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ning seemed to occupy her totally; how it fell from her hand while she sat motionless over it—and at last, how the eyes which had appeared so studiously to avoid him throughout the day, were turned and fixed on Crawford, fixed on him for minutes, fixed on him in short till the attraction drew Crawford's upon her, and the book was closed, and the charm was broken. Then, she was shrinking again into herself, and blushing and working as hard as ever; but it had been enough to give Edmund encouragement for his friend, and as he cordially thanked him, he hoped to be expressing Fanny's secret feelings too.
"That play must be a favourite with you," said he, "You read as if you knew it well."
"It will be a favourite I believe from this hour," replied Crawford;—but I do not think I have had a volume of Shakespeare in my hand before, since I was fifteen.—I once saw
