Henry was most happy to make it more intelligible, by beginning at an earlier stage, and explaining very particularly what he had done. His last journey to London had been undertaken with no other view than that of introducing her brother in Hill Street, and prevailing on the Admiral to exert whatever interest he might have for getting him on. This had been his business. He had communicated it to no creature: he had not breathed a syllable of it even to Mary; while uncertain of the issue, he could not have borne any participation of his feelings, but this had been his business; and he spoke with such a glow of what his solicitude had been, and used such strong expressions, was so abounding in the _deepest_ _interest_, in _twofold_ _motives_, in _views_ _and_ _wishes_ _more_ _than_ _could_ _be_ _told_, that Fanny could not have remained insensible of his drift, had she been able to attend; but her heart was so full and her senses still so astonished, that she could listen but imperfectly even to what he told her of William, and saying only when he paused, "How kind! how very kind! Oh, Mr. Crawford, we are infinitely obliged to you! Dearest, dearest William!" She jumped up and moved in haste towards the door, crying out, "I will go to my uncle. My uncle ought to know it as soon as possible." But this could not be suffered. The opportunity was too fair, and his feelings too impatient. He was after her immediately. "She must not go, she must allow him five minutes longer," and he took her hand and led her back to her seat, and was in the middle of his farther explanation, before she had suspected for what she was detained. When she did understand it, however, and found herself expected to believe that she had created sensations which his heart had never known before, and that everything he had done for William was to be placed to the account of his excessive and unequalled attachment to her, she was exceedingly distressed, and for some moments unable to speak. She considered it all as nonsense, as mere trifling and gallantry, which meant only to deceive for the hour; she could not but feel that it was treating her improperly and unworthily, and in such a way as she had not deserved; but it was like himself, and entirely of a piece with what she had seen before; and she would not allow herself to shew half the displeasure she felt, because he had been conferring an obligation, which no want of delicacy on his part could make a trifle to her. While her heart was still bounding with joy and gratitude on William's behalf, she could not be severely resentful of anything that injured only herself; and after having twice drawn back her hand, and twice attempted in vain to turn away from him, she got up, and said only, with much agitation, "Don't, Mr. Crawford, pray don't! I beg you would not. This is a sort of talking which is very unpleasant to me. I must go away. I cannot bear it." But he was still talking on, describing his affection, soliciting a return, and, finally, in words so plain as to bear but one meaning even to her, offering himself, hand, fortune, everything, to her acceptance. It was so; he had said it. Her astonishment and confusion increased; and though still not knowing how to suppose him serious, she could hardly stand. He pressed for an answer.

Henry was happy to explain what he had done. His journey to London had been undertaken with no other view than that of introducing her brother to the Admiral and prevailing on him to exert his interest. This had been his business.
He spoke with such a glow, used such strong expressions, and was so abounding in twofold motives, that Fanny could not have remained unaware of his drift, had she been able to attend; but her heart was so full that she could only listen imperfectly, saying when he paused, "How very kind! Oh, Mr. Crawford, we are infinitely obliged to you! Dearest William!" She jumped up, crying out, "My uncle ought to know it as soon as possible."
But this could not be allowed. The opportunity was too fair, and his feelings too impatient. He was after her immediately. "She must not go, she must allow him five minutes longer." He led her back to her seat, and was in the middle of his farther explanation, before she had suspected for what she was detained.
When she did understand it, however, and found herself expected to believe that she had created sensations which his heart had never known before, and that everything he had done for William was because of his attachment to her, she was exceedingly distressed, and for some moments unable to speak. She considered it all as nonsense, as mere trifling and gallantry; he was treating her improperly, and in a way that she had not deserved; but it was like himself, and entirely of a piece with what she had seen before; and she would not allow herself to show displeasure, after he had conferred such an obligation. While her heart was still bounding with joy and gratitude on William's behalf, she could not be severe; and after having twice drawn back her hand, and attempted in vain to turn away, she got up, and said only, with much agitation, "Don't, Mr. Crawford, pray don't! I beg you would not. This sort of talking is very unpleasant to me. I must go away. I cannot bear it."
But he was still talking on, describing his affection, and finally offering himself, hand, fortune, everything, to her acceptance. It was so; he had said it. Her astonishment and confusion increased; and though still not supposing him serious, she could hardly stand. He pressed for an answer.
