While trying to keep herself alive, their visitor, who had at first
approached her with as animated a countenance as ever, was wisely and
kindly keeping his eyes away, and giving her time to recover, while he
devoted himself entirely to her mother, addressing her, and attending
to her with the utmost politeness and propriety, at the same time with
a degree of friendliness, of interest at least, which was making his
manner perfect.

Mrs. Price's manners were also at their best. Warmed by the sight of
such a friend to her son, and regulated by the wish of appearing to
advantage before him, she was overflowing with gratitude--artless,
maternal gratitude--which could not be unpleasing. Mr. Price was out,
which she regretted very much. Fanny was just recovered enough to feel
that she could not regret it; for to her many other sources of
uneasiness was added the severe one of shame for the home in which he
found her. She might scold herself for the weakness, but there was no
scolding it away. She was ashamed, and she would have been yet more
ashamed of her father than of all the rest.

They talked of William, a subject on which Mrs. Price could never tire;
and Mr. Crawford was as warm in his commendation as even her heart
could wish. She felt that she had never seen so agreeable a man in her
life; and was only astonished to find that, so great and so agreeable
as he was, he should be come down to Portsmouth neither on a visit to
the port-admiral, nor the commissioner, nor yet with the intention of
going over to the island, nor of seeing the dockyard. Nothing of all
that she had been used to think of as the proof of importance, or the
employment of wealth, had brought him to Portsmouth. He had reached it
late the night before, was come for a day or two, was staying at the
Crown, had accidentally met with a navy officer or two of his
acquaintance since his arrival, but had no object of that kind in
coming.