Austen Said:

"I am glad you gave him something considerable,"

"for I gave him only 10."

"Indeed!"

"Upon my word, he must have gone off with his pockets well lined, and at no expense for his journey to London either!"

"Sir Thomas told me 10 would be enough."

"It is amazing,"

"how much young people cost their friends, what with bringing them up and putting them out in the world! They little think how much it comes to, or what their parents, or their uncles and aunts, pay for them in the course of the year. Now, here are my sister Price's children; take them all together, I dare say nobody would believe what a sum they cost Sir Thomas every year, to say nothing of what I do for them."

"Very true, sister, as you say. But, poor things! they cannot help it; and you know it makes very little difference to Sir Thomas. Fanny, William must not forget my shawl if he goes to the East Indies; and I shall give him a commission for anything else that is worth having. I wish he may go to the East Indies, that I may have my shawl. I think I will have two shawls, Fanny."

There was everything in the world against their being serious but his words and manner. Everything natural, probable, reasonable, was against it; all their habits and ways of thinking, and all her own demerits.

How could she have excited serious attachment in a man who had seen so many, and been admired by so many, and flirted with so many, infinitely her superiors; who seemed so little open to serious impressions, even where pains had been taken to please him; who thought so slightly, so carelessly, so unfeelingly on all such points; who was everything to everybody, and seemed to find no one essential to him? And farther, how could it be supposed that his sister, with all her high and worldly notions of matrimony, would be forwarding anything of a serious nature in such a quarter? Nothing could be more unnatural in either.

Everything might be possible rather than serious attachment, or serious approbation of it toward her.

no more than what he might often have expressed towards her cousins and fifty other women.

"Oh yes! certainly,"

"I will write directly."

wishing not to appear to think anything really intended,

"I am very much obliged to you, my dear Miss Crawford, for your kind congratulations, as far as they relate to my dearest William. The rest of your note I know means nothing; but I am so unequal to anything of the sort, that I hope you will excuse my begging you to take no farther notice. I have seen too much of Mr. Crawford not to understand his manners; if he understood me as well, he would, I dare say, behave differently. I do not know what I write, but it would be a great favour of you never to mention the subject again. With thanks for the honour of your note, I remain, dear Miss Crawford, etc., etc."

"Oh! I thank you; I have quite done, just done; it will be ready in a moment; I am very much obliged to you; if you will be so good as to give that to Miss Crawford."

she had never known a day of greater agitation, both of pain and pleasure; but happily the pleasure was not of a sort to die with the day; for every day would restore the knowledge of William's advancement, whereas the pain, she hoped, would return no more.

She had no doubt that her note must appear excessively ill-written, that the language would disgrace a child, for her distress had allowed no arrangement; but at least it would assure them both of her being neither imposed on nor gratified by Mr. Crawford's attentions.

If Mr. Crawford would but go away!

go and take his sister with him, as he was to do, and as he returned to Mansfield on purpose to do. And why it was not done already she could not devise, for Miss Crawford certainly wanted no delay.

His coming might have nothing to do with her, but she must avoid seeing him if possible;

there to remain, during the whole of his visit, unless actually sent for;

Mr. Crawford had come and would go without her being obliged to know anything of the matter.

"I am not cold, sir: I never sit here long at this time of year."

"No, sir."

"Oh! no, sir, I cannot, indeed I cannot go down to him. Mr. Crawford ought to know —he must know that: I told him enough yesterday to convince him; he spoke to me on this subject yesterday, and I told him without disguise that it was very disagreeable to me, and quite out of my power to return his good opinion."

"You are mistaken, sir,"

"you are quite mistaken. How could Mr. Crawford say such a thing? I gave him no encouragement yesterday. On the contrary, I told him, I cannot recollect my exact words, but I am sure I told him that I would not listen to him, that it was very unpleasant to me in every respect, and that I begged him never to talk to me in that manner again. I am sure I said as much as that and more; and I should have said still more, if I had been quite certain of his meaning anything seriously; but I did not like to be, I could not bear to be, imputing more than might be intended. I thought it might all pass for nothing with him."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"I— I cannot like him, sir, well enough to marry him."

"Yes,"

she did feel almost ashamed of herself, after such a picture as her uncle had drawn, for not liking Mr. Crawford.

"Oh yes, sir! indeed I do. His attentions were always—what I did not like."

She would rather die than own the truth;

"Yes, sir."

"No, sir."

"But of his principles I have";

Self-willed, obstinate, selfish, and ungrateful. He thought her all this. She had deceived his expectations; she had lost his good opinion. What was to become of her?

"I am very sorry,"

"I am very sorry indeed."

"If it were possible for me to do otherwise"

"but I am so perfectly convinced that I could never make him happy, and that I should be miserable myself."

miserable

The past, present, future, everything was terrible.

Selfish and ungrateful! to have appeared so to him! She was miserable for ever. She had no one to take her part, to counsel, or speak for her. Her only friend was absent. He might have softened his father; but all, perhaps all, would think her selfish and ungrateful. She might have to endure the reproach again and again; she might hear it, or see it, or know it to exist for ever in every connexion about her.

yet, if he really loved her, and were unhappy too! It was all wretchedness together.

To be spared from her aunt Norris's interminable reproaches!

Anything might be bearable rather than such reproaches. Even to see Mr. Crawford would be less overpowering.