She saw her mother and Marianne change colour; saw them look at herself, and whisper a few sentences to each other.

She would have given the world to be able to speak--and to make them understand that she hoped no coolness, no slight, would appear in their behaviour to him;--but she had no utterance, and was obliged to leave all to their own discretion.
Not a syllable passed aloud.

They all waited in silence for the appearance of their visitor.

His footsteps were heard along the gravel path; in a moment he was in the passage, and in another he was before them.
His countenance, as he entered the room, was not too happy, even for Elinor.

His complexion was white with agitation, and he looked as if fearful of his reception, and conscious that he merited no kind one.
Mrs.Dashwood, however, conforming, as she trusted, to the wishes of that daughter, by whom she then meant in the warmth of her heart to be guided in every thing, met with a look of forced complacency, gave him her hand, and wished him joy.
He coloured, and stammered out an unintelligible reply.