How Fanny listened, with what curiosity and concern,
what pain and what delight, how the agitation of his
voice was watched, and how carefully her own eyes were
fixed on any object but himself, may be imagined.
The opening was alarming. He had seen Miss Crawford.
He had been invited to see her. He had received a note
from Lady Stornaway to beg him to call; and regarding
it as what was meant to be the last, last interview
of friendship, and investing her with all the feelings
of shame and wretchedness which Crawford's sister ought
to have known, he had gone to her in such a state of mind,
so softened, so devoted, as made it for a few moments
impossible to Fanny's fears that it should be the last.
But as he proceeded in his story, these fears were over.
She had met him, he said, with a serious--certainly a serious--
even an agitated air; but before he had been able
to speak one intelligible sentence, she had introduced
the subject in a manner which he owned had shocked him.
"'I heard you were in town,' said she; 'I wanted to see you.
Let us talk over this sad business.
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