable. —

she had seen almost enough to be thankful for her OWN sake, that one greater obstacle preserved her from suffering under any other of Mrs. Ferrars's creation, preserved her from all dependence upon her caprice, or any solicitude for her good opinion.

had Lucy been more amiable, she OUGHT to have rejoiced.

Lucy's spirits could be so very much elevated by the civility of Mrs. Ferrars; — that her interest and her vanity should so very much blind her as to make the attention which seemed only paid her because she was NOT ELINOR, appear a compliment to herself — or to allow her to derive encouragement from a preference only given her, because her real situation was unknown.

"She was certainly very civil to you."

"Undoubtedly, if they had known your engagement,"

"nothing could be more flattering than their treatment of you; — but as that was not the case" —

"I never was in better health."

she was happy to see him,

she had very much regretted being from home, when he called before in Berkeley Street.

"Dear Edward!"

"this is a moment of great happiness! — This would almost make amends for every thing?"

"Oh, don't think of me!"

"don't think of MY health. Elinor is well, you see. That must be enough for us both."

"Not at all. I expected much pleasure in it, but I have found none. The sight of you, Edward, is the only comfort it has afforded; and thank Heaven! you are what you always were!"

"I think, Elinor,"

"we must employ Edward to take care of us in our return to Barton. In a week or two, I suppose, we shall be going; and, I trust, Edward will not be very unwilling to accept the charge."

"We spent such a day, Edward, in Harley Street yesterday! So dull, so wretchedly dull! — But I have much to say to you on that head, which cannot be said now."

"But why were you not there, Edward? — Why did you not come?"

"Engaged! But what was that, when such friends were to be met?"

"Not so, indeed; for, seriously speaking, I am very sure that conscience only kept Edward from Harley Street. And I really believe he HAS the most delicate conscience in the world; the most scrupulous in performing every engagement, however minute, and however it may make against his interest or pleasure. He is the most fearful of giving pain, of wounding expectation, and the most incapable of being selfish, of any body I ever saw. Edward, it is so, and I will say it. What! are you never to hear yourself praised! — Then you must be no friend of mine; for those who will accept of my love and esteem, must submit to my open commendation."

"Going so soon!"

"my dear Edward, this must not be."

"What can bring her here so often?"

"Could not she see that we wanted her gone! — how teazing to Edward!"

"Why so? — we were all his friends, and Lucy has been the longest known to him of any. It is but natural that he should like to see her as well as ourselves."

"You know, Elinor, that this is a kind of talking which I cannot bear. If you only hope to have your assertion contradicted, as I must suppose to be the case, you ought to recollect that I am the last person in the world to do it. I cannot descend to be tricked out of assurances, that are not really wanted."

Edward would not often expose her or himself to the distress of hearing Marianne's mistaken warmth, nor to the repetition of any other part of the pain that had attended their recent meeting —

he was exactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by Lucy.

for such a mark of uncommon kindness, vouchsafed on so short an acquaintance, seemed to declare that the good-will towards her arose from something more than merely malice against herself; and might be brought, by time and address, to do every thing that Lucy wished. Her flattery had already subdued the pride of Lady Middleton, and made an entry into the close heart of Mrs. John Dashwood; and these were effects that laid open the probability of greater.

"No, ma'am. What is it?"

"What! is Fanny ill?"

No time was to be lost in undeceiving her, in making her acquainted with the real truth, and in endeavouring to bring her to hear it talked of by others, without betraying that she felt any uneasiness for her sister, or any resentment against Edward.

would ruin him for ever in her good opinion,

feel all her own disappointment over again.

"How long has this been known to you, Elinor? has he written to you?"

"I have known it these four months. When Lucy first came to Barton Park last November, she told me in confidence of her engagement."

"Four months! — Have you known of this four months?"

"What! — while attending me in all my misery, has this been on your heart? — And I have reproached you for being happy!" —

"It was not fit that you should then know how much I was the reverse!"

"Four months!" —

"So calm! — so cheerful! — how have you been supported?"

"By feeling that I was doing my duty. — My promise to Lucy, obliged me to be secret. I owed it to her, therefore, to avoid giving any hint of the truth; and I owed it to my family and friends, not to create in them a solicitude about me, which it could not be in my power to satisfy."

"I have very often wished to undeceive yourself and my mother,"

"and once or twice I have attempted it; — but without betraying my trust, I never could have convinced you."

"Four months! — and yet you loved him!" —