Austen Said:

"She often reads to me out of those books; and she was in the middle of a very fine speech of that man's— what's his name, Fanny?— when we heard your footsteps."

he had got the very speech.

"It was really like being at a play,"

"I wish Sir Thomas had been here."

"You have a great turn for acting, I am sure, Mr. Crawford,"

"and I will tell you what, I think you will have a theatre, some time or other, at your house in Norfolk. I mean when you are settled there. I do indeed. I think you will fit up a theatre at your house in Norfolk."

"No,"

"No, indeed, you know your duty too well for me to— even supposing —"

"Pray, sir, don't; pray, Mr. Crawford,"

"How can you, sir? You quite astonish me; I wonder how you can—"

"Perhaps, sir,"

"perhaps, sir, I thought it was a pity you did not always know yourself as well as you seemed to do at that moment."

"If you hear of it from everybody, cousin, there can be nothing for me to tell."

"I am afraid we think too differently for me to find any relief in talking of what I feel."

"Oh no! But I thought you blamed me. I thought you were against me. This is such a comfort!"

"My uncle thought me wrong, and I knew he had been talking to you."

"Oh! never, never, never! he never will succeed with me."

"I mean,"

"that I think I never shall, as far as the future can be answered for; I think I never shall return his regard."

"We are so totally unlike,"

"we are so very, very different in all our inclinations and ways, that I consider it as quite impossible we should ever be tolerably happy together, even if I could like him. There never were two people more dissimilar. We have not one taste in common. We should be miserable."

Miss Crawford's power was all returning. He had been speaking of her cheerfully from the hour of his coming home. His avoiding her was quite at an end. He had dined at the Parsonage only the preceding day.

"It is not merely in temper that I consider him as totally unsuited to myself; though, in that respect, I think the difference between us too great, infinitely too great: his spirits often oppress me; but there is something in him which I object to still more. I must say, cousin, that I cannot approve his character. I have not thought well of him from the time of the play. I then saw him behaving, as it appeared to me, so very improperly and unfeelingly— I may speak of it now because it is all over— so improperly by poor Mr. Rushworth, not seeming to care how he exposed or hurt him, and paying attentions to my cousin Maria, which —in short, at the time of the play, I received an impression which will never be got over."

"As a bystander,"

"perhaps I saw more than you did; and I do think that Mr. Rushworth was sometimes very jealous."

"Before the play, I am much mistaken if Julia did not think he was paying her attentions."

"I am persuaded that he does not think, as he ought, on serious subjects."

"I would not engage in such a charge,"

"in such an office of high responsibility!"

"Was Mrs. Grant in the room, then?"

"It is above a week since I saw Miss Crawford."

"I knew she would be very angry with me."

"And Mrs. Grant, did she say —did she speak; was she there all the time?"

"I should have thought,"

"that every woman must have felt the possibility of a man's not being approved, not being loved by some one of her sex at least, let him be ever so generally agreeable. Let him have all the perfections in the world, I think it ought not to be set down as certain that a man must be acceptable to every woman he may happen to like himself. But, even supposing it is so, allowing Mr. Crawford to have all the claims which his sisters think he has, how was I to be prepared to meet him with any feeling answerable to his own? He took me wholly by surprise. I had not an idea that his behaviour to me before had any meaning; and surely I was not to be teaching myself to like him only because he was taking what seemed very idle notice of me. In my situation, it would have been the extreme of vanity to be forming expectations on Mr. Crawford. I am sure his sisters, rating him as they do, must have thought it so, supposing he had meant nothing. How, then, was I to be— to be in love with him the moment he said he was with me? How was I to have an attachment at his service, as soon as it was asked for? His sisters should consider me as well as him. The higher his deserts, the more improper for me ever to have thought of him. And, and—we think very differently of the nature of women, if they can imagine a woman so very soon capable of returning an affection as this seems to imply."

"You were near staying there?"

"You spent your time pleasantly there?"

"The Miss Owens— you liked them, did not you?"

"I must speak to you for a few minutes somewhere";

"Sad, sad girl! I do not know when I shall have done scolding you,"

"Ha!"

"am I here again? The East room! Once only was I in this room before";

"Once only before. Do you remember it? I came to rehearse. Your cousin came too; and we had a rehearsal. You were our audience and prompter. A delightful rehearsal. I shall never forget it. Here we were, just in this part of the room: here was your cousin, here was I, here were the chairs. Oh! why will such things ever pass away?"

"The scene we were rehearsing was so very remarkable! The subject of it so very — very—what shall I say? He was to be describing and recommending matrimony to me. I think I see him now, trying to be as demure and composed as Anhalt ought, through the two long speeches. 'When two sympathetic hearts meet in the marriage state, matrimony may be called a happy life.' I suppose no time can ever wear out the impression I have of his looks and voice as he said those words. It was curious, very curious, that we should have such a scene to play! If I had the power of recalling any one week of my existence, it should be that week— that acting week. Say what you would, Fanny, it should be that; for I never knew such exquisite happiness in any other. His sturdy spirit to bend as it did! Oh! it was sweet beyond expression. But alas, that very evening destroyed it all. That very evening brought your most unwelcome uncle. Poor Sir Thomas, who was glad to see you? Yet, Fanny, do not imagine I would now speak disrespectfully of Sir Thomas, though I certainly did hate him for many a week. No, I do him justice now. He is just what the head of such a family should be. Nay, in sober sadness, I believe I now love you all."

"I have had a little fit since I came into this room, as you may perceive,"

"but it is over now; so let us sit down and be comfortable; for as to scolding you, Fanny, which I came fully intending to do, I have not the heart for it when it comes to the point."

"Good, gentle Fanny! when I think of this being the last time of seeing you for I do not know how long, I feel it quite impossible to do anything but love you."

"I hate to leave you. I shall see no one half so amiable where I am going. Who says we shall not be sisters? I know we shall. I feel that we are born to be connected; and those tears convince me that you feel it too, dear Fanny."

"But you are only going from one set of friends to another. You are going to a very particular friend."

"Yes, very true. Mrs. Fraser has been my intimate friend for years. But I have not the least inclination to go near her. I can think only of the friends I am leaving: my excellent sister, yourself, and the Bertrams in general. You have all so much more heart among you than one finds in the world at large. You all give me a feeling of being able to trust and confide in you, which in common intercourse one knows nothing of. I wish I had settled with Mrs. Fraser not to go to her till after Easter, a much better time for the visit, but now I cannot put her off. And when I have done with her I must go to her sister, Lady Stornaway, because she was rather my most particular friend of the two, but I have not cared much for her these three years."