engaged, the rough horses and mules78 he had ridden, or his many narrow escapes from dreadful falls, that he was at all equal to the management of a high-fed hunter in an English fox-chase; nor till he returned safe and well, without accident or discredit79, could she be reconciled to the risk, or feel any of that obligation to Mr. Crawford for lending the horse which he had fully32 intended it should produce. When it was proved, however, to have done William no harm, she could allow it to be a kindness, and even reward the owner with a smile when the animal was one minute tendered to his use again; and the next, with the greatest cordiality, and in a manner not to be resisted, made over to his use entirely so long as he remained in Northamptonshire.
The intercourse1 of the two families was at this period more nearly restored to what it had been in the autumn, than any member of the old intimacy2 had thought ever likely to be again. The return of Henry Crawford, and the arrival of William Price, had much to do with it, but much was still owing to Sir Thomas’s more than toleration of the neighbourly attempts at the Parsonage. His mind, now disengaged from the cares which had pressed on him at first, was at leisure to find the Grants and their young inmates3 really worth visiting; and though infinitely4 above scheming or contriving5 for any the most advantageous6 matrimonial establishment that could be among the apparent possibilities of any one most dear to him, and disdaining7 even as a littleness the being quick-sighted on such points, he could not avoid perceiving, in a grand and careless way, that Mr. Crawford was somewhat distinguishing his niece–nor perhaps refrain (though unconsciously) from giving a more willing assent