Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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That he should think it worth his while to fancy himself in love with her
Isabella talked of his attentions; she had never been sensible of any; but Isabella had said many things which she hoped had been spoken in haste, and would never be said again;
Isabella could not be aware of the pain she was inflicting;
He might be jealous of her brother as a rival, but if more had seemed implied, the fault must have been in her misapprehension.
his brother’s evident partiality for Miss Thorpe,
him to make known her prior engagement.
“Does he? Then why does he stay here?”
“Why do not you persuade him to go away? The longer he stays, the worse it will be for him at last. Pray advise him for his own sake, and for everybody’s sake, to leave Bath directly. Absence will in time make him comfortable again; but he can have no hope here, and it is only staying to be miserable.”
“Then you will persuade him to go away?”
“No, he does not know what he is about,”
“he does not know the pain he is giving my brother. Not that James has ever told me so, but I am sure he is very uncomfortable.”
“Yes, very sure.”
“Is not it the same thing?”
“Isabella is wrong. But I am sure she cannot mean to torment, for she is very much attached to my brother. She has been in love with him ever since they first met, and while my father’s consent was uncertain, she fretted herself almost into a fever. You know she must be attached to him.”
“Oh! no, not flirts. A woman in love with one man cannot flirt with another.”
“Then you do not believe Isabella so very much attached to my brother?”
“But what can your brother mean? If he knows her engagement, what can he mean by his behaviour?”
“Am I? I only ask what I want to be told.”
“Yes, I think so; for you must know your brother’s heart.”
Well?”
“Well,”
“you may be able to guess at your brother’s intentions from all this; but I am sure I cannot. But is not your father uncomfortable about it? Does not he want Captain Tilney to go away? Sure, if your father were to speak to him, he would go.”
Henry Tilney must know best.
never to think so seriously on the subject again.
the inquietude of his mind, on Isabella’s account, might, by keeping him long sleepless, have been the real cause of his rising late.
he could not propose anything improper for her;
a curricle was the prettiest equipage in the world; the chaise and four wheeled off with some grandeur, to be sure, but it was a heavy and troublesome business,
Henry drove so well — so quietly — without making any disturbance, without parading to her, or swearing at them:
so different from the only gentleman-coachman whom it was in her power to compare him with!
And then his hat sat so well, and the innumerable capes of his greatcoat looked so becomingly important! To be driven by him, next to being dancing with him, was certainly the greatest happiness in the world.
“But how can that be?”
“Are not you with her?”
“Yes; but besides your affection for her, you must be so fond of the abbey! After being used to such a home as the abbey, an ordinary parsonage-house must be very disagreeable.”
“To be sure, I have. Is not it a fine old place, just like what one reads about?”
“Oh! yes — I do not think I should be easily frightened, because there would be so many people in the house — and besides, it has never been uninhabited and left deserted for years, and then the family come back to it unawares, without giving any notice, as generally happens.”
“Oh! But this will not happen to me, I am sure.”
“Oh! Mr. Tilney, how frightful! This is just like a book! But it cannot really happen to me. I am sure your housekeeper is not really Dorothy. Well, what then?”
“No, indeed; I should be too much frightened to do any such thing.”
“Oh! No, no — do not say so. Well, go on.”
her attention had been fixed without the smallest apprehension of really meeting with what he related.
“Miss Tilney, she was sure, would never put her into such a chamber as he had described! She was not at all afraid.”
An abbey! Yes, it was delightful to be really in an abbey!
To be sure, the pointed arch was preserved — the form of them was Gothic — they might be even casements — but every pane was so large, so clear, so light!
to lose no time in particular examination of anything, as she greatly dreaded disobliging the general by any delay.
“This is strange indeed! I did not expect such a sight as this! An immense heavy chest! What can it hold? Why should it be placed here? Pushed back too, as if meant to be out of sight! I will look into it — cost me what it may, I will look into it — and directly too — by daylight. If I stay till evening my candle may go out.”
If not originally theirs, by what strange events could it have fallen into the Tilney family?
“No, indeed,”
“Mr. Allen’s dining-parlour was not more than half as large,”
she had never seen so large a room as this in her life.
She had nothing to dread from midnight assassins or drunken gallants. Henry had certainly been only in jest in what he had told her that morning. In a house so furnished, and so guarded, she could have nothing to explore or to suffer, and might go to her bedroom as securely as if it had been her own chamber at Fullerton.

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