Austen Said:

the necessity of her immediate removal with her infant;

her resolution of not stirring from Cleveland as long as Marianne remained ill, and of endeavouring, by her own attentive care, to supply to her the place of the mother she had taken her from;

to send the Colonel away while his love was in so much uneasiness on her sister's account, would be to deprive them both,

of every comfort;

his stay at Cleveland was necessary to herself, that she should want him to play at piquet of an evening, while Miss Dashwood was above with her sister,

Marianne would never get over it,

Marianne might probably be to HER what Charlotte was to herself,

"At last we are alone. My Elinor, you do not yet know all my happiness. Colonel Brandon loves Marianne. He has told me so himself."

"You are never like me, dear Elinor, or I should wonder at your composure now. Had I sat down to wish for any possible good to my family, I should have fixed on Colonel Brandon's marrying one of you as the object most desirable. And I believe Marianne will be the most happy with him of the two."

"He opened his whole heart to me yesterday as we travelled. It came out quite unawares, quite undesignedly. I, you may well believe, could talk of nothing but my child; — he could not conceal his distress; I saw that it equalled my own, and he perhaps, thinking that mere friendship, as the world now goes, would not justify so warm a sympathy — or rather, not thinking at all, I suppose — giving way to irresistible feelings, made me acquainted with his earnest, tender, constant, affection for Marianne. He has loved her, my Elinor, ever since the first moment of seeing her."

"His regard for her, infinitely surpassing anything that Willoughby ever felt or feigned, as much more warm, as more sincere or constant — which ever we are to call it — has subsisted through all the knowledge of dear Marianne's unhappy prepossession for that worthless young man! — and without selfishness — without encouraging a hope! — could he have seen her happy with another — Such a noble mind! — such openness, such sincerity! — no one can be deceived in HIM."

"I know it is," —

"or after such a warning, I should be the last to encourage such affection, or even to be pleased by it. But his coming for me as he did, with such active, such ready friendship, is enough to prove him one of the worthiest of men."

"Oh! my love, I could not then talk of hope to him or to myself. Marianne might at that moment be dying. But he did not ask for hope or encouragement. His was an involuntary confidence, an irrepressible effusion to a soothing friend — not an application to a parent. Yet after a time I DID say, for at first I was quite overcome — that if she lived, as I trusted she might, my greatest happiness would lie in promoting their marriage; and since our arrival, since our delightful security, I have repeated it to him more fully, have given him every encouragement in my power. Time, a very little time, I tell him, will do everything; — Marianne's heart is not to be wasted for ever on such a man as Willoughby. — His own merits must soon secure it."

"No. — He thinks Marianne's affection too deeply rooted for any change in it under a great length of time, and even supposing her heart again free, is too diffident of himself to believe, that with such a difference of age and disposition he could ever attach her. There, however, he is quite mistaken. His age is only so much beyond hers as to be an advantage, as to make his character and principles fixed; — and his disposition, I am well convinced, is exactly the very one to make your sister happy. And his person, his manners too, are all in his favour. My partiality does not blind me; he certainly is not so handsome as Willoughby — but at the same time, there is something much more pleasing in his countenance. — There was always a something, — if you remember, — in Willoughby's eyes at times, which I did not like."

"And his manners, the Colonel's manners are not only more pleasing to me than Willoughby's ever were, but they are of a kind I well know to be more solidly attaching to Marianne. Their gentleness, their genuine attention to other people, and their manly unstudied simplicity is much more accordant with her real disposition, than the liveliness — often artificial, and often ill-timed of the other. I am very sure myself, that had Willoughby turned out as really amiable, as he has proved himself the contrary, Marianne would yet never have been so happy with HIM, as she will be with Colonel Brandon."

"At Delaford, she will be within an easy distance of me,"

"even if I remain at Barton; and in all probability, — for I hear it is a large village, — indeed there certainly MUST be some small house or cottage close by, that would suit us quite as well as our present situation."

"His fortune too! — for at my time of life you know, everybody cares about THAT; — and though I neither know nor desire to know, what it really is, I am sure it must be a good one."

"I know it — I know it,"

"Happy with a man of libertine practices! — With one who so injured the peace of the dearest of our friends, and the best of men! — No — my Marianne has not a heart to be made happy with such a man! — Her conscience, her sensitive conscience, would have felt all that the conscience of her husband ought to have felt."

"Rather say your mother's imprudence, my child,"

"SHE must be answerable."

"Who told you that Mr. Ferrars was married, Thomas?"

"But did she tell you she was married, Thomas?"

"Was Mr. Ferrars in the carriage with her?"

"Was there no one else in the carriage?"

"Do you know where they came from?"

"And are they going farther westward?"

"Did you see them off, before you came away?"

"Did Mrs. Ferrars look well?"

"I wrote to him, my love, last week, and rather expect to see, than to hear from him again. I earnestly pressed his coming to us, and should not be surprised to see him walk in today or tomorrow, or any day."

had quite doted upon the worthless hussy, and was now, by all accounts, almost broken-hearted, at Oxford. —

"I do think,"

"nothing was ever carried on so sly; for it was but two days before Lucy called and sat a couple of hours with me. Not a soul suspected anything of the matter, not even Nancy, who, poor soul! came crying to me the day after, in a great fright for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, as well as not knowing how to get to Plymouth; for Lucy it seems borrowed all her money before she went off to be married, on purpose we suppose to make a show with, and poor Nancy had not seven shillings in the world; — so I was very glad to give her five guineas to take her down to Exeter, where she thinks of staying three or four weeks with Mrs. Burgess, in hopes, as I tell her, to fall in with the Doctor again. And I must say that Lucy's crossness not to take them along with them in the chaise is worse than all. Poor Mr. Edward! I cannot get him out of my head, but you must send for him to Barton, and Miss Marianne must try to comfort him."

one of the happiest couples in the world.

we had not any salting-pan large enough.

her very best compliments and regards, and a thousand thanks, and

you really quite oppress her."

our friends are only too good to us.

she cannot bear to have the poor old Vicarage without a mistress.

at first,

Jane herself was quite at a loss, quite bewildered to think who could possibly have ordered it— but now, they were both perfectly satisfied that it could be from only one quarter;—of course it must be from Colonel Campbell.

the orchard was always famous in her younger days.

"I am afraid Jane is not very well,"

"but I do not know; they tell me she is well. I dare say my daughter will be here presently, Miss Woodhouse. I hope you find a chair. I wish Hetty had not gone. I am very little able —Have you a chair, ma'am? Do you sit where you like? I am sure she will be here presently."

Fanny had got another child.

she could not get her poor sister and her family out of her head,

much as they had all done for her, she seemed to be wanting to do more;

poor Mrs. Price should be relieved from the charge and expense of one child entirely out of her great number.