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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Sense and Sensibility
+
+Author: Jane Austen
+
+Release Date: September, 1994 [eBook #161]
+[Most recently updated: March 16, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Special thanks are due to Sharon Partridge for extensive proofreading and correction of this etext.
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SENSE AND SENSIBILITY ***
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+Sense and Sensibility
+
+by Jane Austen
+
+(1811)
+
+
+Contents
+
+ CHAPTER I
+ CHAPTER II
+ CHAPTER III
+ CHAPTER IV
+ CHAPTER V
+ CHAPTER VI
+ CHAPTER VII
+ CHAPTER VIII
+ CHAPTER IX
+ CHAPTER X
+ CHAPTER XI
+ CHAPTER XII
+ CHAPTER XIII
+ CHAPTER XIV
+ CHAPTER XV
+ CHAPTER XVI
+ CHAPTER XVII
+ CHAPTER XVIII
+ CHAPTER XIX
+ CHAPTER XX
+ CHAPTER XXI
+ CHAPTER XXII
+ CHAPTER XXIII
+ CHAPTER XXIV
+ CHAPTER XXV
+ CHAPTER XXVI
+ CHAPTER XXVII
+ CHAPTER XXVIII
+ CHAPTER XXIX
+ CHAPTER XXX
+ CHAPTER XXXI
+ CHAPTER XXXII
+ CHAPTER XXXIII
+ CHAPTER XXXIV
+ CHAPTER XXXV
+ CHAPTER XXXVI
+ CHAPTER XXXVII
+ CHAPTER XXXVIII
+ CHAPTER XXXIX
+ CHAPTER XL
+ CHAPTER XLI
+ CHAPTER XLII
+ CHAPTER XLIII
+ CHAPTER XLIV
+ CHAPTER XLV
+ CHAPTER XLVI
+ CHAPTER XLVII
+ CHAPTER XLVIII
+ CHAPTER XLIX
+ CHAPTER L
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex. Their estate
+was large, and their residence was at Norland Park, in the centre of
+their property, where, for many generations, they had lived in so
+respectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their
+surrounding acquaintance. The late owner of this estate was a single
+man, who lived to a very advanced age, and who for many years of his
+life, had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister. But her
+death, which happened ten years before his own, produced a great
+alteration in his home; for to supply her loss, he invited and received
+into his house the family of his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal
+inheritor of the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intended to
+bequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece, and their
+children, the old Gentleman’s days were comfortably spent. His
+attachment to them all increased. The constant attention of Mr. and
+Mrs. Henry Dashwood to his wishes, which proceeded not merely from
+interest, but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solid
+comfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulness of the
+children added a relish to his existence.
+
+By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had one son: by his present
+lady, three daughters. The son, a steady respectable young man, was
+amply provided for by the fortune of his mother, which had been large,
+and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age. By his own
+marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards, he added to his
+wealth. To him therefore the succession to the Norland estate was not
+so really important as to his sisters; for their fortune, independent
+of what might arise to them from their father’s inheriting that
+property, could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and their
+father only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal; for the
+remaining moiety of his first wife’s fortune was also secured to her
+child, and he had only a life-interest in it.
+
+The old gentleman died: his will was read, and like almost every other
+will, gave as much disappointment as pleasure. He was neither so
+unjust, nor so ungrateful, as to leave his estate from his nephew;—but
+he left it to him on such terms as destroyed half the value of the
+bequest. Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of his wife
+and daughters than for himself or his son;—but to his son, and his
+son’s son, a child of four years old, it was secured, in such a way, as
+to leave to himself no power of providing for those who were most dear
+to him, and who most needed a provision by any charge on the estate, or
+by any sale of its valuable woods. The whole was tied up for the
+benefit of this child, who, in occasional visits with his father and
+mother at Norland, had so far gained on the affections of his uncle, by
+such attractions as are by no means unusual in children of two or three
+years old; an imperfect articulation, an earnest desire of having his
+own way, many cunning tricks, and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh
+all the value of all the attention which, for years, he had received
+from his niece and her daughters. He meant not to be unkind, however,
+and, as a mark of his affection for the three girls, he left them a
+thousand pounds a-piece.
+
+Mr. Dashwood’s disappointment was, at first, severe; but his temper was
+cheerful and sanguine; and he might reasonably hope to live many years,
+and by living economically, lay by a considerable sum from the produce
+of an estate already large, and capable of almost immediate
+improvement. But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was
+his only one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer; and ten
+thousand pounds, including the late legacies, was all that remained for
+his widow and daughters.
+
+His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known, and to him Mr.
+Dashwood recommended, with all the strength and urgency which illness
+could command, the interest of his mother-in-law and sisters.
+
+Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of the rest of the
+family; but he was affected by a recommendation of such a nature at
+such a time, and he promised to do every thing in his power to make
+them comfortable. His father was rendered easy by such an assurance,
+and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider how much there might
+prudently be in his power to do for them.
+
+He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather cold hearted
+and rather selfish is to be ill-disposed: but he was, in general, well
+respected; for he conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of
+his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman, he might have
+been made still more respectable than he was:—he might even have been
+made amiable himself; for he was very young when he married, and very
+fond of his wife. But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of
+himself;—more narrow-minded and selfish.
+
+When he gave his promise to his father, he meditated within himself to
+increase the fortunes of his sisters by the present of a thousand
+pounds a-piece. He then really thought himself equal to it. The
+prospect of four thousand a-year, in addition to his present income,
+besides the remaining half of his own mother’s fortune, warmed his
+heart, and made him feel capable of generosity. “Yes, he would give
+them three thousand pounds: it would be liberal and handsome! It would
+be enough to make them completely easy. Three thousand pounds! he could
+spare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience.” He thought of
+it all day long, and for many days successively, and he did not repent.
+
+No sooner was his father’s funeral over, than Mrs. John Dashwood,
+without sending any notice of her intention to her mother-in-law,
+arrived with her child and their attendants. No one could dispute her
+right to come; the house was her husband’s from the moment of his
+father’s decease; but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the
+greater, and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood’s situation, with only common
+feelings, must have been highly unpleasing;—but in _her_ mind there was
+a sense of honor so keen, a generosity so romantic, that any offence of
+the kind, by whomsoever given or received, was to her a source of
+immovable disgust. Mrs. John Dashwood had never been a favourite with
+any of her husband’s family; but she had had no opportunity, till the
+present, of showing them with how little attention to the comfort of
+other people she could act when occasion required it.
+
+So acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungracious behaviour, and so
+earnestly did she despise her daughter-in-law for it, that, on the
+arrival of the latter, she would have quitted the house for ever, had
+not the entreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflect on the
+propriety of going, and her own tender love for all her three children
+determined her afterwards to stay, and for their sakes avoid a breach
+with their brother.
+
+Elinor, this eldest daughter, whose advice was so effectual, possessed
+a strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment, which qualified
+her, though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother, and
+enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantage of them all,
+that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwood which must generally have led
+to imprudence. She had an excellent heart;—her disposition was
+affectionate, and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to govern
+them: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn; and which
+one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.
+
+Marianne’s abilities were, in many respects, quite equal to Elinor’s.
+She was sensible and clever; but eager in everything: her sorrows, her
+joys, could have no moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting:
+she was everything but prudent. The resemblance between her and her
+mother was strikingly great.
+
+Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of her sister’s sensibility; but
+by Mrs. Dashwood it was valued and cherished. They encouraged each
+other now in the violence of their affliction. The agony of grief which
+overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed, was sought for, was
+created again and again. They gave themselves up wholly to their
+sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that could
+afford it, and resolved against ever admitting consolation in future.
+Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but still she could struggle, she
+could exert herself. She could consult with her brother, could receive
+her sister-in-law on her arrival, and treat her with proper attention;
+and could strive to rouse her mother to similar exertion, and encourage
+her to similar forbearance.
+
+Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humored, well-disposed girl; but
+as she had already imbibed a good deal of Marianne’s romance, without
+having much of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fair to equal
+her sisters at a more advanced period of life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+Mrs. John Dashwood now installed herself mistress of Norland; and her
+mother and sisters-in-law were degraded to the condition of visitors.
+As such, however, they were treated by her with quiet civility; and by
+her husband with as much kindness as he could feel towards anybody
+beyond himself, his wife, and their child. He really pressed them, with
+some earnestness, to consider Norland as their home; and, as no plan
+appeared so eligible to Mrs. Dashwood as remaining there till she could
+accommodate herself with a house in the neighbourhood, his invitation
+was accepted.
+
+A continuance in a place where everything reminded her of former
+delight, was exactly what suited her mind. In seasons of cheerfulness,
+no temper could be more cheerful than hers, or possess, in a greater
+degree, that sanguine expectation of happiness which is happiness
+itself. But in sorrow she must be equally carried away by her fancy,
+and as far beyond consolation as in pleasure she was beyond alloy.
+
+Mrs. John Dashwood did not at all approve of what her husband intended
+to do for his sisters. To take three thousand pounds from the fortune
+of their dear little boy would be impoverishing him to the most
+dreadful degree. She begged him to think again on the subject. How
+could he answer it to himself to rob his child, and his only child too,
+of so large a sum? And what possible claim could the Miss Dashwoods,
+who were related to him only by half blood, which she considered as no
+relationship at all, have on his generosity to so large an amount. It
+was very well known that no affection was ever supposed to exist
+between the children of any man by different marriages; and why was he
+to ruin himself, and their poor little Harry, by giving away all his
+money to his half sisters?
+
+“It was my father’s last request to me,” replied her husband, “that I
+should assist his widow and daughters.”
+
+“He did not know what he was talking of, I dare say; ten to one but he
+was light-headed at the time. Had he been in his right senses, he could
+not have thought of such a thing as begging you to give away half your
+fortune from your own child.”
+
+“He did not stipulate for any particular sum, my dear Fanny; he only
+requested me, in general terms, to assist them, and make their
+situation more comfortable than it was in his power to do. Perhaps it
+would have been as well if he had left it wholly to myself. He could
+hardly suppose I should neglect them. But as he required the promise, I
+could not do less than give it; at least I thought so at the time. The
+promise, therefore, was given, and must be performed. Something must be
+done for them whenever they leave Norland and settle in a new home.”
+
+“Well, then, _let_ something be done for them; but _that_ something
+need not be three thousand pounds. Consider,” she added, “that when the
+money is once parted with, it never can return. Your sisters will
+marry, and it will be gone for ever. If, indeed, it could be restored
+to our poor little boy—”
+
+“Why, to be sure,” said her husband, very gravely, “that would make
+great difference. The time may come when Harry will regret that so
+large a sum was parted with. If he should have a numerous family, for
+instance, it would be a very convenient addition.”
+
+“To be sure it would.”
+
+“Perhaps, then, it would be better for all parties, if the sum were
+diminished one half.—Five hundred pounds would be a prodigious increase
+to their fortunes!”
+
+“Oh! beyond anything great! What brother on earth would do half so much
+for his sisters, even if _really_ his sisters! And as it is—only half
+blood!—But you have such a generous spirit!”
+
+“I would not wish to do any thing mean,” he replied. “One had rather,
+on such occasions, do too much than too little. No one, at least, can
+think I have not done enough for them: even themselves, they can hardly
+expect more.”
+
+“There is no knowing what _they_ may expect,” said the lady, “but we
+are not to think of their expectations: the question is, what you can
+afford to do.”
+
+“Certainly—and I think I may afford to give them five hundred pounds
+a-piece. As it is, without any addition of mine, they will each have
+about three thousand pounds on their mother’s death—a very comfortable
+fortune for any young woman.”
+
+“To be sure it is; and, indeed, it strikes me that they can want no
+addition at all. They will have ten thousand pounds divided amongst
+them. If they marry, they will be sure of doing well, and if they do
+not, they may all live very comfortably together on the interest of ten
+thousand pounds.”
+
+“That is very true, and, therefore, I do not know whether, upon the
+whole, it would not be more advisable to do something for their mother
+while she lives, rather than for them—something of the annuity kind I
+mean.—My sisters would feel the good effects of it as well as herself.
+A hundred a year would make them all perfectly comfortable.”
+
+His wife hesitated a little, however, in giving her consent to this
+plan.
+
+“To be sure,” said she, “it is better than parting with fifteen hundred
+pounds at once. But, then, if Mrs. Dashwood should live fifteen years
+we shall be completely taken in.”
+
+“Fifteen years! my dear Fanny; her life cannot be worth half that
+purchase.”
+
+“Certainly not; but if you observe, people always live for ever when
+there is an annuity to be paid them; and she is very stout and healthy,
+and hardly forty. An annuity is a very serious business; it comes over
+and over every year, and there is no getting rid of it. You are not
+aware of what you are doing. I have known a great deal of the trouble
+of annuities; for my mother was clogged with the payment of three to
+old superannuated servants by my father’s will, and it is amazing how
+disagreeable she found it. Twice every year these annuities were to be
+paid; and then there was the trouble of getting it to them; and then
+one of them was said to have died, and afterwards it turned out to be
+no such thing. My mother was quite sick of it. Her income was not her
+own, she said, with such perpetual claims on it; and it was the more
+unkind in my father, because, otherwise, the money would have been
+entirely at my mother’s disposal, without any restriction whatever. It
+has given me such an abhorrence of annuities, that I am sure I would
+not pin myself down to the payment of one for all the world.”
+
+“It is certainly an unpleasant thing,” replied Mr. Dashwood, “to have
+those kind of yearly drains on one’s income. One’s fortune, as your
+mother justly says, is _not_ one’s own. To be tied down to the regular
+payment of such a sum, on every rent day, is by no means desirable: it
+takes away one’s independence.”
+
+“Undoubtedly; and after all you have no thanks for it. They think
+themselves secure, you do no more than what is expected, and it raises
+no gratitude at all. If I were you, whatever I did should be done at my
+own discretion entirely. I would not bind myself to allow them any
+thing yearly. It may be very inconvenient some years to spare a
+hundred, or even fifty pounds from our own expenses.”
+
+“I believe you are right, my love; it will be better that there should
+be no annuity in the case; whatever I may give them occasionally will
+be of far greater assistance than a yearly allowance, because they
+would only enlarge their style of living if they felt sure of a larger
+income, and would not be sixpence the richer for it at the end of the
+year. It will certainly be much the best way. A present of fifty
+pounds, now and then, will prevent their ever being distressed for
+money, and will, I think, be amply discharging my promise to my
+father.”
+
+“To be sure it will. Indeed, to say the truth, I am convinced within
+myself that your father had no idea of your giving them any money at
+all. The assistance he thought of, I dare say, was only such as might
+be reasonably expected of you; for instance, such as looking out for a
+comfortable small house for them, helping them to move their things,
+and sending them presents of fish and game, and so forth, whenever they
+are in season. I’ll lay my life that he meant nothing farther; indeed,
+it would be very strange and unreasonable if he did. Do but consider,
+my dear Mr. Dashwood, how excessively comfortable your mother-in-law
+and her daughters may live on the interest of seven thousand pounds,
+besides the thousand pounds belonging to each of the girls, which
+brings them in fifty pounds a year a-piece, and, of course, they will
+pay their mother for their board out of it. Altogether, they will have
+five hundred a-year amongst them, and what on earth can four women want
+for more than that?—They will live so cheap! Their housekeeping will be
+nothing at all. They will have no carriage, no horses, and hardly any
+servants; they will keep no company, and can have no expenses of any
+kind! Only conceive how comfortable they will be! Five hundred a year!
+I am sure I cannot imagine how they will spend half of it; and as to
+your giving them more, it is quite absurd to think of it. They will be
+much more able to give _you_ something.”
+
+“Upon my word,” said Mr. Dashwood, “I believe you are perfectly right.
+My father certainly could mean nothing more by his request to me than
+what you say. I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly fulfil
+my engagement by such acts of assistance and kindness to them as you
+have described. When my mother removes into another house my services
+shall be readily given to accommodate her as far as I can. Some little
+present of furniture too may be acceptable then.”
+
+“Certainly,” returned Mrs. John Dashwood. “But, however, _one_ thing
+must be considered. When your father and mother moved to Norland,
+though the furniture of Stanhill was sold, all the china, plate, and
+linen was saved, and is now left to your mother. Her house will
+therefore be almost completely fitted up as soon as she takes it.”
+
+“That is a material consideration undoubtedly. A valuable legacy
+indeed! And yet some of the plate would have been a very pleasant
+addition to our own stock here.”
+
+“Yes; and the set of breakfast china is twice as handsome as what
+belongs to this house. A great deal too handsome, in my opinion, for
+any place _they_ can ever afford to live in. But, however, so it is.
+Your father thought only of _them_. And I must say this: that you owe
+no particular gratitude to him, nor attention to his wishes; for we
+very well know that if he could, he would have left almost everything
+in the world to _them_.”
+
+This argument was irresistible. It gave to his intentions whatever of
+decision was wanting before; and he finally resolved, that it would be
+absolutely unnecessary, if not highly indecorous, to do more for the
+widow and children of his father, than such kind of neighbourly acts as
+his own wife pointed out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+Mrs. Dashwood remained at Norland several months; not from any
+disinclination to move when the sight of every well known spot ceased
+to raise the violent emotion which it produced for a while; for when
+her spirits began to revive, and her mind became capable of some other
+exertion than that of heightening its affliction by melancholy
+remembrances, she was impatient to be gone, and indefatigable in her
+inquiries for a suitable dwelling in the neighbourhood of Norland; for
+to remove far from that beloved spot was impossible. But she could hear
+of no situation that at once answered her notions of comfort and ease,
+and suited the prudence of her eldest daughter, whose steadier judgment
+rejected several houses as too large for their income, which her mother
+would have approved.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood had been informed by her husband of the solemn promise on
+the part of his son in their favour, which gave comfort to his last
+earthly reflections. She doubted the sincerity of this assurance no
+more than he had doubted it himself, and she thought of it for her
+daughters’ sake with satisfaction, though as for herself she was
+persuaded that a much smaller provision than 7000£ would support her in
+affluence. For their brother’s sake, too, for the sake of his own
+heart, she rejoiced; and she reproached herself for being unjust to his
+merit before, in believing him incapable of generosity. His attentive
+behaviour to herself and his sisters convinced her that their welfare
+was dear to him, and, for a long time, she firmly relied on the
+liberality of his intentions.
+
+The contempt which she had, very early in their acquaintance, felt for
+her daughter-in-law, was very much increased by the farther knowledge
+of her character, which half a year’s residence in her family afforded;
+and perhaps in spite of every consideration of politeness or maternal
+affection on the side of the former, the two ladies might have found it
+impossible to have lived together so long, had not a particular
+circumstance occurred to give still greater eligibility, according to
+the opinions of Mrs. Dashwood, to her daughters’ continuance at
+Norland.
+
+This circumstance was a growing attachment between her eldest girl and
+the brother of Mrs. John Dashwood, a gentleman-like and pleasing young
+man, who was introduced to their acquaintance soon after his sister’s
+establishment at Norland, and who had since spent the greatest part of
+his time there.
+
+Some mothers might have encouraged the intimacy from motives of
+interest, for Edward Ferrars was the eldest son of a man who had died
+very rich; and some might have repressed it from motives of prudence,
+for, except a trifling sum, the whole of his fortune depended on the
+will of his mother. But Mrs. Dashwood was alike uninfluenced by either
+consideration. It was enough for her that he appeared to be amiable,
+that he loved her daughter, and that Elinor returned the partiality. It
+was contrary to every doctrine of hers that difference of fortune
+should keep any couple asunder who were attracted by resemblance of
+disposition; and that Elinor’s merit should not be acknowledged by
+every one who knew her, was to her comprehension impossible.
+
+Edward Ferrars was not recommended to their good opinion by any
+peculiar graces of person or address. He was not handsome, and his
+manners required intimacy to make them pleasing. He was too diffident
+to do justice to himself; but when his natural shyness was overcome,
+his behaviour gave every indication of an open, affectionate heart. His
+understanding was good, and his education had given it solid
+improvement. But he was neither fitted by abilities nor disposition to
+answer the wishes of his mother and sister, who longed to see him
+distinguished—as—they hardly knew what. They wanted him to make a fine
+figure in the world in some manner or other. His mother wished to
+interest him in political concerns, to get him into parliament, or to
+see him connected with some of the great men of the day. Mrs. John
+Dashwood wished it likewise; but in the mean while, till one of these
+superior blessings could be attained, it would have quieted her
+ambition to see him driving a barouche. But Edward had no turn for
+great men or barouches. All his wishes centered in domestic comfort and
+the quiet of private life. Fortunately he had a younger brother who was
+more promising.
+
+Edward had been staying several weeks in the house before he engaged
+much of Mrs. Dashwood’s attention; for she was, at that time, in such
+affliction as rendered her careless of surrounding objects. She saw
+only that he was quiet and unobtrusive, and she liked him for it. He
+did not disturb the wretchedness of her mind by ill-timed conversation.
+She was first called to observe and approve him farther, by a
+reflection which Elinor chanced one day to make on the difference
+between him and his sister. It was a contrast which recommended him
+most forcibly to her mother.
+
+“It is enough,” said she; “to say that he is unlike Fanny is enough. It
+implies everything amiable. I love him already.”
+
+“I think you will like him,” said Elinor, “when you know more of him.”
+
+“Like him!” replied her mother with a smile. “I feel no sentiment of
+approbation inferior to love.”
+
+“You may esteem him.”
+
+“I have never yet known what it was to separate esteem and love.”
+
+Mrs. Dashwood now took pains to get acquainted with him. Her manners
+were attaching, and soon banished his reserve. She speedily
+comprehended all his merits; the persuasion of his regard for Elinor
+perhaps assisted her penetration; but she really felt assured of his
+worth: and even that quietness of manner, which militated against all
+her established ideas of what a young man’s address ought to be, was no
+longer uninteresting when she knew his heart to be warm and his temper
+affectionate.
+
+No sooner did she perceive any symptom of love in his behaviour to
+Elinor, than she considered their serious attachment as certain, and
+looked forward to their marriage as rapidly approaching.
+
+“In a few months, my dear Marianne,” said she, “Elinor will, in all
+probability be settled for life. We shall miss her; but _she_ will be
+happy.”
+
+“Oh! Mama, how shall we do without her?”
+
+“My love, it will be scarcely a separation. We shall live within a few
+miles of each other, and shall meet every day of our lives. You will
+gain a brother, a real, affectionate brother. I have the highest
+opinion in the world of Edward’s heart. But you look grave, Marianne;
+do you disapprove your sister’s choice?”
+
+“Perhaps,” said Marianne, “I may consider it with some surprise. Edward
+is very amiable, and I love him tenderly. But yet—he is not the kind of
+young man—there is something wanting—his figure is not striking; it has
+none of that grace which I should expect in the man who could seriously
+attach my sister. His eyes want all that spirit, that fire, which at
+once announce virtue and intelligence. And besides all this, I am
+afraid, Mama, he has no real taste. Music seems scarcely to attract
+him, and though he admires Elinor’s drawings very much, it is not the
+admiration of a person who can understand their worth. It is evident,
+in spite of his frequent attention to her while she draws, that in fact
+he knows nothing of the matter. He admires as a lover, not as a
+connoisseur. To satisfy me, those characters must be united. I could
+not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every point coincide
+with my own. He must enter into all my feelings; the same books, the
+same music must charm us both. Oh! mama, how spiritless, how tame was
+Edward’s manner in reading to us last night! I felt for my sister most
+severely. Yet she bore it with so much composure, she seemed scarcely
+to notice it. I could hardly keep my seat. To hear those beautiful
+lines which have frequently almost driven me wild, pronounced with such
+impenetrable calmness, such dreadful indifference!”
+
+
+“He would certainly have done more justice to simple and elegant prose.
+I thought so at the time; but you _would_ give him Cowper.”
+
+“Nay, Mama, if he is not to be animated by Cowper!—but we must allow
+for difference of taste. Elinor has not my feelings, and therefore she
+may overlook it, and be happy with him. But it would have broke _my_
+heart, had I loved him, to hear him read with so little sensibility.
+Mama, the more I know of the world, the more am I convinced that I
+shall never see a man whom I can really love. I require so much! He
+must have all Edward’s virtues, and his person and manners must
+ornament his goodness with every possible charm.”
+
+“Remember, my love, that you are not seventeen. It is yet too early in
+life to despair of such a happiness. Why should you be less fortunate
+than your mother? In one circumstance only, my Marianne, may your
+destiny be different from hers!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+“What a pity it is, Elinor,” said Marianne, “that Edward should have no
+taste for drawing.”
+
+“No taste for drawing!” replied Elinor, “why should you think so? He
+does not draw himself, indeed, but he has great pleasure in seeing the
+performances of other people, and I assure you he is by no means
+deficient in natural taste, though he has not had opportunities of
+improving it. Had he ever been in the way of learning, I think he would
+have drawn very well. He distrusts his own judgment in such matters so
+much, that he is always unwilling to give his opinion on any picture;
+but he has an innate propriety and simplicity of taste, which in
+general direct him perfectly right.”
+
+Marianne was afraid of offending, and said no more on the subject; but
+the kind of approbation which Elinor described as excited in him by the
+drawings of other people, was very far from that rapturous delight,
+which, in her opinion, could alone be called taste. Yet, though smiling
+within herself at the mistake, she honoured her sister for that blind
+partiality to Edward which produced it.
+
+“I hope, Marianne,” continued Elinor, “you do not consider him as
+deficient in general taste. Indeed, I think I may say that you cannot,
+for your behaviour to him is perfectly cordial, and if _that_ were your
+opinion, I am sure you could never be civil to him.”
+
+Marianne hardly knew what to say. She would not wound the feelings of
+her sister on any account, and yet to say what she did not believe was
+impossible. At length she replied:
+
+“Do not be offended, Elinor, if my praise of him is not in every thing
+equal to your sense of his merits. I have not had so many opportunities
+of estimating the minuter propensities of his mind, his inclinations
+and tastes, as you have; but I have the highest opinion in the world of
+his goodness and sense. I think him every thing that is worthy and
+amiable.”
+
+“I am sure,” replied Elinor, with a smile, “that his dearest friends
+could not be dissatisfied with such commendation as that. I do not
+perceive how you could express yourself more warmly.”
+
+Marianne was rejoiced to find her sister so easily pleased.
+
+“Of his sense and his goodness,” continued Elinor, “no one can, I
+think, be in doubt, who has seen him often enough to engage him in
+unreserved conversation. The excellence of his understanding and his
+principles can be concealed only by that shyness which too often keeps
+him silent. You know enough of him to do justice to his solid worth.
+But of his minuter propensities, as you call them you have from
+peculiar circumstances been kept more ignorant than myself. He and I
+have been at times thrown a good deal together, while you have been
+wholly engrossed on the most affectionate principle by my mother. I
+have seen a great deal of him, have studied his sentiments and heard
+his opinion on subjects of literature and taste; and, upon the whole, I
+venture to pronounce that his mind is well-informed, enjoyment of books
+exceedingly great, his imagination lively, his observation just and
+correct, and his taste delicate and pure. His abilities in every
+respect improve as much upon acquaintance as his manners and person. At
+first sight, his address is certainly not striking; and his person can
+hardly be called handsome, till the expression of his eyes, which are
+uncommonly good, and the general sweetness of his countenance, is
+perceived. At present, I know him so well, that I think him really
+handsome; or at least, almost so. What say you, Marianne?”
+
+“I shall very soon think him handsome, Elinor, if I do not now. When
+you tell me to love him as a brother, I shall no more see imperfection
+in his face, than I now do in his heart.”
+
+Elinor started at this declaration, and was sorry for the warmth she
+had been betrayed into, in speaking of him. She felt that Edward stood
+very high in her opinion. She believed the regard to be mutual; but she
+required greater certainty of it to make Marianne’s conviction of their
+attachment agreeable to her. She knew that what Marianne and her mother
+conjectured one moment, they believed the next—that with them, to wish
+was to hope, and to hope was to expect. She tried to explain the real
+state of the case to her sister.
+
+“I do not attempt to deny,” said she, “that I think very highly of
+him—that I greatly esteem, that I like him.”
+
+Marianne here burst forth with indignation—
+
+“Esteem him! Like him! Cold-hearted Elinor! Oh! worse than
+cold-hearted! Ashamed of being otherwise. Use those words again, and I
+will leave the room this moment.”
+
+Elinor could not help laughing. “Excuse me,” said she; “and be assured
+that I meant no offence to you, by speaking, in so quiet a way, of my
+own feelings. Believe them to be stronger than I have declared; believe
+them, in short, to be such as his merit, and the suspicion—the hope of
+his affection for me may warrant, without imprudence or folly. But
+farther than this you must _not_ believe. I am by no means assured of
+his regard for me. There are moments when the extent of it seems
+doubtful; and till his sentiments are fully known, you cannot wonder at
+my wishing to avoid any encouragement of my own partiality, by
+believing or calling it more than it is. In my heart I feel
+little—scarcely any doubt of his preference. But there are other points
+to be considered besides his inclination. He is very far from being
+independent. What his mother really is we cannot know; but, from
+Fanny’s occasional mention of her conduct and opinions, we have never
+been disposed to think her amiable; and I am very much mistaken if
+Edward is not himself aware that there would be many difficulties in
+his way, if he were to wish to marry a woman who had not either a great
+fortune or high rank.”
+
+Marianne was astonished to find how much the imagination of her mother
+and herself had outstripped the truth.
+
+“And you really are not engaged to him!” said she. “Yet it certainly
+soon will happen. But two advantages will proceed from this delay. _I_
+shall not lose you so soon, and Edward will have greater opportunity of
+improving that natural taste for your favourite pursuit which must be
+so indispensably necessary to your future felicity. Oh! if he should be
+so far stimulated by your genius as to learn to draw himself, how
+delightful it would be!”
+
+Elinor had given her real opinion to her sister. She could not consider
+her partiality for Edward in so prosperous a state as Marianne had
+believed it. There was, at times, a want of spirits about him which, if
+it did not denote indifference, spoke of something almost as
+unpromising. A doubt of her regard, supposing him to feel it, need not
+give him more than inquietude. It would not be likely to produce that
+dejection of mind which frequently attended him. A more reasonable
+cause might be found in the dependent situation which forbade the
+indulgence of his affection. She knew that his mother neither behaved
+to him so as to make his home comfortable at present, nor to give him
+any assurance that he might form a home for himself, without strictly
+attending to her views for his aggrandizement. With such a knowledge as
+this, it was impossible for Elinor to feel easy on the subject. She was
+far from depending on that result of his preference of her, which her
+mother and sister still considered as certain. Nay, the longer they
+were together the more doubtful seemed the nature of his regard; and
+sometimes, for a few painful minutes, she believed it to be no more
+than friendship.
+
+But, whatever might really be its limits, it was enough, when perceived
+by his sister, to make her uneasy, and at the same time, (which was
+still more common,) to make her uncivil. She took the first opportunity
+of affronting her mother-in-law on the occasion, talking to her so
+expressively of her brother’s great expectations, of Mrs. Ferrars’s
+resolution that both her sons should marry well, and of the danger
+attending any young woman who attempted to _draw him in;_ that Mrs.
+Dashwood could neither pretend to be unconscious, nor endeavor to be
+calm. She gave her an answer which marked her contempt, and instantly
+left the room, resolving that, whatever might be the inconvenience or
+expense of so sudden a removal, her beloved Elinor should not be
+exposed another week to such insinuations.
+
+In this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered to her from the
+post, which contained a proposal particularly well timed. It was the
+offer of a small house, on very easy terms, belonging to a relation of
+her own, a gentleman of consequence and property in Devonshire. The
+letter was from this gentleman himself, and written in the true spirit
+of friendly accommodation. He understood that she was in need of a
+dwelling; and though the house he now offered her was merely a cottage,
+he assured her that everything should be done to it which she might
+think necessary, if the situation pleased her. He earnestly pressed
+her, after giving the particulars of the house and garden, to come with
+her daughters to Barton Park, the place of his own residence, from
+whence she might judge, herself, whether Barton Cottage, for the houses
+were in the same parish, could, by any alteration, be made comfortable
+to her. He seemed really anxious to accommodate them and the whole of
+his letter was written in so friendly a style as could not fail of
+giving pleasure to his cousin; more especially at a moment when she was
+suffering under the cold and unfeeling behaviour of her nearer
+connections. She needed no time for deliberation or inquiry. Her
+resolution was formed as she read. The situation of Barton, in a county
+so far distant from Sussex as Devonshire, which, but a few hours
+before, would have been a sufficient objection to outweigh every
+possible advantage belonging to the place, was now its first
+recommendation. To quit the neighbourhood of Norland was no longer an
+evil; it was an object of desire; it was a blessing, in comparison of
+the misery of continuing her daughter-in-law’s guest; and to remove for
+ever from that beloved place would be less painful than to inhabit or
+visit it while such a woman was its mistress. She instantly wrote Sir
+John Middleton her acknowledgment of his kindness, and her acceptance
+of his proposal; and then hastened to show both letters to her
+daughters, that she might be secure of their approbation before her
+answer were sent.
+
+Elinor had always thought it would be more prudent for them to settle
+at some distance from Norland, than immediately amongst their present
+acquaintance. On _that_ head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose
+her mother’s intention of removing into Devonshire. The house, too, as
+described by Sir John, was on so simple a scale, and the rent so
+uncommonly moderate, as to leave her no right of objection on either
+point; and, therefore, though it was not a plan which brought any charm
+to her fancy, though it was a removal from the vicinity of Norland
+beyond her wishes, she made no attempt to dissuade her mother from
+sending a letter of acquiescence.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+No sooner was her answer dispatched, than Mrs. Dashwood indulged
+herself in the pleasure of announcing to her son-in-law and his wife
+that she was provided with a house, and should incommode them no longer
+than till every thing were ready for her inhabiting it. They heard her
+with surprise. Mrs. John Dashwood said nothing; but her husband civilly
+hoped that she would not be settled far from Norland. She had great
+satisfaction in replying that she was going into Devonshire.—Edward
+turned hastily towards her, on hearing this, and, in a voice of
+surprise and concern, which required no explanation to her, repeated,
+“Devonshire! Are you, indeed, going there? So far from hence! And to
+what part of it?” She explained the situation. It was within four miles
+northward of Exeter.
+
+“It is but a cottage,” she continued, “but I hope to see many of my
+friends in it. A room or two can easily be added; and if my friends
+find no difficulty in travelling so far to see me, I am sure I will
+find none in accommodating them.”
+
+She concluded with a very kind invitation to Mr. and Mrs. John Dashwood
+to visit her at Barton; and to Edward she gave one with still greater
+affection. Though her late conversation with her daughter-in-law had
+made her resolve on remaining at Norland no longer than was
+unavoidable, it had not produced the smallest effect on her in that
+point to which it principally tended. To separate Edward and Elinor was
+as far from being her object as ever; and she wished to show Mrs. John
+Dashwood, by this pointed invitation to her brother, how totally she
+disregarded her disapprobation of the match.
+
+Mr. John Dashwood told his mother again and again how exceedingly sorry
+he was that she had taken a house at such a distance from Norland as to
+prevent his being of any service to her in removing her furniture. He
+really felt conscientiously vexed on the occasion; for the very
+exertion to which he had limited the performance of his promise to his
+father was by this arrangement rendered impracticable.—The furniture
+was all sent around by water. It chiefly consisted of household linen,
+plate, china, and books, with a handsome pianoforte of Marianne’s. Mrs.
+John Dashwood saw the packages depart with a sigh: she could not help
+feeling it hard that as Mrs. Dashwood’s income would be so trifling in
+comparison with their own, she should have any handsome article of
+furniture.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood took the house for a twelvemonth; it was ready furnished,
+and she might have immediate possession. No difficulty arose on either
+side in the agreement; and she waited only for the disposal of her
+effects at Norland, and to determine her future household, before she
+set off for the west; and this, as she was exceedingly rapid in the
+performance of everything that interested her, was soon done.—The
+horses which were left her by her husband had been sold soon after his
+death, and an opportunity now offering of disposing of her carriage,
+she agreed to sell that likewise at the earnest advice of her eldest
+daughter. For the comfort of her children, had she consulted only her
+own wishes, she would have kept it; but the discretion of Elinor
+prevailed. _Her_ wisdom too limited the number of their servants to
+three; two maids and a man, with whom they were speedily provided from
+amongst those who had formed their establishment at Norland.
+
+The man and one of the maids were sent off immediately into Devonshire,
+to prepare the house for their mistress’s arrival; for as Lady
+Middleton was entirely unknown to Mrs. Dashwood, she preferred going
+directly to the cottage to being a visitor at Barton Park; and she
+relied so undoubtingly on Sir John’s description of the house, as to
+feel no curiosity to examine it herself till she entered it as her own.
+Her eagerness to be gone from Norland was preserved from diminution by
+the evident satisfaction of her daughter-in-law in the prospect of her
+removal; a satisfaction which was but feebly attempted to be concealed
+under a cold invitation to her to defer her departure. Now was the time
+when her son-in-law’s promise to his father might with particular
+propriety be fulfilled. Since he had neglected to do it on first coming
+to the estate, their quitting his house might be looked on as the most
+suitable period for its accomplishment. But Mrs. Dashwood began shortly
+to give over every hope of the kind, and to be convinced, from the
+general drift of his discourse, that his assistance extended no farther
+than their maintenance for six months at Norland. He so frequently
+talked of the increasing expenses of housekeeping, and of the perpetual
+demands upon his purse, which a man of any consequence in the world was
+beyond calculation exposed to, that he seemed rather to stand in need
+of more money himself than to have any design of giving money away.
+
+In a very few weeks from the day which brought Sir John Middleton’s
+first letter to Norland, every thing was so far settled in their future
+abode as to enable Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters to begin their
+journey.
+
+Many were the tears shed by them in their last adieus to a place so
+much beloved. “Dear, dear Norland!” said Marianne, as she wandered
+alone before the house, on the last evening of their being there; “when
+shall I cease to regret you!—when learn to feel a home elsewhere!—Oh!
+happy house, could you know what I suffer in now viewing you from this
+spot, from whence perhaps I may view you no more!—And you, ye
+well-known trees!—but you will continue the same.—No leaf will decay
+because we are removed, nor any branch become motionless although we
+can observe you no longer!—No; you will continue the same; unconscious
+of the pleasure or the regret you occasion, and insensible of any
+change in those who walk under your shade!—But who will remain to enjoy
+you?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+The first part of their journey was performed in too melancholy a
+disposition to be otherwise than tedious and unpleasant. But as they
+drew towards the end of it, their interest in the appearance of a
+country which they were to inhabit overcame their dejection, and a view
+of Barton Valley as they entered it gave them cheerfulness. It was a
+pleasant fertile spot, well wooded, and rich in pasture. After winding
+along it for more than a mile, they reached their own house. A small
+green court was the whole of its demesne in front; and a neat wicket
+gate admitted them into it.
+
+As a house, Barton Cottage, though small, was comfortable and compact;
+but as a cottage it was defective, for the building was regular, the
+roof was tiled, the window shutters were not painted green, nor were
+the walls covered with honeysuckles. A narrow passage led directly
+through the house into the garden behind. On each side of the entrance
+was a sitting room, about sixteen feet square; and beyond them were the
+offices and the stairs. Four bed-rooms and two garrets formed the rest
+of the house. It had not been built many years and was in good repair.
+In comparison of Norland, it was poor and small indeed!—but the tears
+which recollection called forth as they entered the house were soon
+dried away. They were cheered by the joy of the servants on their
+arrival, and each for the sake of the others resolved to appear happy.
+It was very early in September; the season was fine, and from first
+seeing the place under the advantage of good weather, they received an
+impression in its favour which was of material service in recommending
+it to their lasting approbation.
+
+The situation of the house was good. High hills rose immediately
+behind, and at no great distance on each side; some of which were open
+downs, the others cultivated and woody. The village of Barton was
+chiefly on one of these hills, and formed a pleasant view from the
+cottage windows. The prospect in front was more extensive; it commanded
+the whole of the valley, and reached into the country beyond. The hills
+which surrounded the cottage terminated the valley in that direction;
+under another name, and in another course, it branched out again
+between two of the steepest of them.
+
+With the size and furniture of the house Mrs. Dashwood was upon the
+whole well satisfied; for though her former style of life rendered many
+additions to the latter indispensable, yet to add and improve was a
+delight to her; and she had at this time ready money enough to supply
+all that was wanted of greater elegance to the apartments. “As for the
+house itself, to be sure,” said she, “it is too small for our family,
+but we will make ourselves tolerably comfortable for the present, as it
+is too late in the year for improvements. Perhaps in the spring, if I
+have plenty of money, as I dare say I shall, we may think about
+building. These parlors are both too small for such parties of our
+friends as I hope to see often collected here; and I have some thoughts
+of throwing the passage into one of them with perhaps a part of the
+other, and so leave the remainder of that other for an entrance; this,
+with a new drawing room which may be easily added, and a bed-chamber
+and garret above, will make it a very snug little cottage. I could wish
+the stairs were handsome. But one must not expect every thing; though I
+suppose it would be no difficult matter to widen them. I shall see how
+much I am before-hand with the world in the spring, and we will plan
+our improvements accordingly.”
+
+In the mean time, till all these alterations could be made from the
+savings of an income of five hundred a-year by a woman who never saved
+in her life, they were wise enough to be contented with the house as it
+was; and each of them was busy in arranging their particular concerns,
+and endeavoring, by placing around them books and other possessions, to
+form themselves a home. Marianne’s pianoforte was unpacked and properly
+disposed of; and Elinor’s drawings were affixed to the walls of their
+sitting room.
+
+In such employments as these they were interrupted soon after breakfast
+the next day by the entrance of their landlord, who called to welcome
+them to Barton, and to offer them every accommodation from his own
+house and garden in which theirs might at present be deficient. Sir
+John Middleton was a good looking man about forty. He had formerly
+visited at Stanhill, but it was too long for his young cousins to
+remember him. His countenance was thoroughly good-humoured; and his
+manners were as friendly as the style of his letter. Their arrival
+seemed to afford him real satisfaction, and their comfort to be an
+object of real solicitude to him. He said much of his earnest desire of
+their living in the most sociable terms with his family, and pressed
+them so cordially to dine at Barton Park every day till they were
+better settled at home, that, though his entreaties were carried to a
+point of perseverance beyond civility, they could not give offence. His
+kindness was not confined to words; for within an hour after he left
+them, a large basket full of garden stuff and fruit arrived from the
+park, which was followed before the end of the day by a present of
+game. He insisted, moreover, on conveying all their letters to and from
+the post for them, and would not be denied the satisfaction of sending
+them his newspaper every day.
+
+Lady Middleton had sent a very civil message by him, denoting her
+intention of waiting on Mrs. Dashwood as soon as she could be assured
+that her visit would be no inconvenience; and as this message was
+answered by an invitation equally polite, her ladyship was introduced
+to them the next day.
+
+They were, of course, very anxious to see a person on whom so much of
+their comfort at Barton must depend; and the elegance of her appearance
+was favourable to their wishes. Lady Middleton was not more than six or
+seven and twenty; her face was handsome, her figure tall and striking,
+and her address graceful. Her manners had all the elegance which her
+husband’s wanted. But they would have been improved by some share of
+his frankness and warmth; and her visit was long enough to detract
+something from their first admiration, by showing that, though
+perfectly well-bred, she was reserved, cold, and had nothing to say for
+herself beyond the most common-place inquiry or remark.
+
+Conversation however was not wanted, for Sir John was very chatty, and
+Lady Middleton had taken the wise precaution of bringing with her their
+eldest child, a fine little boy about six years old, by which means
+there was one subject always to be recurred to by the ladies in case of
+extremity, for they had to enquire his name and age, admire his beauty,
+and ask him questions which his mother answered for him, while he hung
+about her and held down his head, to the great surprise of her
+ladyship, who wondered at his being so shy before company, as he could
+make noise enough at home. On every formal visit a child ought to be of
+the party, by way of provision for discourse. In the present case it
+took up ten minutes to determine whether the boy were most like his
+father or mother, and in what particular he resembled either, for of
+course every body differed, and every body was astonished at the
+opinion of the others.
+
+An opportunity was soon to be given to the Dashwoods of debating on the
+rest of the children, as Sir John would not leave the house without
+securing their promise of dining at the park the next day.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+Barton Park was about half a mile from the cottage. The ladies had
+passed near it in their way along the valley, but it was screened from
+their view at home by the projection of a hill. The house was large and
+handsome; and the Middletons lived in a style of equal hospitality and
+elegance. The former was for Sir John’s gratification, the latter for
+that of his lady. They were scarcely ever without some friends staying
+with them in the house, and they kept more company of every kind than
+any other family in the neighbourhood. It was necessary to the
+happiness of both; for however dissimilar in temper and outward
+behaviour, they strongly resembled each other in that total want of
+talent and taste which confined their employments, unconnected with
+such as society produced, within a very narrow compass. Sir John was a
+sportsman, Lady Middleton a mother. He hunted and shot, and she
+humoured her children; and these were their only resources. Lady
+Middleton had the advantage of being able to spoil her children all the
+year round, while Sir John’s independent employments were in existence
+only half the time. Continual engagements at home and abroad, however,
+supplied all the deficiencies of nature and education; supported the
+good spirits of Sir John, and gave exercise to the good breeding of his
+wife.
+
+Lady Middleton piqued herself upon the elegance of her table, and of
+all her domestic arrangements; and from this kind of vanity was her
+greatest enjoyment in any of their parties. But Sir John’s satisfaction
+in society was much more real; he delighted in collecting about him
+more young people than his house would hold, and the noisier they were
+the better was he pleased. He was a blessing to all the juvenile part
+of the neighbourhood, for in summer he was for ever forming parties to
+eat cold ham and chicken out of doors, and in winter his private balls
+were numerous enough for any young lady who was not suffering under the
+unsatiable appetite of fifteen.
+
+The arrival of a new family in the country was always a matter of joy
+to him, and in every point of view he was charmed with the inhabitants
+he had now procured for his cottage at Barton. The Miss Dashwoods were
+young, pretty, and unaffected. It was enough to secure his good
+opinion; for to be unaffected was all that a pretty girl could want to
+make her mind as captivating as her person. The friendliness of his
+disposition made him happy in accommodating those, whose situation
+might be considered, in comparison with the past, as unfortunate. In
+showing kindness to his cousins therefore he had the real satisfaction
+of a good heart; and in settling a family of females only in his
+cottage, he had all the satisfaction of a sportsman; for a sportsman,
+though he esteems only those of his sex who are sportsmen likewise, is
+not often desirous of encouraging their taste by admitting them to a
+residence within his own manor.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters were met at the door of the house by
+Sir John, who welcomed them to Barton Park with unaffected sincerity;
+and as he attended them to the drawing room repeated to the young
+ladies the concern which the same subject had drawn from him the day
+before, at being unable to get any smart young men to meet them. They
+would see, he said, only one gentleman there besides himself; a
+particular friend who was staying at the park, but who was neither very
+young nor very gay. He hoped they would all excuse the smallness of the
+party, and could assure them it should never happen so again. He had
+been to several families that morning in hopes of procuring some
+addition to their number, but it was moonlight and every body was full
+of engagements. Luckily Lady Middleton’s mother had arrived at Barton
+within the last hour, and as she was a very cheerful agreeable woman,
+he hoped the young ladies would not find it so very dull as they might
+imagine. The young ladies, as well as their mother, were perfectly
+satisfied with having two entire strangers of the party, and wished for
+no more.
+
+Mrs. Jennings, Lady Middleton’s mother, was a good-humoured, merry,
+fat, elderly woman, who talked a great deal, seemed very happy, and
+rather vulgar. She was full of jokes and laughter, and before dinner
+was over had said many witty things on the subject of lovers and
+husbands; hoped they had not left their hearts behind them in Sussex,
+and pretended to see them blush whether they did or not. Marianne was
+vexed at it for her sister’s sake, and turned her eyes towards Elinor
+to see how she bore these attacks, with an earnestness which gave
+Elinor far more pain than could arise from such common-place raillery
+as Mrs. Jennings’s.
+
+Colonel Brandon, the friend of Sir John, seemed no more adapted by
+resemblance of manner to be his friend, than Lady Middleton was to be
+his wife, or Mrs. Jennings to be Lady Middleton’s mother. He was silent
+and grave. His appearance however was not unpleasing, in spite of his
+being in the opinion of Marianne and Margaret an absolute old bachelor,
+for he was on the wrong side of five and thirty; but though his face
+was not handsome, his countenance was sensible, and his address was
+particularly gentlemanlike.
+
+There was nothing in any of the party which could recommend them as
+companions to the Dashwoods; but the cold insipidity of Lady Middleton
+was so particularly repulsive, that in comparison of it the gravity of
+Colonel Brandon, and even the boisterous mirth of Sir John and his
+mother-in-law was interesting. Lady Middleton seemed to be roused to
+enjoyment only by the entrance of her four noisy children after dinner,
+who pulled her about, tore her clothes, and put an end to every kind of
+discourse except what related to themselves.
+
+In the evening, as Marianne was discovered to be musical, she was
+invited to play. The instrument was unlocked, every body prepared to be
+charmed, and Marianne, who sang very well, at their request went
+through the chief of the songs which Lady Middleton had brought into
+the family on her marriage, and which perhaps had lain ever since in
+the same position on the pianoforte, for her ladyship had celebrated
+that event by giving up music, although by her mother’s account, she
+had played extremely well, and by her own was very fond of it.
+
+Marianne’s performance was highly applauded. Sir John was loud in his
+admiration at the end of every song, and as loud in his conversation
+with the others while every song lasted. Lady Middleton frequently
+called him to order, wondered how any one’s attention could be diverted
+from music for a moment, and asked Marianne to sing a particular song
+which Marianne had just finished. Colonel Brandon alone, of all the
+party, heard her without being in raptures. He paid her only the
+compliment of attention; and she felt a respect for him on the
+occasion, which the others had reasonably forfeited by their shameless
+want of taste. His pleasure in music, though it amounted not to that
+ecstatic delight which alone could sympathize with her own, was
+estimable when contrasted against the horrible insensibility of the
+others; and she was reasonable enough to allow that a man of five and
+thirty might well have outlived all acuteness of feeling and every
+exquisite power of enjoyment. She was perfectly disposed to make every
+allowance for the colonel’s advanced state of life which humanity
+required.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+Mrs. Jennings was a widow with an ample jointure. She had only two
+daughters, both of whom she had lived to see respectably married, and
+she had now therefore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the
+world. In the promotion of this object she was zealously active, as far
+as her ability reached; and missed no opportunity of projecting
+weddings among all the young people of her acquaintance. She was
+remarkably quick in the discovery of attachments, and had enjoyed the
+advantage of raising the blushes and the vanity of many a young lady by
+insinuations of her power over such a young man; and this kind of
+discernment enabled her soon after her arrival at Barton decisively to
+pronounce that Colonel Brandon was very much in love with Marianne
+Dashwood. She rather suspected it to be so, on the very first evening
+of their being together, from his listening so attentively while she
+sang to them; and when the visit was returned by the Middletons’ dining
+at the cottage, the fact was ascertained by his listening to her again.
+It must be so. She was perfectly convinced of it. It would be an
+excellent match, for _he_ was rich, and _she_ was handsome. Mrs.
+Jennings had been anxious to see Colonel Brandon well married, ever
+since her connection with Sir John first brought him to her knowledge;
+and she was always anxious to get a good husband for every pretty girl.
+
+The immediate advantage to herself was by no means inconsiderable, for
+it supplied her with endless jokes against them both. At the park she
+laughed at the colonel, and in the cottage at Marianne. To the former
+her raillery was probably, as far as it regarded only himself,
+perfectly indifferent; but to the latter it was at first
+incomprehensible; and when its object was understood, she hardly knew
+whether most to laugh at its absurdity, or censure its impertinence,
+for she considered it as an unfeeling reflection on the colonel’s
+advanced years, and on his forlorn condition as an old bachelor.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood, who could not think a man five years younger than
+herself, so exceedingly ancient as he appeared to the youthful fancy of
+her daughter, ventured to clear Mrs. Jennings from the probability of
+wishing to throw ridicule on his age.
+
+“But at least, Mama, you cannot deny the absurdity of the accusation,
+though you may not think it intentionally ill-natured. Colonel Brandon
+is certainly younger than Mrs. Jennings, but he is old enough to be
+_my_ father; and if he were ever animated enough to be in love, must
+have long outlived every sensation of the kind. It is too ridiculous!
+When is a man to be safe from such wit, if age and infirmity will not
+protect him?”
+
+“Infirmity!” said Elinor, “do you call Colonel Brandon infirm? I can
+easily suppose that his age may appear much greater to you than to my
+mother; but you can hardly deceive yourself as to his having the use of
+his limbs!”
+
+“Did not you hear him complain of the rheumatism? and is not that the
+commonest infirmity of declining life?”
+
+“My dearest child,” said her mother, laughing, “at this rate you must
+be in continual terror of _my_ decay; and it must seem to you a miracle
+that my life has been extended to the advanced age of forty.”
+
+“Mama, you are not doing me justice. I know very well that Colonel
+Brandon is not old enough to make his friends yet apprehensive of
+losing him in the course of nature. He may live twenty years longer.
+But thirty-five has nothing to do with matrimony.”
+
+“Perhaps,” said Elinor, “thirty-five and seventeen had better not have
+any thing to do with matrimony together. But if there should by any
+chance happen to be a woman who is single at seven and twenty, I should
+not think Colonel Brandon’s being thirty-five any objection to his
+marrying _her_.”
+
+“A woman of seven and twenty,” said Marianne, after pausing a moment,
+“can never hope to feel or inspire affection again, and if her home be
+uncomfortable, or her fortune small, I can suppose that she might bring
+herself to submit to the offices of a nurse, for the sake of the
+provision and security of a wife. In his marrying such a woman
+therefore there would be nothing unsuitable. It would be a compact of
+convenience, and the world would be satisfied. In my eyes it would be
+no marriage at all, but that would be nothing. To me it would seem only
+a commercial exchange, in which each wished to be benefited at the
+expense of the other.”
+
+“It would be impossible, I know,” replied Elinor, “to convince you that
+a woman of seven and twenty could feel for a man of thirty-five
+anything near enough to love, to make him a desirable companion to her.
+But I must object to your dooming Colonel Brandon and his wife to the
+constant confinement of a sick chamber, merely because he chanced to
+complain yesterday (a very cold damp day) of a slight rheumatic feel in
+one of his shoulders.”
+
+“But he talked of flannel waistcoats,” said Marianne; “and with me a
+flannel waistcoat is invariably connected with aches, cramps,
+rheumatisms, and every species of ailment that can afflict the old and
+the feeble.”
+
+“Had he been only in a violent fever, you would not have despised him
+half so much. Confess, Marianne, is not there something interesting to
+you in the flushed cheek, hollow eye, and quick pulse of a fever?”
+
+Soon after this, upon Elinor’s leaving the room, “Mama,” said Marianne,
+“I have an alarm on the subject of illness which I cannot conceal from
+you. I am sure Edward Ferrars is not well. We have now been here almost
+a fortnight, and yet he does not come. Nothing but real indisposition
+could occasion this extraordinary delay. What else can detain him at
+Norland?”
+
+“Had you any idea of his coming so soon?” said Mrs. Dashwood. “_I_ had
+none. On the contrary, if I have felt any anxiety at all on the
+subject, it has been in recollecting that he sometimes showed a want of
+pleasure and readiness in accepting my invitation, when I talked of his
+coming to Barton. Does Elinor expect him already?”
+
+“I have never mentioned it to her, but of course she must.”
+
+“I rather think you are mistaken, for when I was talking to her
+yesterday of getting a new grate for the spare bedchamber, she observed
+that there was no immediate hurry for it, as it was not likely that the
+room would be wanted for some time.”
+
+“How strange this is! what can be the meaning of it! But the whole of
+their behaviour to each other has been unaccountable! How cold, how
+composed were their last adieus! How languid their conversation the
+last evening of their being together! In Edward’s farewell there was no
+distinction between Elinor and me: it was the good wishes of an
+affectionate brother to both. Twice did I leave them purposely together
+in the course of the last morning, and each time did he most
+unaccountably follow me out of the room. And Elinor, in quitting
+Norland and Edward, cried not as I did. Even now her self-command is
+invariable. When is she dejected or melancholy? When does she try to
+avoid society, or appear restless and dissatisfied in it?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+The Dashwoods were now settled at Barton with tolerable comfort to
+themselves. The house and the garden, with all the objects surrounding
+them, were now become familiar, and the ordinary pursuits which had
+given to Norland half its charms were engaged in again with far greater
+enjoyment than Norland had been able to afford, since the loss of their
+father. Sir John Middleton, who called on them every day for the first
+fortnight, and who was not in the habit of seeing much occupation at
+home, could not conceal his amazement on finding them always employed.
+
+Their visitors, except those from Barton Park, were not many; for, in
+spite of Sir John’s urgent entreaties that they would mix more in the
+neighbourhood, and repeated assurances of his carriage being always at
+their service, the independence of Mrs. Dashwood’s spirit overcame the
+wish of society for her children; and she was resolute in declining to
+visit any family beyond the distance of a walk. There were but few who
+could be so classed; and it was not all of them that were attainable.
+About a mile and a half from the cottage, along the narrow winding
+valley of Allenham, which issued from that of Barton, as formerly
+described, the girls had, in one of their earliest walks, discovered an
+ancient respectable looking mansion which, by reminding them a little
+of Norland, interested their imagination and made them wish to be
+better acquainted with it. But they learnt, on enquiry, that its
+possessor, an elderly lady of very good character, was unfortunately
+too infirm to mix with the world, and never stirred from home.
+
+The whole country about them abounded in beautiful walks. The high
+downs which invited them from almost every window of the cottage to
+seek the exquisite enjoyment of air on their summits, were a happy
+alternative when the dirt of the valleys beneath shut up their superior
+beauties; and towards one of these hills did Marianne and Margaret one
+memorable morning direct their steps, attracted by the partial sunshine
+of a showery sky, and unable longer to bear the confinement which the
+settled rain of the two preceding days had occasioned. The weather was
+not tempting enough to draw the two others from their pencil and their
+book, in spite of Marianne’s declaration that the day would be
+lastingly fair, and that every threatening cloud would be drawn off
+from their hills; and the two girls set off together.
+
+They gaily ascended the downs, rejoicing in their own penetration at
+every glimpse of blue sky; and when they caught in their faces the
+animating gales of a high south-westerly wind, they pitied the fears
+which had prevented their mother and Elinor from sharing such
+delightful sensations.
+
+“Is there a felicity in the world,” said Marianne, “superior to
+this?—Margaret, we will walk here at least two hours.”
+
+Margaret agreed, and they pursued their way against the wind, resisting
+it with laughing delight for about twenty minutes longer, when suddenly
+the clouds united over their heads, and a driving rain set full in
+their face. Chagrined and surprised, they were obliged, though
+unwillingly, to turn back, for no shelter was nearer than their own
+house. One consolation however remained for them, to which the exigence
+of the moment gave more than usual propriety,—it was that of running
+with all possible speed down the steep side of the hill which led
+immediately to their garden gate.
+
+They set off. Marianne had at first the advantage, but a false step
+brought her suddenly to the ground; and Margaret, unable to stop
+herself to assist her, was involuntarily hurried along, and reached the
+bottom in safety.
+
+A gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointers playing round him, was
+passing up the hill and within a few yards of Marianne, when her
+accident happened. He put down his gun and ran to her assistance. She
+had raised herself from the ground, but her foot had been twisted in
+her fall, and she was scarcely able to stand. The gentleman offered his
+services; and perceiving that her modesty declined what her situation
+rendered necessary, took her up in his arms without farther delay, and
+carried her down the hill. Then passing through the garden, the gate of
+which had been left open by Margaret, he bore her directly into the
+house, whither Margaret was just arrived, and quitted not his hold till
+he had seated her in a chair in the parlour.
+
+Elinor and her mother rose up in amazement at their entrance, and while
+the eyes of both were fixed on him with an evident wonder and a secret
+admiration which equally sprung from his appearance, he apologized for
+his intrusion by relating its cause, in a manner so frank and so
+graceful that his person, which was uncommonly handsome, received
+additional charms from his voice and expression. Had he been even old,
+ugly, and vulgar, the gratitude and kindness of Mrs. Dashwood would
+have been secured by any act of attention to her child; but the
+influence of youth, beauty, and elegance, gave an interest to the
+action which came home to her feelings.
+
+She thanked him again and again; and, with a sweetness of address which
+always attended her, invited him to be seated. But this he declined, as
+he was dirty and wet. Mrs. Dashwood then begged to know to whom she was
+obliged. His name, he replied, was Willoughby, and his present home was
+at Allenham, from whence he hoped she would allow him the honour of
+calling tomorrow to enquire after Miss Dashwood. The honour was readily
+granted, and he then departed, to make himself still more interesting,
+in the midst of a heavy rain.
+
+His manly beauty and more than common gracefulness were instantly the
+theme of general admiration, and the laugh which his gallantry raised
+against Marianne received particular spirit from his exterior
+attractions. Marianne herself had seen less of his person than the
+rest, for the confusion which crimsoned over her face, on his lifting
+her up, had robbed her of the power of regarding him after their
+entering the house. But she had seen enough of him to join in all the
+admiration of the others, and with an energy which always adorned her
+praise. His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn
+for the hero of a favourite story; and in his carrying her into the
+house with so little previous formality, there was a rapidity of
+thought which particularly recommended the action to her. Every
+circumstance belonging to him was interesting. His name was good, his
+residence was in their favourite village, and she soon found out that
+of all manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming. Her
+imagination was busy, her reflections were pleasant, and the pain of a
+sprained ankle was disregarded.
+
+Sir John called on them as soon as the next interval of fair weather
+that morning allowed him to get out of doors; and Marianne’s accident
+being related to him, he was eagerly asked whether he knew any
+gentleman of the name of Willoughby at Allenham.
+
+“Willoughby!” cried Sir John; “what, is _he_ in the country? That is
+good news however; I will ride over tomorrow, and ask him to dinner on
+Thursday.”
+
+“You know him then,” said Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+“Know him! to be sure I do. Why, he is down here every year.”
+
+“And what sort of a young man is he?”
+
+“As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you. A very decent
+shot, and there is not a bolder rider in England.”
+
+“And is _that_ all you can say for him?” cried Marianne, indignantly.
+“But what are his manners on more intimate acquaintance? What his
+pursuits, his talents, and genius?”
+
+Sir John was rather puzzled.
+
+“Upon my soul,” said he, “I do not know much about him as to all
+_that_. But he is a pleasant, good humoured fellow, and has got the
+nicest little black bitch of a pointer I ever saw. Was she out with him
+today?”
+
+But Marianne could no more satisfy him as to the colour of Mr.
+Willoughby’s pointer, than he could describe to her the shades of his
+mind.
+
+“But who is he?” said Elinor. “Where does he come from? Has he a house
+at Allenham?”
+
+On this point Sir John could give more certain intelligence; and he
+told them that Mr. Willoughby had no property of his own in the
+country; that he resided there only while he was visiting the old lady
+at Allenham Court, to whom he was related, and whose possessions he was
+to inherit; adding, “Yes, yes, he is very well worth catching I can
+tell you, Miss Dashwood; he has a pretty little estate of his own in
+Somersetshire besides; and if I were you, I would not give him up to my
+younger sister, in spite of all this tumbling down hills. Miss Marianne
+must not expect to have all the men to herself. Brandon will be
+jealous, if she does not take care.”
+
+“I do not believe,” said Mrs. Dashwood, with a good humoured smile,
+“that Mr. Willoughby will be incommoded by the attempts of either of
+_my_ daughters towards what you call _catching him_. It is not an
+employment to which they have been brought up. Men are very safe with
+us, let them be ever so rich. I am glad to find, however, from what you
+say, that he is a respectable young man, and one whose acquaintance
+will not be ineligible.”
+
+“He is as good a sort of fellow, I believe, as ever lived,” repeated
+Sir John. “I remember last Christmas at a little hop at the park, he
+danced from eight o’clock till four, without once sitting down.”
+
+“Did he indeed?” cried Marianne with sparkling eyes, “and with
+elegance, with spirit?”
+
+“Yes; and he was up again at eight to ride to covert.”
+
+“That is what I like; that is what a young man ought to be. Whatever be
+his pursuits, his eagerness in them should know no moderation, and
+leave him no sense of fatigue.”
+
+“Aye, aye, I see how it will be,” said Sir John, “I see how it will be.
+You will be setting your cap at him now, and never think of poor
+Brandon.”
+
+“That is an expression, Sir John,” said Marianne, warmly, “which I
+particularly dislike. I abhor every common-place phrase by which wit is
+intended; and ‘setting one’s cap at a man,’ or ‘making a conquest,’ are
+the most odious of all. Their tendency is gross and illiberal; and if
+their construction could ever be deemed clever, time has long ago
+destroyed all its ingenuity.”
+
+Sir John did not much understand this reproof; but he laughed as
+heartily as if he did, and then replied,
+
+“Ay, you will make conquests enough, I dare say, one way or other. Poor
+Brandon! he is quite smitten already, and he is very well worth setting
+your cap at, I can tell you, in spite of all this tumbling about and
+spraining of ankles.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+
+Marianne’s preserver, as Margaret, with more elegance than precision,
+styled Willoughby, called at the cottage early the next morning to make
+his personal enquiries. He was received by Mrs. Dashwood with more than
+politeness; with a kindness which Sir John’s account of him and her own
+gratitude prompted; and every thing that passed during the visit tended
+to assure him of the sense, elegance, mutual affection, and domestic
+comfort of the family to whom accident had now introduced him. Of their
+personal charms he had not required a second interview to be convinced.
+
+Miss Dashwood had a delicate complexion, regular features, and a
+remarkably pretty figure. Marianne was still handsomer. Her form,
+though not so correct as her sister’s, in having the advantage of
+height, was more striking; and her face was so lovely, that when in the
+common cant of praise, she was called a beautiful girl, truth was less
+violently outraged than usually happens. Her skin was very brown, but,
+from its transparency, her complexion was uncommonly brilliant; her
+features were all good; her smile was sweet and attractive; and in her
+eyes, which were very dark, there was a life, a spirit, an eagerness,
+which could hardly be seen without delight. From Willoughby their
+expression was at first held back, by the embarrassment which the
+remembrance of his assistance created. But when this passed away, when
+her spirits became collected, when she saw that to the perfect
+good-breeding of the gentleman, he united frankness and vivacity, and
+above all, when she heard him declare, that of music and dancing he was
+passionately fond, she gave him such a look of approbation as secured
+the largest share of his discourse to herself for the rest of his stay.
+
+It was only necessary to mention any favourite amusement to engage her
+to talk. She could not be silent when such points were introduced, and
+she had neither shyness nor reserve in their discussion. They speedily
+discovered that their enjoyment of dancing and music was mutual, and
+that it arose from a general conformity of judgment in all that related
+to either. Encouraged by this to a further examination of his opinions,
+she proceeded to question him on the subject of books; her favourite
+authors were brought forward and dwelt upon with so rapturous a
+delight, that any young man of five and twenty must have been
+insensible indeed, not to become an immediate convert to the excellence
+of such works, however disregarded before. Their taste was strikingly
+alike. The same books, the same passages were idolized by each—or if
+any difference appeared, any objection arose, it lasted no longer than
+till the force of her arguments and the brightness of her eyes could be
+displayed. He acquiesced in all her decisions, caught all her
+enthusiasm; and long before his visit concluded, they conversed with
+the familiarity of a long-established acquaintance.
+
+“Well, Marianne,” said Elinor, as soon as he had left them, “for _one_
+morning I think you have done pretty well. You have already ascertained
+Mr. Willoughby’s opinion in almost every matter of importance. You know
+what he thinks of Cowper and Scott; you are certain of his estimating
+their beauties as he ought, and you have received every assurance of
+his admiring Pope no more than is proper. But how is your acquaintance
+to be long supported, under such extraordinary despatch of every
+subject for discourse? You will soon have exhausted each favourite
+topic. Another meeting will suffice to explain his sentiments on
+picturesque beauty, and second marriages, and then you can have nothing
+farther to ask.”
+
+“Elinor,” cried Marianne, “is this fair? is this just? are my ideas so
+scanty? But I see what you mean. I have been too much at my ease, too
+happy, too frank. I have erred against every common-place notion of
+decorum; I have been open and sincere where I ought to have been
+reserved, spiritless, dull, and deceitful—had I talked only of the
+weather and the roads, and had I spoken only once in ten minutes, this
+reproach would have been spared.”
+
+“My love,” said her mother, “you must not be offended with Elinor—she
+was only in jest. I should scold her myself, if she were capable of
+wishing to check the delight of your conversation with our new friend.”
+Marianne was softened in a moment.
+
+Willoughby, on his side, gave every proof of his pleasure in their
+acquaintance, which an evident wish of improving it could offer. He
+came to them every day. To enquire after Marianne was at first his
+excuse; but the encouragement of his reception, to which every day gave
+greater kindness, made such an excuse unnecessary before it had ceased
+to be possible, by Marianne’s perfect recovery. She was confined for
+some days to the house; but never had any confinement been less
+irksome. Willoughby was a young man of good abilities, quick
+imagination, lively spirits, and open, affectionate manners. He was
+exactly formed to engage Marianne’s heart, for with all this, he joined
+not only a captivating person, but a natural ardour of mind which was
+now roused and increased by the example of her own, and which
+recommended him to her affection beyond every thing else.
+
+His society became gradually her most exquisite enjoyment. They read,
+they talked, they sang together; his musical talents were considerable;
+and he read with all the sensibility and spirit which Edward had
+unfortunately wanted.
+
+In Mrs. Dashwood’s estimation he was as faultless as in Marianne’s; and
+Elinor saw nothing to censure in him but a propensity, in which he
+strongly resembled and peculiarly delighted her sister, of saying too
+much what he thought on every occasion, without attention to persons or
+circumstances. In hastily forming and giving his opinion of other
+people, in sacrificing general politeness to the enjoyment of undivided
+attention where his heart was engaged, and in slighting too easily the
+forms of worldly propriety, he displayed a want of caution which Elinor
+could not approve, in spite of all that he and Marianne could say in
+its support.
+
+Marianne began now to perceive that the desperation which had seized
+her at sixteen and a half, of ever seeing a man who could satisfy her
+ideas of perfection, had been rash and unjustifiable. Willoughby was
+all that her fancy had delineated in that unhappy hour and in every
+brighter period, as capable of attaching her; and his behaviour
+declared his wishes to be in that respect as earnest, as his abilities
+were strong.
+
+Her mother too, in whose mind not one speculative thought of their
+marriage had been raised, by his prospect of riches, was led before the
+end of a week to hope and expect it; and secretly to congratulate
+herself on having gained two such sons-in-law as Edward and Willoughby.
+
+Colonel Brandon’s partiality for Marianne, which had so early been
+discovered by his friends, now first became perceptible to Elinor, when
+it ceased to be noticed by them. Their attention and wit were drawn off
+to his more fortunate rival; and the raillery which the other had
+incurred before any partiality arose, was removed when his feelings
+began really to call for the ridicule so justly annexed to sensibility.
+Elinor was obliged, though unwillingly, to believe that the sentiments
+which Mrs. Jennings had assigned him for her own satisfaction, were now
+actually excited by her sister; and that however a general resemblance
+of disposition between the parties might forward the affection of Mr.
+Willoughby, an equally striking opposition of character was no
+hindrance to the regard of Colonel Brandon. She saw it with concern;
+for what could a silent man of five and thirty hope, when opposed to a
+very lively one of five and twenty? and as she could not even wish him
+successful, she heartily wished him indifferent. She liked him—in spite
+of his gravity and reserve, she beheld in him an object of interest.
+His manners, though serious, were mild; and his reserve appeared rather
+the result of some oppression of spirits than of any natural gloominess
+of temper. Sir John had dropped hints of past injuries and
+disappointments, which justified her belief of his being an unfortunate
+man, and she regarded him with respect and compassion.
+
+Perhaps she pitied and esteemed him the more because he was slighted by
+Willoughby and Marianne, who, prejudiced against him for being neither
+lively nor young, seemed resolved to undervalue his merits.
+
+“Brandon is just the kind of man,” said Willoughby one day, when they
+were talking of him together, “whom every body speaks well of, and
+nobody cares about; whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers
+to talk to.”
+
+“That is exactly what I think of him,” cried Marianne.
+
+“Do not boast of it, however,” said Elinor, “for it is injustice in
+both of you. He is highly esteemed by all the family at the park, and I
+never see him myself without taking pains to converse with him.”
+
+“That he is patronised by _you_,” replied Willoughby, “is certainly in
+his favour; but as for the esteem of the others, it is a reproach in
+itself. Who would submit to the indignity of being approved by such a
+woman as Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings, that could command the
+indifference of any body else?”
+
+“But perhaps the abuse of such people as yourself and Marianne will
+make amends for the regard of Lady Middleton and her mother. If their
+praise is censure, your censure may be praise, for they are not more
+undiscerning, than you are prejudiced and unjust.”
+
+“In defence of your _protégé_ you can even be saucy.”
+
+“My _protégé_, as you call him, is a sensible man; and sense will
+always have attractions for me. Yes, Marianne, even in a man between
+thirty and forty. He has seen a great deal of the world; has been
+abroad, has read, and has a thinking mind. I have found him capable of
+giving me much information on various subjects; and he has always
+answered my inquiries with readiness of good-breeding and good nature.”
+
+“That is to say,” cried Marianne contemptuously, “he has told you, that
+in the East Indies the climate is hot, and the mosquitoes are
+troublesome.”
+
+“He _would_ have told me so, I doubt not, had I made any such
+inquiries, but they happened to be points on which I had been
+previously informed.”
+
+“Perhaps,” said Willoughby, “his observations may have extended to the
+existence of nabobs, gold mohrs, and palanquins.”
+
+“I may venture to say that _his_ observations have stretched much
+further than _your_ candour. But why should you dislike him?”
+
+“I do not dislike him. I consider him, on the contrary, as a very
+respectable man, who has every body’s good word, and nobody’s notice;
+who has more money than he can spend, more time than he knows how to
+employ, and two new coats every year.”
+
+“Add to which,” cried Marianne, “that he has neither genius, taste, nor
+spirit. That his understanding has no brilliancy, his feelings no
+ardour, and his voice no expression.”
+
+“You decide on his imperfections so much in the mass,” replied Elinor,
+“and so much on the strength of your own imagination, that the
+commendation _I_ am able to give of him is comparatively cold and
+insipid. I can only pronounce him to be a sensible man, well-bred,
+well-informed, of gentle address, and, I believe, possessing an amiable
+heart.”
+
+“Miss Dashwood,” cried Willoughby, “you are now using me unkindly. You
+are endeavouring to disarm me by reason, and to convince me against my
+will. But it will not do. You shall find me as stubborn as you can be
+artful. I have three unanswerable reasons for disliking Colonel
+Brandon; he threatened me with rain when I wanted it to be fine; he has
+found fault with the hanging of my curricle, and I cannot persuade him
+to buy my brown mare. If it will be any satisfaction to you, however,
+to be told, that I believe his character to be in other respects
+irreproachable, I am ready to confess it. And in return for an
+acknowledgment, which must give me some pain, you cannot deny me the
+privilege of disliking him as much as ever.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+
+Little had Mrs. Dashwood or her daughters imagined when they first came
+into Devonshire, that so many engagements would arise to occupy their
+time as shortly presented themselves, or that they should have such
+frequent invitations and such constant visitors as to leave them little
+leisure for serious employment. Yet such was the case. When Marianne
+was recovered, the schemes of amusement at home and abroad, which Sir
+John had been previously forming, were put into execution. The private
+balls at the park then began; and parties on the water were made and
+accomplished as often as a showery October would allow. In every
+meeting of the kind Willoughby was included; and the ease and
+familiarity which naturally attended these parties were exactly
+calculated to give increasing intimacy to his acquaintance with the
+Dashwoods, to afford him opportunity of witnessing the excellencies of
+Marianne, of marking his animated admiration of her, and of receiving,
+in her behaviour to himself, the most pointed assurance of her
+affection.
+
+Elinor could not be surprised at their attachment. She only wished that
+it were less openly shown; and once or twice did venture to suggest the
+propriety of some self-command to Marianne. But Marianne abhorred all
+concealment where no real disgrace could attend unreserve; and to aim
+at the restraint of sentiments which were not in themselves illaudable,
+appeared to her not merely an unnecessary effort, but a disgraceful
+subjection of reason to common-place and mistaken notions. Willoughby
+thought the same; and their behaviour at all times, was an illustration
+of their opinions.
+
+When he was present she had no eyes for any one else. Every thing he
+did, was right. Every thing he said, was clever. If their evenings at
+the park were concluded with cards, he cheated himself and all the rest
+of the party to get her a good hand. If dancing formed the amusement of
+the night, they were partners for half the time; and when obliged to
+separate for a couple of dances, were careful to stand together and
+scarcely spoke a word to any body else. Such conduct made them of
+course most exceedingly laughed at; but ridicule could not shame, and
+seemed hardly to provoke them.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood entered into all their feelings with a warmth which left
+her no inclination for checking this excessive display of them. To her
+it was but the natural consequence of a strong affection in a young and
+ardent mind.
+
+This was the season of happiness to Marianne. Her heart was devoted to
+Willoughby, and the fond attachment to Norland, which she brought with
+her from Sussex, was more likely to be softened than she had thought it
+possible before, by the charms which his society bestowed on her
+present home.
+
+Elinor’s happiness was not so great. Her heart was not so much at ease,
+nor her satisfaction in their amusements so pure. They afforded her no
+companion that could make amends for what she had left behind, nor that
+could teach her to think of Norland with less regret than ever. Neither
+Lady Middleton nor Mrs. Jennings could supply to her the conversation
+she missed; although the latter was an everlasting talker, and from the
+first had regarded her with a kindness which ensured her a large share
+of her discourse. She had already repeated her own history to Elinor
+three or four times; and had Elinor’s memory been equal to her means of
+improvement, she might have known very early in their acquaintance all
+the particulars of Mr. Jennings’s last illness, and what he said to his
+wife a few minutes before he died. Lady Middleton was more agreeable
+than her mother only in being more silent. Elinor needed little
+observation to perceive that her reserve was a mere calmness of manner
+with which sense had nothing to do. Towards her husband and mother she
+was the same as to them; and intimacy was therefore neither to be
+looked for nor desired. She had nothing to say one day that she had not
+said the day before. Her insipidity was invariable, for even her
+spirits were always the same; and though she did not oppose the parties
+arranged by her husband, provided every thing were conducted in style
+and her two eldest children attended her, she never appeared to receive
+more enjoyment from them than she might have experienced in sitting at
+home;—and so little did her presence add to the pleasure of the others,
+by any share in their conversation, that they were sometimes only
+reminded of her being amongst them by her solicitude about her
+troublesome boys.
+
+In Colonel Brandon alone, of all her new acquaintance, did Elinor find
+a person who could in any degree claim the respect of abilities, excite
+the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion. Willoughby
+was out of the question. Her admiration and regard, even her sisterly
+regard, was all his own; but he was a lover; his attentions were wholly
+Marianne’s, and a far less agreeable man might have been more generally
+pleasing. Colonel Brandon, unfortunately for himself, had no such
+encouragement to think only of Marianne, and in conversing with Elinor
+he found the greatest consolation for the indifference of her sister.
+
+Elinor’s compassion for him increased, as she had reason to suspect
+that the misery of disappointed love had already been known to him.
+This suspicion was given by some words which accidentally dropped from
+him one evening at the park, when they were sitting down together by
+mutual consent, while the others were dancing. His eyes were fixed on
+Marianne, and, after a silence of some minutes, he said, with a faint
+smile, “Your sister, I understand, does not approve of second
+attachments.”
+
+“No,” replied Elinor, “her opinions are all romantic.”
+
+“Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible to exist.”
+
+“I believe she does. But how she contrives it without reflecting on the
+character of her own father, who had himself two wives, I know not. A
+few years however will settle her opinions on the reasonable basis of
+common sense and observation; and then they may be more easy to define
+and to justify than they now are, by any body but herself.”
+
+“This will probably be the case,” he replied; “and yet there is
+something so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, that one is
+sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions.”
+
+“I cannot agree with you there,” said Elinor. “There are inconveniences
+attending such feelings as Marianne’s, which all the charms of
+enthusiasm and ignorance of the world cannot atone for. Her systems
+have all the unfortunate tendency of setting propriety at nought; and a
+better acquaintance with the world is what I look forward to as her
+greatest possible advantage.”
+
+After a short pause he resumed the conversation by saying,—
+
+“Does your sister make no distinction in her objections against a
+second attachment? or is it equally criminal in every body? Are those
+who have been disappointed in their first choice, whether from the
+inconstancy of its object, or the perverseness of circumstances, to be
+equally indifferent during the rest of their lives?”
+
+“Upon my word, I am not acquainted with the minutiae of her principles.
+I only know that I never yet heard her admit any instance of a second
+attachment’s being pardonable.”
+
+“This,” said he, “cannot hold; but a change, a total change of
+sentiments—No, no, do not desire it; for when the romantic refinements
+of a young mind are obliged to give way, how frequently are they
+succeeded by such opinions as are but too common, and too dangerous! I
+speak from experience. I once knew a lady who in temper and mind
+greatly resembled your sister, who thought and judged like her, but who
+from an enforced change—from a series of unfortunate circumstances—”
+Here he stopt suddenly; appeared to think that he had said too much,
+and by his countenance gave rise to conjectures, which might not
+otherwise have entered Elinor’s head. The lady would probably have
+passed without suspicion, had he not convinced Miss Dashwood that what
+concerned her ought not to escape his lips. As it was, it required but
+a slight effort of fancy to connect his emotion with the tender
+recollection of past regard. Elinor attempted no more. But Marianne, in
+her place, would not have done so little. The whole story would have
+been speedily formed under her active imagination; and every thing
+established in the most melancholy order of disastrous love.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+
+As Elinor and Marianne were walking together the next morning the
+latter communicated a piece of news to her sister, which in spite of
+all that she knew before of Marianne’s imprudence and want of thought,
+surprised her by its extravagant testimony of both. Marianne told her,
+with the greatest delight, that Willoughby had given her a horse, one
+that he had bred himself on his estate in Somersetshire, and which was
+exactly calculated to carry a woman. Without considering that it was
+not in her mother’s plan to keep any horse, that if she were to alter
+her resolution in favour of this gift, she must buy another for the
+servant, and keep a servant to ride it, and after all, build a stable
+to receive them, she had accepted the present without hesitation, and
+told her sister of it in raptures.
+
+“He intends to send his groom into Somersetshire immediately for it,”
+she added, “and when it arrives we will ride every day. You shall share
+its use with me. Imagine to yourself, my dear Elinor, the delight of a
+gallop on some of these downs.”
+
+Most unwilling was she to awaken from such a dream of felicity to
+comprehend all the unhappy truths which attended the affair; and for
+some time she refused to submit to them. As to an additional servant,
+the expense would be a trifle; Mama she was sure would never object to
+it; and any horse would do for _him;_ he might always get one at the
+park; as to a stable, the merest shed would be sufficient. Elinor then
+ventured to doubt the propriety of her receiving such a present from a
+man so little, or at least so lately known to her. This was too much.
+
+“You are mistaken, Elinor,” said she warmly, “in supposing I know very
+little of Willoughby. I have not known him long indeed, but I am much
+better acquainted with him, than I am with any other creature in the
+world, except yourself and mama. It is not time or opportunity that is
+to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be
+insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven
+days are more than enough for others. I should hold myself guilty of
+greater impropriety in accepting a horse from my brother, than from
+Willoughby. Of John I know very little, though we have lived together
+for years; but of Willoughby my judgment has long been formed.”
+
+Elinor thought it wisest to touch that point no more. She knew her
+sister’s temper. Opposition on so tender a subject would only attach
+her the more to her own opinion. But by an appeal to her affection for
+her mother, by representing the inconveniences which that indulgent
+mother must draw on herself, if (as would probably be the case) she
+consented to this increase of establishment, Marianne was shortly
+subdued; and she promised not to tempt her mother to such imprudent
+kindness by mentioning the offer, and to tell Willoughby when she saw
+him next, that it must be declined.
+
+She was faithful to her word; and when Willoughby called at the
+cottage, the same day, Elinor heard her express her disappointment to
+him in a low voice, on being obliged to forego the acceptance of his
+present. The reasons for this alteration were at the same time related,
+and they were such as to make further entreaty on his side impossible.
+His concern however was very apparent; and after expressing it with
+earnestness, he added, in the same low voice,—“But, Marianne, the horse
+is still yours, though you cannot use it now. I shall keep it only till
+you can claim it. When you leave Barton to form your own establishment
+in a more lasting home, Queen Mab shall receive you.”
+
+This was all overheard by Miss Dashwood; and in the whole of the
+sentence, in his manner of pronouncing it, and in his addressing her
+sister by her Christian name alone, she instantly saw an intimacy so
+decided, a meaning so direct, as marked a perfect agreement between
+them. From that moment she doubted not of their being engaged to each
+other; and the belief of it created no other surprise than that she, or
+any of their friends, should be left by tempers so frank, to discover
+it by accident.
+
+Margaret related something to her the next day, which placed this
+matter in a still clearer light. Willoughby had spent the preceding
+evening with them, and Margaret, by being left some time in the parlour
+with only him and Marianne, had had opportunity for observations,
+which, with a most important face, she communicated to her eldest
+sister, when they were next by themselves.
+
+“Oh, Elinor!” she cried, “I have such a secret to tell you about
+Marianne. I am sure she will be married to Mr. Willoughby very soon.”
+
+“You have said so,” replied Elinor, “almost every day since they first
+met on High-church Down; and they had not known each other a week, I
+believe, before you were certain that Marianne wore his picture round
+her neck; but it turned out to be only the miniature of our great
+uncle.”
+
+“But indeed this is quite another thing. I am sure they will be married
+very soon, for he has got a lock of her hair.”
+
+“Take care, Margaret. It may be only the hair of some great uncle of
+_his_.”
+
+“But, indeed, Elinor, it is Marianne’s. I am almost sure it is, for I
+saw him cut it off. Last night after tea, when you and mama went out of
+the room, they were whispering and talking together as fast as could
+be, and he seemed to be begging something of her, and presently he took
+up her scissors and cut off a long lock of her hair, for it was all
+tumbled down her back; and he kissed it, and folded it up in a piece of
+white paper; and put it into his pocket-book.”
+
+For such particulars, stated on such authority, Elinor could not
+withhold her credit; nor was she disposed to it, for the circumstance
+was in perfect unison with what she had heard and seen herself.
+
+Margaret’s sagacity was not always displayed in a way so satisfactory
+to her sister. When Mrs. Jennings attacked her one evening at the park,
+to give the name of the young man who was Elinor’s particular
+favourite, which had been long a matter of great curiosity to her,
+Margaret answered by looking at her sister, and saying, “I must not
+tell, may I, Elinor?”
+
+This of course made every body laugh; and Elinor tried to laugh too.
+But the effort was painful. She was convinced that Margaret had fixed
+on a person whose name she could not bear with composure to become a
+standing joke with Mrs. Jennings.
+
+Marianne felt for her most sincerely; but she did more harm than good
+to the cause, by turning very red and saying in an angry manner to
+Margaret,
+
+“Remember that whatever your conjectures may be, you have no right to
+repeat them.”
+
+“I never had any conjectures about it,” replied Margaret; “it was you
+who told me of it yourself.”
+
+This increased the mirth of the company, and Margaret was eagerly
+pressed to say something more.
+
+“Oh! pray, Miss Margaret, let us know all about it,” said Mrs.
+Jennings. “What is the gentleman’s name?”
+
+“I must not tell, ma’am. But I know very well what it is; and I know
+where he is too.”
+
+“Yes, yes, we can guess where he is; at his own house at Norland to be
+sure. He is the curate of the parish I dare say.”
+
+“No, _that_ he is not. He is of no profession at all.”
+
+“Margaret,” said Marianne with great warmth, “you know that all this is
+an invention of your own, and that there is no such person in
+existence.”
+
+“Well, then, he is lately dead, Marianne, for I am sure there was such
+a man once, and his name begins with an F.”
+
+Most grateful did Elinor feel to Lady Middleton for observing, at this
+moment, “that it rained very hard,” though she believed the
+interruption to proceed less from any attention to her, than from her
+ladyship’s great dislike of all such inelegant subjects of raillery as
+delighted her husband and mother. The idea however started by her, was
+immediately pursued by Colonel Brandon, who was on every occasion
+mindful of the feelings of others; and much was said on the subject of
+rain by both of them. Willoughby opened the piano-forte, and asked
+Marianne to sit down to it; and thus amidst the various endeavours of
+different people to quit the topic, it fell to the ground. But not so
+easily did Elinor recover from the alarm into which it had thrown her.
+
+A party was formed this evening for going on the following day to see a
+very fine place about twelve miles from Barton, belonging to a
+brother-in-law of Colonel Brandon, without whose interest it could not
+be seen, as the proprietor, who was then abroad, had left strict orders
+on that head. The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful, and Sir
+John, who was particularly warm in their praise, might be allowed to be
+a tolerable judge, for he had formed parties to visit them, at least,
+twice every summer for the last ten years. They contained a noble piece
+of water; a sail on which was to form a great part of the morning’s
+amusement; cold provisions were to be taken, open carriages only to be
+employed, and every thing conducted in the usual style of a complete
+party of pleasure.
+
+To some few of the company it appeared rather a bold undertaking,
+considering the time of year, and that it had rained every day for the
+last fortnight;—and Mrs. Dashwood, who had already a cold, was
+persuaded by Elinor to stay at home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+
+Their intended excursion to Whitwell turned out very different from
+what Elinor had expected. She was prepared to be wet through, fatigued,
+and frightened; but the event was still more unfortunate, for they did
+not go at all.
+
+By ten o’clock the whole party was assembled at the park, where they
+were to breakfast. The morning was rather favourable, though it had
+rained all night, as the clouds were then dispersing across the sky,
+and the sun frequently appeared. They were all in high spirits and good
+humour, eager to be happy, and determined to submit to the greatest
+inconveniences and hardships rather than be otherwise.
+
+While they were at breakfast the letters were brought in. Among the
+rest there was one for Colonel Brandon;—he took it, looked at the
+direction, changed colour, and immediately left the room.
+
+“What is the matter with Brandon?” said Sir John.
+
+Nobody could tell.
+
+“I hope he has had no bad news,” said Lady Middleton. “It must be
+something extraordinary that could make Colonel Brandon leave my
+breakfast table so suddenly.”
+
+In about five minutes he returned.
+
+“No bad news, Colonel, I hope;” said Mrs. Jennings, as soon as he
+entered the room.
+
+“None at all, ma’am, I thank you.”
+
+“Was it from Avignon? I hope it is not to say that your sister is
+worse.”
+
+“No, ma’am. It came from town, and is merely a letter of business.”
+
+“But how came the hand to discompose you so much, if it was only a
+letter of business? Come, come, this won’t do, Colonel; so let us hear
+the truth of it.”
+
+“My dear madam,” said Lady Middleton, “recollect what you are saying.”
+
+“Perhaps it is to tell you that your cousin Fanny is married?” said
+Mrs. Jennings, without attending to her daughter’s reproof.
+
+“No, indeed, it is not.”
+
+“Well, then, I know who it is from, Colonel. And I hope she is well.”
+
+“Whom do you mean, ma’am?” said he, colouring a little.
+
+“Oh! you know who I mean.”
+
+“I am particularly sorry, ma’am,” said he, addressing Lady Middleton,
+“that I should receive this letter today, for it is on business which
+requires my immediate attendance in town.”
+
+“In town!” cried Mrs. Jennings. “What can you have to do in town at
+this time of year?”
+
+“My own loss is great,” he continued, “in being obliged to leave so
+agreeable a party; but I am the more concerned, as I fear my presence
+is necessary to gain your admittance at Whitwell.”
+
+What a blow upon them all was this!
+
+“But if you write a note to the housekeeper, Mr. Brandon,” said
+Marianne, eagerly, “will it not be sufficient?”
+
+He shook his head.
+
+“We must go,” said Sir John.—“It shall not be put off when we are so
+near it. You cannot go to town till tomorrow, Brandon, that is all.”
+
+“I wish it could be so easily settled. But it is not in my power to
+delay my journey for one day!”
+
+“If you would but let us know what your business is,” said Mrs.
+Jennings, “we might see whether it could be put off or not.”
+
+“You would not be six hours later,” said Willoughby, “if you were to
+defer your journey till our return.”
+
+“I cannot afford to lose _one_ hour.”
+
+Elinor then heard Willoughby say, in a low voice to Marianne, “There
+are some people who cannot bear a party of pleasure. Brandon is one of
+them. He was afraid of catching cold I dare say, and invented this
+trick for getting out of it. I would lay fifty guineas the letter was
+of his own writing.”
+
+“I have no doubt of it,” replied Marianne.
+
+“There is no persuading you to change your mind, Brandon, I know of
+old,” said Sir John, “when once you are determined on anything. But,
+however, I hope you will think better of it. Consider, here are the two
+Miss Careys come over from Newton, the three Miss Dashwoods walked up
+from the cottage, and Mr. Willoughby got up two hours before his usual
+time, on purpose to go to Whitwell.”
+
+Colonel Brandon again repeated his sorrow at being the cause of
+disappointing the party; but at the same time declared it to be
+unavoidable.
+
+“Well, then, when will you come back again?”
+
+“I hope we shall see you at Barton,” added her ladyship, “as soon as
+you can conveniently leave town; and we must put off the party to
+Whitwell till you return.”
+
+“You are very obliging. But it is so uncertain, when I may have it in
+my power to return, that I dare not engage for it at all.”
+
+“Oh! he must and shall come back,” cried Sir John. “If he is not here
+by the end of the week, I shall go after him.”
+
+“Ay, so do, Sir John,” cried Mrs. Jennings, “and then perhaps you may
+find out what his business is.”
+
+“I do not want to pry into other men’s concerns. I suppose it is
+something he is ashamed of.”
+
+Colonel Brandon’s horses were announced.
+
+“You do not go to town on horseback, do you?” added Sir John.
+
+“No. Only to Honiton. I shall then go post.”
+
+“Well, as you are resolved to go, I wish you a good journey. But you
+had better change your mind.”
+
+“I assure you it is not in my power.”
+
+He then took leave of the whole party.
+
+“Is there no chance of my seeing you and your sisters in town this
+winter, Miss Dashwood?”
+
+“I am afraid, none at all.”
+
+“Then I must bid you farewell for a longer time than I should wish to
+do.”
+
+To Marianne, he merely bowed and said nothing.
+
+“Come Colonel,” said Mrs. Jennings, “before you go, do let us know what
+you are going about.”
+
+He wished her a good morning, and, attended by Sir John, left the room.
+
+The complaints and lamentations which politeness had hitherto
+restrained, now burst forth universally; and they all agreed again and
+again how provoking it was to be so disappointed.
+
+“I can guess what his business is, however,” said Mrs. Jennings
+exultingly.
+
+“Can you, ma’am?” said almost every body.
+
+“Yes; it is about Miss Williams, I am sure.”
+
+“And who is Miss Williams?” asked Marianne.
+
+“What! do not you know who Miss Williams is? I am sure you must have
+heard of her before. She is a relation of the Colonel’s, my dear; a
+very near relation. We will not say how near, for fear of shocking the
+young ladies.” Then, lowering her voice a little, she said to Elinor,
+“She is his natural daughter.”
+
+“Indeed!”
+
+“Oh, yes; and as like him as she can stare. I dare say the Colonel will
+leave her all his fortune.”
+
+When Sir John returned, he joined most heartily in the general regret
+on so unfortunate an event; concluding however by observing, that as
+they were all got together, they must do something by way of being
+happy; and after some consultation it was agreed, that although
+happiness could only be enjoyed at Whitwell, they might procure a
+tolerable composure of mind by driving about the country. The carriages
+were then ordered; Willoughby’s was first, and Marianne never looked
+happier than when she got into it. He drove through the park very fast,
+and they were soon out of sight; and nothing more of them was seen till
+their return, which did not happen till after the return of all the
+rest. They both seemed delighted with their drive; but said only in
+general terms that they had kept in the lanes, while the others went on
+the downs.
+
+It was settled that there should be a dance in the evening, and that
+every body should be extremely merry all day long. Some more of the
+Careys came to dinner, and they had the pleasure of sitting down nearly
+twenty to table, which Sir John observed with great contentment.
+Willoughby took his usual place between the two elder Miss Dashwoods.
+Mrs. Jennings sat on Elinor’s right hand; and they had not been long
+seated, before she leant behind her and Willoughby, and said to
+Marianne, loud enough for them both to hear, “I have found you out in
+spite of all your tricks. I know where you spent the morning.”
+
+Marianne coloured, and replied very hastily, “Where, pray?”
+
+“Did not you know,” said Willoughby, “that we had been out in my
+curricle?”
+
+“Yes, yes, Mr. Impudence, I know that very well, and I was determined
+to find out _where_ you had been to. I hope you like your house, Miss
+Marianne. It is a very large one, I know; and when I come to see you, I
+hope you will have new-furnished it, for it wanted it very much when I
+was there six years ago.”
+
+Marianne turned away in great confusion. Mrs. Jennings laughed
+heartily; and Elinor found that in her resolution to know where they
+had been, she had actually made her own woman enquire of Mr.
+Willoughby’s groom; and that she had by that method been informed that
+they had gone to Allenham, and spent a considerable time there in
+walking about the garden and going all over the house.
+
+Elinor could hardly believe this to be true, as it seemed very unlikely
+that Willoughby should propose, or Marianne consent, to enter the house
+while Mrs. Smith was in it, with whom Marianne had not the smallest
+acquaintance.
+
+As soon as they left the dining-room, Elinor enquired of her about it;
+and great was her surprise when she found that every circumstance
+related by Mrs. Jennings was perfectly true. Marianne was quite angry
+with her for doubting it.
+
+“Why should you imagine, Elinor, that we did not go there, or that we
+did not see the house? Is not it what you have often wished to do
+yourself?”
+
+“Yes, Marianne, but I would not go while Mrs. Smith was there, and with
+no other companion than Mr. Willoughby.”
+
+“Mr. Willoughby however is the only person who can have a right to show
+that house; and as he went in an open carriage, it was impossible to
+have any other companion. I never spent a pleasanter morning in my
+life.”
+
+“I am afraid,” replied Elinor, “that the pleasantness of an employment
+does not always evince its propriety.”
+
+“On the contrary, nothing can be a stronger proof of it, Elinor; for if
+there had been any real impropriety in what I did, I should have been
+sensible of it at the time, for we always know when we are acting
+wrong, and with such a conviction I could have had no pleasure.”
+
+“But, my dear Marianne, as it has already exposed you to some very
+impertinent remarks, do you not now begin to doubt the discretion of
+your own conduct?”
+
+“If the impertinent remarks of Mrs. Jennings are to be the proof of
+impropriety in conduct, we are all offending every moment of our lives.
+I value not her censure any more than I should do her commendation. I
+am not sensible of having done anything wrong in walking over Mrs.
+Smith’s grounds, or in seeing her house. They will one day be Mr.
+Willoughby’s, and—”
+
+“If they were one day to be your own, Marianne, you would not be
+justified in what you have done.”
+
+She blushed at this hint; but it was even visibly gratifying to her;
+and after a ten minutes’ interval of earnest thought, she came to her
+sister again, and said with great good humour, “Perhaps, Elinor, it
+_was_ rather ill-judged in me to go to Allenham; but Mr. Willoughby
+wanted particularly to show me the place; and it is a charming house, I
+assure you.—There is one remarkably pretty sitting room up stairs; of a
+nice comfortable size for constant use, and with modern furniture it
+would be delightful. It is a corner room, and has windows on two sides.
+On one side you look across the bowling-green, behind the house, to a
+beautiful hanging wood, and on the other you have a view of the church
+and village, and, beyond them, of those fine bold hills that we have so
+often admired. I did not see it to advantage, for nothing could be more
+forlorn than the furniture,—but if it were newly fitted up—a couple of
+hundred pounds, Willoughby says, would make it one of the pleasantest
+summer-rooms in England.”
+
+Could Elinor have listened to her without interruption from the others,
+she would have described every room in the house with equal delight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+
+The sudden termination of Colonel Brandon’s visit at the park, with his
+steadiness in concealing its cause, filled the mind, and raised the
+wonder of Mrs. Jennings for two or three days; she was a great
+wonderer, as every one must be who takes a very lively interest in all
+the comings and goings of all their acquaintance. She wondered, with
+little intermission what could be the reason of it; was sure there must
+be some bad news, and thought over every kind of distress that could
+have befallen him, with a fixed determination that he should not escape
+them all.
+
+“Something very melancholy must be the matter, I am sure,” said she. “I
+could see it in his face. Poor man! I am afraid his circumstances may
+be bad. The estate at Delaford was never reckoned more than two
+thousand a year, and his brother left everything sadly involved. I do
+think he must have been sent for about money matters, for what else can
+it be? I wonder whether it is so. I would give anything to know the
+truth of it. Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by the bye, I dare
+say it is, because he looked so conscious when I mentioned her. May be
+she is ill in town; nothing in the world more likely, for I have a
+notion she is always rather sickly. I would lay any wager it is about
+Miss Williams. It is not so very likely he should be distressed in his
+circumstances _now_, for he is a very prudent man, and to be sure must
+have cleared the estate by this time. I wonder what it can be! May be
+his sister is worse at Avignon, and has sent for him over. His setting
+off in such a hurry seems very like it. Well, I wish him out of all his
+trouble with all my heart, and a good wife into the bargain.”
+
+So wondered, so talked Mrs. Jennings. Her opinion varying with every
+fresh conjecture, and all seeming equally probable as they arose.
+Elinor, though she felt really interested in the welfare of Colonel
+Brandon, could not bestow all the wonder on his going so suddenly away,
+which Mrs. Jennings was desirous of her feeling; for besides that the
+circumstance did not in her opinion justify such lasting amazement or
+variety of speculation, her wonder was otherwise disposed of. It was
+engrossed by the extraordinary silence of her sister and Willoughby on
+the subject, which they must know to be peculiarly interesting to them
+all. As this silence continued, every day made it appear more strange
+and more incompatible with the disposition of both. Why they should not
+openly acknowledge to her mother and herself, what their constant
+behaviour to each other declared to have taken place, Elinor could not
+imagine.
+
+She could easily conceive that marriage might not be immediately in
+their power; for though Willoughby was independent, there was no reason
+to believe him rich. His estate had been rated by Sir John at about six
+or seven hundred a year; but he lived at an expense to which that
+income could hardly be equal, and he had himself often complained of
+his poverty. But for this strange kind of secrecy maintained by them
+relative to their engagement, which in fact concealed nothing at all,
+she could not account; and it was so wholly contradictory to their
+general opinions and practice, that a doubt sometimes entered her mind
+of their being really engaged, and this doubt was enough to prevent her
+making any inquiry of Marianne.
+
+Nothing could be more expressive of attachment to them all, than
+Willoughby’s behaviour. To Marianne it had all the distinguishing
+tenderness which a lover’s heart could give, and to the rest of the
+family it was the affectionate attention of a son and a brother. The
+cottage seemed to be considered and loved by him as his home; many more
+of his hours were spent there than at Allenham; and if no general
+engagement collected them at the park, the exercise which called him
+out in the morning was almost certain of ending there, where the rest
+of the day was spent by himself at the side of Marianne, and by his
+favourite pointer at her feet.
+
+One evening in particular, about a week after Colonel Brandon left the
+country, his heart seemed more than usually open to every feeling of
+attachment to the objects around him; and on Mrs. Dashwood’s happening
+to mention her design of improving the cottage in the spring, he warmly
+opposed every alteration of a place which affection had established as
+perfect with him.
+
+“What!” he exclaimed—“Improve this dear cottage! No. _That_ I will
+never consent to. Not a stone must be added to its walls, not an inch
+to its size, if my feelings are regarded.”
+
+“Do not be alarmed,” said Miss Dashwood, “nothing of the kind will be
+done; for my mother will never have money enough to attempt it.”
+
+“I am heartily glad of it,” he cried. “May she always be poor, if she
+can employ her riches no better.”
+
+“Thank you, Willoughby. But you may be assured that I would not
+sacrifice one sentiment of local attachment of yours, or of any one
+whom I loved, for all the improvements in the world. Depend upon it
+that whatever unemployed sum may remain, when I make up my accounts in
+the spring, I would even rather lay it uselessly by than dispose of it
+in a manner so painful to you. But are you really so attached to this
+place as to see no defect in it?”
+
+“I am,” said he. “To me it is faultless. Nay, more, I consider it as
+the only form of building in which happiness is attainable, and were I
+rich enough I would instantly pull Combe down, and build it up again in
+the exact plan of this cottage.”
+
+“With dark narrow stairs and a kitchen that smokes, I suppose,” said
+Elinor.
+
+“Yes,” cried he in the same eager tone, “with all and every thing
+belonging to it;—in no one convenience or inconvenience about it,
+should the least variation be perceptible. Then, and then only, under
+such a roof, I might perhaps be as happy at Combe as I have been at
+Barton.”
+
+“I flatter myself,” replied Elinor, “that even under the disadvantage
+of better rooms and a broader staircase, you will hereafter find your
+own house as faultless as you now do this.”
+
+“There certainly are circumstances,” said Willoughby, “which might
+greatly endear it to me; but this place will always have one claim of
+my affection, which no other can possibly share.”
+
+Mrs. Dashwood looked with pleasure at Marianne, whose fine eyes were
+fixed so expressively on Willoughby, as plainly denoted how well she
+understood him.
+
+“How often did I wish,” added he, “when I was at Allenham this time
+twelvemonth, that Barton cottage were inhabited! I never passed within
+view of it without admiring its situation, and grieving that no one
+should live in it. How little did I then think that the very first news
+I should hear from Mrs. Smith, when I next came into the country, would
+be that Barton cottage was taken: and I felt an immediate satisfaction
+and interest in the event, which nothing but a kind of prescience of
+what happiness I should experience from it, can account for. Must it
+not have been so, Marianne?” speaking to her in a lowered voice. Then
+continuing his former tone, he said, “And yet this house you would
+spoil, Mrs. Dashwood? You would rob it of its simplicity by imaginary
+improvement! and this dear parlour in which our acquaintance first
+began, and in which so many happy hours have been since spent by us
+together, you would degrade to the condition of a common entrance, and
+every body would be eager to pass through the room which has hitherto
+contained within itself more real accommodation and comfort than any
+other apartment of the handsomest dimensions in the world could
+possibly afford.”
+
+Mrs. Dashwood again assured him that no alteration of the kind should
+be attempted.
+
+“You are a good woman,” he warmly replied. “Your promise makes me easy.
+Extend it a little farther, and it will make me happy. Tell me that not
+only your house will remain the same, but that I shall ever find you
+and yours as unchanged as your dwelling; and that you will always
+consider me with the kindness which has made everything belonging to
+you so dear to me.”
+
+The promise was readily given, and Willoughby’s behaviour during the
+whole of the evening declared at once his affection and happiness.
+
+“Shall we see you tomorrow to dinner?” said Mrs. Dashwood, when he was
+leaving them. “I do not ask you to come in the morning, for we must
+walk to the park, to call on Lady Middleton.”
+
+He engaged to be with them by four o’clock.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+
+Mrs. Dashwood’s visit to Lady Middleton took place the next day, and
+two of her daughters went with her; but Marianne excused herself from
+being of the party, under some trifling pretext of employment; and her
+mother, who concluded that a promise had been made by Willoughby the
+night before of calling on her while they were absent, was perfectly
+satisfied with her remaining at home.
+
+On their return from the park they found Willoughby’s curricle and
+servant in waiting at the cottage, and Mrs. Dashwood was convinced that
+her conjecture had been just. So far it was all as she had foreseen;
+but on entering the house she beheld what no foresight had taught her
+to expect. They were no sooner in the passage than Marianne came
+hastily out of the parlour apparently in violent affliction, with her
+handkerchief at her eyes; and without noticing them ran up stairs.
+Surprised and alarmed they proceeded directly into the room she had
+just quitted, where they found only Willoughby, who was leaning against
+the mantel-piece with his back towards them. He turned round on their
+coming in, and his countenance showed that he strongly partook of the
+emotion which over-powered Marianne.
+
+“Is anything the matter with her?” cried Mrs. Dashwood as she
+entered—“is she ill?”
+
+“I hope not,” he replied, trying to look cheerful; and with a forced
+smile presently added, “It is I who may rather expect to be ill—for I
+am now suffering under a very heavy disappointment!”
+
+“Disappointment?”
+
+“Yes, for I am unable to keep my engagement with you. Mrs. Smith has
+this morning exercised the privilege of riches upon a poor dependent
+cousin, by sending me on business to London. I have just received my
+dispatches, and taken my farewell of Allenham; and by way of
+exhilaration I am now come to take my farewell of you.”
+
+“To London!—and are you going this morning?”
+
+“Almost this moment.”
+
+“This is very unfortunate. But Mrs. Smith must be obliged;—and her
+business will not detain you from us long I hope.”
+
+He coloured as he replied, “You are very kind, but I have no idea of
+returning into Devonshire immediately. My visits to Mrs. Smith are
+never repeated within the twelvemonth.”
+
+“And is Mrs. Smith your only friend? Is Allenham the only house in the
+neighbourhood to which you will be welcome? For shame, Willoughby, can
+you wait for an invitation here?”
+
+His colour increased; and with his eyes fixed on the ground he only
+replied, “You are too good.”
+
+Mrs. Dashwood looked at Elinor with surprise. Elinor felt equal
+amazement. For a few moments every one was silent. Mrs. Dashwood first
+spoke.
+
+“I have only to add, my dear Willoughby, that at Barton cottage you
+will always be welcome; for I will not press you to return here
+immediately, because you only can judge how far _that_ might be
+pleasing to Mrs. Smith; and on this head I shall be no more disposed to
+question your judgment than to doubt your inclination.”
+
+“My engagements at present,” replied Willoughby, confusedly, “are of
+such a nature—that—I dare not flatter myself—”
+
+He stopped. Mrs. Dashwood was too much astonished to speak, and another
+pause succeeded. This was broken by Willoughby, who said with a faint
+smile, “It is folly to linger in this manner. I will not torment myself
+any longer by remaining among friends whose society it is impossible
+for me now to enjoy.”
+
+He then hastily took leave of them all and left the room. They saw him
+step into his carriage, and in a minute it was out of sight.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood felt too much for speech, and instantly quitted the
+parlour to give way in solitude to the concern and alarm which this
+sudden departure occasioned.
+
+Elinor’s uneasiness was at least equal to her mother’s. She thought of
+what had just passed with anxiety and distrust. Willoughby’s behaviour
+in taking leave of them, his embarrassment, and affectation of
+cheerfulness, and, above all, his unwillingness to accept her mother’s
+invitation, a backwardness so unlike a lover, so unlike himself,
+greatly disturbed her. One moment she feared that no serious design had
+ever been formed on his side; and the next that some unfortunate
+quarrel had taken place between him and her sister;—the distress in
+which Marianne had quitted the room was such as a serious quarrel could
+most reasonably account for, though when she considered what Marianne’s
+love for him was, a quarrel seemed almost impossible.
+
+But whatever might be the particulars of their separation, her sister’s
+affliction was indubitable; and she thought with the tenderest
+compassion of that violent sorrow which Marianne was in all probability
+not merely giving way to as a relief, but feeding and encouraging as a
+duty.
+
+In about half an hour her mother returned, and though her eyes were
+red, her countenance was not uncheerful.
+
+“Our dear Willoughby is now some miles from Barton, Elinor,” said she,
+as she sat down to work, “and with how heavy a heart does he travel?”
+
+“It is all very strange. So suddenly to be gone! It seems but the work
+of a moment. And last night he was with us so happy, so cheerful, so
+affectionate? And now, after only ten minutes notice—Gone too without
+intending to return!—Something more than what he owned to us must have
+happened. He did not speak, he did not behave like himself. _You_ must
+have seen the difference as well as I. What can it be? Can they have
+quarrelled? Why else should he have shown such unwillingness to accept
+your invitation here?”
+
+“It was not inclination that he wanted, Elinor; I could plainly see
+_that_. He had not the power of accepting it. I have thought it all
+over I assure you, and I can perfectly account for every thing that at
+first seemed strange to me as well as to you.”
+
+“Can you, indeed!”
+
+“Yes. I have explained it to myself in the most satisfactory way;—but
+you, Elinor, who love to doubt where you can—it will not satisfy _you_,
+I know; but you shall not talk _me_ out of my trust in it. I am
+persuaded that Mrs. Smith suspects his regard for Marianne, disapproves
+of it, (perhaps because she has other views for him,) and on that
+account is eager to get him away;—and that the business which she sends
+him off to transact is invented as an excuse to dismiss him. This is
+what I believe to have happened. He is, moreover, aware that she _does_
+disapprove the connection, he dares not therefore at present confess to
+her his engagement with Marianne, and he feels himself obliged, from
+his dependent situation, to give into her schemes, and absent himself
+from Devonshire for a while. You will tell me, I know, that this may or
+may _not_ have happened; but I will listen to no cavil, unless you can
+point out any other method of understanding the affair as satisfactory
+at this. And now, Elinor, what have you to say?”
+
+“Nothing, for you have anticipated my answer.”
+
+“Then you would have told me, that it might or might not have happened.
+Oh, Elinor, how incomprehensible are your feelings! You had rather take
+evil upon credit than good. You had rather look out for misery for
+Marianne, and guilt for poor Willoughby, than an apology for the
+latter. You are resolved to think him blameable, because he took leave
+of us with less affection than his usual behaviour has shown. And is no
+allowance to be made for inadvertence, or for spirits depressed by
+recent disappointment? Are no probabilities to be accepted, merely
+because they are not certainties? Is nothing due to the man whom we
+have all such reason to love, and no reason in the world to think ill
+of? To the possibility of motives unanswerable in themselves, though
+unavoidably secret for a while? And, after all, what is it you suspect
+him of?”
+
+“I can hardly tell myself. But suspicion of something unpleasant is the
+inevitable consequence of such an alteration as we just witnessed in
+him. There is great truth, however, in what you have now urged of the
+allowances which ought to be made for him, and it is my wish to be
+candid in my judgment of every body. Willoughby may undoubtedly have
+very sufficient reasons for his conduct, and I will hope that he has.
+But it would have been more like Willoughby to acknowledge them at
+once. Secrecy may be advisable; but still I cannot help wondering at
+its being practiced by him.”
+
+“Do not blame him, however, for departing from his character, where the
+deviation is necessary. But you really do admit the justice of what I
+have said in his defence?—I am happy—and he is acquitted.”
+
+“Not entirely. It may be proper to conceal their engagement (if they
+_are_ engaged) from Mrs. Smith—and if that is the case, it must be
+highly expedient for Willoughby to be but little in Devonshire at
+present. But this is no excuse for their concealing it from us.”
+
+“Concealing it from us! my dear child, do you accuse Willoughby and
+Marianne of concealment? This is strange indeed, when your eyes have
+been reproaching them every day for incautiousness.”
+
+“I want no proof of their affection,” said Elinor; “but of their
+engagement I do.”
+
+“I am perfectly satisfied of both.”
+
+“Yet not a syllable has been said to you on the subject, by either of
+them.”
+
+“I have not wanted syllables where actions have spoken so plainly. Has
+not his behaviour to Marianne and to all of us, for at least the last
+fortnight, declared that he loved and considered her as his future
+wife, and that he felt for us the attachment of the nearest relation?
+Have we not perfectly understood each other? Has not my consent been
+daily asked by his looks, his manner, his attentive and affectionate
+respect? My Elinor, is it possible to doubt their engagement? How could
+such a thought occur to you? How is it to be supposed that Willoughby,
+persuaded as he must be of your sister’s love, should leave her, and
+leave her perhaps for months, without telling her of his
+affection;—that they should part without a mutual exchange of
+confidence?”
+
+“I confess,” replied Elinor, “that every circumstance except _one_ is
+in favour of their engagement; but that _one_ is the total silence of
+both on the subject, and with me it almost outweighs every other.”
+
+“How strange this is! You must think wretchedly indeed of Willoughby,
+if, after all that has openly passed between them, you can doubt the
+nature of the terms on which they are together. Has he been acting a
+part in his behaviour to your sister all this time? Do you suppose him
+really indifferent to her?”
+
+“No, I cannot think that. He must and does love her I am sure.”
+
+“But with a strange kind of tenderness, if he can leave her with such
+indifference, such carelessness of the future, as you attribute to
+him.”
+
+“You must remember, my dear mother, that I have never considered this
+matter as certain. I have had my doubts, I confess; but they are
+fainter than they were, and they may soon be entirely done away. If we
+find they correspond, every fear of mine will be removed.”
+
+“A mighty concession indeed! If you were to see them at the altar, you
+would suppose they were going to be married. Ungracious girl! But _I_
+require no such proof. Nothing in my opinion has ever passed to justify
+doubt; no secrecy has been attempted; all has been uniformly open and
+unreserved. You cannot doubt your sister’s wishes. It must be
+Willoughby therefore whom you suspect. But why? Is he not a man of
+honour and feeling? Has there been any inconsistency on his side to
+create alarm? can he be deceitful?”
+
+“I hope not, I believe not,” cried Elinor. “I love Willoughby,
+sincerely love him; and suspicion of his integrity cannot be more
+painful to yourself than to me. It has been involuntary, and I will not
+encourage it. I was startled, I confess, by the alteration in his
+manners this morning;—he did not speak like himself, and did not return
+your kindness with any cordiality. But all this may be explained by
+such a situation of his affairs as you have supposed. He had just
+parted from my sister, had seen her leave him in the greatest
+affliction; and if he felt obliged, from a fear of offending Mrs.
+Smith, to resist the temptation of returning here soon, and yet aware
+that by declining your invitation, by saying that he was going away for
+some time, he should seem to act an ungenerous, a suspicious part by
+our family, he might well be embarrassed and disturbed. In such a case,
+a plain and open avowal of his difficulties would have been more to his
+honour I think, as well as more consistent with his general
+character;—but I will not raise objections against any one’s conduct on
+so illiberal a foundation, as a difference in judgment from myself, or
+a deviation from what I may think right and consistent.”
+
+“You speak very properly. Willoughby certainly does not deserve to be
+suspected. Though _we_ have not known him long, he is no stranger in
+this part of the world; and who has ever spoken to his disadvantage?
+Had he been in a situation to act independently and marry immediately,
+it might have been odd that he should leave us without acknowledging
+everything to me at once: but this is not the case. It is an engagement
+in some respects not prosperously begun, for their marriage must be at
+a very uncertain distance; and even secrecy, as far as it can be
+observed, may now be very advisable.”
+
+They were interrupted by the entrance of Margaret; and Elinor was then
+at liberty to think over the representations of her mother, to
+acknowledge the probability of many, and hope for the justice of all.
+
+They saw nothing of Marianne till dinner time, when she entered the
+room and took her place at the table without saying a word. Her eyes
+were red and swollen; and it seemed as if her tears were even then
+restrained with difficulty. She avoided the looks of them all, could
+neither eat nor speak, and after some time, on her mother’s silently
+pressing her hand with tender compassion, her small degree of fortitude
+was quite overcome, she burst into tears and left the room.
+
+This violent oppression of spirits continued the whole evening. She was
+without any power, because she was without any desire of command over
+herself. The slightest mention of anything relative to Willoughby
+overpowered her in an instant; and though her family were most
+anxiously attentive to her comfort, it was impossible for them, if they
+spoke at all, to keep clear of every subject which her feelings
+connected with him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+
+Marianne would have thought herself very inexcusable had she been able
+to sleep at all the first night after parting from Willoughby. She
+would have been ashamed to look her family in the face the next
+morning, had she not risen from her bed in more need of repose than
+when she lay down in it. But the feelings which made such composure a
+disgrace, left her in no danger of incurring it. She was awake the
+whole night, and she wept the greatest part of it. She got up with a
+headache, was unable to talk, and unwilling to take any nourishment;
+giving pain every moment to her mother and sisters, and forbidding all
+attempt at consolation from either. Her sensibility was potent enough!
+
+When breakfast was over she walked out by herself, and wandered about
+the village of Allenham, indulging the recollection of past enjoyment
+and crying over the present reverse for the chief of the morning.
+
+The evening passed off in the equal indulgence of feeling. She played
+over every favourite song that she had been used to play to Willoughby,
+every air in which their voices had been oftenest joined, and sat at
+the instrument gazing on every line of music that he had written out
+for her, till her heart was so heavy that no farther sadness could be
+gained; and this nourishment of grief was every day applied. She spent
+whole hours at the pianoforte alternately singing and crying; her voice
+often totally suspended by her tears. In books too, as well as in
+music, she courted the misery which a contrast between the past and
+present was certain of giving. She read nothing but what they had been
+used to read together.
+
+Such violence of affliction indeed could not be supported for ever; it
+sunk within a few days into a calmer melancholy; but these employments,
+to which she daily recurred, her solitary walks and silent meditations,
+still produced occasional effusions of sorrow as lively as ever.
+
+No letter from Willoughby came; and none seemed expected by Marianne.
+Her mother was surprised, and Elinor again became uneasy. But Mrs.
+Dashwood could find explanations whenever she wanted them, which at
+least satisfied herself.
+
+“Remember, Elinor,” said she, “how very often Sir John fetches our
+letters himself from the post, and carries them to it. We have already
+agreed that secrecy may be necessary, and we must acknowledge that it
+could not be maintained if their correspondence were to pass through
+Sir John’s hands.”
+
+Elinor could not deny the truth of this, and she tried to find in it a
+motive sufficient for their silence. But there was one method so
+direct, so simple, and in her opinion so eligible of knowing the real
+state of the affair, and of instantly removing all mystery, that she
+could not help suggesting it to her mother.
+
+“Why do you not ask Marianne at once,” said she, “whether she is or she
+is not engaged to Willoughby? From you, her mother, and so kind, so
+indulgent a mother, the question could not give offence. It would be
+the natural result of your affection for her. She used to be all
+unreserve, and to you more especially.”
+
+“I would not ask such a question for the world. Supposing it possible
+that they are not engaged, what distress would not such an enquiry
+inflict! At any rate it would be most ungenerous. I should never
+deserve her confidence again, after forcing from her a confession of
+what is meant at present to be unacknowledged to any one. I know
+Marianne’s heart: I know that she dearly loves me, and that I shall not
+be the last to whom the affair is made known, when circumstances make
+the revealment of it eligible. I would not attempt to force the
+confidence of any one; of a child much less; because a sense of duty
+would prevent the denial which her wishes might direct.”
+
+Elinor thought this generosity overstrained, considering her sister’s
+youth, and urged the matter farther, but in vain; common sense, common
+care, common prudence, were all sunk in Mrs. Dashwood’s romantic
+delicacy.
+
+It was several days before Willoughby’s name was mentioned before
+Marianne by any of her family; Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, indeed, were
+not so nice; their witticisms added pain to many a painful hour;—but
+one evening, Mrs. Dashwood, accidentally taking up a volume of
+Shakespeare, exclaimed,
+
+“We have never finished Hamlet, Marianne; our dear Willoughby went away
+before we could get through it. We will put it by, that when he comes
+again...But it may be months, perhaps, before _that_ happens.”
+
+“Months!” cried Marianne, with strong surprise. “No—nor many weeks.”
+
+Mrs. Dashwood was sorry for what she had said; but it gave Elinor
+pleasure, as it produced a reply from Marianne so expressive of
+confidence in Willoughby and knowledge of his intentions.
+
+One morning, about a week after his leaving the country, Marianne was
+prevailed on to join her sisters in their usual walk, instead of
+wandering away by herself. Hitherto she had carefully avoided every
+companion in her rambles. If her sisters intended to walk on the downs,
+she directly stole away towards the lanes; if they talked of the
+valley, she was as speedy in climbing the hills, and could never be
+found when the others set off. But at length she was secured by the
+exertions of Elinor, who greatly disapproved such continual seclusion.
+They walked along the road through the valley, and chiefly in silence,
+for Marianne’s _mind_ could not be controlled, and Elinor, satisfied
+with gaining one point, would not then attempt more. Beyond the
+entrance of the valley, where the country, though still rich, was less
+wild and more open, a long stretch of the road which they had travelled
+on first coming to Barton, lay before them; and on reaching that point,
+they stopped to look around them, and examine a prospect which formed
+the distance of their view from the cottage, from a spot which they had
+never happened to reach in any of their walks before.
+
+Amongst the objects in the scene, they soon discovered an animated one;
+it was a man on horseback riding towards them. In a few minutes they
+could distinguish him to be a gentleman; and in a moment afterwards
+Marianne rapturously exclaimed,
+
+“It is he; it is indeed;—I know it is!”—and was hastening to meet him,
+when Elinor cried out,
+
+“Indeed, Marianne, I think you are mistaken. It is not Willoughby. The
+person is not tall enough for him, and has not his air.”
+
+“He has, he has,” cried Marianne, “I am sure he has. His air, his coat,
+his horse. I knew how soon he would come.”
+
+She walked eagerly on as she spoke; and Elinor, to screen Marianne from
+particularity, as she felt almost certain of its not being Willoughby,
+quickened her pace and kept up with her. They were soon within thirty
+yards of the gentleman. Marianne looked again; her heart sunk within
+her; and abruptly turning round, she was hurrying back, when the voices
+of both her sisters were raised to detain her; a third, almost as well
+known as Willoughby’s, joined them in begging her to stop, and she
+turned round with surprise to see and welcome Edward Ferrars.
+
+He was the only person in the world who could at that moment be
+forgiven for not being Willoughby; the only one who could have gained a
+smile from her; but she dispersed her tears to smile on _him_, and in
+her sister’s happiness forgot for a time her own disappointment.
+
+He dismounted, and giving his horse to his servant, walked back with
+them to Barton, whither he was purposely coming to visit them.
+
+He was welcomed by them all with great cordiality, but especially by
+Marianne, who showed more warmth of regard in her reception of him than
+even Elinor herself. To Marianne, indeed, the meeting between Edward
+and her sister was but a continuation of that unaccountable coldness
+which she had often observed at Norland in their mutual behaviour. On
+Edward’s side, more particularly, there was a deficiency of all that a
+lover ought to look and say on such an occasion. He was confused,
+seemed scarcely sensible of pleasure in seeing them, looked neither
+rapturous nor gay, said little but what was forced from him by
+questions, and distinguished Elinor by no mark of affection. Marianne
+saw and listened with increasing surprise. She began almost to feel a
+dislike of Edward; and it ended, as every feeling must end with her, by
+carrying back her thoughts to Willoughby, whose manners formed a
+contrast sufficiently striking to those of his brother elect.
+
+After a short silence which succeeded the first surprise and enquiries
+of meeting, Marianne asked Edward if he came directly from London. No,
+he had been in Devonshire a fortnight.
+
+“A fortnight!” she repeated, surprised at his being so long in the same
+county with Elinor without seeing her before.
+
+He looked rather distressed as he added, that he had been staying with
+some friends near Plymouth.
+
+“Have you been lately in Sussex?” said Elinor.
+
+“I was at Norland about a month ago.”
+
+“And how does dear, dear Norland look?” cried Marianne.
+
+“Dear, dear Norland,” said Elinor, “probably looks much as it always
+does at this time of the year. The woods and walks thickly covered with
+dead leaves.”
+
+“Oh,” cried Marianne, “with what transporting sensation have I formerly
+seen them fall! How have I delighted, as I walked, to see them driven
+in showers about me by the wind! What feelings have they, the season,
+the air altogether inspired! Now there is no one to regard them. They
+are seen only as a nuisance, swept hastily off, and driven as much as
+possible from the sight.”
+
+“It is not every one,” said Elinor, “who has your passion for dead
+leaves.”
+
+“No; my feelings are not often shared, not often understood. But
+_sometimes_ they are.”—As she said this, she sunk into a reverie for a
+few moments;—but rousing herself again, “Now, Edward,” said she,
+calling his attention to the prospect, “here is Barton valley. Look up
+to it, and be tranquil if you can. Look at those hills! Did you ever
+see their equals? To the left is Barton park, amongst those woods and
+plantations. You may see the end of the house. And there, beneath that
+farthest hill, which rises with such grandeur, is our cottage.”
+
+“It is a beautiful country,” he replied; “but these bottoms must be
+dirty in winter.”
+
+“How can you think of dirt, with such objects before you?”
+
+“Because,” replied he, smiling, “among the rest of the objects before
+me, I see a very dirty lane.”
+
+“How strange!” said Marianne to herself as she walked on.
+
+“Have you an agreeable neighbourhood here? Are the Middletons pleasant
+people?”
+
+“No, not all,” answered Marianne; “we could not be more unfortunately
+situated.”
+
+“Marianne,” cried her sister, “how can you say so? How can you be so
+unjust? They are a very respectable family, Mr. Ferrars; and towards us
+have behaved in the friendliest manner. Have you forgot, Marianne, how
+many pleasant days we have owed to them?”
+
+“No,” said Marianne, in a low voice, “nor how many painful moments.”
+
+Elinor took no notice of this; and directing her attention to their
+visitor, endeavoured to support something like discourse with him, by
+talking of their present residence, its conveniences, &c. extorting
+from him occasional questions and remarks. His coldness and reserve
+mortified her severely; she was vexed and half angry; but resolving to
+regulate her behaviour to him by the past rather than the present, she
+avoided every appearance of resentment or displeasure, and treated him
+as she thought he ought to be treated from the family connection.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+
+Mrs. Dashwood was surprised only for a moment at seeing him; for his
+coming to Barton was, in her opinion, of all things the most natural.
+Her joy and expression of regard long outlived her wonder. He received
+the kindest welcome from her; and shyness, coldness, reserve could not
+stand against such a reception. They had begun to fail him before he
+entered the house, and they were quite overcome by the captivating
+manners of Mrs. Dashwood. Indeed a man could not very well be in love
+with either of her daughters, without extending the passion to her; and
+Elinor had the satisfaction of seeing him soon become more like
+himself. His affections seemed to reanimate towards them all, and his
+interest in their welfare again became perceptible. He was not in
+spirits, however; he praised their house, admired its prospect, was
+attentive, and kind; but still he was not in spirits. The whole family
+perceived it, and Mrs. Dashwood, attributing it to some want of
+liberality in his mother, sat down to table indignant against all
+selfish parents.
+
+“What are Mrs. Ferrars’s views for you at present, Edward?” said she,
+when dinner was over and they had drawn round the fire; “are you still
+to be a great orator in spite of yourself?”
+
+“No. I hope my mother is now convinced that I have no more talents than
+inclination for a public life!”
+
+“But how is your fame to be established? for famous you must be to
+satisfy all your family; and with no inclination for expense, no
+affection for strangers, no profession, and no assurance, you may find
+it a difficult matter.”
+
+“I shall not attempt it. I have no wish to be distinguished; and have
+every reason to hope I never shall. Thank Heaven! I cannot be forced
+into genius and eloquence.”
+
+“You have no ambition, I well know. Your wishes are all moderate.”
+
+“As moderate as those of the rest of the world, I believe. I wish as
+well as every body else to be perfectly happy; but, like every body
+else it must be in my own way. Greatness will not make me so.”
+
+“Strange that it would!” cried Marianne. “What have wealth or grandeur
+to do with happiness?”
+
+“Grandeur has but little,” said Elinor, “but wealth has much to do with
+it.”
+
+“Elinor, for shame!” said Marianne, “money can only give happiness
+where there is nothing else to give it. Beyond a competence, it can
+afford no real satisfaction, as far as mere self is concerned.”
+
+“Perhaps,” said Elinor, smiling, “we may come to the same point. _Your_
+competence and _my_ wealth are very much alike, I dare say; and without
+them, as the world goes now, we shall both agree that every kind of
+external comfort must be wanting. Your ideas are only more noble than
+mine. Come, what is your competence?”
+
+“About eighteen hundred or two thousand a year; not more than _that_.”
+
+Elinor laughed. “_two_ thousand a year! _one_ is my wealth! I guessed
+how it would end.”
+
+“And yet two thousand a-year is a very moderate income,” said Marianne.
+“A family cannot well be maintained on a smaller. I am sure I am not
+extravagant in my demands. A proper establishment of servants, a
+carriage, perhaps two, and hunters, cannot be supported on less.”
+
+Elinor smiled again, to hear her sister describing so accurately their
+future expenses at Combe Magna.
+
+“Hunters!” repeated Edward—“but why must you have hunters? Every body
+does not hunt.”
+
+Marianne coloured as she replied, “But most people do.”
+
+“I wish,” said Margaret, striking out a novel thought, “that somebody
+would give us all a large fortune apiece!”
+
+“Oh that they would!” cried Marianne, her eyes sparkling with
+animation, and her cheeks glowing with the delight of such imaginary
+happiness.
+
+“We are all unanimous in that wish, I suppose,” said Elinor, “in spite
+of the insufficiency of wealth.”
+
+“Oh dear!” cried Margaret, “how happy I should be! I wonder what I
+should do with it!”
+
+Marianne looked as if she had no doubt on that point.
+
+“I should be puzzled to spend so large a fortune myself,” said Mrs.
+Dashwood, “if my children were all to be rich without my help.”
+
+“You must begin your improvements on this house,” observed Elinor, “and
+your difficulties will soon vanish.”
+
+“What magnificent orders would travel from this family to London,” said
+Edward, “in such an event! What a happy day for booksellers,
+music-sellers, and print-shops! You, Miss Dashwood, would give a
+general commission for every new print of merit to be sent you—and as
+for Marianne, I know her greatness of soul, there would not be music
+enough in London to content her. And books!—Thomson, Cowper, Scott—she
+would buy them all over and over again: she would buy up every copy, I
+believe, to prevent their falling into unworthy hands; and she would
+have every book that tells her how to admire an old twisted tree.
+Should not you, Marianne? Forgive me, if I am very saucy. But I was
+willing to show you that I had not forgot our old disputes.”
+
+“I love to be reminded of the past, Edward—whether it be melancholy or
+gay, I love to recall it—and you will never offend me by talking of
+former times. You are very right in supposing how my money would be
+spent—some of it, at least—my loose cash would certainly be employed in
+improving my collection of music and books.”
+
+“And the bulk of your fortune would be laid out in annuities on the
+authors or their heirs.”
+
+“No, Edward, I should have something else to do with it.”
+
+“Perhaps, then, you would bestow it as a reward on that person who
+wrote the ablest defence of your favourite maxim, that no one can ever
+be in love more than once in their life—your opinion on that point is
+unchanged, I presume?”
+
+“Undoubtedly. At my time of life opinions are tolerably fixed. It is
+not likely that I should now see or hear any thing to change them.”
+
+“Marianne is as steadfast as ever, you see,” said Elinor, “she is not
+at all altered.”
+
+“She is only grown a little more grave than she was.”
+
+“Nay, Edward,” said Marianne, “_you_ need not reproach me. You are not
+very gay yourself.”
+
+“Why should you think so!” replied he, with a sigh. “But gaiety never
+was a part of _my_ character.”
+
+“Nor do I think it a part of Marianne’s,” said Elinor; “I should hardly
+call her a lively girl—she is very earnest, very eager in all she
+does—sometimes talks a great deal and always with animation—but she is
+not often really merry.”
+
+“I believe you are right,” he replied, “and yet I have always set her
+down as a lively girl.”
+
+“I have frequently detected myself in such kind of mistakes,” said
+Elinor, “in a total misapprehension of character in some point or
+other: fancying people so much more gay or grave, or ingenious or
+stupid than they really are, and I can hardly tell why or in what the
+deception originated. Sometimes one is guided by what they say of
+themselves, and very frequently by what other people say of them,
+without giving oneself time to deliberate and judge.”
+
+“But I thought it was right, Elinor,” said Marianne, “to be guided
+wholly by the opinion of other people. I thought our judgments were
+given us merely to be subservient to those of neighbours. This has
+always been your doctrine, I am sure.”
+
+“No, Marianne, never. My doctrine has never aimed at the subjection of
+the understanding. All I have ever attempted to influence has been the
+behaviour. You must not confound my meaning. I am guilty, I confess, of
+having often wished you to treat our acquaintance in general with
+greater attention; but when have I advised you to adopt their
+sentiments or to conform to their judgment in serious matters?”
+
+“You have not been able to bring your sister over to your plan of
+general civility,” said Edward to Elinor, “Do you gain no ground?”
+
+“Quite the contrary,” replied Elinor, looking expressively at Marianne.
+
+“My judgment,” he returned, “is all on your side of the question; but I
+am afraid my practice is much more on your sister’s. I never wish to
+offend, but I am so foolishly shy, that I often seem negligent, when I
+am only kept back by my natural awkwardness. I have frequently thought
+that I must have been intended by nature to be fond of low company, I
+am so little at my ease among strangers of gentility!”
+
+“Marianne has not shyness to excuse any inattention of hers,” said
+Elinor.
+
+“She knows her own worth too well for false shame,” replied Edward.
+“Shyness is only the effect of a sense of inferiority in some way or
+other. If I could persuade myself that my manners were perfectly easy
+and graceful, I should not be shy.”
+
+“But you would still be reserved,” said Marianne, “and that is worse.”
+
+Edward started—“Reserved! Am I reserved, Marianne?”
+
+“Yes, very.”
+
+“I do not understand you,” replied he, colouring. “Reserved!—how, in
+what manner? What am I to tell you? What can you suppose?”
+
+Elinor looked surprised at his emotion; but trying to laugh off the
+subject, she said to him, “Do not you know my sister well enough to
+understand what she means? Do not you know she calls every one reserved
+who does not talk as fast, and admire what she admires as rapturously
+as herself?”
+
+Edward made no answer. His gravity and thoughtfulness returned on him
+in their fullest extent—and he sat for some time silent and dull.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+
+Elinor saw, with great uneasiness the low spirits of her friend. His
+visit afforded her but a very partial satisfaction, while his own
+enjoyment in it appeared so imperfect. It was evident that he was
+unhappy; she wished it were equally evident that he still distinguished
+her by the same affection which once she had felt no doubt of
+inspiring; but hitherto the continuance of his preference seemed very
+uncertain; and the reservedness of his manner towards her contradicted
+one moment what a more animated look had intimated the preceding one.
+
+He joined her and Marianne in the breakfast-room the next morning
+before the others were down; and Marianne, who was always eager to
+promote their happiness as far as she could, soon left them to
+themselves. But before she was half way upstairs she heard the parlour
+door open, and, turning round, was astonished to see Edward himself
+come out.
+
+“I am going into the village to see my horses,” said he, “as you are
+not yet ready for breakfast; I shall be back again presently.”
+
+
+Edward returned to them with fresh admiration of the surrounding
+country; in his walk to the village, he had seen many parts of the
+valley to advantage; and the village itself, in a much higher situation
+than the cottage, afforded a general view of the whole, which had
+exceedingly pleased him. This was a subject which ensured Marianne’s
+attention, and she was beginning to describe her own admiration of
+these scenes, and to question him more minutely on the objects that had
+particularly struck him, when Edward interrupted her by saying, “You
+must not enquire too far, Marianne—remember I have no knowledge in the
+picturesque, and I shall offend you by my ignorance and want of taste
+if we come to particulars. I shall call hills steep, which ought to be
+bold; surfaces strange and uncouth, which ought to be irregular and
+rugged; and distant objects out of sight, which ought only to be
+indistinct through the soft medium of a hazy atmosphere. You must be
+satisfied with such admiration as I can honestly give. I call it a very
+fine country—the hills are steep, the woods seem full of fine timber,
+and the valley looks comfortable and snug—with rich meadows and several
+neat farm houses scattered here and there. It exactly answers my idea
+of a fine country, because it unites beauty with utility—and I dare say
+it is a picturesque one too, because you admire it; I can easily
+believe it to be full of rocks and promontories, grey moss and brush
+wood, but these are all lost on me. I know nothing of the picturesque.”
+
+“I am afraid it is but too true,” said Marianne; “but why should you
+boast of it?”
+
+“I suspect,” said Elinor, “that to avoid one kind of affectation,
+Edward here falls into another. Because he believes many people pretend
+to more admiration of the beauties of nature than they really feel, and
+is disgusted with such pretensions, he affects greater indifference and
+less discrimination in viewing them himself than he possesses. He is
+fastidious and will have an affectation of his own.”
+
+“It is very true,” said Marianne, “that admiration of landscape scenery
+is become a mere jargon. Every body pretends to feel and tries to
+describe with the taste and elegance of him who first defined what
+picturesque beauty was. I detest jargon of every kind, and sometimes I
+have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to
+describe them in but what was worn and hackneyed out of all sense and
+meaning.”
+
+“I am convinced,” said Edward, “that you really feel all the delight in
+a fine prospect which you profess to feel. But, in return, your sister
+must allow me to feel no more than I profess. I like a fine prospect,
+but not on picturesque principles. I do not like crooked, twisted,
+blasted trees. I admire them much more if they are tall, straight, and
+flourishing. I do not like ruined, tattered cottages. I am not fond of
+nettles or thistles, or heath blossoms. I have more pleasure in a snug
+farm-house than a watch-tower—and a troop of tidy, happy villagers
+please me better than the finest banditti in the world.”
+
+Marianne looked with amazement at Edward, with compassion at her
+sister. Elinor only laughed.
+
+The subject was continued no farther; and Marianne remained
+thoughtfully silent, till a new object suddenly engaged her attention.
+She was sitting by Edward, and in taking his tea from Mrs. Dashwood,
+his hand passed so directly before her, as to make a ring, with a plait
+of hair in the centre, very conspicuous on one of his fingers.
+
+“I never saw you wear a ring before, Edward,” she cried. “Is that
+Fanny’s hair? I remember her promising to give you some. But I should
+have thought her hair had been darker.”
+
+Marianne spoke inconsiderately what she really felt—but when she saw
+how much she had pained Edward, her own vexation at her want of thought
+could not be surpassed by his. He coloured very deeply, and giving a
+momentary glance at Elinor, replied, “Yes; it is my sister’s hair. The
+setting always casts a different shade on it, you know.”
+
+Elinor had met his eye, and looked conscious likewise. That the hair
+was her own, she instantaneously felt as well satisfied as Marianne;
+the only difference in their conclusions was, that what Marianne
+considered as a free gift from her sister, Elinor was conscious must
+have been procured by some theft or contrivance unknown to herself. She
+was not in a humour, however, to regard it as an affront, and affecting
+to take no notice of what passed, by instantly talking of something
+else, she internally resolved henceforward to catch every opportunity
+of eyeing the hair and of satisfying herself, beyond all doubt, that it
+was exactly the shade of her own.
+
+Edward’s embarrassment lasted some time, and it ended in an absence of
+mind still more settled. He was particularly grave the whole morning.
+Marianne severely censured herself for what she had said; but her own
+forgiveness might have been more speedy, had she known how little
+offence it had given her sister.
+
+Before the middle of the day, they were visited by Sir John and Mrs.
+Jennings, who, having heard of the arrival of a gentleman at the
+cottage, came to take a survey of the guest. With the assistance of his
+mother-in-law, Sir John was not long in discovering that the name of
+Ferrars began with an F. and this prepared a future mine of raillery
+against the devoted Elinor, which nothing but the newness of their
+acquaintance with Edward could have prevented from being immediately
+sprung. But, as it was, she only learned, from some very significant
+looks, how far their penetration, founded on Margaret’s instructions,
+extended.
+
+Sir John never came to the Dashwoods without either inviting them to
+dine at the park the next day, or to drink tea with them that evening.
+On the present occasion, for the better entertainment of their visitor,
+towards whose amusement he felt himself bound to contribute, he wished
+to engage them for both.
+
+“You _must_ drink tea with us to night,” said he, “for we shall be
+quite alone—and tomorrow you must absolutely dine with us, for we shall
+be a large party.”
+
+Mrs. Jennings enforced the necessity. “And who knows but you may raise
+a dance,” said she. “And that will tempt _you_, Miss Marianne.”
+
+“A dance!” cried Marianne. “Impossible! Who is to dance?”
+
+“Who! why yourselves, and the Careys, and Whitakers to be sure.—What!
+you thought nobody could dance because a certain person that shall be
+nameless is gone!”
+
+“I wish with all my soul,” cried Sir John, “that Willoughby were among
+us again.”
+
+This, and Marianne’s blushing, gave new suspicions to Edward. “And who
+is Willoughby?” said he, in a low voice, to Miss Dashwood, by whom he
+was sitting.
+
+She gave him a brief reply. Marianne’s countenance was more
+communicative. Edward saw enough to comprehend, not only the meaning of
+others, but such of Marianne’s expressions as had puzzled him before;
+and when their visitors left them, he went immediately round her, and
+said, in a whisper, “I have been guessing. Shall I tell you my guess?”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“Shall I tell you?”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“Well then; I guess that Mr. Willoughby hunts.”
+
+Marianne was surprised and confused, yet she could not help smiling at
+the quiet archness of his manner, and after a moment’s silence, said,
+
+“Oh, Edward! How can you?—But the time will come I hope...I am sure you
+will like him.”
+
+“I do not doubt it,” replied he, rather astonished at her earnestness
+and warmth; for had he not imagined it to be a joke for the good of her
+acquaintance in general, founded only on a something or a nothing
+between Mr. Willoughby and herself, he would not have ventured to
+mention it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+
+Edward remained a week at the cottage; he was earnestly pressed by Mrs.
+Dashwood to stay longer; but, as if he were bent only on
+self-mortification, he seemed resolved to be gone when his enjoyment
+among his friends was at the height. His spirits, during the last two
+or three days, though still very unequal, were greatly improved—he grew
+more and more partial to the house and environs—never spoke of going
+away without a sigh—declared his time to be wholly disengaged—even
+doubted to what place he should go when he left them—but still, go he
+must. Never had any week passed so quickly—he could hardly believe it
+to be gone. He said so repeatedly; other things he said too, which
+marked the turn of his feelings and gave the lie to his actions. He had
+no pleasure at Norland; he detested being in town; but either to
+Norland or London, he must go. He valued their kindness beyond any
+thing, and his greatest happiness was in being with them. Yet, he must
+leave them at the end of a week, in spite of their wishes and his own,
+and without any restraint on his time.
+
+Elinor placed all that was astonishing in this way of acting to his
+mother’s account; and it was happy for her that he had a mother whose
+character was so imperfectly known to her, as to be the general excuse
+for every thing strange on the part of her son. Disappointed, however,
+and vexed as she was, and sometimes displeased with his uncertain
+behaviour to herself, she was very well disposed on the whole to regard
+his actions with all the candid allowances and generous qualifications,
+which had been rather more painfully extorted from her, for
+Willoughby’s service, by her mother. His want of spirits, of openness,
+and of consistency, were most usually attributed to his want of
+independence, and his better knowledge of Mrs. Ferrars’s disposition
+and designs. The shortness of his visit, the steadiness of his purpose
+in leaving them, originated in the same fettered inclination, the same
+inevitable necessity of temporizing with his mother. The old
+well-established grievance of duty against will, parent against child,
+was the cause of all. She would have been glad to know when these
+difficulties were to cease, this opposition was to yield,—when Mrs.
+Ferrars would be reformed, and her son be at liberty to be happy. But
+from such vain wishes she was forced to turn for comfort to the renewal
+of her confidence in Edward’s affection, to the remembrance of every
+mark of regard in look or word which fell from him while at Barton, and
+above all to that flattering proof of it which he constantly wore round
+his finger.
+
+“I think, Edward,” said Mrs. Dashwood, as they were at breakfast the
+last morning, “you would be a happier man if you had any profession to
+engage your time and give an interest to your plans and actions. Some
+inconvenience to your friends, indeed, might result from it—you would
+not be able to give them so much of your time. But (with a smile) you
+would be materially benefited in one particular at least—you would know
+where to go when you left them.”
+
+“I do assure you,” he replied, “that I have long thought on this point,
+as you think now. It has been, and is, and probably will always be a
+heavy misfortune to me, that I have had no necessary business to engage
+me, no profession to give me employment, or afford me any thing like
+independence. But unfortunately my own nicety, and the nicety of my
+friends, have made me what I am, an idle, helpless being. We never
+could agree in our choice of a profession. I always preferred the
+church, as I still do. But that was not smart enough for my family.
+They recommended the army. That was a great deal too smart for me. The
+law was allowed to be genteel enough; many young men, who had chambers
+in the Temple, made a very good appearance in the first circles, and
+drove about town in very knowing gigs. But I had no inclination for the
+law, even in this less abstruse study of it, which my family approved.
+As for the navy, it had fashion on its side, but I was too old when the
+subject was first started to enter it—and, at length, as there was no
+necessity for my having any profession at all, as I might be as dashing
+and expensive without a red coat on my back as with one, idleness was
+pronounced on the whole to be most advantageous and honourable, and a
+young man of eighteen is not in general so earnestly bent on being busy
+as to resist the solicitations of his friends to do nothing. I was
+therefore entered at Oxford and have been properly idle ever since.”
+
+“The consequence of which, I suppose, will be,” said Mrs. Dashwood,
+“since leisure has not promoted your own happiness, that your sons will
+be brought up to as many pursuits, employments, professions, and trades
+as Columella’s.”
+
+“They will be brought up,” said he, in a serious accent, “to be as
+unlike myself as is possible. In feeling, in action, in condition, in
+every thing.”
+
+“Come, come; this is all an effusion of immediate want of spirits,
+Edward. You are in a melancholy humour, and fancy that any one unlike
+yourself must be happy. But remember that the pain of parting from
+friends will be felt by every body at times, whatever be their
+education or state. Know your own happiness. You want nothing but
+patience—or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope. Your mother
+will secure to you, in time, that independence you are so anxious for;
+it is her duty, and it will, it must ere long become her happiness to
+prevent your whole youth from being wasted in discontent. How much may
+not a few months do?”
+
+“I think,” replied Edward, “that I may defy many months to produce any
+good to me.”
+
+This desponding turn of mind, though it could not be communicated to
+Mrs. Dashwood, gave additional pain to them all in the parting, which
+shortly took place, and left an uncomfortable impression on Elinor’s
+feelings especially, which required some trouble and time to subdue.
+But as it was her determination to subdue it, and to prevent herself
+from appearing to suffer more than what all her family suffered on his
+going away, she did not adopt the method so judiciously employed by
+Marianne, on a similar occasion, to augment and fix her sorrow, by
+seeking silence, solitude and idleness. Their means were as different
+as their objects, and equally suited to the advancement of each.
+
+Elinor sat down to her drawing-table as soon as he was out of the
+house, busily employed herself the whole day, neither sought nor
+avoided the mention of his name, appeared to interest herself almost as
+much as ever in the general concerns of the family, and if, by this
+conduct, she did not lessen her own grief, it was at least prevented
+from unnecessary increase, and her mother and sisters were spared much
+solicitude on her account.
+
+Such behaviour as this, so exactly the reverse of her own, appeared no
+more meritorious to Marianne, than her own had seemed faulty to her.
+The business of self-command she settled very easily;—with strong
+affections it was impossible, with calm ones it could have no merit.
+That her sister’s affections _were_ calm, she dared not deny, though
+she blushed to acknowledge it; and of the strength of her own, she gave
+a very striking proof, by still loving and respecting that sister, in
+spite of this mortifying conviction.
+
+Without shutting herself up from her family, or leaving the house in
+determined solitude to avoid them, or lying awake the whole night to
+indulge meditation, Elinor found every day afforded her leisure enough
+to think of Edward, and of Edward’s behaviour, in every possible
+variety which the different state of her spirits at different times
+could produce,—with tenderness, pity, approbation, censure, and doubt.
+There were moments in abundance, when, if not by the absence of her
+mother and sisters, at least by the nature of their employments,
+conversation was forbidden among them, and every effect of solitude was
+produced. Her mind was inevitably at liberty; her thoughts could not be
+chained elsewhere; and the past and the future, on a subject so
+interesting, must be before her, must force her attention, and engross
+her memory, her reflection, and her fancy.
+
+From a reverie of this kind, as she sat at her drawing-table, she was
+roused one morning, soon after Edward’s leaving them, by the arrival of
+company. She happened to be quite alone. The closing of the little
+gate, at the entrance of the green court in front of the house, drew
+her eyes to the window, and she saw a large party walking up to the
+door. Amongst them were Sir John and Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings,
+but there were two others, a gentleman and lady, who were quite unknown
+to her. She was sitting near the window, and as soon as Sir John
+perceived her, he left the rest of the party to the ceremony of
+knocking at the door, and stepping across the turf, obliged her to open
+the casement to speak to him, though the space was so short between the
+door and the window, as to make it hardly possible to speak at one
+without being heard at the other.
+
+“Well,” said he, “we have brought you some strangers. How do you like
+them?”
+
+“Hush! they will hear you.”
+
+“Never mind if they do. It is only the Palmers. Charlotte is very
+pretty, I can tell you. You may see her if you look this way.”
+
+As Elinor was certain of seeing her in a couple of minutes, without
+taking that liberty, she begged to be excused.
+
+“Where is Marianne? Has she run away because we are come? I see her
+instrument is open.”
+
+“She is walking, I believe.”
+
+They were now joined by Mrs. Jennings, who had not patience enough to
+wait till the door was opened before she told _her_ story. She came
+hallooing to the window, “How do you do, my dear? How does Mrs.
+Dashwood do? And where are your sisters? What! all alone! you will be
+glad of a little company to sit with you. I have brought my other son
+and daughter to see you. Only think of their coming so suddenly! I
+thought I heard a carriage last night, while we were drinking our tea,
+but it never entered my head that it could be them. I thought of
+nothing but whether it might not be Colonel Brandon come back again; so
+I said to Sir John, I do think I hear a carriage; perhaps it is Colonel
+Brandon come back again—”
+
+Elinor was obliged to turn from her, in the middle of her story, to
+receive the rest of the party; Lady Middleton introduced the two
+strangers; Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret came down stairs at the same
+time, and they all sat down to look at one another, while Mrs. Jennings
+continued her story as she walked through the passage into the parlour,
+attended by Sir John.
+
+Mrs. Palmer was several years younger than Lady Middleton, and totally
+unlike her in every respect. She was short and plump, had a very pretty
+face, and the finest expression of good humour in it that could
+possibly be. Her manners were by no means so elegant as her sister’s,
+but they were much more prepossessing. She came in with a smile, smiled
+all the time of her visit, except when she laughed, and smiled when she
+went away. Her husband was a grave looking young man of five or six and
+twenty, with an air of more fashion and sense than his wife, but of
+less willingness to please or be pleased. He entered the room with a
+look of self-consequence, slightly bowed to the ladies, without
+speaking a word, and, after briefly surveying them and their
+apartments, took up a newspaper from the table, and continued to read
+it as long as he staid.
+
+Mrs. Palmer, on the contrary, who was strongly endowed by nature with a
+turn for being uniformly civil and happy, was hardly seated before her
+admiration of the parlour and every thing in it burst forth.
+
+“Well! what a delightful room this is! I never saw anything so
+charming! Only think, Mama, how it is improved since I was here last! I
+always thought it such a sweet place, ma’am! (turning to Mrs. Dashwood)
+but you have made it so charming! Only look, sister, how delightful
+every thing is! How I should like such a house for myself! Should not
+you, Mr. Palmer?”
+
+Mr. Palmer made her no answer, and did not even raise his eyes from the
+newspaper.
+
+“Mr. Palmer does not hear me,” said she, laughing; “he never does
+sometimes. It is so ridiculous!”
+
+This was quite a new idea to Mrs. Dashwood; she had never been used to
+find wit in the inattention of any one, and could not help looking with
+surprise at them both.
+
+Mrs. Jennings, in the meantime, talked on as loud as she could, and
+continued her account of their surprise, the evening before, on seeing
+their friends, without ceasing till every thing was told. Mrs. Palmer
+laughed heartily at the recollection of their astonishment, and every
+body agreed, two or three times over, that it had been quite an
+agreeable surprise.
+
+“You may believe how glad we all were to see them,” added Mrs.
+Jennings, leaning forward towards Elinor, and speaking in a low voice
+as if she meant to be heard by no one else, though they were seated on
+different sides of the room; “but, however, I can’t help wishing they
+had not travelled quite so fast, nor made such a long journey of it,
+for they came all round by London upon account of some business, for
+you know (nodding significantly and pointing to her daughter) it was
+wrong in her situation. I wanted her to stay at home and rest this
+morning, but she would come with us; she longed so much to see you
+all!”
+
+Mrs. Palmer laughed, and said it would not do her any harm.
+
+“She expects to be confined in February,” continued Mrs. Jennings.
+
+Lady Middleton could no longer endure such a conversation, and
+therefore exerted herself to ask Mr. Palmer if there was any news in
+the paper.
+
+“No, none at all,” he replied, and read on.
+
+“Here comes Marianne,” cried Sir John. “Now, Palmer, you shall see a
+monstrous pretty girl.”
+
+He immediately went into the passage, opened the front door, and
+ushered her in himself. Mrs. Jennings asked her, as soon as she
+appeared, if she had not been to Allenham; and Mrs. Palmer laughed so
+heartily at the question, as to show she understood it. Mr. Palmer
+looked up on her entering the room, stared at her some minutes, and
+then returned to his newspaper. Mrs. Palmer’s eye was now caught by the
+drawings which hung round the room. She got up to examine them.
+
+“Oh! dear, how beautiful these are! Well! how delightful! Do but look,
+mama, how sweet! I declare they are quite charming; I could look at
+them for ever.” And then sitting down again, she very soon forgot that
+there were any such things in the room.
+
+When Lady Middleton rose to go away, Mr. Palmer rose also, laid down
+the newspaper, stretched himself and looked at them all around.
+
+“My love, have you been asleep?” said his wife, laughing.
+
+He made her no answer; and only observed, after again examining the
+room, that it was very low pitched, and that the ceiling was crooked.
+He then made his bow, and departed with the rest.
+
+Sir John had been very urgent with them all to spend the next day at
+the park. Mrs. Dashwood, who did not chuse to dine with them oftener
+than they dined at the cottage, absolutely refused on her own account;
+her daughters might do as they pleased. But they had no curiosity to
+see how Mr. and Mrs. Palmer ate their dinner, and no expectation of
+pleasure from them in any other way. They attempted, therefore,
+likewise, to excuse themselves; the weather was uncertain, and not
+likely to be good. But Sir John would not be satisfied—the carriage
+should be sent for them and they must come. Lady Middleton too, though
+she did not press their mother, pressed them. Mrs. Jennings and Mrs.
+Palmer joined their entreaties, all seemed equally anxious to avoid a
+family party; and the young ladies were obliged to yield.
+
+“Why should they ask us?” said Marianne, as soon as they were gone.
+“The rent of this cottage is said to be low; but we have it on very
+hard terms, if we are to dine at the park whenever any one is staying
+either with them, or with us.”
+
+“They mean no less to be civil and kind to us now,” said Elinor, “by
+these frequent invitations, than by those which we received from them a
+few weeks ago. The alteration is not in them, if their parties are
+grown tedious and dull. We must look for the change elsewhere.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+
+As the Miss Dashwoods entered the drawing-room of the park the next
+day, at one door, Mrs. Palmer came running in at the other, looking as
+good humoured and merry as before. She took them all most
+affectionately by the hand, and expressed great delight in seeing them
+again.
+
+“I am so glad to see you!” said she, seating herself between Elinor and
+Marianne, “for it is so bad a day I was afraid you might not come,
+which would be a shocking thing, as we go away again tomorrow. We must
+go, for the Westons come to us next week you know. It was quite a
+sudden thing our coming at all, and I knew nothing of it till the
+carriage was coming to the door, and then Mr. Palmer asked me if I
+would go with him to Barton. He is so droll! He never tells me any
+thing! I am so sorry we cannot stay longer; however we shall meet again
+in town very soon, I hope.”
+
+They were obliged to put an end to such an expectation.
+
+“Not go to town!” cried Mrs. Palmer, with a laugh, “I shall be quite
+disappointed if you do not. I could get the nicest house in the world
+for you, next door to ours, in Hanover-square. You must come, indeed. I
+am sure I shall be very happy to chaperon you at any time till I am
+confined, if Mrs. Dashwood should not like to go into public.”
+
+They thanked her; but were obliged to resist all her entreaties.
+
+“Oh, my love,” cried Mrs. Palmer to her husband, who just then entered
+the room—“you must help me to persuade the Miss Dashwoods to go to town
+this winter.”
+
+Her love made no answer; and after slightly bowing to the ladies, began
+complaining of the weather.
+
+“How horrid all this is!” said he. “Such weather makes every thing and
+every body disgusting. Dullness is as much produced within doors as
+without, by rain. It makes one detest all one’s acquaintance. What the
+devil does Sir John mean by not having a billiard room in his house?
+How few people know what comfort is! Sir John is as stupid as the
+weather.”
+
+The rest of the company soon dropt in.
+
+“I am afraid, Miss Marianne,” said Sir John, “you have not been able to
+take your usual walk to Allenham today.”
+
+Marianne looked very grave and said nothing.
+
+“Oh, don’t be so sly before us,” said Mrs. Palmer; “for we know all
+about it, I assure you; and I admire your taste very much, for I think
+he is extremely handsome. We do not live a great way from him in the
+country, you know. Not above ten miles, I dare say.”
+
+“Much nearer thirty,” said her husband.
+
+“Ah, well! there is not much difference. I never was at his house; but
+they say it is a sweet pretty place.”
+
+“As vile a spot as I ever saw in my life,” said Mr. Palmer.
+
+Marianne remained perfectly silent, though her countenance betrayed her
+interest in what was said.
+
+“Is it very ugly?” continued Mrs. Palmer—“then it must be some other
+place that is so pretty I suppose.”
+
+When they were seated in the dining room, Sir John observed with regret
+that they were only eight all together.
+
+“My dear,” said he to his lady, “it is very provoking that we should be
+so few. Why did not you ask the Gilberts to come to us today?”
+
+“Did not I tell you, Sir John, when you spoke to me about it before,
+that it could not be done? They dined with us last.”
+
+“You and I, Sir John,” said Mrs. Jennings, “should not stand upon such
+ceremony.”
+
+“Then you would be very ill-bred,” cried Mr. Palmer.
+
+“My love you contradict every body,” said his wife with her usual
+laugh. “Do you know that you are quite rude?”
+
+“I did not know I contradicted any body in calling your mother
+ill-bred.”
+
+“Ay, you may abuse me as you please,” said the good-natured old lady,
+“you have taken Charlotte off my hands, and cannot give her back again.
+So there I have the whip hand of you.”
+
+Charlotte laughed heartily to think that her husband could not get rid
+of her; and exultingly said, she did not care how cross he was to her,
+as they must live together. It was impossible for any one to be more
+thoroughly good-natured, or more determined to be happy than Mrs.
+Palmer. The studied indifference, insolence, and discontent of her
+husband gave her no pain; and when he scolded or abused her, she was
+highly diverted.
+
+“Mr. Palmer is so droll!” said she, in a whisper, to Elinor. “He is
+always out of humour.”
+
+Elinor was not inclined, after a little observation, to give him credit
+for being so genuinely and unaffectedly ill-natured or ill-bred as he
+wished to appear. His temper might perhaps be a little soured by
+finding, like many others of his sex, that through some unaccountable
+bias in favour of beauty, he was the husband of a very silly woman—but
+she knew that this kind of blunder was too common for any sensible man
+to be lastingly hurt by it. It was rather a wish of distinction, she
+believed, which produced his contemptuous treatment of every body, and
+his general abuse of every thing before him. It was the desire of
+appearing superior to other people. The motive was too common to be
+wondered at; but the means, however they might succeed by establishing
+his superiority in ill-breeding, were not likely to attach any one to
+him except his wife.
+
+“Oh, my dear Miss Dashwood,” said Mrs. Palmer soon afterwards, “I have
+got such a favour to ask of you and your sister. Will you come and
+spend some time at Cleveland this Christmas? Now, pray do,—and come
+while the Westons are with us. You cannot think how happy I shall be!
+It will be quite delightful!—My love,” applying to her husband, “don’t
+you long to have the Miss Dashwoods come to Cleveland?”
+
+“Certainly,” he replied, with a sneer—“I came into Devonshire with no
+other view.”
+
+“There now,”—said his lady, “you see Mr. Palmer expects you; so you
+cannot refuse to come.”
+
+They both eagerly and resolutely declined her invitation.
+
+“But indeed you must and shall come. I am sure you will like it of all
+things. The Westons will be with us, and it will be quite delightful.
+You cannot think what a sweet place Cleveland is; and we are so gay
+now, for Mr. Palmer is always going about the country canvassing
+against the election; and so many people came to dine with us that I
+never saw before, it is quite charming! But, poor fellow! it is very
+fatiguing to him! for he is forced to make every body like him.”
+
+Elinor could hardly keep her countenance as she assented to the
+hardship of such an obligation.
+
+“How charming it will be,” said Charlotte, “when he is in
+Parliament!—won’t it? How I shall laugh! It will be so ridiculous to
+see all his letters directed to him with an M.P.—But do you know, he
+says, he will never frank for me? He declares he won’t. Don’t you, Mr.
+Palmer?”
+
+Mr. Palmer took no notice of her.
+
+“He cannot bear writing, you know,” she continued—“he says it is quite
+shocking.”
+
+“No,” said he, “I never said any thing so irrational. Don’t palm all
+your abuses of language upon me.”
+
+“There now; you see how droll he is. This is always the way with him!
+Sometimes he won’t speak to me for half a day together, and then he
+comes out with something so droll—all about any thing in the world.”
+
+She surprised Elinor very much as they returned into the drawing-room,
+by asking her whether she did not like Mr. Palmer excessively.
+
+“Certainly,” said Elinor; “he seems very agreeable.”
+
+“Well—I am so glad you do. I thought you would, he is so pleasant; and
+Mr. Palmer is excessively pleased with you and your sisters I can tell
+you, and you can’t think how disappointed he will be if you don’t come
+to Cleveland.—I can’t imagine why you should object to it.”
+
+Elinor was again obliged to decline her invitation; and by changing the
+subject, put a stop to her entreaties. She thought it probable that as
+they lived in the same county, Mrs. Palmer might be able to give some
+more particular account of Willoughby’s general character, than could
+be gathered from the Middletons’ partial acquaintance with him; and she
+was eager to gain from any one, such a confirmation of his merits as
+might remove the possibility of fear from Marianne. She began by
+inquiring if they saw much of Mr. Willoughby at Cleveland, and whether
+they were intimately acquainted with him.
+
+“Oh dear, yes; I know him extremely well,” replied Mrs. Palmer;—“Not
+that I ever spoke to him, indeed; but I have seen him for ever in town.
+Somehow or other I never happened to be staying at Barton while he was
+at Allenham. Mama saw him here once before;—but I was with my uncle at
+Weymouth. However, I dare say we should have seen a great deal of him
+in Somersetshire, if it had not happened very unluckily that we should
+never have been in the country together. He is very little at Combe, I
+believe; but if he were ever so much there, I do not think Mr. Palmer
+would visit him, for he is in the opposition, you know, and besides it
+is such a way off. I know why you inquire about him, very well; your
+sister is to marry him. I am monstrous glad of it, for then I shall
+have her for a neighbour you know.”
+
+“Upon my word,” replied Elinor, “you know much more of the matter than
+I do, if you have any reason to expect such a match.”
+
+“Don’t pretend to deny it, because you know it is what every body talks
+of. I assure you I heard of it in my way through town.”
+
+“My dear Mrs. Palmer!”
+
+“Upon my honour I did.—I met Colonel Brandon Monday morning in
+Bond-street, just before we left town, and he told me of it directly.”
+
+“You surprise me very much. Colonel Brandon tell you of it! Surely you
+must be mistaken. To give such intelligence to a person who could not
+be interested in it, even if it were true, is not what I should expect
+Colonel Brandon to do.”
+
+“But I do assure you it was so, for all that, and I will tell you how
+it happened. When we met him, he turned back and walked with us; and so
+we began talking of my brother and sister, and one thing and another,
+and I said to him, ‘So, Colonel, there is a new family come to Barton
+cottage, I hear, and mama sends me word they are very pretty, and that
+one of them is going to be married to Mr. Willoughby of Combe Magna. Is
+it true, pray? for of course you must know, as you have been in
+Devonshire so lately.’”
+
+“And what did the Colonel say?”
+
+“Oh—he did not say much; but he looked as if he knew it to be true, so
+from that moment I set it down as certain. It will be quite delightful,
+I declare! When is it to take place?”
+
+“Mr. Brandon was very well I hope?”
+
+“Oh! yes, quite well; and so full of your praises, he did nothing but
+say fine things of you.”
+
+“I am flattered by his commendation. He seems an excellent man; and I
+think him uncommonly pleasing.”
+
+“So do I. He is such a charming man, that it is quite a pity he should
+be so grave and so dull. Mama says _he_ was in love with your sister
+too. I assure you it was a great compliment if he was, for he hardly
+ever falls in love with any body.”
+
+“Is Mr. Willoughby much known in your part of Somersetshire?” said
+Elinor.
+
+“Oh! yes, extremely well; that is, I do not believe many people are
+acquainted with him, because Combe Magna is so far off; but they all
+think him extremely agreeable I assure you. Nobody is more liked than
+Mr. Willoughby wherever he goes, and so you may tell your sister. She
+is a monstrous lucky girl to get him, upon my honour; not but that he
+is much more lucky in getting her, because she is so very handsome and
+agreeable, that nothing can be good enough for her. However, I don’t
+think her hardly at all handsomer than you, I assure you; for I think
+you both excessively pretty, and so does Mr. Palmer too I am sure,
+though we could not get him to own it last night.”
+
+Mrs. Palmer’s information respecting Willoughby was not very material;
+but any testimony in his favour, however small, was pleasing to her.
+
+“I am so glad we are got acquainted at last,” continued Charlotte.—“And
+now I hope we shall always be great friends. You can’t think how much I
+longed to see you! It is so delightful that you should live at the
+cottage! Nothing can be like it, to be sure! And I am so glad your
+sister is going to be well married! I hope you will be a great deal at
+Combe Magna. It is a sweet place, by all accounts.”
+
+“You have been long acquainted with Colonel Brandon, have not you?”
+
+“Yes, a great while; ever since my sister married. He was a particular
+friend of Sir John’s. I believe,” she added in a low voice, “he would
+have been very glad to have had me, if he could. Sir John and Lady
+Middleton wished it very much. But mama did not think the match good
+enough for me, otherwise Sir John would have mentioned it to the
+Colonel, and we should have been married immediately.”
+
+“Did not Colonel Brandon know of Sir John’s proposal to your mother
+before it was made? Had he never owned his affection to yourself?”
+
+“Oh, no; but if mama had not objected to it, I dare say he would have
+liked it of all things. He had not seen me then above twice, for it was
+before I left school. However, I am much happier as I am. Mr. Palmer is
+the kind of man I like.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+
+The Palmers returned to Cleveland the next day, and the two families at
+Barton were again left to entertain each other. But this did not last
+long; Elinor had hardly got their last visitors out of her head, had
+hardly done wondering at Charlotte’s being so happy without a cause, at
+Mr. Palmer’s acting so simply, with good abilities, and at the strange
+unsuitableness which often existed between husband and wife, before Sir
+John’s and Mrs. Jennings’s active zeal in the cause of society,
+procured her some other new acquaintance to see and observe.
+
+In a morning’s excursion to Exeter, they had met with two young ladies,
+whom Mrs. Jennings had the satisfaction of discovering to be her
+relations, and this was enough for Sir John to invite them directly to
+the park, as soon as their present engagements at Exeter were over.
+Their engagements at Exeter instantly gave way before such an
+invitation, and Lady Middleton was thrown into no little alarm on the
+return of Sir John, by hearing that she was very soon to receive a
+visit from two girls whom she had never seen in her life, and of whose
+elegance,—whose tolerable gentility even, she could have no proof; for
+the assurances of her husband and mother on that subject went for
+nothing at all. Their being her relations too made it so much the
+worse; and Mrs. Jennings’s attempts at consolation were therefore
+unfortunately founded, when she advised her daughter not to care about
+their being so fashionable; because they were all cousins and must put
+up with one another. As it was impossible, however, now to prevent
+their coming, Lady Middleton resigned herself to the idea of it, with
+all the philosophy of a well-bred woman, contenting herself with merely
+giving her husband a gentle reprimand on the subject five or six times
+every day.
+
+The young ladies arrived: their appearance was by no means ungenteel or
+unfashionable. Their dress was very smart, their manners very civil,
+they were delighted with the house, and in raptures with the furniture,
+and they happened to be so doatingly fond of children that Lady
+Middleton’s good opinion was engaged in their favour before they had
+been an hour at the Park. She declared them to be very agreeable girls
+indeed, which for her ladyship was enthusiastic admiration. Sir John’s
+confidence in his own judgment rose with this animated praise, and he
+set off directly for the cottage to tell the Miss Dashwoods of the Miss
+Steeles’ arrival, and to assure them of their being the sweetest girls
+in the world. From such commendation as this, however, there was not
+much to be learned; Elinor well knew that the sweetest girls in the
+world were to be met with in every part of England, under every
+possible variation of form, face, temper and understanding. Sir John
+wanted the whole family to walk to the Park directly and look at his
+guests. Benevolent, philanthropic man! It was painful to him even to
+keep a third cousin to himself.
+
+“Do come now,” said he—“pray come—you must come—I declare you shall
+come—You can’t think how you will like them. Lucy is monstrous pretty,
+and so good humoured and agreeable! The children are all hanging about
+her already, as if she was an old acquaintance. And they both long to
+see you of all things, for they have heard at Exeter that you are the
+most beautiful creatures in the world; and I have told them it is all
+very true, and a great deal more. You will be delighted with them I am
+sure. They have brought the whole coach full of playthings for the
+children. How can you be so cross as not to come? Why they are your
+cousins, you know, after a fashion. _You_ are my cousins, and they are
+my wife’s, so you must be related.”
+
+But Sir John could not prevail. He could only obtain a promise of their
+calling at the Park within a day or two, and then left them in
+amazement at their indifference, to walk home and boast anew of their
+attractions to the Miss Steeles, as he had been already boasting of the
+Miss Steeles to them.
+
+When their promised visit to the Park and consequent introduction to
+these young ladies took place, they found in the appearance of the
+eldest, who was nearly thirty, with a very plain and not a sensible
+face, nothing to admire; but in the other, who was not more than two or
+three and twenty, they acknowledged considerable beauty; her features
+were pretty, and she had a sharp quick eye, and a smartness of air,
+which though it did not give actual elegance or grace, gave distinction
+to her person. Their manners were particularly civil, and Elinor soon
+allowed them credit for some kind of sense, when she saw with what
+constant and judicious attention they were making themselves agreeable
+to Lady Middleton. With her children they were in continual raptures,
+extolling their beauty, courting their notice, and humouring their
+whims; and such of their time as could be spared from the importunate
+demands which this politeness made on it, was spent in admiration of
+whatever her ladyship was doing, if she happened to be doing any thing,
+or in taking patterns of some elegant new dress, in which her
+appearance the day before had thrown them into unceasing delight.
+Fortunately for those who pay their court through such foibles, a fond
+mother, though, in pursuit of praise for her children, the most
+rapacious of human beings, is likewise the most credulous; her demands
+are exorbitant; but she will swallow any thing; and the excessive
+affection and endurance of the Miss Steeles towards her offspring were
+viewed therefore by Lady Middleton without the smallest surprise or
+distrust. She saw with maternal complacency all the impertinent
+encroachments and mischievous tricks to which her cousins submitted.
+She saw their sashes untied, their hair pulled about their ears, their
+work-bags searched, and their knives and scissors stolen away, and felt
+no doubt of its being a reciprocal enjoyment. It suggested no other
+surprise than that Elinor and Marianne should sit so composedly by,
+without claiming a share in what was passing.
+
+“John is in such spirits today!” said she, on his taking Miss Steeles’s
+pocket handkerchief, and throwing it out of window—“He is full of
+monkey tricks.”
+
+And soon afterwards, on the second boy’s violently pinching one of the
+same lady’s fingers, she fondly observed, “How playful William is!”
+
+“And here is my sweet little Annamaria,” she added, tenderly caressing
+a little girl of three years old, who had not made a noise for the last
+two minutes; “And she is always so gentle and quiet—Never was there
+such a quiet little thing!”
+
+But unfortunately in bestowing these embraces, a pin in her ladyship’s
+head dress slightly scratching the child’s neck, produced from this
+pattern of gentleness such violent screams, as could hardly be outdone
+by any creature professedly noisy. The mother’s consternation was
+excessive; but it could not surpass the alarm of the Miss Steeles, and
+every thing was done by all three, in so critical an emergency, which
+affection could suggest as likely to assuage the agonies of the little
+sufferer. She was seated in her mother’s lap, covered with kisses, her
+wound bathed with lavender-water, by one of the Miss Steeles, who was
+on her knees to attend her, and her mouth stuffed with sugar plums by
+the other. With such a reward for her tears, the child was too wise to
+cease crying. She still screamed and sobbed lustily, kicked her two
+brothers for offering to touch her, and all their united soothings were
+ineffectual till Lady Middleton luckily remembering that in a scene of
+similar distress last week, some apricot marmalade had been
+successfully applied for a bruised temple, the same remedy was eagerly
+proposed for this unfortunate scratch, and a slight intermission of
+screams in the young lady on hearing it, gave them reason to hope that
+it would not be rejected. She was carried out of the room therefore in
+her mother’s arms, in quest of this medicine, and as the two boys chose
+to follow, though earnestly entreated by their mother to stay behind,
+the four young ladies were left in a quietness which the room had not
+known for many hours.
+
+“Poor little creatures!” said Miss Steele, as soon as they were gone.
+“It might have been a very sad accident.”
+
+“Yet I hardly know how,” cried Marianne, “unless it had been under
+totally different circumstances. But this is the usual way of
+heightening alarm, where there is nothing to be alarmed at in reality.”
+
+“What a sweet woman Lady Middleton is!” said Lucy Steele.
+
+Marianne was silent; it was impossible for her to say what she did not
+feel, however trivial the occasion; and upon Elinor therefore the whole
+task of telling lies when politeness required it, always fell. She did
+her best when thus called on, by speaking of Lady Middleton with more
+warmth than she felt, though with far less than Miss Lucy.
+
+“And Sir John too,” cried the elder sister, “what a charming man he
+is!”
+
+Here too, Miss Dashwood’s commendation, being only simple and just,
+came in without any eclat. She merely observed that he was perfectly
+good humoured and friendly.
+
+“And what a charming little family they have! I never saw such fine
+children in my life.—I declare I quite doat upon them already, and
+indeed I am always distractedly fond of children.”
+
+“I should guess so,” said Elinor, with a smile, “from what I have
+witnessed this morning.”
+
+“I have a notion,” said Lucy, “you think the little Middletons rather
+too much indulged; perhaps they may be the outside of enough; but it is
+so natural in Lady Middleton; and for my part, I love to see children
+full of life and spirits; I cannot bear them if they are tame and
+quiet.”
+
+“I confess,” replied Elinor, “that while I am at Barton Park, I never
+think of tame and quiet children with any abhorrence.”
+
+A short pause succeeded this speech, which was first broken by Miss
+Steele, who seemed very much disposed for conversation, and who now
+said rather abruptly, “And how do you like Devonshire, Miss Dashwood? I
+suppose you were very sorry to leave Sussex.”
+
+In some surprise at the familiarity of this question, or at least of
+the manner in which it was spoken, Elinor replied that she was.
+
+“Norland is a prodigious beautiful place, is not it?” added Miss
+Steele.
+
+“We have heard Sir John admire it excessively,” said Lucy, who seemed
+to think some apology necessary for the freedom of her sister.
+
+“I think every one _must_ admire it,” replied Elinor, “who ever saw the
+place; though it is not to be supposed that any one can estimate its
+beauties as we do.”
+
+“And had you a great many smart beaux there? I suppose you have not so
+many in this part of the world; for my part, I think they are a vast
+addition always.”
+
+“But why should you think,” said Lucy, looking ashamed of her sister,
+“that there are not as many genteel young men in Devonshire as Sussex?”
+
+“Nay, my dear, I’m sure I don’t pretend to say that there an’t. I’m
+sure there’s a vast many smart beaux in Exeter; but you know, how could
+I tell what smart beaux there might be about Norland; and I was only
+afraid the Miss Dashwoods might find it dull at Barton, if they had not
+so many as they used to have. But perhaps you young ladies may not care
+about the beaux, and had as lief be without them as with them. For my
+part, I think they are vastly agreeable, provided they dress smart and
+behave civil. But I can’t bear to see them dirty and nasty. Now there’s
+Mr. Rose at Exeter, a prodigious smart young man, quite a beau, clerk
+to Mr. Simpson, you know, and yet if you do but meet him of a morning,
+he is not fit to be seen. I suppose your brother was quite a beau, Miss
+Dashwood, before he married, as he was so rich?”
+
+“Upon my word,” replied Elinor, “I cannot tell you, for I do not
+perfectly comprehend the meaning of the word. But this I can say, that
+if he ever was a beau before he married, he is one still for there is
+not the smallest alteration in him.”
+
+“Oh! dear! one never thinks of married men’s being beaux—they have
+something else to do.”
+
+“Lord! Anne,” cried her sister, “you can talk of nothing but beaux;—you
+will make Miss Dashwood believe you think of nothing else.” And then to
+turn the discourse, she began admiring the house and the furniture.
+
+This specimen of the Miss Steeles was enough. The vulgar freedom and
+folly of the eldest left her no recommendation, and as Elinor was not
+blinded by the beauty, or the shrewd look of the youngest, to her want
+of real elegance and artlessness, she left the house without any wish
+of knowing them better.
+
+Not so the Miss Steeles. They came from Exeter, well provided with
+admiration for the use of Sir John Middleton, his family, and all his
+relations, and no niggardly proportion was now dealt out to his fair
+cousins, whom they declared to be the most beautiful, elegant,
+accomplished, and agreeable girls they had ever beheld, and with whom
+they were particularly anxious to be better acquainted. And to be
+better acquainted therefore, Elinor soon found was their inevitable
+lot, for as Sir John was entirely on the side of the Miss Steeles,
+their party would be too strong for opposition, and that kind of
+intimacy must be submitted to, which consists of sitting an hour or two
+together in the same room almost every day. Sir John could do no more;
+but he did not know that any more was required: to be together was, in
+his opinion, to be intimate, and while his continual schemes for their
+meeting were effectual, he had not a doubt of their being established
+friends.
+
+To do him justice, he did every thing in his power to promote their
+unreserve, by making the Miss Steeles acquainted with whatever he knew
+or supposed of his cousins’ situations in the most delicate
+particulars; and Elinor had not seen them more than twice, before the
+eldest of them wished her joy on her sister’s having been so lucky as
+to make a conquest of a very smart beau since she came to Barton.
+
+“’Twill be a fine thing to have her married so young to be sure,” said
+she, “and I hear he is quite a beau, and prodigious handsome. And I
+hope you may have as good luck yourself soon,—but perhaps you may have
+a friend in the corner already.”
+
+Elinor could not suppose that Sir John would be more nice in
+proclaiming his suspicions of her regard for Edward, than he had been
+with respect to Marianne; indeed it was rather his favourite joke of
+the two, as being somewhat newer and more conjectural; and since
+Edward’s visit, they had never dined together without his drinking to
+her best affections with so much significancy and so many nods and
+winks, as to excite general attention. The letter F—had been likewise
+invariably brought forward, and found productive of such countless
+jokes, that its character as the wittiest letter in the alphabet had
+been long established with Elinor.
+
+The Miss Steeles, as she expected, had now all the benefit of these
+jokes, and in the eldest of them they raised a curiosity to know the
+name of the gentleman alluded to, which, though often impertinently
+expressed, was perfectly of a piece with her general inquisitiveness
+into the concerns of their family. But Sir John did not sport long with
+the curiosity which he delighted to raise, for he had at least as much
+pleasure in telling the name, as Miss Steele had in hearing it.
+
+“His name is Ferrars,” said he, in a very audible whisper; “but pray do
+not tell it, for it’s a great secret.”
+
+“Ferrars!” repeated Miss Steele; “Mr. Ferrars is the happy man, is he?
+What! your sister-in-law’s brother, Miss Dashwood? a very agreeable
+young man to be sure; I know him very well.”
+
+“How can you say so, Anne?” cried Lucy, who generally made an amendment
+to all her sister’s assertions. “Though we have seen him once or twice
+at my uncle’s, it is rather too much to pretend to know him very well.”
+
+Elinor heard all this with attention and surprise. “And who was this
+uncle? Where did he live? How came they acquainted?” She wished very
+much to have the subject continued, though she did not chuse to join in
+it herself; but nothing more of it was said, and for the first time in
+her life, she thought Mrs. Jennings deficient either in curiosity after
+petty information, or in a disposition to communicate it. The manner in
+which Miss Steele had spoken of Edward, increased her curiosity; for it
+struck her as being rather ill-natured, and suggested the suspicion of
+that lady’s knowing, or fancying herself to know something to his
+disadvantage.—But her curiosity was unavailing, for no farther notice
+was taken of Mr. Ferrars’s name by Miss Steele when alluded to, or even
+openly mentioned by Sir John.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+
+Marianne, who had never much toleration for any thing like
+impertinence, vulgarity, inferiority of parts, or even difference of
+taste from herself, was at this time particularly ill-disposed, from
+the state of her spirits, to be pleased with the Miss Steeles, or to
+encourage their advances; and to the invariable coldness of her
+behaviour towards them, which checked every endeavour at intimacy on
+their side, Elinor principally attributed that preference of herself
+which soon became evident in the manners of both, but especially of
+Lucy, who missed no opportunity of engaging her in conversation, or of
+striving to improve their acquaintance by an easy and frank
+communication of her sentiments.
+
+Lucy was naturally clever; her remarks were often just and amusing; and
+as a companion for half an hour Elinor frequently found her agreeable;
+but her powers had received no aid from education: she was ignorant and
+illiterate; and her deficiency of all mental improvement, her want of
+information in the most common particulars, could not be concealed from
+Miss Dashwood, in spite of her constant endeavour to appear to
+advantage. Elinor saw, and pitied her for, the neglect of abilities
+which education might have rendered so respectable; but she saw, with
+less tenderness of feeling, the thorough want of delicacy, of
+rectitude, and integrity of mind, which her attentions, her
+assiduities, her flatteries at the Park betrayed; and she could have no
+lasting satisfaction in the company of a person who joined insincerity
+with ignorance; whose want of instruction prevented their meeting in
+conversation on terms of equality, and whose conduct toward others made
+every show of attention and deference towards herself perfectly
+valueless.
+
+“You will think my question an odd one, I dare say,” said Lucy to her
+one day, as they were walking together from the park to the
+cottage—“but pray, are you personally acquainted with your
+sister-in-law’s mother, Mrs. Ferrars?”
+
+Elinor _did_ think the question a very odd one, and her countenance
+expressed it, as she answered that she had never seen Mrs. Ferrars.
+
+“Indeed!” replied Lucy; “I wonder at that, for I thought you must have
+seen her at Norland sometimes. Then, perhaps, you cannot tell me what
+sort of a woman she is?”
+
+“No,” returned Elinor, cautious of giving her real opinion of Edward’s
+mother, and not very desirous of satisfying what seemed impertinent
+curiosity; “I know nothing of her.”
+
+“I am sure you think me very strange, for enquiring about her in such a
+way,” said Lucy, eyeing Elinor attentively as she spoke; “but perhaps
+there may be reasons—I wish I might venture; but however I hope you
+will do me the justice of believing that I do not mean to be
+impertinent.”
+
+Elinor made her a civil reply, and they walked on for a few minutes in
+silence. It was broken by Lucy, who renewed the subject again by
+saying, with some hesitation,
+
+“I cannot bear to have you think me impertinently curious. I am sure I
+would rather do any thing in the world than be thought so by a person
+whose good opinion is so well worth having as yours. And I am sure I
+should not have the smallest fear of trusting _you;_ indeed, I should
+be very glad of your advice how to manage in such an uncomfortable
+situation as I am; but, however, there is no occasion to trouble _you_.
+I am sorry you do not happen to know Mrs. Ferrars.”
+
+“I am sorry I do _not_,” said Elinor, in great astonishment, “if it
+could be of any use to YOU to know my opinion of her. But really I
+never understood that you were at all connected with that family, and
+therefore I am a little surprised, I confess, at so serious an inquiry
+into her character.”
+
+“I dare say you are, and I am sure I do not at all wonder at it. But if
+I dared tell you all, you would not be so much surprised. Mrs. Ferrars
+is certainly nothing to me at present—but the time _may_ come—how soon
+it will come must depend upon herself—when we may be very intimately
+connected.”
+
+She looked down as she said this, amiably bashful, with only one side
+glance at her companion to observe its effect on her.
+
+“Good heavens!” cried Elinor, “what do you mean? Are you acquainted
+with Mr. Robert Ferrars? Can you be?” And she did not feel much
+delighted with the idea of such a sister-in-law.
+
+“No,” replied Lucy, “not to Mr. _Robert_ Ferrars—I never saw him in my
+life; but,” fixing her eyes upon Elinor, “to his eldest brother.”
+
+What felt Elinor at that moment? Astonishment, that would have been as
+painful as it was strong, had not an immediate disbelief of the
+assertion attended it. She turned towards Lucy in silent amazement,
+unable to divine the reason or object of such a declaration; and though
+her complexion varied, she stood firm in incredulity, and felt in no
+danger of an hysterical fit, or a swoon.
+
+“You may well be surprised,” continued Lucy; “for to be sure you could
+have had no idea of it before; for I dare say he never dropped the
+smallest hint of it to you or any of your family; because it was always
+meant to be a great secret, and I am sure has been faithfully kept so
+by me to this hour. Not a soul of all my relations know of it but Anne,
+and I never should have mentioned it to you, if I had not felt the
+greatest dependence in the world upon your secrecy; and I really
+thought my behaviour in asking so many questions about Mrs. Ferrars
+must seem so odd, that it ought to be explained. And I do not think Mr.
+Ferrars can be displeased, when he knows I have trusted you, because I
+know he has the highest opinion in the world of all your family, and
+looks upon yourself and the other Miss Dashwoods quite as his own
+sisters.”—She paused.
+
+Elinor for a few moments remained silent. Her astonishment at what she
+heard was at first too great for words; but at length forcing herself
+to speak, and to speak cautiously, she said, with calmness of manner,
+which tolerably well concealed her surprise and solicitude—“May I ask
+if your engagement is of long standing?”
+
+“We have been engaged these four years.”
+
+“Four years!”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Elinor, though greatly shocked, still felt unable to believe it.
+
+“I did not know,” said she, “that you were even acquainted till the
+other day.”
+
+“Our acquaintance, however, is of many years date. He was under my
+uncle’s care, you know, a considerable while.”
+
+“Your uncle!”
+
+“Yes; Mr. Pratt. Did you never hear him talk of Mr. Pratt?”
+
+“I think I have,” replied Elinor, with an exertion of spirits, which
+increased with her increase of emotion.
+
+“He was four years with my uncle, who lives at Longstaple, near
+Plymouth. It was there our acquaintance begun, for my sister and me was
+often staying with my uncle, and it was there our engagement was
+formed, though not till a year after he had quitted as a pupil; but he
+was almost always with us afterwards. I was very unwilling to enter
+into it, as you may imagine, without the knowledge and approbation of
+his mother; but I was too young, and loved him too well, to be so
+prudent as I ought to have been. Though you do not know him so well as
+me, Miss Dashwood, you must have seen enough of him to be sensible he
+is very capable of making a woman sincerely attached to him.”
+
+“Certainly,” answered Elinor, without knowing what she said; but after
+a moment’s reflection, she added, with revived security of Edward’s
+honour and love, and her companion’s falsehood—“Engaged to Mr. Edward
+Ferrars!—I confess myself so totally surprised at what you tell me,
+that really—I beg your pardon; but surely there must be some mistake of
+person or name. We cannot mean the same Mr. Ferrars.”
+
+“We can mean no other,” cried Lucy, smiling. “Mr. Edward Ferrars, the
+eldest son of Mrs. Ferrars, of Park Street, and brother of your
+sister-in-law, Mrs. John Dashwood, is the person I mean; you must allow
+that I am not likely to be deceived as to the name of the man on who
+all my happiness depends.”
+
+“It is strange,” replied Elinor, in a most painful perplexity, “that I
+should never have heard him even mention your name.”
+
+“No; considering our situation, it was not strange. Our first care has
+been to keep the matter secret. You knew nothing of me, or my family,
+and, therefore, there could be no _occasion_ for ever mentioning my
+name to you; and, as he was always particularly afraid of his sister’s
+suspecting any thing, _that_ was reason enough for his not mentioning
+it.”
+
+She was silent.—Elinor’s security sunk; but her self-command did not
+sink with it.
+
+“Four years you have been engaged,” said she with a firm voice.
+
+“Yes; and heaven knows how much longer we may have to wait. Poor
+Edward! It puts him quite out of heart.” Then taking a small miniature
+from her pocket, she added, “To prevent the possibility of mistake, be
+so good as to look at this face. It does not do him justice, to be
+sure, but yet I think you cannot be deceived as to the person it was
+drew for.—I have had it above these three years.”
+
+She put it into her hands as she spoke; and when Elinor saw the
+painting, whatever other doubts her fear of a too hasty decision, or
+her wish of detecting falsehood might suffer to linger in her mind, she
+could have none of its being Edward’s face. She returned it almost
+instantly, acknowledging the likeness.
+
+“I have never been able,” continued Lucy, “to give him my picture in
+return, which I am very much vexed at, for he has been always so
+anxious to get it! But I am determined to set for it the very first
+opportunity.”
+
+“You are quite in the right,” replied Elinor calmly. They then
+proceeded a few paces in silence. Lucy spoke first.
+
+“I am sure,” said she, “I have no doubt in the world of your faithfully
+keeping this secret, because you must know of what importance it is to
+us, not to have it reach his mother; for she would never approve of it,
+I dare say. I shall have no fortune, and I fancy she is an exceeding
+proud woman.”
+
+“I certainly did not seek your confidence,” said Elinor; “but you do me
+no more than justice in imagining that I may be depended on. Your
+secret is safe with me; but pardon me if I express some surprise at so
+unnecessary a communication. You must at least have felt that my being
+acquainted with it could not add to its safety.”
+
+As she said this, she looked earnestly at Lucy, hoping to discover
+something in her countenance; perhaps the falsehood of the greatest
+part of what she had been saying; but Lucy’s countenance suffered no
+change.
+
+“I was afraid you would think I was taking a great liberty with you,”
+said she, “in telling you all this. I have not known you long to be
+sure, personally at least, but I have known you and all your family by
+description a great while; and as soon as I saw you, I felt almost as
+if you was an old acquaintance. Besides in the present case, I really
+thought some explanation was due to you after my making such particular
+inquiries about Edward’s mother; and I am so unfortunate, that I have
+not a creature whose advice I can ask. Anne is the only person that
+knows of it, and she has no judgment at all; indeed, she does me a
+great deal more harm than good, for I am in constant fear of her
+betraying me. She does not know how to hold her tongue, as you must
+perceive, and I am sure I was in the greatest fright in the world
+t’other day, when Edward’s name was mentioned by Sir John, lest she
+should out with it all. You can’t think how much I go through in my
+mind from it altogether. I only wonder that I am alive after what I
+have suffered for Edward’s sake these last four years. Every thing in
+such suspense and uncertainty; and seeing him so seldom—we can hardly
+meet above twice a-year. I am sure I wonder my heart is not quite
+broke.”
+
+Here she took out her handkerchief; but Elinor did not feel very
+compassionate.
+
+“Sometimes.” continued Lucy, after wiping her eyes, “I think whether it
+would not be better for us both to break off the matter entirely.” As
+she said this, she looked directly at her companion. “But then at other
+times I have not resolution enough for it. I cannot bear the thoughts
+of making him so miserable, as I know the very mention of such a thing
+would do. And on my own account too—so dear as he is to me—I don’t
+think I could be equal to it. What would you advise me to do in such a
+case, Miss Dashwood? What would you do yourself?”
+
+“Pardon me,” replied Elinor, startled by the question; “but I can give
+you no advice under such circumstances. Your own judgment must direct
+you.”
+
+“To be sure,” continued Lucy, after a few minutes silence on both
+sides, “his mother must provide for him sometime or other; but poor
+Edward is so cast down by it! Did you not think him dreadful
+low-spirited when he was at Barton? He was so miserable when he left us
+at Longstaple, to go to you, that I was afraid you would think him
+quite ill.”
+
+“Did he come from your uncle’s, then, when he visited us?”
+
+“Oh, yes; he had been staying a fortnight with us. Did you think he
+came directly from town?”
+
+“No,” replied Elinor, most feelingly sensible of every fresh
+circumstance in favour of Lucy’s veracity; “I remember he told us, that
+he had been staying a fortnight with some friends near Plymouth.” She
+remembered too, her own surprise at the time, at his mentioning nothing
+farther of those friends, at his total silence with respect even to
+their names.
+
+“Did not you think him sadly out of spirits?” repeated Lucy.
+
+“We did, indeed, particularly so when he first arrived.”
+
+“I begged him to exert himself for fear you should suspect what was the
+matter; but it made him so melancholy, not being able to stay more than
+a fortnight with us, and seeing me so much affected. Poor fellow! I am
+afraid it is just the same with him now; for he writes in wretched
+spirits. I heard from him just before I left Exeter;” taking a letter
+from her pocket and carelessly showing the direction to Elinor. “You
+know his hand, I dare say,—a charming one it is; but that is not
+written so well as usual. He was tired, I dare say, for he had just
+filled the sheet to me as full as possible.”
+
+Elinor saw that it _was_ his hand, and she could doubt no longer. This
+picture, she had allowed herself to believe, might have been
+accidentally obtained; it might not have been Edward’s gift; but a
+correspondence between them by letter, could subsist only under a
+positive engagement, could be authorised by nothing else; for a few
+moments, she was almost overcome—her heart sunk within her, and she
+could hardly stand; but exertion was indispensably necessary; and she
+struggled so resolutely against the oppression of her feelings, that
+her success was speedy, and for the time complete.
+
+“Writing to each other,” said Lucy, returning the letter into her
+pocket, “is the only comfort we have in such long separations. Yes, _I_
+have one other comfort in his picture, but poor Edward has not even
+_that_. If he had but my picture, he says he should be easy. I gave him
+a lock of my hair set in a ring when he was at Longstaple last, and
+that was some comfort to him, he said, but not equal to a picture.
+Perhaps you might notice the ring when you saw him?”
+
+“I did,” said Elinor, with a composure of voice, under which was
+concealed an emotion and distress beyond any thing she had ever felt
+before. She was mortified, shocked, confounded.
+
+Fortunately for her, they had now reached the cottage, and the
+conversation could be continued no farther. After sitting with them a
+few minutes, the Miss Steeles returned to the Park, and Elinor was then
+at liberty to think and be wretched.
+
+END OF THE FIRST VOLUME
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+
+However small Elinor’s general dependence on Lucy’s veracity might be,
+it was impossible for her on serious reflection to suspect it in the
+present case, where no temptation could be answerable to the folly of
+inventing a falsehood of such a description. What Lucy had asserted to
+be true, therefore, Elinor could not, dared not longer doubt; supported
+as it was too on every side by such probabilities and proofs, and
+contradicted by nothing but her own wishes. Their opportunity of
+acquaintance in the house of Mr. Pratt was a foundation for the rest,
+at once indisputable and alarming; and Edward’s visit near Plymouth,
+his melancholy state of mind, his dissatisfaction at his own prospects,
+his uncertain behaviour towards herself, the intimate knowledge of the
+Miss Steeles as to Norland and their family connections, which had
+often surprised her, the picture, the letter, the ring, formed
+altogether such a body of evidence, as overcame every fear of
+condemning him unfairly, and established as a fact, which no partiality
+could set aside, his ill-treatment of herself.—Her resentment of such
+behaviour, her indignation at having been its dupe, for a short time
+made her feel only for herself; but other ideas, other considerations,
+soon arose. Had Edward been intentionally deceiving her? Had he feigned
+a regard for her which he did not feel? Was his engagement to Lucy an
+engagement of the heart? No; whatever it might once have been, she
+could not believe it such at present. His affection was all her own.
+She could not be deceived in that. Her mother, sisters, Fanny, all had
+been conscious of his regard for her at Norland; it was not an illusion
+of her own vanity. He certainly loved her. What a softener of the heart
+was this persuasion! How much could it not tempt her to forgive! He had
+been blamable, highly blamable, in remaining at Norland after he first
+felt her influence over him to be more than it ought to be. In that, he
+could not be defended; but if he had injured her, how much more had he
+injured himself; if her case were pitiable, his was hopeless. His
+imprudence had made her miserable for a while; but it seemed to have
+deprived himself of all chance of ever being otherwise. She might in
+time regain tranquillity; but _he_, what had he to look forward to?
+Could he ever be tolerably happy with Lucy Steele; could he, were his
+affection for herself out of the question, with his integrity, his
+delicacy, and well-informed mind, be satisfied with a wife like
+her—illiterate, artful, and selfish?
+
+The youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally blind him to every
+thing but her beauty and good nature; but the four succeeding
+years—years, which if rationally spent, give such improvement to the
+understanding, must have opened his eyes to her defects of education,
+while the same period of time, spent on her side in inferior society
+and more frivolous pursuits, had perhaps robbed her of that simplicity
+which might once have given an interesting character to her beauty.
+
+If in the supposition of his seeking to marry herself, his difficulties
+from his mother had seemed great, how much greater were they now likely
+to be, when the object of his engagement was undoubtedly inferior in
+connections, and probably inferior in fortune to herself. These
+difficulties, indeed, with a heart so alienated from Lucy, might not
+press very hard upon his patience; but melancholy was the state of the
+person by whom the expectation of family opposition and unkindness,
+could be felt as a relief!
+
+As these considerations occurred to her in painful succession, she wept
+for him, more than for herself. Supported by the conviction of having
+done nothing to merit her present unhappiness, and consoled by the
+belief that Edward had done nothing to forfeit her esteem, she thought
+she could even now, under the first smart of the heavy blow, command
+herself enough to guard every suspicion of the truth from her mother
+and sisters. And so well was she able to answer her own expectations,
+that when she joined them at dinner only two hours after she had first
+suffered the extinction of all her dearest hopes, no one would have
+supposed from the appearance of the sisters, that Elinor was mourning
+in secret over obstacles which must divide her for ever from the object
+of her love, and that Marianne was internally dwelling on the
+perfections of a man, of whose whole heart she felt thoroughly
+possessed, and whom she expected to see in every carriage which drove
+near their house.
+
+The necessity of concealing from her mother and Marianne, what had been
+entrusted in confidence to herself, though it obliged her to unceasing
+exertion, was no aggravation of Elinor’s distress. On the contrary it
+was a relief to her, to be spared the communication of what would give
+such affliction to them, and to be saved likewise from hearing that
+condemnation of Edward, which would probably flow from the excess of
+their partial affection for herself, and which was more than she felt
+equal to support.
+
+From their counsel, or their conversation, she knew she could receive
+no assistance, their tenderness and sorrow must add to her distress,
+while her self-command would neither receive encouragement from their
+example nor from their praise. She was stronger alone, and her own good
+sense so well supported her, that her firmness was as unshaken, her
+appearance of cheerfulness as invariable, as with regrets so poignant
+and so fresh, it was possible for them to be.
+
+Much as she had suffered from her first conversation with Lucy on the
+subject, she soon felt an earnest wish of renewing it; and this for
+more reasons than one. She wanted to hear many particulars of their
+engagement repeated again, she wanted more clearly to understand what
+Lucy really felt for Edward, whether there were any sincerity in her
+declaration of tender regard for him, and she particularly wanted to
+convince Lucy, by her readiness to enter on the matter again, and her
+calmness in conversing on it, that she was no otherwise interested in
+it than as a friend, which she very much feared her involuntary
+agitation, in their morning discourse, must have left at least
+doubtful. That Lucy was disposed to be jealous of her appeared very
+probable: it was plain that Edward had always spoken highly in her
+praise, not merely from Lucy’s assertion, but from her venturing to
+trust her on so short a personal acquaintance, with a secret so
+confessedly and evidently important. And even Sir John’s joking
+intelligence must have had some weight. But indeed, while Elinor
+remained so well assured within herself of being really beloved by
+Edward, it required no other consideration of probabilities to make it
+natural that Lucy should be jealous; and that she was so, her very
+confidence was a proof. What other reason for the disclosure of the
+affair could there be, but that Elinor might be informed by it of
+Lucy’s superior claims on Edward, and be taught to avoid him in future?
+She had little difficulty in understanding thus much of her rival’s
+intentions, and while she was firmly resolved to act by her as every
+principle of honour and honesty directed, to combat her own affection
+for Edward and to see him as little as possible; she could not deny
+herself the comfort of endeavouring to convince Lucy that her heart was
+unwounded. And as she could now have nothing more painful to hear on
+the subject than had already been told, she did not mistrust her own
+ability of going through a repetition of particulars with composure.
+
+But it was not immediately that an opportunity of doing so could be
+commanded, though Lucy was as well disposed as herself to take
+advantage of any that occurred; for the weather was not often fine
+enough to allow of their joining in a walk, where they might most
+easily separate themselves from the others; and though they met at
+least every other evening either at the park or cottage, and chiefly at
+the former, they could not be supposed to meet for the sake of
+conversation. Such a thought would never enter either Sir John or Lady
+Middleton’s head; and therefore very little leisure was ever given for
+a general chat, and none at all for particular discourse. They met for
+the sake of eating, drinking, and laughing together, playing at cards,
+or consequences, or any other game that was sufficiently noisy.
+
+One or two meetings of this kind had taken place, without affording
+Elinor any chance of engaging Lucy in private, when Sir John called at
+the cottage one morning, to beg, in the name of charity, that they
+would all dine with Lady Middleton that day, as he was obliged to
+attend the club at Exeter, and she would otherwise be quite alone,
+except her mother and the two Miss Steeles. Elinor, who foresaw a
+fairer opening for the point she had in view, in such a party as this
+was likely to be, more at liberty among themselves under the tranquil
+and well-bred direction of Lady Middleton than when her husband united
+them together in one noisy purpose, immediately accepted the
+invitation; Margaret, with her mother’s permission, was equally
+compliant, and Marianne, though always unwilling to join any of their
+parties, was persuaded by her mother, who could not bear to have her
+seclude herself from any chance of amusement, to go likewise.
+
+The young ladies went, and Lady Middleton was happily preserved from
+the frightful solitude which had threatened her. The insipidity of the
+meeting was exactly such as Elinor had expected; it produced not one
+novelty of thought or expression, and nothing could be less interesting
+than the whole of their discourse both in the dining parlour and
+drawing room: to the latter, the children accompanied them, and while
+they remained there, she was too well convinced of the impossibility of
+engaging Lucy’s attention to attempt it. They quitted it only with the
+removal of the tea-things. The card-table was then placed, and Elinor
+began to wonder at herself for having ever entertained a hope of
+finding time for conversation at the park. They all rose up in
+preparation for a round game.
+
+“I am glad,” said Lady Middleton to Lucy, “you are not going to finish
+poor little Annamaria’s basket this evening; for I am sure it must hurt
+your eyes to work filigree by candlelight. And we will make the dear
+little love some amends for her disappointment to-morrow, and then I
+hope she will not much mind it.”
+
+This hint was enough, Lucy recollected herself instantly and replied,
+“Indeed you are very much mistaken, Lady Middleton; I am only waiting
+to know whether you can make your party without me, or I should have
+been at my filigree already. I would not disappoint the little angel
+for all the world: and if you want me at the card-table now, I am
+resolved to finish the basket after supper.”
+
+“You are very good, I hope it won’t hurt your eyes—will you ring the
+bell for some working candles? My poor little girl would be sadly
+disappointed, I know, if the basket was not finished tomorrow, for
+though I told her it certainly would not, I am sure she depends upon
+having it done.”
+
+Lucy directly drew her work table near her and reseated herself with an
+alacrity and cheerfulness which seemed to infer that she could taste no
+greater delight than in making a filigree basket for a spoilt child.
+
+Lady Middleton proposed a rubber of Casino to the others. No one made
+any objection but Marianne, who with her usual inattention to the forms
+of general civility, exclaimed, “Your Ladyship will have the goodness
+to excuse _me_—you know I detest cards. I shall go to the piano-forte;
+I have not touched it since it was tuned.” And without farther
+ceremony, she turned away and walked to the instrument.
+
+Lady Middleton looked as if she thanked heaven that _she_ had never
+made so rude a speech.
+
+“Marianne can never keep long from that instrument you know, ma’am,”
+said Elinor, endeavouring to smooth away the offence; “and I do not
+much wonder at it; for it is the very best toned piano-forte I ever
+heard.”
+
+The remaining five were now to draw their cards.
+
+“Perhaps,” continued Elinor, “if I should happen to cut out, I may be
+of some use to Miss Lucy Steele, in rolling her papers for her; and
+there is so much still to be done to the basket, that it must be
+impossible I think for her labour singly, to finish it this evening. I
+should like the work exceedingly, if she would allow me a share in it.”
+
+“Indeed I shall be very much obliged to you for your help,” cried Lucy,
+“for I find there is more to be done to it than I thought there was;
+and it would be a shocking thing to disappoint dear Annamaria after
+all.”
+
+“Oh! that would be terrible, indeed,” said Miss Steele. “Dear little
+soul, how I do love her!”
+
+“You are very kind,” said Lady Middleton to Elinor; “and as you really
+like the work, perhaps you will be as well pleased not to cut in till
+another rubber, or will you take your chance now?”
+
+Elinor joyfully profited by the first of these proposals, and thus by a
+little of that address which Marianne could never condescend to
+practise, gained her own end, and pleased Lady Middleton at the same
+time. Lucy made room for her with ready attention, and the two fair
+rivals were thus seated side by side at the same table, and, with the
+utmost harmony, engaged in forwarding the same work. The pianoforte at
+which Marianne, wrapped up in her own music and her own thoughts, had
+by this time forgotten that any body was in the room besides herself,
+was luckily so near them that Miss Dashwood now judged she might
+safely, under the shelter of its noise, introduce the interesting
+subject, without any risk of being heard at the card-table.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+
+In a firm, though cautious tone, Elinor thus began.
+
+“I should be undeserving of the confidence you have honoured me with,
+if I felt no desire for its continuance, or no farther curiosity on its
+subject. I will not apologize therefore for bringing it forward again.”
+
+“Thank you,” cried Lucy warmly, “for breaking the ice; you have set my
+heart at ease by it; for I was somehow or other afraid I had offended
+you by what I told you that Monday.”
+
+“Offended me! How could you suppose so? Believe me,” and Elinor spoke
+it with the truest sincerity, “nothing could be farther from my
+intention than to give you such an idea. Could you have a motive for
+the trust, that was not honourable and flattering to me?”
+
+“And yet I do assure you,” replied Lucy, her little sharp eyes full of
+meaning, “there seemed to me to be a coldness and displeasure in your
+manner that made me quite uncomfortable. I felt sure that you was angry
+with me; and have been quarrelling with myself ever since, for having
+took such a liberty as to trouble you with my affairs. But I am very
+glad to find it was only my own fancy, and that you really do not blame
+me. If you knew what a consolation it was to me to relieve my heart
+speaking to you of what I am always thinking of every moment of my
+life, your compassion would make you overlook every thing else I am
+sure.”
+
+“Indeed, I can easily believe that it was a very great relief to you,
+to acknowledge your situation to me, and be assured that you shall
+never have reason to repent it. Your case is a very unfortunate one;
+you seem to me to be surrounded with difficulties, and you will have
+need of all your mutual affection to support you under them. Mr.
+Ferrars, I believe, is entirely dependent on his mother.”
+
+“He has only two thousand pounds of his own; it would be madness to
+marry upon that, though for my own part, I could give up every prospect
+of more without a sigh. I have been always used to a very small income,
+and could struggle with any poverty for him; but I love him too well to
+be the selfish means of robbing him, perhaps, of all that his mother
+might give him if he married to please her. We must wait, it may be for
+many years. With almost every other man in the world, it would be an
+alarming prospect; but Edward’s affection and constancy nothing can
+deprive me of I know.”
+
+“That conviction must be every thing to you; and he is undoubtedly
+supported by the same trust in your’s. If the strength of your
+reciprocal attachment had failed, as between many people, and under
+many circumstances it naturally would during a four years’ engagement,
+your situation would have been pitiable, indeed.”
+
+Lucy here looked up; but Elinor was careful in guarding her countenance
+from every expression that could give her words a suspicious tendency.
+
+“Edward’s love for me,” said Lucy, “has been pretty well put to the
+test, by our long, very long absence since we were first engaged, and
+it has stood the trial so well, that I should be unpardonable to doubt
+it now. I can safely say that he has never gave me one moment’s alarm
+on that account from the first.”
+
+Elinor hardly knew whether to smile or sigh at this assertion.
+
+Lucy went on. “I am rather of a jealous temper too by nature, and from
+our different situations in life, from his being so much more in the
+world than me, and our continual separation, I was enough inclined for
+suspicion, to have found out the truth in an instant, if there had been
+the slightest alteration in his behaviour to me when we met, or any
+lowness of spirits that I could not account for, or if he had talked
+more of one lady than another, or seemed in any respect less happy at
+Longstaple than he used to be. I do not mean to say that I am
+particularly observant or quick-sighted in general, but in such a case
+I am sure I could not be deceived.”
+
+“All this,” thought Elinor, “is very pretty; but it can impose upon
+neither of us.”
+
+“But what,” said she after a short silence, “are your views? or have
+you none but that of waiting for Mrs. Ferrars’s death, which is a
+melancholy and shocking extremity?—Is her son determined to submit to
+this, and to all the tediousness of the many years of suspense in which
+it may involve you, rather than run the risk of her displeasure for a
+while by owning the truth?”
+
+“If we could be certain that it would be only for a while! But Mrs.
+Ferrars is a very headstrong proud woman, and in her first fit of anger
+upon hearing it, would very likely secure every thing to Robert, and
+the idea of that, for Edward’s sake, frightens away all my inclination
+for hasty measures.”
+
+“And for your own sake too, or you are carrying your disinterestedness
+beyond reason.”
+
+Lucy looked at Elinor again, and was silent.
+
+“Do you know Mr. Robert Ferrars?” asked Elinor.
+
+“Not at all—I never saw him; but I fancy he is very unlike his
+brother—silly and a great coxcomb.”
+
+“A great coxcomb!” repeated Miss Steele, whose ear had caught those
+words by a sudden pause in Marianne’s music. “Oh, they are talking of
+their favourite beaux, I dare say.”
+
+“No sister,” cried Lucy, “you are mistaken there, our favourite beaux
+are _not_ great coxcombs.”
+
+“I can answer for it that Miss Dashwood’s is not,” said Mrs. Jennings,
+laughing heartily; “for he is one of the modestest, prettiest behaved
+young men I ever saw; but as for Lucy, she is such a sly little
+creature, there is no finding out who _she_ likes.”
+
+“Oh,” cried Miss Steele, looking significantly round at them, “I dare
+say Lucy’s beau is quite as modest and pretty behaved as Miss
+Dashwood’s.”
+
+Elinor blushed in spite of herself. Lucy bit her lip, and looked
+angrily at her sister. A mutual silence took place for some time. Lucy
+first put an end to it by saying in a lower tone, though Marianne was
+then giving them the powerful protection of a very magnificent
+concerto,—
+
+“I will honestly tell you of one scheme which has lately come into my
+head, for bringing matters to bear; indeed I am bound to let you into
+the secret, for you are a party concerned. I dare say you have seen
+enough of Edward to know that he would prefer the church to every other
+profession; now my plan is that he should take orders as soon as he
+can, and then through your interest, which I am sure you would be kind
+enough to use out of friendship for him, and I hope out of some regard
+to me, your brother might be persuaded to give him Norland living;
+which I understand is a very good one, and the present incumbent not
+likely to live a great while. That would be enough for us to marry
+upon, and we might trust to time and chance for the rest.”
+
+“I should always be happy,” replied Elinor, “to show any mark of my
+esteem and friendship for Mr. Ferrars; but do you not perceive that my
+interest on such an occasion would be perfectly unnecessary? He is
+brother to Mrs. John Dashwood—_that_ must be recommendation enough to
+her husband.”
+
+“But Mrs. John Dashwood would not much approve of Edward’s going into
+orders.”
+
+“Then I rather suspect that my interest would do very little.”
+
+They were again silent for many minutes. At length Lucy exclaimed with
+a deep sigh,
+
+“I believe it would be the wisest way to put an end to the business at
+once by dissolving the engagement. We seem so beset with difficulties
+on every side, that though it would make us miserable for a time, we
+should be happier perhaps in the end. But you will not give me your
+advice, Miss Dashwood?”
+
+“No,” answered Elinor, with a smile, which concealed very agitated
+feelings, “on such a subject I certainly will not. You know very well
+that my opinion would have no weight with you, unless it were on the
+side of your wishes.”
+
+“Indeed you wrong me,” replied Lucy, with great solemnity; “I know
+nobody of whose judgment I think so highly as I do of yours; and I do
+really believe, that if you was to say to me, ‘I advise you by all
+means to put an end to your engagement with Edward Ferrars, it will be
+more for the happiness of both of you,’ I should resolve upon doing it
+immediately.”
+
+Elinor blushed for the insincerity of Edward’s future wife, and
+replied, “This compliment would effectually frighten me from giving any
+opinion on the subject had I formed one. It raises my influence much
+too high; the power of dividing two people so tenderly attached is too
+much for an indifferent person.”
+
+“’Tis because you are an indifferent person,” said Lucy, with some
+pique, and laying a particular stress on those words, “that your
+judgment might justly have such weight with me. If you could be
+supposed to be biased in any respect by your own feelings, your opinion
+would not be worth having.”
+
+Elinor thought it wisest to make no answer to this, lest they might
+provoke each other to an unsuitable increase of ease and unreserve; and
+was even partly determined never to mention the subject again. Another
+pause therefore of many minutes’ duration, succeeded this speech, and
+Lucy was still the first to end it.
+
+“Shall you be in town this winter, Miss Dashwood?” said she with all
+her accustomary complacency.
+
+“Certainly not.”
+
+“I am sorry for that,” returned the other, while her eyes brightened at
+the information, “it would have gave me such pleasure to meet you
+there! But I dare say you will go for all that. To be sure, your
+brother and sister will ask you to come to them.”
+
+“It will not be in my power to accept their invitation if they do.”
+
+“How unlucky that is! I had quite depended upon meeting you there. Anne
+and me are to go the latter end of January to some relations who have
+been wanting us to visit them these several years! But I only go for
+the sake of seeing Edward. He will be there in February, otherwise
+London would have no charms for me; I have not spirits for it.”
+
+Elinor was soon called to the card-table by the conclusion of the first
+rubber, and the confidential discourse of the two ladies was therefore
+at an end, to which both of them submitted without any reluctance, for
+nothing had been said on either side to make them dislike each other
+less than they had done before; and Elinor sat down to the card table
+with the melancholy persuasion that Edward was not only without
+affection for the person who was to be his wife; but that he had not
+even the chance of being tolerably happy in marriage, which sincere
+affection on _her_ side would have given, for self-interest alone could
+induce a woman to keep a man to an engagement, of which she seemed so
+thoroughly aware that he was weary.
+
+From this time the subject was never revived by Elinor, and when
+entered on by Lucy, who seldom missed an opportunity of introducing it,
+and was particularly careful to inform her confidante, of her happiness
+whenever she received a letter from Edward, it was treated by the
+former with calmness and caution, and dismissed as soon as civility
+would allow; for she felt such conversations to be an indulgence which
+Lucy did not deserve, and which were dangerous to herself.
+
+The visit of the Miss Steeles at Barton Park was lengthened far beyond
+what the first invitation implied. Their favour increased; they could
+not be spared; Sir John would not hear of their going; and in spite of
+their numerous and long arranged engagements in Exeter, in spite of the
+absolute necessity of returning to fulfill them immediately, which was
+in full force at the end of every week, they were prevailed on to stay
+nearly two months at the park, and to assist in the due celebration of
+that festival which requires a more than ordinary share of private
+balls and large dinners to proclaim its importance.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+
+Though Mrs. Jennings was in the habit of spending a large portion of
+the year at the houses of her children and friends, she was not without
+a settled habitation of her own. Since the death of her husband, who
+had traded with success in a less elegant part of the town, she had
+resided every winter in a house in one of the streets near Portman
+Square. Towards this home, she began on the approach of January to turn
+her thoughts, and thither she one day abruptly, and very unexpectedly
+by them, asked the elder Misses Dashwood to accompany her. Elinor,
+without observing the varying complexion of her sister, and the
+animated look which spoke no indifference to the plan, immediately gave
+a grateful but absolute denial for both, in which she believed herself
+to be speaking their united inclinations. The reason alleged was their
+determined resolution of not leaving their mother at that time of the
+year. Mrs. Jennings received the refusal with some surprise, and
+repeated her invitation immediately.
+
+“Oh, Lord! I am sure your mother can spare you very well, and I _do_
+beg you will favour me with your company, for I’ve quite set my heart
+upon it. Don’t fancy that you will be any inconvenience to me, for I
+shan’t put myself at all out of my way for you. It will only be sending
+Betty by the coach, and I hope I can afford _that_. We three shall be
+able to go very well in my chaise; and when we are in town, if you do
+not like to go wherever I do, well and good, you may always go with one
+of my daughters. I am sure your mother will not object to it; for I
+have had such good luck in getting my own children off my hands that
+she will think me a very fit person to have the charge of you; and if I
+don’t get one of you at least well married before I have done with you,
+it shall not be my fault. I shall speak a good word for you to all the
+young men, you may depend upon it.”
+
+“I have a notion,” said Sir John, “that Miss Marianne would not object
+to such a scheme, if her elder sister would come into it. It is very
+hard indeed that she should not have a little pleasure, because Miss
+Dashwood does not wish it. So I would advise you two, to set off for
+town, when you are tired of Barton, without saying a word to Miss
+Dashwood about it.”
+
+“Nay,” cried Mrs. Jennings, “I am sure I shall be monstrous glad of
+Miss Marianne’s company, whether Miss Dashwood will go or not, only the
+more the merrier say I, and I thought it would be more comfortable for
+them to be together; because, if they got tired of me, they might talk
+to one another, and laugh at my odd ways behind my back. But one or the
+other, if not both of them, I must have. Lord bless me! how do you
+think I can live poking by myself, I who have been always used till
+this winter to have Charlotte with me. Come, Miss Marianne, let us
+strike hands upon the bargain, and if Miss Dashwood will change her
+mind by and bye, why so much the better.”
+
+“I thank you, ma’am, sincerely thank you,” said Marianne, with warmth:
+“your invitation has insured my gratitude for ever, and it would give
+me such happiness, yes, almost the greatest happiness I am capable of,
+to be able to accept it. But my mother, my dearest, kindest mother,—I
+feel the justice of what Elinor has urged, and if she were to be made
+less happy, less comfortable by our absence—Oh! no, nothing should
+tempt me to leave her. It should not, must not be a struggle.”
+
+Mrs. Jennings repeated her assurance that Mrs. Dashwood could spare
+them perfectly well; and Elinor, who now understood her sister, and saw
+to what indifference to almost every thing else she was carried by her
+eagerness to be with Willoughby again, made no farther direct
+opposition to the plan, and merely referred it to her mother’s
+decision, from whom however she scarcely expected to receive any
+support in her endeavour to prevent a visit, which she could not
+approve of for Marianne, and which on her own account she had
+particular reasons to avoid. Whatever Marianne was desirous of, her
+mother would be eager to promote—she could not expect to influence the
+latter to cautiousness of conduct in an affair respecting which she had
+never been able to inspire her with distrust; and she dared not explain
+the motive of her own disinclination for going to London. That
+Marianne, fastidious as she was, thoroughly acquainted with Mrs.
+Jennings’ manners, and invariably disgusted by them, should overlook
+every inconvenience of that kind, should disregard whatever must be
+most wounding to her irritable feelings, in her pursuit of one object,
+was such a proof, so strong, so full, of the importance of that object
+to her, as Elinor, in spite of all that had passed, was not prepared to
+witness.
+
+On being informed of the invitation, Mrs. Dashwood, persuaded that such
+an excursion would be productive of much amusement to both her
+daughters, and perceiving through all her affectionate attention to
+herself, how much the heart of Marianne was in it, would not hear of
+their declining the offer upon _her_ account; insisted on their both
+accepting it directly; and then began to foresee, with her usual
+cheerfulness, a variety of advantages that would accrue to them all,
+from this separation.
+
+“I am delighted with the plan,” she cried, “it is exactly what I could
+wish. Margaret and I shall be as much benefited by it as yourselves.
+When you and the Middletons are gone, we shall go on so quietly and
+happily together with our books and our music! You will find Margaret
+so improved when you come back again! I have a little plan of
+alteration for your bedrooms too, which may now be performed without
+any inconvenience to any one. It is very right that you _should_ go to
+town; I would have every young woman of your condition in life
+acquainted with the manners and amusements of London. You will be under
+the care of a motherly good sort of woman, of whose kindness to you I
+can have no doubt. And in all probability you will see your brother,
+and whatever may be his faults, or the faults of his wife, when I
+consider whose son he is, I cannot bear to have you so wholly estranged
+from each other.”
+
+“Though with your usual anxiety for our happiness,” said Elinor, “you
+have been obviating every impediment to the present scheme which
+occurred to you, there is still one objection which, in my opinion,
+cannot be so easily removed.”
+
+Marianne’s countenance sunk.
+
+“And what,” said Mrs. Dashwood, “is my dear prudent Elinor going to
+suggest? What formidable obstacle is she now to bring forward? Do not
+let me hear a word about the expense of it.”
+
+“My objection is this; though I think very well of Mrs. Jennings’s
+heart, she is not a woman whose society can afford us pleasure, or
+whose protection will give us consequence.”
+
+“That is very true,” replied her mother, “but of her society,
+separately from that of other people, you will scarcely have any thing
+at all, and you will almost always appear in public with Lady
+Middleton.”
+
+“If Elinor is frightened away by her dislike of Mrs. Jennings,” said
+Marianne, “at least it need not prevent MY accepting her invitation. I
+have no such scruples, and I am sure I could put up with every
+unpleasantness of that kind with very little effort.”
+
+Elinor could not help smiling at this display of indifference towards
+the manners of a person, to whom she had often had difficulty in
+persuading Marianne to behave with tolerable politeness; and resolved
+within herself, that if her sister persisted in going, she would go
+likewise, as she did not think it proper that Marianne should be left
+to the sole guidance of her own judgment, or that Mrs. Jennings should
+be abandoned to the mercy of Marianne for all the comfort of her
+domestic hours. To this determination she was the more easily
+reconciled, by recollecting that Edward Ferrars, by Lucy’s account, was
+not to be in town before February; and that their visit, without any
+unreasonable abridgement, might be previously finished.
+
+“I will have you _both_ go,” said Mrs. Dashwood; “these objections are
+nonsensical. You will have much pleasure in being in London, and
+especially in being together; and if Elinor would ever condescend to
+anticipate enjoyment, she would foresee it there from a variety of
+sources; she would, perhaps, expect some from improving her
+acquaintance with her sister-in-law’s family.”
+
+Elinor had often wished for an opportunity of attempting to weaken her
+mother’s dependence on the attachment of Edward and herself, that the
+shock might be less when the whole truth were revealed, and now on this
+attack, though almost hopeless of success, she forced herself to begin
+her design by saying, as calmly as she could, “I like Edward Ferrars
+very much, and shall always be glad to see him; but as to the rest of
+the family, it is a matter of perfect indifference to me, whether I am
+ever known to them or not.”
+
+Mrs. Dashwood smiled, and said nothing. Marianne lifted up her eyes in
+astonishment, and Elinor conjectured that she might as well have held
+her tongue.
+
+After very little farther discourse, it was finally settled that the
+invitation should be fully accepted. Mrs. Jennings received the
+information with a great deal of joy, and many assurances of kindness
+and care; nor was it a matter of pleasure merely to her. Sir John was
+delighted; for to a man, whose prevailing anxiety was the dread of
+being alone, the acquisition of two, to the number of inhabitants in
+London, was something. Even Lady Middleton took the trouble of being
+delighted, which was putting herself rather out of her way; and as for
+the Miss Steeles, especially Lucy, they had never been so happy in
+their lives as this intelligence made them.
+
+Elinor submitted to the arrangement which counteracted her wishes with
+less reluctance than she had expected to feel. With regard to herself,
+it was now a matter of unconcern whether she went to town or not, and
+when she saw her mother so thoroughly pleased with the plan, and her
+sister exhilarated by it in look, voice, and manner, restored to all
+her usual animation, and elevated to more than her usual gaiety, she
+could not be dissatisfied with the cause, and would hardly allow
+herself to distrust the consequence.
+
+Marianne’s joy was almost a degree beyond happiness, so great was the
+perturbation of her spirits and her impatience to be gone. Her
+unwillingness to quit her mother was her only restorative to calmness;
+and at the moment of parting her grief on that score was excessive. Her
+mother’s affliction was hardly less, and Elinor was the only one of the
+three, who seemed to consider the separation as any thing short of
+eternal.
+
+Their departure took place in the first week in January. The Middletons
+were to follow in about a week. The Miss Steeles kept their station at
+the park, and were to quit it only with the rest of the family.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+
+Elinor could not find herself in the carriage with Mrs. Jennings, and
+beginning a journey to London under her protection, and as her guest,
+without wondering at her own situation, so short had their acquaintance
+with that lady been, so wholly unsuited were they in age and
+disposition, and so many had been her objections against such a measure
+only a few days before! But these objections had all, with that happy
+ardour of youth which Marianne and her mother equally shared, been
+overcome or overlooked; and Elinor, in spite of every occasional doubt
+of Willoughby’s constancy, could not witness the rapture of delightful
+expectation which filled the whole soul and beamed in the eyes of
+Marianne, without feeling how blank was her own prospect, how cheerless
+her own state of mind in the comparison, and how gladly she would
+engage in the solicitude of Marianne’s situation to have the same
+animating object in view, the same possibility of hope. A short, a very
+short time however must now decide what Willoughby’s intentions were;
+in all probability he was already in town. Marianne’s eagerness to be
+gone declared her dependence on finding him there; and Elinor was
+resolved not only upon gaining every new light as to his character
+which her own observation or the intelligence of others could give her,
+but likewise upon watching his behaviour to her sister with such
+zealous attention, as to ascertain what he was and what he meant,
+before many meetings had taken place. Should the result of her
+observations be unfavourable, she was determined at all events to open
+the eyes of her sister; should it be otherwise, her exertions would be
+of a different nature—she must then learn to avoid every selfish
+comparison, and banish every regret which might lessen her satisfaction
+in the happiness of Marianne.
+
+They were three days on their journey, and Marianne’s behaviour as they
+travelled was a happy specimen of what future complaisance and
+companionableness to Mrs. Jennings might be expected to be. She sat in
+silence almost all the way, wrapt in her own meditations, and scarcely
+ever voluntarily speaking, except when any object of picturesque beauty
+within their view drew from her an exclamation of delight exclusively
+addressed to her sister. To atone for this conduct therefore, Elinor
+took immediate possession of the post of civility which she had
+assigned herself, behaved with the greatest attention to Mrs. Jennings,
+talked with her, laughed with her, and listened to her whenever she
+could; and Mrs. Jennings on her side treated them both with all
+possible kindness, was solicitous on every occasion for their ease and
+enjoyment, and only disturbed that she could not make them choose their
+own dinners at the inn, nor extort a confession of their preferring
+salmon to cod, or boiled fowls to veal cutlets. They reached town by
+three o’clock the third day, glad to be released, after such a journey,
+from the confinement of a carriage, and ready to enjoy all the luxury
+of a good fire.
+
+The house was handsome, and handsomely fitted up, and the young ladies
+were immediately put in possession of a very comfortable apartment. It
+had formerly been Charlotte’s, and over the mantelpiece still hung a
+landscape in coloured silks of her performance, in proof of her having
+spent seven years at a great school in town to some effect.
+
+As dinner was not to be ready in less than two hours from their
+arrival, Elinor determined to employ the interval in writing to her
+mother, and sat down for that purpose. In a few moments Marianne did
+the same. “_I_ am writing home, Marianne,” said Elinor; “had not you
+better defer your letter for a day or two?”
+
+“I am _not_ going to write to my mother,” replied Marianne, hastily,
+and as if wishing to avoid any farther inquiry. Elinor said no more; it
+immediately struck her that she must then be writing to Willoughby; and
+the conclusion which as instantly followed was, that, however
+mysteriously they might wish to conduct the affair, they must be
+engaged. This conviction, though not entirely satisfactory, gave her
+pleasure, and she continued her letter with greater alacrity.
+Marianne’s was finished in a very few minutes; in length it could be no
+more than a note; it was then folded up, sealed, and directed with
+eager rapidity. Elinor thought she could distinguish a large W in the
+direction; and no sooner was it complete than Marianne, ringing the
+bell, requested the footman who answered it to get that letter conveyed
+for her to the two-penny post. This decided the matter at once.
+
+Her spirits still continued very high; but there was a flutter in them
+which prevented their giving much pleasure to her sister, and this
+agitation increased as the evening drew on. She could scarcely eat any
+dinner, and when they afterwards returned to the drawing room, seemed
+anxiously listening to the sound of every carriage.
+
+It was a great satisfaction to Elinor that Mrs. Jennings, by being much
+engaged in her own room, could see little of what was passing. The tea
+things were brought in, and already had Marianne been disappointed more
+than once by a rap at a neighbouring door, when a loud one was suddenly
+heard which could not be mistaken for one at any other house, Elinor
+felt secure of its announcing Willoughby’s approach, and Marianne,
+starting up, moved towards the door. Every thing was silent; this could
+not be borne many seconds; she opened the door, advanced a few steps
+towards the stairs, and after listening half a minute, returned into
+the room in all the agitation which a conviction of having heard him
+would naturally produce; in the ecstasy of her feelings at that instant
+she could not help exclaiming, “Oh, Elinor, it is Willoughby, indeed it
+is!” and seemed almost ready to throw herself into his arms, when
+Colonel Brandon appeared.
+
+It was too great a shock to be borne with calmness, and she immediately
+left the room. Elinor was disappointed too; but at the same time her
+regard for Colonel Brandon ensured his welcome with her; and she felt
+particularly hurt that a man so partial to her sister should perceive
+that she experienced nothing but grief and disappointment in seeing
+him. She instantly saw that it was not unnoticed by him, that he even
+observed Marianne as she quitted the room, with such astonishment and
+concern, as hardly left him the recollection of what civility demanded
+towards herself.
+
+“Is your sister ill?” said he.
+
+Elinor answered in some distress that she was, and then talked of
+head-aches, low spirits, and over fatigues; and of every thing to which
+she could decently attribute her sister’s behaviour.
+
+He heard her with the most earnest attention, but seeming to recollect
+himself, said no more on the subject, and began directly to speak of
+his pleasure at seeing them in London, making the usual inquiries about
+their journey, and the friends they had left behind.
+
+In this calm kind of way, with very little interest on either side,
+they continued to talk, both of them out of spirits, and the thoughts
+of both engaged elsewhere. Elinor wished very much to ask whether
+Willoughby were then in town, but she was afraid of giving him pain by
+any enquiry after his rival; and at length, by way of saying something,
+she asked if he had been in London ever since she had seen him last.
+“Yes,” he replied, with some embarrassment, “almost ever since; I have
+been once or twice at Delaford for a few days, but it has never been in
+my power to return to Barton.”
+
+This, and the manner in which it was said, immediately brought back to
+her remembrance all the circumstances of his quitting that place, with
+the uneasiness and suspicions they had caused to Mrs. Jennings, and she
+was fearful that her question had implied much more curiosity on the
+subject than she had ever felt.
+
+Mrs. Jennings soon came in. “Oh! Colonel,” said she, with her usual
+noisy cheerfulness, “I am monstrous glad to see you—sorry I could not
+come before—beg your pardon, but I have been forced to look about me a
+little, and settle my matters; for it is a long while since I have been
+at home, and you know one has always a world of little odd things to do
+after one has been away for any time; and then I have had Cartwright to
+settle with. Lord, I have been as busy as a bee ever since dinner! But
+pray, Colonel, how came you to conjure out that I should be in town
+today?”
+
+“I had the pleasure of hearing it at Mr. Palmer’s, where I have been
+dining.”
+
+“Oh, you did; well, and how do they all do at their house? How does
+Charlotte do? I warrant you she is a fine size by this time.”
+
+“Mrs. Palmer appeared quite well, and I am commissioned to tell you,
+that you will certainly see her to-morrow.”
+
+“Ay, to be sure, I thought as much. Well, Colonel, I have brought two
+young ladies with me, you see—that is, you see but one of them now, but
+there is another somewhere. Your friend, Miss Marianne, too—which you
+will not be sorry to hear. I do not know what you and Mr. Willoughby
+will do between you about her. Ay, it is a fine thing to be young and
+handsome. Well! I was young once, but I never was very handsome—worse
+luck for me. However, I got a very good husband, and I don’t know what
+the greatest beauty can do more. Ah! poor man! he has been dead these
+eight years and better. But Colonel, where have you been to since we
+parted? And how does your business go on? Come, come, let’s have no
+secrets among friends.”
+
+He replied with his accustomary mildness to all her inquiries, but
+without satisfying her in any. Elinor now began to make the tea, and
+Marianne was obliged to appear again.
+
+After her entrance, Colonel Brandon became more thoughtful and silent
+than he had been before, and Mrs. Jennings could not prevail on him to
+stay long. No other visitor appeared that evening, and the ladies were
+unanimous in agreeing to go early to bed.
+
+Marianne rose the next morning with recovered spirits and happy looks.
+The disappointment of the evening before seemed forgotten in the
+expectation of what was to happen that day. They had not long finished
+their breakfast before Mrs. Palmer’s barouche stopped at the door, and
+in a few minutes she came laughing into the room: so delighted to see
+them all, that it was hard to say whether she received most pleasure
+from meeting her mother or the Miss Dashwoods again. So surprised at
+their coming to town, though it was what she had rather expected all
+along; so angry at their accepting her mother’s invitation after having
+declined her own, though at the same time she would never have forgiven
+them if they had not come!
+
+“Mr. Palmer will be so happy to see you,” said she; “What do you think
+he said when he heard of your coming with Mama? I forget what it was
+now, but it was something so droll!”
+
+After an hour or two spent in what her mother called comfortable chat,
+or in other words, in every variety of inquiry concerning all their
+acquaintance on Mrs. Jennings’s side, and in laughter without cause on
+Mrs. Palmer’s, it was proposed by the latter that they should all
+accompany her to some shops where she had business that morning, to
+which Mrs. Jennings and Elinor readily consented, as having likewise
+some purchases to make themselves; and Marianne, though declining it at
+first was induced to go likewise.
+
+Wherever they went, she was evidently always on the watch. In Bond
+Street especially, where much of their business lay, her eyes were in
+constant inquiry; and in whatever shop the party were engaged, her mind
+was equally abstracted from every thing actually before them, from all
+that interested and occupied the others. Restless and dissatisfied
+every where, her sister could never obtain her opinion of any article
+of purchase, however it might equally concern them both: she received
+no pleasure from anything; was only impatient to be at home again, and
+could with difficulty govern her vexation at the tediousness of Mrs.
+Palmer, whose eye was caught by every thing pretty, expensive, or new;
+who was wild to buy all, could determine on none, and dawdled away her
+time in rapture and indecision.
+
+It was late in the morning before they returned home; and no sooner had
+they entered the house than Marianne flew eagerly up stairs, and when
+Elinor followed, she found her turning from the table with a sorrowful
+countenance, which declared that no Willoughby had been there.
+
+“Has no letter been left here for me since we went out?” said she to
+the footman who then entered with the parcels. She was answered in the
+negative. “Are you quite sure of it?” she replied. “Are you certain
+that no servant, no porter has left any letter or note?”
+
+The man replied that none had.
+
+“How very odd!” said she, in a low and disappointed voice, as she
+turned away to the window.
+
+“How odd, indeed!” repeated Elinor within herself, regarding her sister
+with uneasiness. “If she had not known him to be in town she would not
+have written to him, as she did; she would have written to Combe Magna;
+and if he is in town, how odd that he should neither come nor write!
+Oh! my dear mother, you must be wrong in permitting an engagement
+between a daughter so young, a man so little known, to be carried on in
+so doubtful, so mysterious a manner! _I_ long to inquire; and how will
+_my_ interference be borne.”
+
+She determined, after some consideration, that if appearances continued
+many days longer as unpleasant as they now were, she would represent in
+the strongest manner to her mother the necessity of some serious
+enquiry into the affair.
+
+Mrs. Palmer and two elderly ladies of Mrs. Jennings’s intimate
+acquaintance, whom she had met and invited in the morning, dined with
+them. The former left them soon after tea to fulfill her evening
+engagements; and Elinor was obliged to assist in making a whist table
+for the others. Marianne was of no use on these occasions, as she would
+never learn the game; but though her time was therefore at her own
+disposal, the evening was by no means more productive of pleasure to
+her than to Elinor, for it was spent in all the anxiety of expectation
+and the pain of disappointment. She sometimes endeavoured for a few
+minutes to read; but the book was soon thrown aside, and she returned
+to the more interesting employment of walking backwards and forwards
+across the room, pausing for a moment whenever she came to the window,
+in hopes of distinguishing the long-expected rap.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+
+“If this open weather holds much longer,” said Mrs. Jennings, when they
+met at breakfast the following morning, “Sir John will not like leaving
+Barton next week; ’tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a day’s
+pleasure. Poor souls! I always pity them when they do; they seem to
+take it so much to heart.”
+
+“That is true,” cried Marianne, in a cheerful voice, and walking to the
+window as she spoke, to examine the day. “I had not thought of _that_.
+This weather will keep many sportsmen in the country.”
+
+It was a lucky recollection, all her good spirits were restored by it.
+“It is charming weather for _them_ indeed,” she continued, as she sat
+down to the breakfast table with a happy countenance. “How much they
+must enjoy it! But” (with a little return of anxiety) “it cannot be
+expected to last long. At this time of the year, and after such a
+series of rain, we shall certainly have very little more of it. Frosts
+will soon set in, and in all probability with severity. In another day
+or two perhaps; this extreme mildness can hardly last longer—nay,
+perhaps it may freeze tonight!”
+
+“At any rate,” said Elinor, wishing to prevent Mrs. Jennings from
+seeing her sister’s thoughts as clearly as she did, “I dare say we
+shall have Sir John and Lady Middleton in town by the end of next
+week.”
+
+“Ay, my dear, I’ll warrant you we do. Mary always has her own way.”
+
+“And now,” silently conjectured Elinor, “she will write to Combe by
+this day’s post.”
+
+But if she _did_, the letter was written and sent away with a privacy
+which eluded all her watchfulness to ascertain the fact. Whatever the
+truth of it might be, and far as Elinor was from feeling thorough
+contentment about it, yet while she saw Marianne in spirits, she could
+not be very uncomfortable herself. And Marianne was in spirits; happy
+in the mildness of the weather, and still happier in her expectation of
+a frost.
+
+The morning was chiefly spent in leaving cards at the houses of Mrs.
+Jennings’s acquaintance to inform them of her being in town; and
+Marianne was all the time busy in observing the direction of the wind,
+watching the variations of the sky and imagining an alteration in the
+air.
+
+“Don’t you find it colder than it was in the morning, Elinor? There
+seems to me a very decided difference. I can hardly keep my hands warm
+even in my muff. It was not so yesterday, I think. The clouds seem
+parting too, the sun will be out in a moment, and we shall have a clear
+afternoon.”
+
+Elinor was alternately diverted and pained; but Marianne persevered,
+and saw every night in the brightness of the fire, and every morning in
+the appearance of the atmosphere, the certain symptoms of approaching
+frost.
+
+The Miss Dashwoods had no greater reason to be dissatisfied with Mrs.
+Jennings’s style of living, and set of acquaintance, than with her
+behaviour to themselves, which was invariably kind. Every thing in her
+household arrangements was conducted on the most liberal plan, and
+excepting a few old city friends, whom, to Lady Middleton’s regret, she
+had never dropped, she visited no one to whom an introduction could at
+all discompose the feelings of her young companions. Pleased to find
+herself more comfortably situated in that particular than she had
+expected, Elinor was very willing to compound for the want of much real
+enjoyment from any of their evening parties, which, whether at home or
+abroad, formed only for cards, could have little to amuse her.
+
+Colonel Brandon, who had a general invitation to the house, was with
+them almost every day; he came to look at Marianne and talk to Elinor,
+who often derived more satisfaction from conversing with him than from
+any other daily occurrence, but who saw at the same time with much
+concern his continued regard for her sister. She feared it was a
+strengthening regard. It grieved her to see the earnestness with which
+he often watched Marianne, and his spirits were certainly worse than
+when at Barton.
+
+About a week after their arrival, it became certain that Willoughby was
+also arrived. His card was on the table when they came in from the
+morning’s drive.
+
+“Good God!” cried Marianne, “he has been here while we were out.”
+Elinor, rejoiced to be assured of his being in London, now ventured to
+say, “Depend upon it, he will call again tomorrow.” But Marianne seemed
+hardly to hear her, and on Mrs. Jennings’s entrance, escaped with the
+precious card.
+
+This event, while it raised the spirits of Elinor, restored to those of
+her sister all, and more than all, their former agitation. From this
+moment her mind was never quiet; the expectation of seeing him every
+hour of the day, made her unfit for any thing. She insisted on being
+left behind, the next morning, when the others went out.
+
+Elinor’s thoughts were full of what might be passing in Berkeley Street
+during their absence; but a moment’s glance at her sister when they
+returned was enough to inform her, that Willoughby had paid no second
+visit there. A note was just then brought in, and laid on the table.
+
+“For me!” cried Marianne, stepping hastily forward.
+
+“No, ma’am, for my mistress.”
+
+But Marianne, not convinced, took it instantly up.
+
+“It is indeed for Mrs. Jennings; how provoking!”
+
+“You are expecting a letter, then?” said Elinor, unable to be longer
+silent.
+
+“Yes, a little—not much.”
+
+After a short pause. “You have no confidence in me, Marianne.”
+
+“Nay, Elinor, this reproach from _you_—you who have confidence in no
+one!”
+
+“Me!” returned Elinor in some confusion; “indeed, Marianne, I have
+nothing to tell.”
+
+“Nor I,” answered Marianne with energy, “our situations then are alike.
+We have neither of us any thing to tell; you, because you do not
+communicate, and I, because I conceal nothing.”
+
+Elinor, distressed by this charge of reserve in herself, which she was
+not at liberty to do away, knew not how, under such circumstances, to
+press for greater openness in Marianne.
+
+Mrs. Jennings soon appeared, and the note being given her, she read it
+aloud. It was from Lady Middleton, announcing their arrival in Conduit
+Street the night before, and requesting the company of her mother and
+cousins the following evening. Business on Sir John’s part, and a
+violent cold on her own, prevented their calling in Berkeley Street.
+The invitation was accepted; but when the hour of appointment drew
+near, necessary as it was in common civility to Mrs. Jennings, that
+they should both attend her on such a visit, Elinor had some difficulty
+in persuading her sister to go, for still she had seen nothing of
+Willoughby; and therefore was not more indisposed for amusement abroad,
+than unwilling to run the risk of his calling again in her absence.
+
+Elinor found, when the evening was over, that disposition is not
+materially altered by a change of abode, for although scarcely settled
+in town, Sir John had contrived to collect around him, nearly twenty
+young people, and to amuse them with a ball. This was an affair,
+however, of which Lady Middleton did not approve. In the country, an
+unpremeditated dance was very allowable; but in London, where the
+reputation of elegance was more important and less easily attained, it
+was risking too much for the gratification of a few girls, to have it
+known that Lady Middleton had given a small dance of eight or nine
+couple, with two violins, and a mere side-board collation.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Palmer were of the party; from the former, whom they had
+not seen before since their arrival in town, as he was careful to avoid
+the appearance of any attention to his mother-in-law, and therefore
+never came near her, they received no mark of recognition on their
+entrance. He looked at them slightly, without seeming to know who they
+were, and merely nodded to Mrs. Jennings from the other side of the
+room. Marianne gave one glance round the apartment as she entered: it
+was enough—_he_ was not there—and she sat down, equally ill-disposed to
+receive or communicate pleasure. After they had been assembled about an
+hour, Mr. Palmer sauntered towards the Miss Dashwoods to express his
+surprise on seeing them in town, though Colonel Brandon had been first
+informed of their arrival at his house, and he had himself said
+something very droll on hearing that they were to come.
+
+“I thought you were both in Devonshire,” said he.
+
+“Did you?” replied Elinor.
+
+“When do you go back again?”
+
+“I do not know.” And thus ended their discourse.
+
+Never had Marianne been so unwilling to dance in her life, as she was
+that evening, and never so much fatigued by the exercise. She
+complained of it as they returned to Berkeley Street.
+
+“Aye, aye,” said Mrs. Jennings, “we know the reason of all that very
+well; if a certain person who shall be nameless, had been there, you
+would not have been a bit tired: and to say the truth it was not very
+pretty of him not to give you the meeting when he was invited.”
+
+“Invited!” cried Marianne.
+
+“So my daughter Middleton told me, for it seems Sir John met him
+somewhere in the street this morning.” Marianne said no more, but
+looked exceedingly hurt. Impatient in this situation to be doing
+something that might lead to her sister’s relief, Elinor resolved to
+write the next morning to her mother, and hoped by awakening her fears
+for the health of Marianne, to procure those inquiries which had been
+so long delayed; and she was still more eagerly bent on this measure by
+perceiving after breakfast on the morrow, that Marianne was again
+writing to Willoughby, for she could not suppose it to be to any other
+person.
+
+About the middle of the day, Mrs. Jennings went out by herself on
+business, and Elinor began her letter directly, while Marianne, too
+restless for employment, too anxious for conversation, walked from one
+window to the other, or sat down by the fire in melancholy meditation.
+Elinor was very earnest in her application to her mother, relating all
+that had passed, her suspicions of Willoughby’s inconstancy, urging her
+by every plea of duty and affection to demand from Marianne an account
+of her real situation with respect to him.
+
+Her letter was scarcely finished, when a rap foretold a visitor, and
+Colonel Brandon was announced. Marianne, who had seen him from the
+window, and who hated company of any kind, left the room before he
+entered it. He looked more than usually grave, and though expressing
+satisfaction at finding Miss Dashwood alone, as if he had somewhat in
+particular to tell her, sat for some time without saying a word.
+Elinor, persuaded that he had some communication to make in which her
+sister was concerned, impatiently expected its opening. It was not the
+first time of her feeling the same kind of conviction; for, more than
+once before, beginning with the observation of “your sister looks
+unwell to-day,” or “your sister seems out of spirits,” he had appeared
+on the point, either of disclosing, or of inquiring, something
+particular about her. After a pause of several minutes, their silence
+was broken, by his asking her in a voice of some agitation, when he was
+to congratulate her on the acquisition of a brother? Elinor was not
+prepared for such a question, and having no answer ready, was obliged
+to adopt the simple and common expedient, of asking what he meant? He
+tried to smile as he replied, “your sister’s engagement to Mr.
+Willoughby is very generally known.”
+
+“It cannot be generally known,” returned Elinor, “for her own family do
+not know it.”
+
+He looked surprised and said, “I beg your pardon, I am afraid my
+inquiry has been impertinent; but I had not supposed any secrecy
+intended, as they openly correspond, and their marriage is universally
+talked of.”
+
+“How can that be? By whom can you have heard it mentioned?”
+
+“By many—by some of whom you know nothing, by others with whom you are
+most intimate, Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. Palmer, and the Middletons. But
+still I might not have believed it, for where the mind is perhaps
+rather unwilling to be convinced, it will always find something to
+support its doubts, if I had not, when the servant let me in today,
+accidentally seen a letter in his hand, directed to Mr. Willoughby in
+your sister’s writing. I came to inquire, but I was convinced before I
+could ask the question. Is every thing finally settled? Is it
+impossible to—? But I have no right, and I could have no chance of
+succeeding. Excuse me, Miss Dashwood. I believe I have been wrong in
+saying so much, but I hardly know what to do, and on your prudence I
+have the strongest dependence. Tell me that it is all absolutely
+resolved on, that any attempt, that in short concealment, if
+concealment be possible, is all that remains.”
+
+These words, which conveyed to Elinor a direct avowal of his love for
+her sister, affected her very much. She was not immediately able to say
+anything, and even when her spirits were recovered, she debated for a
+short time, on the answer it would be most proper to give. The real
+state of things between Willoughby and her sister was so little known
+to herself, that in endeavouring to explain it, she might be as liable
+to say too much as too little. Yet as she was convinced that Marianne’s
+affection for Willoughby, could leave no hope of Colonel Brandon’s
+success, whatever the event of that affection might be, and at the same
+time wished to shield her conduct from censure, she thought it most
+prudent and kind, after some consideration, to say more than she really
+knew or believed. She acknowledged, therefore, that though she had
+never been informed by themselves of the terms on which they stood with
+each other, of their mutual affection she had no doubt, and of their
+correspondence she was not astonished to hear.
+
+He listened to her with silent attention, and on her ceasing to speak,
+rose directly from his seat, and after saying in a voice of emotion,
+“to your sister I wish all imaginable happiness; to Willoughby that he
+may endeavour to deserve her,”—took leave, and went away.
+
+Elinor derived no comfortable feelings from this conversation, to
+lessen the uneasiness of her mind on other points; she was left, on the
+contrary, with a melancholy impression of Colonel Brandon’s
+unhappiness, and was prevented even from wishing it removed, by her
+anxiety for the very event that must confirm it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+
+Nothing occurred during the next three or four days, to make Elinor
+regret what she had done, in applying to her mother; for Willoughby
+neither came nor wrote. They were engaged about the end of that time to
+attend Lady Middleton to a party, from which Mrs. Jennings was kept
+away by the indisposition of her youngest daughter; and for this party,
+Marianne, wholly dispirited, careless of her appearance, and seeming
+equally indifferent whether she went or staid, prepared, without one
+look of hope or one expression of pleasure. She sat by the drawing-room
+fire after tea, till the moment of Lady Middleton’s arrival, without
+once stirring from her seat, or altering her attitude, lost in her own
+thoughts, and insensible of her sister’s presence; and when at last
+they were told that Lady Middleton waited for them at the door, she
+started as if she had forgotten that any one was expected.
+
+They arrived in due time at the place of destination, and as soon as
+the string of carriages before them would allow, alighted, ascended the
+stairs, heard their names announced from one landing-place to another
+in an audible voice, and entered a room splendidly lit up, quite full
+of company, and insufferably hot. When they had paid their tribute of
+politeness by curtsying to the lady of the house, they were permitted
+to mingle in the crowd, and take their share of the heat and
+inconvenience, to which their arrival must necessarily add. After some
+time spent in saying little or doing less, Lady Middleton sat down to
+Cassino, and as Marianne was not in spirits for moving about, she and
+Elinor luckily succeeding to chairs, placed themselves at no great
+distance from the table.
+
+They had not remained in this manner long, before Elinor perceived
+Willoughby, standing within a few yards of them, in earnest
+conversation with a very fashionable looking young woman. She soon
+caught his eye, and he immediately bowed, but without attempting to
+speak to her, or to approach Marianne, though he could not but see her;
+and then continued his discourse with the same lady. Elinor turned
+involuntarily to Marianne, to see whether it could be unobserved by
+her. At that moment she first perceived him, and her whole countenance
+glowing with sudden delight, she would have moved towards him
+instantly, had not her sister caught hold of her.
+
+“Good heavens!” she exclaimed, “he is there—he is there—Oh! why does he
+not look at me? why cannot I speak to him?”
+
+“Pray, pray be composed,” cried Elinor, “and do not betray what you
+feel to every body present. Perhaps he has not observed you yet.”
+
+This however was more than she could believe herself; and to be
+composed at such a moment was not only beyond the reach of Marianne, it
+was beyond her wish. She sat in an agony of impatience which affected
+every feature.
+
+At last he turned round again, and regarded them both; she started up,
+and pronouncing his name in a tone of affection, held out her hand to
+him. He approached, and addressing himself rather to Elinor than
+Marianne, as if wishing to avoid her eye, and determined not to observe
+her attitude, inquired in a hurried manner after Mrs. Dashwood, and
+asked how long they had been in town. Elinor was robbed of all presence
+of mind by such an address, and was unable to say a word. But the
+feelings of her sister were instantly expressed. Her face was crimsoned
+over, and she exclaimed, in a voice of the greatest emotion, “Good God!
+Willoughby, what is the meaning of this? Have you not received my
+letters? Will you not shake hands with me?”
+
+He could not then avoid it, but her touch seemed painful to him, and he
+held her hand only for a moment. During all this time he was evidently
+struggling for composure. Elinor watched his countenance and saw its
+expression becoming more tranquil. After a moment’s pause, he spoke
+with calmness.
+
+“I did myself the honour of calling in Berkeley Street last Tuesday,
+and very much regretted that I was not fortunate enough to find
+yourselves and Mrs. Jennings at home. My card was not lost, I hope.”
+
+“But have you not received my notes?” cried Marianne in the wildest
+anxiety. “Here is some mistake I am sure—some dreadful mistake. What
+can be the meaning of it? Tell me, Willoughby; for heaven’s sake tell
+me, what is the matter?”
+
+He made no reply; his complexion changed and all his embarrassment
+returned; but as if, on catching the eye of the young lady with whom he
+had been previously talking, he felt the necessity of instant exertion,
+he recovered himself again, and after saying, “Yes, I had the pleasure
+of receiving the information of your arrival in town, which you were so
+good as to send me,” turned hastily away with a slight bow and joined
+his friend.
+
+Marianne, now looking dreadfully white, and unable to stand, sunk into
+her chair, and Elinor, expecting every moment to see her faint, tried
+to screen her from the observation of others, while reviving her with
+lavender water.
+
+“Go to him, Elinor,” she cried, as soon as she could speak, “and force
+him to come to me. Tell him I must see him again—must speak to him
+instantly.—I cannot rest—I shall not have a moment’s peace till this is
+explained—some dreadful misapprehension or other. Oh, go to him this
+moment.”
+
+“How can that be done? No, my dearest Marianne, you must wait. This is
+not the place for explanations. Wait only till tomorrow.”
+
+With difficulty however could she prevent her from following him
+herself; and to persuade her to check her agitation, to wait, at least,
+with the appearance of composure, till she might speak to him with more
+privacy and more effect, was impossible; for Marianne continued
+incessantly to give way in a low voice to the misery of her feelings,
+by exclamations of wretchedness. In a short time Elinor saw Willoughby
+quit the room by the door towards the staircase, and telling Marianne
+that he was gone, urged the impossibility of speaking to him again that
+evening, as a fresh argument for her to be calm. She instantly begged
+her sister would entreat Lady Middleton to take them home, as she was
+too miserable to stay a minute longer.
+
+Lady Middleton, though in the middle of a rubber, on being informed
+that Marianne was unwell, was too polite to object for a moment to her
+wish of going away, and making over her cards to a friend, they
+departed as soon as the carriage could be found. Scarcely a word was
+spoken during their return to Berkeley Street. Marianne was in a silent
+agony, too much oppressed even for tears; but as Mrs. Jennings was
+luckily not come home, they could go directly to their own room, where
+hartshorn restored her a little to herself. She was soon undressed and
+in bed, and as she seemed desirous of being alone, her sister then left
+her, and while she waited the return of Mrs. Jennings, had leisure
+enough for thinking over the past.
+
+That some kind of engagement had subsisted between Willoughby and
+Marianne she could not doubt, and that Willoughby was weary of it,
+seemed equally clear; for however Marianne might still feed her own
+wishes, _she_ could not attribute such behaviour to mistake or
+misapprehension of any kind. Nothing but a thorough change of sentiment
+could account for it. Her indignation would have been still stronger
+than it was, had she not witnessed that embarrassment which seemed to
+speak a consciousness of his own misconduct, and prevented her from
+believing him so unprincipled as to have been sporting with the
+affections of her sister from the first, without any design that would
+bear investigation. Absence might have weakened his regard, and
+convenience might have determined him to overcome it, but that such a
+regard had formerly existed she could not bring herself to doubt.
+
+As for Marianne, on the pangs which so unhappy a meeting must already
+have given her, and on those still more severe which might await her in
+its probable consequence, she could not reflect without the deepest
+concern. Her own situation gained in the comparison; for while she
+could _esteem_ Edward as much as ever, however they might be divided in
+future, her mind might be always supported. But every circumstance that
+could embitter such an evil seemed uniting to heighten the misery of
+Marianne in a final separation from Willoughby—in an immediate and
+irreconcilable rupture with him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+
+Before the housemaid had lit their fire the next day, or the sun gained
+any power over a cold, gloomy morning in January, Marianne, only half
+dressed, was kneeling against one of the window-seats for the sake of
+all the little light she could command from it, and writing as fast as
+a continual flow of tears would permit her. In this situation, Elinor,
+roused from sleep by her agitation and sobs, first perceived her; and
+after observing her for a few moments with silent anxiety, said, in a
+tone of the most considerate gentleness,
+
+“Marianne, may I ask—?”
+
+“No, Elinor,” she replied, “ask nothing; you will soon know all.”
+
+The sort of desperate calmness with which this was said, lasted no
+longer than while she spoke, and was immediately followed by a return
+of the same excessive affliction. It was some minutes before she could
+go on with her letter, and the frequent bursts of grief which still
+obliged her, at intervals, to withhold her pen, were proofs enough of
+her feeling how more than probable it was that she was writing for the
+last time to Willoughby.
+
+Elinor paid her every quiet and unobtrusive attention in her power; and
+she would have tried to sooth and tranquilize her still more, had not
+Marianne entreated her, with all the eagerness of the most nervous
+irritability, not to speak to her for the world. In such circumstances,
+it was better for both that they should not be long together; and the
+restless state of Marianne’s mind not only prevented her from remaining
+in the room a moment after she was dressed, but requiring at once
+solitude and continual change of place, made her wander about the house
+till breakfast time, avoiding the sight of every body.
+
+At breakfast she neither ate, nor attempted to eat any thing; and
+Elinor’s attention was then all employed, not in urging her, not in
+pitying her, nor in appearing to regard her, but in endeavouring to
+engage Mrs. Jennings’s notice entirely to herself.
+
+As this was a favourite meal with Mrs. Jennings, it lasted a
+considerable time, and they were just setting themselves, after it,
+round the common working table, when a letter was delivered to
+Marianne, which she eagerly caught from the servant, and, turning of a
+death-like paleness, instantly ran out of the room. Elinor, who saw as
+plainly by this, as if she had seen the direction, that it must come
+from Willoughby, felt immediately such a sickness at heart as made her
+hardly able to hold up her head, and sat in such a general tremour as
+made her fear it impossible to escape Mrs. Jennings’s notice. That good
+lady, however, saw only that Marianne had received a letter from
+Willoughby, which appeared to her a very good joke, and which she
+treated accordingly, by hoping, with a laugh, that she would find it to
+her liking. Of Elinor’s distress, she was too busily employed in
+measuring lengths of worsted for her rug, to see any thing at all; and
+calmly continuing her talk, as soon as Marianne disappeared, she said,
+
+“Upon my word, I never saw a young woman so desperately in love in my
+life! _My_ girls were nothing to her, and yet they used to be foolish
+enough; but as for Miss Marianne, she is quite an altered creature. I
+hope, from the bottom of my heart, he won’t keep her waiting much
+longer, for it is quite grievous to see her look so ill and forlorn.
+Pray, when are they to be married?”
+
+Elinor, though never less disposed to speak than at that moment,
+obliged herself to answer such an attack as this, and, therefore,
+trying to smile, replied, “And have you really, Ma’am, talked yourself
+into a persuasion of my sister’s being engaged to Mr. Willoughby? I
+thought it had been only a joke, but so serious a question seems to
+imply more; and I must beg, therefore, that you will not deceive
+yourself any longer. I do assure you that nothing would surprise me
+more than to hear of their being going to be married.”
+
+“For shame, for shame, Miss Dashwood! how can you talk so? Don’t we all
+know that it must be a match, that they were over head and ears in love
+with each other from the first moment they met? Did not I see them
+together in Devonshire every day, and all day long; and did not I know
+that your sister came to town with me on purpose to buy wedding
+clothes? Come, come, this won’t do. Because you are so sly about it
+yourself, you think nobody else has any senses; but it is no such
+thing, I can tell you, for it has been known all over town this ever so
+long. I tell every body of it and so does Charlotte.”
+
+“Indeed, Ma’am,” said Elinor, very seriously, “you are mistaken.
+Indeed, you are doing a very unkind thing in spreading the report, and
+you will find that you have though you will not believe me now.”
+
+Mrs. Jennings laughed again, but Elinor had not spirits to say more,
+and eager at all events to know what Willoughby had written, hurried
+away to their room, where, on opening the door, she saw Marianne
+stretched on the bed, almost choked by grief, one letter in her hand,
+and two or three others lying by her. Elinor drew near, but without
+saying a word; and seating herself on the bed, took her hand, kissed
+her affectionately several times, and then gave way to a burst of
+tears, which at first was scarcely less violent than Marianne’s. The
+latter, though unable to speak, seemed to feel all the tenderness of
+this behaviour, and after some time thus spent in joint affliction, she
+put all the letters into Elinor’s hands; and then covering her face
+with her handkerchief, almost screamed with agony. Elinor, who knew
+that such grief, shocking as it was to witness it, must have its
+course, watched by her till this excess of suffering had somewhat spent
+itself, and then turning eagerly to Willoughby’s letter, read as
+follows:
+
+                                    “Bond Street, January.
+
+
+        MY DEAR MADAM,
+    “I have just had the honour of receiving your letter, for which I
+    beg to return my sincere acknowledgments. I am much concerned to
+    find there was anything in my behaviour last night that did not
+    meet your approbation; and though I am quite at a loss to discover
+    in what point I could be so unfortunate as to offend you, I entreat
+    your forgiveness of what I can assure you to have been perfectly
+    unintentional. I shall never reflect on my former acquaintance with
+    your family in Devonshire without the most grateful pleasure, and
+    flatter myself it will not be broken by any mistake or
+    misapprehension of my actions. My esteem for your whole family is
+    very sincere; but if I have been so unfortunate as to give rise to
+    a belief of more than I felt, or meant to express, I shall reproach
+    myself for not having been more guarded in my professions of that
+    esteem. That I should ever have meant more you will allow to be
+    impossible, when you understand that my affections have been long
+    engaged elsewhere, and it will not be many weeks, I believe, before
+    this engagement is fulfilled. It is with great regret that I obey
+    your commands in returning the letters with which I have been
+    honoured from you, and the lock of hair, which you so obligingly
+    bestowed on me.
+
+
+“I am, dear Madam,
+“Your most obedient
+“humble servant,
+“JOHN WILLOUGHBY.”
+
+
+With what indignation such a letter as this must be read by Miss
+Dashwood, may be imagined. Though aware, before she began it, that it
+must bring a confession of his inconstancy, and confirm their
+separation for ever, she was not aware that such language could be
+suffered to announce it; nor could she have supposed Willoughby capable
+of departing so far from the appearance of every honourable and
+delicate feeling—so far from the common decorum of a gentleman, as to
+send a letter so impudently cruel: a letter which, instead of bringing
+with his desire of a release any professions of regret, acknowledged no
+breach of faith, denied all peculiar affection whatever—a letter of
+which every line was an insult, and which proclaimed its writer to be
+deep in hardened villainy.
+
+She paused over it for some time with indignant astonishment; then read
+it again and again; but every perusal only served to increase her
+abhorrence of the man, and so bitter were her feelings against him,
+that she dared not trust herself to speak, lest she might wound
+Marianne still deeper by treating their disengagement, not as a loss to
+her of any possible good but as an escape from the worst and most
+irremediable of all evils, a connection, for life, with an unprincipled
+man, as a deliverance the most real, a blessing the most important.
+
+In her earnest meditations on the contents of the letter, on the
+depravity of that mind which could dictate it, and probably, on the
+very different mind of a very different person, who had no other
+connection whatever with the affair than what her heart gave him with
+every thing that passed, Elinor forgot the immediate distress of her
+sister, forgot that she had three letters on her lap yet unread, and so
+entirely forgot how long she had been in the room, that when on hearing
+a carriage drive up to the door, she went to the window to see who
+could be coming so unreasonably early, she was all astonishment to
+perceive Mrs. Jennings’s chariot, which she knew had not been ordered
+till one. Determined not to quit Marianne, though hopeless of
+contributing, at present, to her ease, she hurried away to excuse
+herself from attending Mrs. Jennings, on account of her sister being
+indisposed. Mrs. Jennings, with a thoroughly good-humoured concern for
+its cause, admitted the excuse most readily, and Elinor, after seeing
+her safe off, returned to Marianne, whom she found attempting to rise
+from the bed, and whom she reached just in time to prevent her from
+falling on the floor, faint and giddy from a long want of proper rest
+and food; for it was many days since she had any appetite, and many
+nights since she had really slept; and now, when her mind was no longer
+supported by the fever of suspense, the consequence of all this was
+felt in an aching head, a weakened stomach, and a general nervous
+faintness. A glass of wine, which Elinor procured for her directly,
+made her more comfortable, and she was at last able to express some
+sense of her kindness, by saying,
+
+“Poor Elinor! how unhappy I make you!”
+
+“I only wish,” replied her sister, “there were any thing I _could_ do,
+which might be of comfort to you.”
+
+This, as every thing else would have been, was too much for Marianne,
+who could only exclaim, in the anguish of her heart, “Oh! Elinor, I am
+miserable, indeed,” before her voice was entirely lost in sobs.
+
+Elinor could no longer witness this torrent of unresisted grief in
+silence.
+
+“Exert yourself, dear Marianne,” she cried, “if you would not kill
+yourself and all who love you. Think of your mother; think of her
+misery while _you_ suffer: for her sake you must exert yourself.”
+
+“I cannot, I cannot,” cried Marianne; “leave me, leave me, if I
+distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me! but do not torture me so.
+Oh! how easy for those, who have no sorrow of their own to talk of
+exertion! Happy, happy Elinor, _you_ cannot have an idea of what I
+suffer.”
+
+“Do you call _me_ happy, Marianne? Ah! if you knew!—And can you believe
+me to be so, while I see you so wretched!”
+
+“Forgive me, forgive me,” throwing her arms round her sister’s neck; “I
+know you feel for me; I know what a heart you have; but yet you are—you
+must be happy; Edward loves you—what, oh what, can do away such
+happiness as that?”
+
+“Many, many circumstances,” said Elinor, solemnly.
+
+“No, no, no,” cried Marianne wildly, “he loves you, and only you. You
+_can_ have no grief.”
+
+“I can have no pleasure while I see you in this state.”
+
+“And you will never see me otherwise. Mine is a misery which nothing
+can do away.”
+
+“You must not talk so, Marianne. Have you no comforts? no friends? Is
+your loss such as leaves no opening for consolation? Much as you suffer
+now, think of what you would have suffered if the discovery of his
+character had been delayed to a later period—if your engagement had
+been carried on for months and months, as it might have been, before he
+chose to put an end to it. Every additional day of unhappy confidence,
+on your side, would have made the blow more dreadful.”
+
+“Engagement!” cried Marianne, “there has been no engagement.”
+
+“No engagement!”
+
+“No, he is not so unworthy as you believe him. He has broken no faith
+with me.”
+
+“But he told you that he loved you.”
+
+“Yes—no—never absolutely. It was every day implied, but never
+professedly declared. Sometimes I thought it had been, but it never
+was.”
+
+“Yet you wrote to him?”
+
+“Yes: could that be wrong after all that had passed? But I cannot
+talk.”
+
+Elinor said no more, and turning again to the three letters which now
+raised a much stronger curiosity than before, directly ran over the
+contents of all. The first, which was what her sister had sent him on
+their arrival in town, was to this effect.
+
+Berkeley Street, January.
+
+
+“How surprised you will be, Willoughby, on receiving this; and I think
+you will feel something more than surprise, when you know that I am in
+town. An opportunity of coming hither, though with Mrs. Jennings, was a
+temptation we could not resist. I wish you may receive this in time to
+come here to-night, but I will not depend on it. At any rate I shall
+expect you to-morrow. For the present, adieu.
+
+
+“M.D.”
+
+
+Her second note, which had been written on the morning after the dance
+at the Middletons’, was in these words:—
+
+“I cannot express my disappointment in having missed you the day before
+yesterday, nor my astonishment at not having received any answer to a
+note which I sent you above a week ago. I have been expecting to hear
+from you, and still more to see you, every hour of the day. Pray call
+again as soon as possible, and explain the reason of my having expected
+this in vain. You had better come earlier another time, because we are
+generally out by one. We were last night at Lady Middleton’s, where
+there was a dance. I have been told that you were asked to be of the
+party. But could it be so? You must be very much altered indeed since
+we parted, if that could be the case, and you not there. But I will not
+suppose this possible, and I hope very soon to receive your personal
+assurance of its being otherwise.
+
+
+“M.D.”
+
+
+The contents of her last note to him were these:—
+
+“What am I to imagine, Willoughby, by your behaviour last night? Again
+I demand an explanation of it. I was prepared to meet you with the
+pleasure which our separation naturally produced, with the familiarity
+which our intimacy at Barton appeared to me to justify. I was repulsed
+indeed! I have passed a wretched night in endeavouring to excuse a
+conduct which can scarcely be called less than insulting; but though I
+have not yet been able to form any reasonable apology for your
+behaviour, I am perfectly ready to hear your justification of it. You
+have perhaps been misinformed, or purposely deceived, in something
+concerning me, which may have lowered me in your opinion. Tell me what
+it is, explain the grounds on which you acted, and I shall be
+satisfied, in being able to satisfy you. It would grieve me indeed to
+be obliged to think ill of you; but if I am to do it, if I am to learn
+that you are not what we have hitherto believed you, that your regard
+for us all was insincere, that your behaviour to me was intended only
+to deceive, let it be told as soon as possible. My feelings are at
+present in a state of dreadful indecision; I wish to acquit you, but
+certainty on either side will be ease to what I now suffer. If your
+sentiments are no longer what they were, you will return my notes, and
+the lock of my hair which is in your possession.
+
+
+“M.D.”
+
+
+That such letters, so full of affection and confidence, could have been
+so answered, Elinor, for Willoughby’s sake, would have been unwilling
+to believe. But her condemnation of him did not blind her to the
+impropriety of their having been written at all; and she was silently
+grieving over the imprudence which had hazarded such unsolicited proofs
+of tenderness, not warranted by anything preceding, and most severely
+condemned by the event, when Marianne, perceiving that she had finished
+the letters, observed to her that they contained nothing but what any
+one would have written in the same situation.
+
+“I felt myself,” she added, “to be as solemnly engaged to him, as if
+the strictest legal covenant had bound us to each other.”
+
+“I can believe it,” said Elinor; “but unfortunately he did not feel the
+same.”
+
+“He _did_ feel the same, Elinor—for weeks and weeks he felt it. I know
+he did. Whatever may have changed him now, (and nothing but the
+blackest art employed against me can have done it), I was once as dear
+to him as my own soul could wish. This lock of hair, which now he can
+so readily give up, was begged of me with the most earnest
+supplication. Had you seen his look, his manner, had you heard his
+voice at that moment! Have you forgot the last evening of our being
+together at Barton? The morning that we parted too! When he told me
+that it might be many weeks before we met again—his distress—can I ever
+forget his distress?”
+
+For a moment or two she could say no more; but when this emotion had
+passed away, she added, in a firmer tone,
+
+“Elinor, I have been cruelly used; but not by Willoughby.”
+
+“Dearest Marianne, who but himself? By whom can he have been
+instigated?”
+
+“By all the world, rather than by his own heart. I could rather believe
+every creature of my acquaintance leagued together to ruin me in his
+opinion, than believe his nature capable of such cruelty. This woman of
+whom he writes—whoever she be—or any one, in short, but your own dear
+self, mama, and Edward, may have been so barbarous to bely me. Beyond
+you three, is there a creature in the world whom I would not rather
+suspect of evil than Willoughby, whose heart I know so well?”
+
+Elinor would not contend, and only replied, “Whoever may have been so
+detestably your enemy, let them be cheated of their malignant triumph,
+my dear sister, by seeing how nobly the consciousness of your own
+innocence and good intentions supports your spirits. It is a reasonable
+and laudable pride which resists such malevolence.”
+
+“No, no,” cried Marianne, “misery such as mine has no pride. I care not
+who knows that I am wretched. The triumph of seeing me so may be open
+to all the world. Elinor, Elinor, they who suffer little may be proud
+and independent as they like—may resist insult, or return
+mortification—but I cannot. I must feel—I must be wretched—and they are
+welcome to enjoy the consciousness of it that can.”
+
+“But for my mother’s sake and mine—”
+
+“I would do more than for my own. But to appear happy when I am so
+miserable—Oh! who can require it?”
+
+Again they were both silent. Elinor was employed in walking
+thoughtfully from the fire to the window, from the window to the fire,
+without knowing that she received warmth from one, or discerning
+objects through the other; and Marianne, seated at the foot of the bed,
+with her head leaning against one of its posts, again took up
+Willoughby’s letter, and, after shuddering over every sentence,
+exclaimed,—
+
+“It is too much! Oh, Willoughby, Willoughby, could this be yours!
+Cruel, cruel—nothing can acquit you. Elinor, nothing can. Whatever he
+might have heard against me—ought he not to have suspended his belief?
+ought he not to have told me of it, to have given me the power of
+clearing myself? ‘The lock of hair, (repeating it from the letter,)
+which you so obligingly bestowed on me’—That is unpardonable.
+Willoughby, where was your heart when you wrote those words? Oh,
+barbarously insolent!—Elinor, can he be justified?”
+
+“No, Marianne, in no possible way.”
+
+“And yet this woman—who knows what her art may have been?—how long it
+may have been premeditated, and how deeply contrived by her!—Who is
+she?—Who can she be?—Whom did I ever hear him talk of as young and
+attractive among his female acquaintance?—Oh! no one, no one—he talked
+to me only of myself.”
+
+Another pause ensued; Marianne was greatly agitated, and it ended thus.
+
+“Elinor, I must go home. I must go and comfort mama. Can not we be gone
+to-morrow?”
+
+“To-morrow, Marianne!”
+
+“Yes, why should I stay here? I came only for Willoughby’s sake—and now
+who cares for me? Who regards me?”
+
+“It would be impossible to go to-morrow. We owe Mrs. Jennings much more
+than civility; and civility of the commonest kind must prevent such a
+hasty removal as that.”
+
+“Well then, another day or two, perhaps; but I cannot stay here long, I
+cannot stay to endure the questions and remarks of all these people.
+The Middletons and Palmers—how am I to bear their pity? The pity of
+such a woman as Lady Middleton! Oh, what would _he_ say to that!”
+
+Elinor advised her to lie down again, and for a moment she did so; but
+no attitude could give her ease; and in restless pain of mind and body
+she moved from one posture to another, till growing more and more
+hysterical, her sister could with difficulty keep her on the bed at
+all, and for some time was fearful of being constrained to call for
+assistance. Some lavender drops, however, which she was at length
+persuaded to take, were of use; and from that time till Mrs. Jennings
+returned, she continued on the bed quiet and motionless.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+
+Mrs. Jennings came immediately to their room on her return, and without
+waiting to have her request of admittance answered, opened the door and
+walked in with a look of real concern.
+
+“How do you do my dear?”—said she in a voice of great compassion to
+Marianne, who turned away her face without attempting to answer.
+
+“How is she, Miss Dashwood? Poor thing! she looks very bad. No wonder.
+Ay, it is but too true. He is to be married very soon—a
+good-for-nothing fellow! I have no patience with him. Mrs. Taylor told
+me of it half an hour ago, and she was told it by a particular friend
+of Miss Grey herself, else I am sure I should not have believed it; and
+I was almost ready to sink as it was. Well, said I, all I can say is,
+that if this be true, he has used a young lady of my acquaintance
+abominably ill, and I wish with all my soul his wife may plague his
+heart out. And so I shall always say, my dear, you may depend on it. I
+have no notion of men’s going on in this way; and if ever I meet him
+again, I will give him such a dressing as he has not had this many a
+day. But there is one comfort, my dear Miss Marianne; he is not the
+only young man in the world worth having; and with your pretty face you
+will never want admirers. Well, poor thing! I won’t disturb her any
+longer, for she had better have her cry out at once and have done with.
+The Parrys and Sandersons luckily are coming tonight you know, and that
+will amuse her.”
+
+She then went away, walking on tiptoe out of the room, as if she
+supposed her young friend’s affliction could be increased by noise.
+
+Marianne, to the surprise of her sister, determined on dining with
+them. Elinor even advised her against it. But “no, she would go down;
+she could bear it very well, and the bustle about her would be less.”
+Elinor, pleased to have her governed for a moment by such a motive,
+though believing it hardly possible that she could sit out the dinner,
+said no more; and adjusting her dress for her as well as she could,
+while Marianne still remained on the bed, was ready to assist her into
+the dining room as soon as they were summoned to it.
+
+When there, though looking most wretchedly, she ate more and was calmer
+than her sister had expected. Had she tried to speak, or had she been
+conscious of half Mrs. Jennings’s well-meant but ill-judged attentions
+to her, this calmness could not have been maintained; but not a
+syllable escaped her lips; and the abstraction of her thoughts
+preserved her in ignorance of every thing that was passing before her.
+
+Elinor, who did justice to Mrs. Jennings’s kindness, though its
+effusions were often distressing, and sometimes almost ridiculous, made
+her those acknowledgments, and returned her those civilities, which her
+sister could not make or return for herself. Their good friend saw that
+Marianne was unhappy, and felt that every thing was due to her which
+might make her at all less so. She treated her therefore, with all the
+indulgent fondness of a parent towards a favourite child on the last
+day of its holidays. Marianne was to have the best place by the fire,
+was to be tempted to eat by every delicacy in the house, and to be
+amused by the relation of all the news of the day. Had not Elinor, in
+the sad countenance of her sister, seen a check to all mirth, she could
+have been entertained by Mrs. Jennings’s endeavours to cure a
+disappointment in love, by a variety of sweetmeats and olives, and a
+good fire. As soon, however, as the consciousness of all this was
+forced by continual repetition on Marianne, she could stay no longer.
+With a hasty exclamation of Misery, and a sign to her sister not to
+follow her, she directly got up and hurried out of the room.
+
+“Poor soul!” cried Mrs. Jennings, as soon as she was gone, “how it
+grieves me to see her! And I declare if she is not gone away without
+finishing her wine! And the dried cherries too! Lord! nothing seems to
+do her any good. I am sure if I knew of any thing she would like, I
+would send all over the town for it. Well, it is the oddest thing to
+me, that a man should use such a pretty girl so ill! But when there is
+plenty of money on one side, and next to none on the other, Lord bless
+you! they care no more about such things!—”
+
+“The lady then—Miss Grey I think you called her—is very rich?”
+
+“Fifty thousand pounds, my dear. Did you ever see her? a smart, stylish
+girl they say, but not handsome. I remember her aunt very well, Biddy
+Henshawe; she married a very wealthy man. But the family are all rich
+together. Fifty thousand pounds! and by all accounts, it won’t come
+before it’s wanted; for they say he is all to pieces. No wonder!
+dashing about with his curricle and hunters! Well, it don’t signify
+talking; but when a young man, be who he will, comes and makes love to
+a pretty girl, and promises marriage, he has no business to fly off
+from his word only because he grows poor, and a richer girl is ready to
+have him. Why don’t he, in such a case, sell his horses, let his house,
+turn off his servants, and make a thorough reform at once? I warrant
+you, Miss Marianne would have been ready to wait till matters came
+round. But that won’t do now-a-days; nothing in the way of pleasure can
+ever be given up by the young men of this age.”
+
+“Do you know what kind of a girl Miss Grey is? Is she said to be
+amiable?”
+
+“I never heard any harm of her; indeed I hardly ever heard her
+mentioned; except that Mrs. Taylor did say this morning, that one day
+Miss Walker hinted to her, that she believed Mr. and Mrs. Ellison would
+not be sorry to have Miss Grey married, for she and Mrs. Ellison could
+never agree.”
+
+“And who are the Ellisons?”
+
+“Her guardians, my dear. But now she is of age and may choose for
+herself; and a pretty choice she has made!—What now,” after pausing a
+moment—“your poor sister is gone to her own room, I suppose, to moan by
+herself. Is there nothing one can get to comfort her? Poor dear, it
+seems quite cruel to let her be alone. Well, by-and-by we shall have a
+few friends, and that will amuse her a little. What shall we play at?
+She hates whist I know; but is there no round game she cares for?”
+
+“Dear ma’am, this kindness is quite unnecessary. Marianne, I dare say,
+will not leave her room again this evening. I shall persuade her if I
+can to go early to bed, for I am sure she wants rest.”
+
+“Aye, I believe that will be best for her. Let her name her own supper,
+and go to bed. Lord! no wonder she has been looking so bad and so cast
+down this last week or two, for this matter I suppose has been hanging
+over her head as long as that. And so the letter that came today
+finished it! Poor soul! I am sure if I had had a notion of it, I would
+not have joked her about it for all my money. But then you know, how
+should I guess such a thing? I made sure of its being nothing but a
+common love letter, and you know young people like to be laughed at
+about them. Lord! how concerned Sir John and my daughters will be when
+they hear it! If I had my senses about me I might have called in
+Conduit Street in my way home, and told them of it. But I shall see
+them tomorrow.”
+
+“It would be unnecessary I am sure, for you to caution Mrs. Palmer and
+Sir John against ever naming Mr. Willoughby, or making the slightest
+allusion to what has passed, before my sister. Their own good-nature
+must point out to them the real cruelty of appearing to know any thing
+about it when she is present; and the less that may ever be said to
+myself on the subject, the more my feelings will be spared, as you my
+dear madam will easily believe.”
+
+“Oh! Lord! yes, that I do indeed. It must be terrible for you to hear
+it talked of; and as for your sister, I am sure I would not mention a
+word about it to her for the world. You saw I did not all dinner time.
+No more would Sir John, nor my daughters, for they are all very
+thoughtful and considerate; especially if I give them a hint, as I
+certainly will. For my part, I think the less that is said about such
+things, the better, the sooner ’tis blown over and forgot. And what
+good does talking ever do you know?”
+
+“In this affair it can only do harm; more so perhaps than in many cases
+of a similar kind, for it has been attended by circumstances which, for
+the sake of every one concerned in it, make it unfit to become the
+public conversation. I must do _this_ justice to Mr. Willoughby—he has
+broken no positive engagement with my sister.”
+
+“Law, my dear! Don’t pretend to defend him. No positive engagement
+indeed! after taking her all over Allenham House, and fixing on the
+very rooms they were to live in hereafter!”
+
+Elinor, for her sister’s sake, could not press the subject farther, and
+she hoped it was not required of her for Willoughby’s; since, though
+Marianne might lose much, he could gain very little by the enforcement
+of the real truth. After a short silence on both sides, Mrs. Jennings,
+with all her natural hilarity, burst forth again.
+
+“Well, my dear, ’tis a true saying about an ill-wind, for it will be
+all the better for Colonel Brandon. He will have her at last; aye, that
+he will. Mind me, now, if they an’t married by Mid-summer. Lord! how
+he’ll chuckle over this news! I hope he will come tonight. It will be
+all to one a better match for your sister. Two thousand a year without
+debt or drawback—except the little love-child, indeed; aye, I had
+forgot her; but she may be ’prenticed out at a small cost, and then
+what does it signify? Delaford is a nice place, I can tell you; exactly
+what I call a nice old fashioned place, full of comforts and
+conveniences; quite shut in with great garden walls that are covered
+with the best fruit-trees in the country; and such a mulberry tree in
+one corner! Lord! how Charlotte and I did stuff the only time we were
+there! Then, there is a dove-cote, some delightful stew-ponds, and a
+very pretty canal; and every thing, in short, that one could wish for;
+and, moreover, it is close to the church, and only a quarter of a mile
+from the turnpike-road, so ’tis never dull, for if you only go and sit
+up in an old yew arbour behind the house, you may see all the carriages
+that pass along. Oh! ’tis a nice place! A butcher hard by in the
+village, and the parsonage-house within a stone’s throw. To my fancy, a
+thousand times prettier than Barton Park, where they are forced to send
+three miles for their meat, and have not a neighbour nearer than your
+mother. Well, I shall spirit up the Colonel as soon as I can. One
+shoulder of mutton, you know, drives another down. If we _can_ but put
+Willoughby out of her head!”
+
+“Ay, if we can do _that_, Ma’am,” said Elinor, “we shall do very well
+with or without Colonel Brandon.” And then rising, she went away to
+join Marianne, whom she found, as she expected, in her own room,
+leaning, in silent misery, over the small remains of a fire, which,
+till Elinor’s entrance, had been her only light.
+
+“You had better leave me,” was all the notice that her sister received
+from her.
+
+“I will leave you,” said Elinor, “if you will go to bed.” But this,
+from the momentary perverseness of impatient suffering, she at first
+refused to do. Her sister’s earnest, though gentle persuasion, however,
+soon softened her to compliance, and Elinor saw her lay her aching head
+on the pillow, and as she hoped, in a way to get some quiet rest before
+she left her.
+
+In the drawing-room, whither she then repaired, she was soon joined by
+Mrs. Jennings, with a wine-glass, full of something, in her hand.
+
+“My dear,” said she, entering, “I have just recollected that I have
+some of the finest old Constantia wine in the house that ever was
+tasted, so I have brought a glass of it for your sister. My poor
+husband! how fond he was of it! Whenever he had a touch of his old
+colicky gout, he said it did him more good than any thing else in the
+world. Do take it to your sister.”
+
+“Dear Ma’am,” replied Elinor, smiling at the difference of the
+complaints for which it was recommended, “how good you are! But I have
+just left Marianne in bed, and, I hope, almost asleep; and as I think
+nothing will be of so much service to her as rest, if you will give me
+leave, I will drink the wine myself.”
+
+Mrs. Jennings, though regretting that she had not been five minutes
+earlier, was satisfied with the compromise; and Elinor, as she
+swallowed the chief of it, reflected, that though its effects on a
+colicky gout were, at present, of little importance to her, its healing
+powers, on a disappointed heart might be as reasonably tried on herself
+as on her sister.
+
+Colonel Brandon came in while the party were at tea, and by his manner
+of looking round the room for Marianne, Elinor immediately fancied that
+he neither expected nor wished to see her there, and, in short, that he
+was already aware of what occasioned her absence. Mrs. Jennings was not
+struck by the same thought; for soon after his entrance, she walked
+across the room to the tea-table where Elinor presided, and whispered,
+“The Colonel looks as grave as ever you see. He knows nothing of it; do
+tell him, my dear.”
+
+He shortly afterwards drew a chair close to hers, and, with a look
+which perfectly assured her of his good information, inquired after her
+sister.
+
+“Marianne is not well,” said she. “She has been indisposed all day, and
+we have persuaded her to go to bed.”
+
+“Perhaps, then,” he hesitatingly replied, “what I heard this morning
+may be—there may be more truth in it than I could believe possible at
+first.”
+
+“What did you hear?”
+
+“That a gentleman, whom I had reason to think—in short, that a man,
+whom I _knew_ to be engaged—but how shall I tell you? If you know it
+already, as surely you must, I may be spared.”
+
+“You mean,” answered Elinor, with forced calmness, “Mr. Willoughby’s
+marriage with Miss Grey. Yes, we _do_ know it all. This seems to have
+been a day of general elucidation, for this very morning first unfolded
+it to us. Mr. Willoughby is unfathomable! Where did you hear it?”
+
+“In a stationer’s shop in Pall Mall, where I had business. Two ladies
+were waiting for their carriage, and one of them was giving the other
+an account of the intended match, in a voice so little attempting
+concealment, that it was impossible for me not to hear all. The name of
+Willoughby, John Willoughby, frequently repeated, first caught my
+attention; and what followed was a positive assertion that every thing
+was now finally settled respecting his marriage with Miss Grey—it was
+no longer to be a secret—it would take place even within a few weeks,
+with many particulars of preparations and other matters. One thing,
+especially, I remember, because it served to identify the man still
+more:—as soon as the ceremony was over, they were to go to Combe Magna,
+his seat in Somersetshire. My astonishment!—but it would be impossible
+to describe what I felt. The communicative lady I learnt, on inquiry,
+for I stayed in the shop till they were gone, was a Mrs. Ellison, and
+that, as I have been since informed, is the name of Miss Grey’s
+guardian.”
+
+“It is. But have you likewise heard that Miss Grey has fifty thousand
+pounds? In that, if in any thing, we may find an explanation.”
+
+“It may be so; but Willoughby is capable—at least I think”—he stopped a
+moment; then added in a voice which seemed to distrust itself, “And
+your sister—how did she—”
+
+“Her sufferings have been very severe. I have only to hope that they
+may be proportionately short. It has been, it is a most cruel
+affliction. Till yesterday, I believe, she never doubted his regard;
+and even now, perhaps—but _I_ am almost convinced that he never was
+really attached to her. He has been very deceitful! and, in some
+points, there seems a hardness of heart about him.”
+
+“Ah!” said Colonel Brandon, “there is, indeed! But your sister does
+not—I think you said so—she does not consider quite as you do?”
+
+“You know her disposition, and may believe how eagerly she would still
+justify him if she could.”
+
+He made no answer; and soon afterwards, by the removal of the
+tea-things, and the arrangement of the card parties, the subject was
+necessarily dropped. Mrs. Jennings, who had watched them with pleasure
+while they were talking, and who expected to see the effect of Miss
+Dashwood’s communication, in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel
+Brandon’s side, as might have become a man in the bloom of youth, of
+hope and happiness, saw him, with amazement, remain the whole evening
+more serious and thoughtful than usual.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+
+From a night of more sleep than she had expected, Marianne awoke the
+next morning to the same consciousness of misery in which she had
+closed her eyes.
+
+Elinor encouraged her as much as possible to talk of what she felt; and
+before breakfast was ready, they had gone through the subject again and
+again; and with the same steady conviction and affectionate counsel on
+Elinor’s side, the same impetuous feelings and varying opinions on
+Marianne’s, as before. Sometimes she could believe Willoughby to be as
+unfortunate and as innocent as herself, and at others, lost every
+consolation in the impossibility of acquitting him. At one moment she
+was absolutely indifferent to the observation of all the world, at
+another she would seclude herself from it for ever, and at a third
+could resist it with energy. In one thing, however, she was uniform,
+when it came to the point, in avoiding, where it was possible, the
+presence of Mrs. Jennings, and in a determined silence when obliged to
+endure it. Her heart was hardened against the belief of Mrs. Jennings’s
+entering into her sorrows with any compassion.
+
+“No, no, no, it cannot be,” she cried; “she cannot feel. Her kindness
+is not sympathy; her good-nature is not tenderness. All that she wants
+is gossip, and she only likes me now because I supply it.”
+
+Elinor had not needed this to be assured of the injustice to which her
+sister was often led in her opinion of others, by the irritable
+refinement of her own mind, and the too great importance placed by her
+on the delicacies of a strong sensibility, and the graces of a polished
+manner. Like half the rest of the world, if more than half there be
+that are clever and good, Marianne, with excellent abilities and an
+excellent disposition, was neither reasonable nor candid. She expected
+from other people the same opinions and feelings as her own, and she
+judged of their motives by the immediate effect of their actions on
+herself. Thus a circumstance occurred, while the sisters were together
+in their own room after breakfast, which sunk the heart of Mrs.
+Jennings still lower in her estimation; because, through her own
+weakness, it chanced to prove a source of fresh pain to herself, though
+Mrs. Jennings was governed in it by an impulse of the utmost goodwill.
+
+With a letter in her outstretched hand, and countenance gaily smiling,
+from the persuasion of bringing comfort, she entered their room,
+saying,
+
+“Now, my dear, I bring you something that I am sure will do you good.”
+
+Marianne heard enough. In one moment her imagination placed before her
+a letter from Willoughby, full of tenderness and contrition,
+explanatory of all that had passed, satisfactory, convincing; and
+instantly followed by Willoughby himself, rushing eagerly into the room
+to inforce, at her feet, by the eloquence of his eyes, the assurances
+of his letter. The work of one moment was destroyed by the next. The
+hand writing of her mother, never till then unwelcome, was before her;
+and, in the acuteness of the disappointment which followed such an
+ecstasy of more than hope, she felt as if, till that instant, she had
+never suffered.
+
+The cruelty of Mrs. Jennings no language, within her reach in her
+moments of happiest eloquence, could have expressed; and now she could
+reproach her only by the tears which streamed from her eyes with
+passionate violence—a reproach, however, so entirely lost on its
+object, that after many expressions of pity, she withdrew, still
+referring her to the letter of comfort. But the letter, when she was
+calm enough to read it, brought little comfort. Willoughby filled every
+page. Her mother, still confident of their engagement, and relying as
+warmly as ever on his constancy, had only been roused by Elinor’s
+application, to intreat from Marianne greater openness towards them
+both; and this, with such tenderness towards her, such affection for
+Willoughby, and such a conviction of their future happiness in each
+other, that she wept with agony through the whole of it.
+
+All her impatience to be at home again now returned; her mother was
+dearer to her than ever; dearer through the very excess of her mistaken
+confidence in Willoughby, and she was wildly urgent to be gone. Elinor,
+unable herself to determine whether it were better for Marianne to be
+in London or at Barton, offered no counsel of her own except of
+patience till their mother’s wishes could be known; and at length she
+obtained her sister’s consent to wait for that knowledge.
+
+Mrs. Jennings left them earlier than usual; for she could not be easy
+till the Middletons and Palmers were able to grieve as much as herself;
+and positively refusing Elinor’s offered attendance, went out alone for
+the rest of the morning. Elinor, with a very heavy heart, aware of the
+pain she was going to communicate, and perceiving, by Marianne’s
+letter, how ill she had succeeded in laying any foundation for it, then
+sat down to write her mother an account of what had passed, and entreat
+her directions for the future; while Marianne, who came into the
+drawing-room on Mrs. Jennings’s going away, remained fixed at the table
+where Elinor wrote, watching the advancement of her pen, grieving over
+her for the hardship of such a task, and grieving still more fondly
+over its effect on her mother.
+
+In this manner they had continued about a quarter of an hour, when
+Marianne, whose nerves could not then bear any sudden noise, was
+startled by a rap at the door.
+
+“Who can this be?” cried Elinor. “So early too! I thought we _had_ been
+safe.”
+
+Marianne moved to the window.
+
+“It is Colonel Brandon!” said she, with vexation. “We are never safe
+from _him_.”
+
+“He will not come in, as Mrs. Jennings is from home.”
+
+“I will not trust to _that_,” retreating to her own room. “A man who
+has nothing to do with his own time has no conscience in his intrusion
+on that of others.”
+
+The event proved her conjecture right, though it was founded on
+injustice and error; for Colonel Brandon _did_ come in; and Elinor, who
+was convinced that solicitude for Marianne brought him thither, and who
+saw _that_ solicitude in his disturbed and melancholy look, and in his
+anxious though brief inquiry after her, could not forgive her sister
+for esteeming him so lightly.
+
+“I met Mrs. Jennings in Bond Street,” said he, after the first
+salutation, “and she encouraged me to come on; and I was the more
+easily encouraged, because I thought it probable that I might find you
+alone, which I was very desirous of doing. My object—my wish—my sole
+wish in desiring it—I hope, I believe it is—is to be a means of giving
+comfort;—no, I must not say comfort—not present comfort—but conviction,
+lasting conviction to your sister’s mind. My regard for her, for
+yourself, for your mother—will you allow me to prove it, by relating
+some circumstances which nothing but a _very_ sincere regard—nothing
+but an earnest desire of being useful—I think I am justified—though
+where so many hours have been spent in convincing myself that I am
+right, is there not some reason to fear I may be wrong?” He stopped.
+
+“I understand you,” said Elinor. “You have something to tell me of Mr.
+Willoughby, that will open his character farther. Your telling it will
+be the greatest act of friendship that can be shown Marianne. _My_
+gratitude will be insured immediately by any information tending to
+that end, and _hers_ must be gained by it in time. Pray, pray let me
+hear it.”
+
+“You shall; and, to be brief, when I quitted Barton last October,—but
+this will give you no idea—I must go farther back. You will find me a
+very awkward narrator, Miss Dashwood; I hardly know where to begin. A
+short account of myself, I believe, will be necessary, and it _shall_
+be a short one. On such a subject,” sighing heavily, “can I have little
+temptation to be diffuse.”
+
+He stopt a moment for recollection, and then, with another sigh, went
+on.
+
+“You have probably entirely forgotten a conversation—(it is not to be
+supposed that it could make any impression on you)—a conversation
+between us one evening at Barton Park—it was the evening of a dance—in
+which I alluded to a lady I had once known, as resembling, in some
+measure, your sister Marianne.”
+
+“Indeed,” answered Elinor, “I have _not_ forgotten it.” He looked
+pleased by this remembrance, and added,
+
+“If I am not deceived by the uncertainty, the partiality of tender
+recollection, there is a very strong resemblance between them, as well
+in mind as person. The same warmth of heart, the same eagerness of
+fancy and spirits. This lady was one of my nearest relations, an orphan
+from her infancy, and under the guardianship of my father. Our ages
+were nearly the same, and from our earliest years we were playfellows
+and friends. I cannot remember the time when I did not love Eliza; and
+my affection for her, as we grew up, was such, as perhaps, judging from
+my present forlorn and cheerless gravity, you might think me incapable
+of having ever felt. Hers, for me, was, I believe, fervent as the
+attachment of your sister to Mr. Willoughby and it was, though from a
+different cause, no less unfortunate. At seventeen she was lost to me
+for ever. She was married—married against her inclination to my
+brother. Her fortune was large, and our family estate much encumbered.
+And this, I fear, is all that can be said for the conduct of one, who
+was at once her uncle and guardian. My brother did not deserve her; he
+did not even love her. I had hoped that her regard for me would support
+her under any difficulty, and for some time it did; but at last the
+misery of her situation, for she experienced great unkindness, overcame
+all her resolution, and though she had promised me that nothing—but how
+blindly I relate! I have never told you how this was brought on. We
+were within a few hours of eloping together for Scotland. The
+treachery, or the folly, of my cousin’s maid betrayed us. I was
+banished to the house of a relation far distant, and she was allowed no
+liberty, no society, no amusement, till my father’s point was gained. I
+had depended on her fortitude too far, and the blow was a severe
+one—but had her marriage been happy, so young as I then was, a few
+months must have reconciled me to it, or at least I should not have now
+to lament it. This however was not the case. My brother had no regard
+for her; his pleasures were not what they ought to have been, and from
+the first he treated her unkindly. The consequence of this, upon a mind
+so young, so lively, so inexperienced as Mrs. Brandon’s, was but too
+natural. She resigned herself at first to all the misery of her
+situation; and happy had it been if she had not lived to overcome those
+regrets which the remembrance of me occasioned. But can we wonder that,
+with such a husband to provoke inconstancy, and without a friend to
+advise or restrain her (for my father lived only a few months after
+their marriage, and I was with my regiment in the East Indies) she
+should fall? Had I remained in England, perhaps—but I meant to promote
+the happiness of both by removing from her for years, and for that
+purpose had procured my exchange. The shock which her marriage had
+given me,” he continued, in a voice of great agitation, “was of
+trifling weight—was nothing to what I felt when I heard, about two
+years afterwards, of her divorce. It was _that_ which threw this
+gloom,—even now the recollection of what I suffered—”
+
+He could say no more, and rising hastily walked for a few minutes about
+the room. Elinor, affected by his relation, and still more by his
+distress, could not speak. He saw her concern, and coming to her, took
+her hand, pressed it, and kissed it with grateful respect. A few
+minutes more of silent exertion enabled him to proceed with composure.
+
+“It was nearly three years after this unhappy period before I returned
+to England. My first care, when I _did_ arrive, was of course to seek
+for her; but the search was as fruitless as it was melancholy. I could
+not trace her beyond her first seducer, and there was every reason to
+fear that she had removed from him only to sink deeper in a life of
+sin. Her legal allowance was not adequate to her fortune, nor
+sufficient for her comfortable maintenance, and I learnt from my
+brother that the power of receiving it had been made over some months
+before to another person. He imagined, and calmly could he imagine it,
+that her extravagance, and consequent distress, had obliged her to
+dispose of it for some immediate relief. At last, however, and after I
+had been six months in England, I _did_ find her. Regard for a former
+servant of my own, who had since fallen into misfortune, carried me to
+visit him in a spunging-house, where he was confined for debt; and
+there, in the same house, under a similar confinement, was my
+unfortunate sister. So altered—so faded—worn down by acute suffering of
+every kind! hardly could I believe the melancholy and sickly figure
+before me, to be the remains of the lovely, blooming, healthful girl,
+on whom I had once doted. What I endured in so beholding her—but I have
+no right to wound your feelings by attempting to describe it—I have
+pained you too much already. That she was, to all appearance, in the
+last stage of a consumption, was—yes, in such a situation it was my
+greatest comfort. Life could do nothing for her, beyond giving time for
+a better preparation for death; and that was given. I saw her placed in
+comfortable lodgings, and under proper attendants; I visited her every
+day during the rest of her short life: I was with her in her last
+moments.”
+
+Again he stopped to recover himself; and Elinor spoke her feelings in
+an exclamation of tender concern, at the fate of his unfortunate
+friend.
+
+“Your sister, I hope, cannot be offended,” said he, “by the resemblance
+I have fancied between her and my poor disgraced relation. Their fates,
+their fortunes, cannot be the same; and had the natural sweet
+disposition of the one been guarded by a firmer mind, or a happier
+marriage, she might have been all that you will live to see the other
+be. But to what does all this lead? I seem to have been distressing you
+for nothing. Ah! Miss Dashwood—a subject such as this—untouched for
+fourteen years—it is dangerous to handle it at all! I _will_ be more
+collected—more concise. She left to my care her only child, a little
+girl, the offspring of her first guilty connection, who was then about
+three years old. She loved the child, and had always kept it with her.
+It was a valued, a precious trust to me; and gladly would I have
+discharged it in the strictest sense, by watching over her education
+myself, had the nature of our situations allowed it; but I had no
+family, no home; and my little Eliza was therefore placed at school. I
+saw her there whenever I could, and after the death of my brother,
+(which happened about five years ago, and which left to me the
+possession of the family property,) she visited me at Delaford. I
+called her a distant relation; but I am well aware that I have in
+general been suspected of a much nearer connection with her. It is now
+three years ago (she had just reached her fourteenth year,) that I
+removed her from school, to place her under the care of a very
+respectable woman, residing in Dorsetshire, who had the charge of four
+or five other girls of about the same time of life; and for two years I
+had every reason to be pleased with her situation. But last February,
+almost a twelvemonth back, she suddenly disappeared. I had allowed her,
+(imprudently, as it has since turned out,) at her earnest desire, to go
+to Bath with one of her young friends, who was attending her father
+there for his health. I knew him to be a very good sort of man, and I
+thought well of his daughter—better than she deserved, for, with a most
+obstinate and ill-judged secrecy, she would tell nothing, would give no
+clue, though she certainly knew all. He, her father, a well-meaning,
+but not a quick-sighted man, could really, I believe, give no
+information; for he had been generally confined to the house, while the
+girls were ranging over the town and making what acquaintance they
+chose; and he tried to convince me, as thoroughly as he was convinced
+himself, of his daughter’s being entirely unconcerned in the business.
+In short, I could learn nothing but that she was gone; all the rest,
+for eight long months, was left to conjecture. What I thought, what I
+feared, may be imagined; and what I suffered too.”
+
+“Good heavens!” cried Elinor, “could it be—could Willoughby!”—
+
+“The first news that reached me of her,” he continued, “came in a
+letter from herself, last October. It was forwarded to me from
+Delaford, and I received it on the very morning of our intended party
+to Whitwell; and this was the reason of my leaving Barton so suddenly,
+which I am sure must at the time have appeared strange to every body,
+and which I believe gave offence to some. Little did Mr. Willoughby
+imagine, I suppose, when his looks censured me for incivility in
+breaking up the party, that I was called away to the relief of one whom
+he had made poor and miserable; but _had_ he known it, what would it
+have availed? Would he have been less gay or less happy in the smiles
+of your sister? No, he had already done that, which no man who _can_
+feel for another would do. He had left the girl whose youth and
+innocence he had seduced, in a situation of the utmost distress, with
+no creditable home, no help, no friends, ignorant of his address! He
+had left her, promising to return; he neither returned, nor wrote, nor
+relieved her.”
+
+“This is beyond every thing!” exclaimed Elinor.
+
+“His character is now before you; expensive, dissipated, and worse than
+both. Knowing all this, as I have now known it many weeks, guess what I
+must have felt on seeing your sister as fond of him as ever, and on
+being assured that she was to marry him: guess what I must have felt
+for all your sakes. When I came to you last week and found you alone, I
+came determined to know the truth; though irresolute what to do when it
+_was_ known. My behaviour must have seemed strange to you then; but now
+you will comprehend it. To suffer you all to be so deceived; to see
+your sister—but what could I do? I had no hope of interfering with
+success; and sometimes I thought your sister’s influence might yet
+reclaim him. But now, after such dishonorable usage, who can tell what
+were his designs on her. Whatever they may have been, however, she may
+now, and hereafter doubtless _will_ turn with gratitude towards her own
+condition, when she compares it with that of my poor Eliza, when she
+considers the wretched and hopeless situation of this poor girl, and
+pictures her to herself, with an affection for him so strong, still as
+strong as her own, and with a mind tormented by self-reproach, which
+must attend her through life. Surely this comparison must have its use
+with her. She will feel her own sufferings to be nothing. They proceed
+from no misconduct, and can bring no disgrace. On the contrary, every
+friend must be made still more her friend by them. Concern for her
+unhappiness, and respect for her fortitude under it, must strengthen
+every attachment. Use your own discretion, however, in communicating to
+her what I have told you. You must know best what will be its effect;
+but had I not seriously, and from my heart believed it might be of
+service, might lessen her regrets, I would not have suffered myself to
+trouble you with this account of my family afflictions, with a recital
+which may seem to have been intended to raise myself at the expense of
+others.”
+
+Elinor’s thanks followed this speech with grateful earnestness;
+attended too with the assurance of her expecting material advantage to
+Marianne, from the communication of what had passed.
+
+“I have been more pained,” said she, “by her endeavors to acquit him
+than by all the rest; for it irritates her mind more than the most
+perfect conviction of his unworthiness can do. Now, though at first she
+will suffer much, I am sure she will soon become easier. Have you,” she
+continued, after a short silence, “ever seen Mr. Willoughby since you
+left him at Barton?”
+
+“Yes,” he replied gravely, “once I have. One meeting was unavoidable.”
+
+Elinor, startled by his manner, looked at him anxiously, saying,
+
+“What? have you met him to—”
+
+“I could meet him no other way. Eliza had confessed to me, though most
+reluctantly, the name of her lover; and when he returned to town, which
+was within a fortnight after myself, we met by appointment, he to
+defend, I to punish his conduct. We returned unwounded, and the
+meeting, therefore, never got abroad.”
+
+Elinor sighed over the fancied necessity of this; but to a man and a
+soldier she presumed not to censure it.
+
+“Such,” said Colonel Brandon, after a pause, “has been the unhappy
+resemblance between the fate of mother and daughter! and so imperfectly
+have I discharged my trust!”
+
+“Is she still in town?”
+
+“No; as soon as she recovered from her lying-in, for I found her near
+her delivery, I removed her and her child into the country, and there
+she remains.”
+
+Recollecting, soon afterwards, that he was probably dividing Elinor
+from her sister, he put an end to his visit, receiving from her again
+the same grateful acknowledgments, and leaving her full of compassion
+and esteem for him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+
+When the particulars of this conversation were repeated by Miss
+Dashwood to her sister, as they very soon were, the effect on her was
+not entirely such as the former had hoped to see. Not that Marianne
+appeared to distrust the truth of any part of it, for she listened to
+it all with the most steady and submissive attention, made neither
+objection nor remark, attempted no vindication of Willoughby, and
+seemed to show by her tears that she felt it to be impossible. But
+though this behaviour assured Elinor that the conviction of this guilt
+_was_ carried home to her mind, though she saw with satisfaction the
+effect of it, in her no longer avoiding Colonel Brandon when he called,
+in her speaking to him, even voluntarily speaking, with a kind of
+compassionate respect, and though she saw her spirits less violently
+irritated than before, she did not see her less wretched. Her mind did
+become settled, but it was settled in a gloomy dejection. She felt the
+loss of Willoughby’s character yet more heavily than she had felt the
+loss of his heart; his seduction and desertion of Miss Williams, the
+misery of that poor girl, and the doubt of what his designs might
+_once_ have been on herself, preyed altogether so much on her spirits,
+that she could not bring herself to speak of what she felt even to
+Elinor; and, brooding over her sorrows in silence, gave more pain to
+her sister than could have been communicated by the most open and most
+frequent confession of them.
+
+To give the feelings or the language of Mrs. Dashwood on receiving and
+answering Elinor’s letter would be only to give a repetition of what
+her daughters had already felt and said; of a disappointment hardly
+less painful than Marianne’s, and an indignation even greater than
+Elinor’s. Long letters from her, quickly succeeding each other, arrived
+to tell all that she suffered and thought; to express her anxious
+solicitude for Marianne, and entreat she would bear up with fortitude
+under this misfortune. Bad indeed must the nature of Marianne’s
+affliction be, when her mother could talk of fortitude! mortifying and
+humiliating must be the origin of those regrets, which _she_ could wish
+her not to indulge!
+
+Against the interest of her own individual comfort, Mrs. Dashwood had
+determined that it would be better for Marianne to be any where, at
+that time, than at Barton, where every thing within her view would be
+bringing back the past in the strongest and most afflicting manner, by
+constantly placing Willoughby before her, such as she had always seen
+him there. She recommended it to her daughters, therefore, by all means
+not to shorten their visit to Mrs. Jennings; the length of which,
+though never exactly fixed, had been expected by all to comprise at
+least five or six weeks. A variety of occupations, of objects, and of
+company, which could not be procured at Barton, would be inevitable
+there, and might yet, she hoped, cheat Marianne, at times, into some
+interest beyond herself, and even into some amusement, much as the
+ideas of both might now be spurned by her.
+
+From all danger of seeing Willoughby again, her mother considered her
+to be at least equally safe in town as in the country, since his
+acquaintance must now be dropped by all who called themselves her
+friends. Design could never bring them in each other’s way: negligence
+could never leave them exposed to a surprise; and chance had less in
+its favour in the crowd of London than even in the retirement of
+Barton, where it might force him before her while paying that visit at
+Allenham on his marriage, which Mrs. Dashwood, from foreseeing at first
+as a probable event, had brought herself to expect as a certain one.
+
+She had yet another reason for wishing her children to remain where
+they were; a letter from her son-in-law had told her that he and his
+wife were to be in town before the middle of February, and she judged
+it right that they should sometimes see their brother.
+
+Marianne had promised to be guided by her mother’s opinion, and she
+submitted to it therefore without opposition, though it proved
+perfectly different from what she wished and expected, though she felt
+it to be entirely wrong, formed on mistaken grounds, and that by
+requiring her longer continuance in London it deprived her of the only
+possible alleviation of her wretchedness, the personal sympathy of her
+mother, and doomed her to such society and such scenes as must prevent
+her ever knowing a moment’s rest.
+
+But it was a matter of great consolation to her, that what brought evil
+to herself would bring good to her sister; and Elinor, on the other
+hand, suspecting that it would not be in her power to avoid Edward
+entirely, comforted herself by thinking, that though their longer stay
+would therefore militate against her own happiness, it would be better
+for Marianne than an immediate return into Devonshire.
+
+Her carefulness in guarding her sister from ever hearing Willoughby’s
+name mentioned, was not thrown away. Marianne, though without knowing
+it herself, reaped all its advantage; for neither Mrs. Jennings, nor
+Sir John, nor even Mrs. Palmer herself, ever spoke of him before her.
+Elinor wished that the same forbearance could have extended towards
+herself, but that was impossible, and she was obliged to listen day
+after day to the indignation of them all.
+
+Sir John, could not have thought it possible. “A man of whom he had
+always had such reason to think well! Such a good-natured fellow! He
+did not believe there was a bolder rider in England! It was an
+unaccountable business. He wished him at the devil with all his heart.
+He would not speak another word to him, meet him where he might, for
+all the world! No, not if it were to be by the side of Barton covert,
+and they were kept watching for two hours together. Such a scoundrel of
+a fellow! such a deceitful dog! It was only the last time they met that
+he had offered him one of Folly’s puppies! and this was the end of it!”
+
+Mrs. Palmer, in her way, was equally angry. “She was determined to drop
+his acquaintance immediately, and she was very thankful that she had
+never been acquainted with him at all. She wished with all her heart
+Combe Magna was not so near Cleveland; but it did not signify, for it
+was a great deal too far off to visit; she hated him so much that she
+was resolved never to mention his name again, and she should tell
+everybody she saw, how good-for-nothing he was.”
+
+The rest of Mrs. Palmer’s sympathy was shown in procuring all the
+particulars in her power of the approaching marriage, and communicating
+them to Elinor. She could soon tell at what coachmaker’s the new
+carriage was building, by what painter Mr. Willoughby’s portrait was
+drawn, and at what warehouse Miss Grey’s clothes might be seen.
+
+The calm and polite unconcern of Lady Middleton on the occasion was a
+happy relief to Elinor’s spirits, oppressed as they often were by the
+clamorous kindness of the others. It was a great comfort to her to be
+sure of exciting no interest in _one_ person at least among their
+circle of friends: a great comfort to know that there was _one_ who
+would meet her without feeling any curiosity after particulars, or any
+anxiety for her sister’s health.
+
+Every qualification is raised at times, by the circumstances of the
+moment, to more than its real value; and she was sometimes worried down
+by officious condolence to rate good-breeding as more indispensable to
+comfort than good-nature.
+
+Lady Middleton expressed her sense of the affair about once every day,
+or twice, if the subject occurred very often, by saying, “It is very
+shocking, indeed!” and by the means of this continual though gentle
+vent, was able not only to see the Miss Dashwoods from the first
+without the smallest emotion, but very soon to see them without
+recollecting a word of the matter; and having thus supported the
+dignity of her own sex, and spoken her decided censure of what was
+wrong in the other, she thought herself at liberty to attend to the
+interest of her own assemblies, and therefore determined (though rather
+against the opinion of Sir John) that as Mrs. Willoughby would at once
+be a woman of elegance and fortune, to leave her card with her as soon
+as she married.
+
+Colonel Brandon’s delicate, unobtrusive enquiries were never unwelcome
+to Miss Dashwood. He had abundantly earned the privilege of intimate
+discussion of her sister’s disappointment, by the friendly zeal with
+which he had endeavoured to soften it, and they always conversed with
+confidence. His chief reward for the painful exertion of disclosing
+past sorrows and present humiliations, was given in the pitying eye
+with which Marianne sometimes observed him, and the gentleness of her
+voice whenever (though it did not often happen) she was obliged, or
+could oblige herself to speak to him. _These_ assured him that his
+exertion had produced an increase of good-will towards himself, and
+_these_ gave Elinor hopes of its being farther augmented hereafter; but
+Mrs. Jennings, who knew nothing of all this, who knew only that the
+Colonel continued as grave as ever, and that she could neither prevail
+on him to make the offer himself, nor commission her to make it for
+him, began, at the end of two days, to think that, instead of
+Midsummer, they would not be married till Michaelmas, and by the end of
+a week that it would not be a match at all. The good understanding
+between the Colonel and Miss Dashwood seemed rather to declare that the
+honours of the mulberry-tree, the canal, and the yew arbour, would all
+be made over to _her;_ and Mrs. Jennings had, for some time ceased to
+think at all of Mrs. Ferrars.
+
+Early in February, within a fortnight from the receipt of Willoughby’s
+letter, Elinor had the painful office of informing her sister that he
+was married. She had taken care to have the intelligence conveyed to
+herself, as soon as it was known that the ceremony was over, as she was
+desirous that Marianne should not receive the first notice of it from
+the public papers, which she saw her eagerly examining every morning.
+
+She received the news with resolute composure; made no observation on
+it, and at first shed no tears; but after a short time they would burst
+out, and for the rest of the day, she was in a state hardly less
+pitiable than when she first learnt to expect the event.
+
+The Willoughbys left town as soon as they were married; and Elinor now
+hoped, as there could be no danger of her seeing either of them, to
+prevail on her sister, who had never yet left the house since the blow
+first fell, to go out again by degrees as she had done before.
+
+About this time the two Miss Steeles, lately arrived at their cousin’s
+house in Bartlett’s Buildings, Holburn, presented themselves again
+before their more grand relations in Conduit and Berkeley Streets; and
+were welcomed by them all with great cordiality.
+
+Elinor only was sorry to see them. Their presence always gave her pain,
+and she hardly knew how to make a very gracious return to the
+overpowering delight of Lucy in finding her _still_ in town.
+
+“I should have been quite disappointed if I had not found you here
+_still_,” said she repeatedly, with a strong emphasis on the word. “But
+I always thought I _should_. I was almost sure you would not leave
+London yet awhile; though you _told_ me, you know, at Barton, that you
+should not stay above a _month_. But I thought, at the time, that you
+would most likely change your mind when it came to the point. It would
+have been such a great pity to have went away before your brother and
+sister came. And now to be sure you will be in no _hurry_ to be gone. I
+am amazingly glad you did not keep to _your word_.”
+
+Elinor perfectly understood her, and was forced to use all her
+self-command to make it appear that she did _not_.
+
+“Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Jennings, “and how did you travel?”
+
+“Not in the stage, I assure you,” replied Miss Steele, with quick
+exultation; “we came post all the way, and had a very smart beau to
+attend us. Dr. Davies was coming to town, and so we thought we’d join
+him in a post-chaise; and he behaved very genteelly, and paid ten or
+twelve shillings more than we did.”
+
+“Oh, oh!” cried Mrs. Jennings; “very pretty, indeed! and the Doctor is
+a single man, I warrant you.”
+
+“There now,” said Miss Steele, affectedly simpering, “everybody laughs
+at me so about the Doctor, and I cannot think why. My cousins say they
+are sure I have made a conquest; but for my part I declare I never
+think about him from one hour’s end to another. ‘Lord! here comes your
+beau, Nancy,’ my cousin said t’other day, when she saw him crossing the
+street to the house. My beau, indeed! said I—I cannot think who you
+mean. The Doctor is no beau of mine.”
+
+“Aye, aye, that is very pretty talking—but it won’t do—the Doctor is
+the man, I see.”
+
+“No, indeed!” replied her cousin, with affected earnestness, “and I beg
+you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of.”
+
+Mrs. Jennings directly gave her the gratifying assurance that she
+certainly would _not_, and Miss Steele was made completely happy.
+
+“I suppose you will go and stay with your brother and sister, Miss
+Dashwood, when they come to town,” said Lucy, returning, after a
+cessation of hostile hints, to the charge.
+
+“No, I do not think we shall.”
+
+“Oh, yes, I dare say you will.”
+
+Elinor would not humour her by farther opposition.
+
+“What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can spare you both for
+so long a time together!”
+
+“Long a time, indeed!” interposed Mrs. Jennings. “Why, their visit is
+but just begun!”
+
+Lucy was silenced.
+
+“I am sorry we cannot see your sister, Miss Dashwood,” said Miss
+Steele. “I am sorry she is not well—” for Marianne had left the room on
+their arrival.
+
+“You are very good. My sister will be equally sorry to miss the
+pleasure of seeing you; but she has been very much plagued lately with
+nervous head-aches, which make her unfit for company or conversation.”
+
+“Oh, dear, that is a great pity! but such old friends as Lucy and me!—I
+think she might see _us;_ and I am sure we would not speak a word.”
+
+Elinor, with great civility, declined the proposal. Her sister was
+perhaps laid down upon the bed, or in her dressing gown, and therefore
+not able to come to them.
+
+“Oh, if that’s all,” cried Miss Steele, “we can just as well go and see
+_her_.”
+
+Elinor began to find this impertinence too much for her temper; but she
+was saved the trouble of checking it, by Lucy’s sharp reprimand, which
+now, as on many occasions, though it did not give much sweetness to the
+manners of one sister, was of advantage in governing those of the
+other.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+
+After some opposition, Marianne yielded to her sister’s entreaties, and
+consented to go out with her and Mrs. Jennings one morning for half an
+hour. She expressly conditioned, however, for paying no visits, and
+would do no more than accompany them to Gray’s in Sackville Street,
+where Elinor was carrying on a negotiation for the exchange of a few
+old-fashioned jewels of her mother.
+
+When they stopped at the door, Mrs. Jennings recollected that there was
+a lady at the other end of the street on whom she ought to call; and as
+she had no business at Gray’s, it was resolved, that while her young
+friends transacted their’s, she should pay her visit and return for
+them.
+
+On ascending the stairs, the Miss Dashwoods found so many people before
+them in the room, that there was not a person at liberty to tend to
+their orders; and they were obliged to wait. All that could be done
+was, to sit down at that end of the counter which seemed to promise the
+quickest succession; one gentleman only was standing there, and it is
+probable that Elinor was not without hope of exciting his politeness to
+a quicker despatch. But the correctness of his eye, and the delicacy of
+his taste, proved to be beyond his politeness. He was giving orders for
+a toothpick-case for himself, and till its size, shape, and ornaments
+were determined, all of which, after examining and debating for a
+quarter of an hour over every toothpick-case in the shop, were finally
+arranged by his own inventive fancy, he had no leisure to bestow any
+other attention on the two ladies, than what was comprised in three or
+four very broad stares; a kind of notice which served to imprint on
+Elinor the remembrance of a person and face, of strong, natural,
+sterling insignificance, though adorned in the first style of fashion.
+
+Marianne was spared from the troublesome feelings of contempt and
+resentment, on this impertinent examination of their features, and on
+the puppyism of his manner in deciding on all the different horrors of
+the different toothpick-cases presented to his inspection, by remaining
+unconscious of it all; for she was as well able to collect her thoughts
+within herself, and be as ignorant of what was passing around her, in
+Mr. Gray’s shop, as in her own bedroom.
+
+At last the affair was decided. The ivory, the gold, and the pearls,
+all received their appointment, and the gentleman having named the last
+day on which his existence could be continued without the possession of
+the toothpick-case, drew on his gloves with leisurely care, and
+bestowing another glance on the Miss Dashwoods, but such a one as
+seemed rather to demand than express admiration, walked off with a
+happy air of real conceit and affected indifference.
+
+Elinor lost no time in bringing her business forward, was on the point
+of concluding it, when another gentleman presented himself at her side.
+She turned her eyes towards his face, and found him with some surprise
+to be her brother.
+
+Their affection and pleasure in meeting was just enough to make a very
+creditable appearance in Mr. Gray’s shop. John Dashwood was really far
+from being sorry to see his sisters again; it rather gave them
+satisfaction; and his inquiries after their mother were respectful and
+attentive.
+
+Elinor found that he and Fanny had been in town two days.
+
+“I wished very much to call upon you yesterday,” said he, “but it was
+impossible, for we were obliged to take Harry to see the wild beasts at
+Exeter Exchange; and we spent the rest of the day with Mrs. Ferrars.
+Harry was vastly pleased. _This_ morning I had fully intended to call
+on you, if I could possibly find a spare half hour, but one has always
+so much to do on first coming to town. I am come here to bespeak Fanny
+a seal. But tomorrow I think I shall certainly be able to call in
+Berkeley Street, and be introduced to your friend Mrs. Jennings. I
+understand she is a woman of very good fortune. And the Middletons too,
+you must introduce me to _them_. As my mother-in-law’s relations, I
+shall be happy to show them every respect. They are excellent
+neighbours to you in the country, I understand.”
+
+“Excellent indeed. Their attention to our comfort, their friendliness
+in every particular, is more than I can express.”
+
+“I am extremely glad to hear it, upon my word; extremely glad indeed.
+But so it ought to be; they are people of large fortune, they are
+related to you, and every civility and accommodation that can serve to
+make your situation pleasant might be reasonably expected. And so you
+are most comfortably settled in your little cottage and want for
+nothing! Edward brought us a most charming account of the place: the
+most complete thing of its kind, he said, that ever was, and you all
+seemed to enjoy it beyond any thing. It was a great satisfaction to us
+to hear it, I assure you.”
+
+Elinor did feel a little ashamed of her brother; and was not sorry to
+be spared the necessity of answering him, by the arrival of Mrs.
+Jennings’s servant, who came to tell her that his mistress waited for
+them at the door.
+
+Mr. Dashwood attended them down stairs, was introduced to Mrs. Jennings
+at the door of her carriage, and repeating his hope of being able to
+call on them the next day, took leave.
+
+His visit was duly paid. He came with a pretence at an apology from
+their sister-in-law, for not coming too; “but she was so much engaged
+with her mother, that really she had no leisure for going any where.”
+Mrs. Jennings, however, assured him directly, that she should not stand
+upon ceremony, for they were all cousins, or something like it, and she
+should certainly wait on Mrs. John Dashwood very soon, and bring her
+sisters to see her. His manners to _them_, though calm, were perfectly
+kind; to Mrs. Jennings, most attentively civil; and on Colonel
+Brandon’s coming in soon after himself, he eyed him with a curiosity
+which seemed to say, that he only wanted to know him to be rich, to be
+equally civil to _him_.
+
+After staying with them half an hour, he asked Elinor to walk with him
+to Conduit Street, and introduce him to Sir John and Lady Middleton.
+The weather was remarkably fine, and she readily consented. As soon as
+they were out of the house, his enquiries began.
+
+“Who is Colonel Brandon? Is he a man of fortune?”
+
+“Yes; he has very good property in Dorsetshire.”
+
+“I am glad of it. He seems a most gentlemanlike man; and I think,
+Elinor, I may congratulate you on the prospect of a very respectable
+establishment in life.”
+
+“Me, brother! what do you mean?”
+
+“He likes you. I observed him narrowly, and am convinced of it. What is
+the amount of his fortune?”
+
+“I believe about two thousand a year.”
+
+“Two thousand a-year;” and then working himself up to a pitch of
+enthusiastic generosity, he added, “Elinor, I wish with all my heart it
+were _twice_ as much, for your sake.”
+
+“Indeed I believe you,” replied Elinor; “but I am very sure that
+Colonel Brandon has not the smallest wish of marrying _me_.”
+
+“You are mistaken, Elinor; you are very much mistaken. A very little
+trouble on your side secures him. Perhaps just at present he may be
+undecided; the smallness of your fortune may make him hang back; his
+friends may all advise him against it. But some of those little
+attentions and encouragements which ladies can so easily give will fix
+him, in spite of himself. And there can be no reason why you should not
+try for him. It is not to be supposed that any prior attachment on your
+side—in short, you know as to an attachment of that kind, it is quite
+out of the question, the objections are insurmountable—you have too
+much sense not to see all that. Colonel Brandon must be the man; and no
+civility shall be wanting on my part to make him pleased with you and
+your family. It is a match that must give universal satisfaction. In
+short, it is a kind of thing that”—lowering his voice to an important
+whisper—“will be exceedingly welcome to _all parties_.” Recollecting
+himself, however, he added, “That is, I mean to say—your friends are
+all truly anxious to see you well settled; Fanny particularly, for she
+has your interest very much at heart, I assure you. And her mother too,
+Mrs. Ferrars, a very good-natured woman, I am sure it would give her
+great pleasure; she said as much the other day.”
+
+Elinor would not vouchsafe any answer.
+
+“It would be something remarkable, now,” he continued, “something
+droll, if Fanny should have a brother and I a sister settling at the
+same time. And yet it is not very unlikely.”
+
+“Is Mr. Edward Ferrars,” said Elinor, with resolution, “going to be
+married?”
+
+“It is not actually settled, but there is such a thing in agitation. He
+has a most excellent mother. Mrs. Ferrars, with the utmost liberality,
+will come forward, and settle on him a thousand a year, if the match
+takes place. The lady is the Hon. Miss Morton, only daughter of the
+late Lord Morton, with thirty thousand pounds. A very desirable
+connection on both sides, and I have not a doubt of its taking place in
+time. A thousand a-year is a great deal for a mother to give away, to
+make over for ever; but Mrs. Ferrars has a noble spirit. To give you
+another instance of her liberality:—The other day, as soon as we came
+to town, aware that money could not be very plenty with us just now,
+she put bank-notes into Fanny’s hands to the amount of two hundred
+pounds. And extremely acceptable it is, for we must live at a great
+expense while we are here.”
+
+He paused for her assent and compassion; and she forced herself to say,
+
+“Your expenses both in town and country must certainly be considerable;
+but your income is a large one.”
+
+“Not so large, I dare say, as many people suppose. I do not mean to
+complain, however; it is undoubtedly a comfortable one, and I hope will
+in time be better. The enclosure of Norland Common, now carrying on, is
+a most serious drain. And then I have made a little purchase within
+this half year; East Kingham Farm, you must remember the place, where
+old Gibson used to live. The land was so very desirable for me in every
+respect, so immediately adjoining my own property, that I felt it my
+duty to buy it. I could not have answered it to my conscience to let it
+fall into any other hands. A man must pay for his convenience; and it
+_has_ cost me a vast deal of money.”
+
+“More than you think it really and intrinsically worth.”
+
+“Why, I hope not that. I might have sold it again, the next day, for
+more than I gave: but, with regard to the purchase-money, I might have
+been very unfortunate indeed; for the stocks were at that time so low,
+that if I had not happened to have the necessary sum in my banker’s
+hands, I must have sold out to very great loss.”
+
+Elinor could only smile.
+
+“Other great and inevitable expenses too we have had on first coming to
+Norland. Our respected father, as you well know, bequeathed all the
+Stanhill effects that remained at Norland (and very valuable they were)
+to your mother. Far be it from me to repine at his doing so; he had an
+undoubted right to dispose of his own property as he chose, but, in
+consequence of it, we have been obliged to make large purchases of
+linen, china, &c. to supply the place of what was taken away. You may
+guess, after all these expenses, how very far we must be from being
+rich, and how acceptable Mrs. Ferrars’s kindness is.”
+
+“Certainly,” said Elinor; “and assisted by her liberality, I hope you
+may yet live to be in easy circumstances.”
+
+“Another year or two may do much towards it,” he gravely replied; “but
+however there is still a great deal to be done. There is not a stone
+laid of Fanny’s green-house, and nothing but the plan of the
+flower-garden marked out.”
+
+“Where is the green-house to be?”
+
+“Upon the knoll behind the house. The old walnut trees are all come
+down to make room for it. It will be a very fine object from many parts
+of the park, and the flower-garden will slope down just before it, and
+be exceedingly pretty. We have cleared away all the old thorns that
+grew in patches over the brow.”
+
+Elinor kept her concern and her censure to herself; and was very
+thankful that Marianne was not present, to share the provocation.
+
+Having now said enough to make his poverty clear, and to do away the
+necessity of buying a pair of ear-rings for each of his sisters, in his
+next visit at Gray’s, his thoughts took a cheerfuller turn, and he
+began to congratulate Elinor on having such a friend as Mrs. Jennings.
+
+“She seems a most valuable woman indeed. Her house, her style of
+living, all bespeak an exceeding good income; and it is an acquaintance
+that has not only been of great use to you hitherto, but in the end may
+prove materially advantageous. Her inviting you to town is certainly a
+vast thing in your favour; and indeed, it speaks altogether so great a
+regard for you, that in all probability when she dies you will not be
+forgotten. She must have a great deal to leave.”
+
+“Nothing at all, I should rather suppose; for she has only her
+jointure, which will descend to her children.”
+
+“But it is not to be imagined that she lives up to her income. Few
+people of common prudence will do _that_ and whatever she saves, she
+will be able to dispose of.”
+
+“And do you not think it more likely that she should leave it to her
+daughters, than to us?”
+
+“Her daughters are both exceedingly well married, and therefore I
+cannot perceive the necessity of her remembering them farther. Whereas,
+in my opinion, by her taking so much notice of you, and treating you in
+this kind of way, she has given you a sort of claim on her future
+consideration, which a conscientious woman would not disregard. Nothing
+can be kinder than her behaviour; and she can hardly do all this,
+without being aware of the expectation it raises.”
+
+“But she raises none in those most concerned. Indeed, brother, your
+anxiety for our welfare and prosperity carries you too far.”
+
+“Why, to be sure,” said he, seeming to recollect himself, “people have
+little, have very little in their power. But, my dear Elinor, what is
+the matter with Marianne?—she looks very unwell, has lost her colour,
+and is grown quite thin. Is she ill?”
+
+“She is not well, she has had a nervous complaint on her for several
+weeks.”
+
+“I am sorry for that. At her time of life, any thing of an illness
+destroys the bloom for ever! Hers has been a very short one! She was as
+handsome a girl last September, as I ever saw; and as likely to attract
+the man. There was something in her style of beauty, to please them
+particularly. I remember Fanny used to say that she would marry sooner
+and better than you did; not but what she is exceedingly fond of _you_,
+but so it happened to strike her. She will be mistaken, however. I
+question whether Marianne _now_, will marry a man worth more than five
+or six hundred a-year, at the utmost, and I am very much deceived if
+_you_ do not do better. Dorsetshire! I know very little of Dorsetshire;
+but, my dear Elinor, I shall be exceedingly glad to know more of it;
+and I think I can answer for your having Fanny and myself among the
+earliest and best pleased of your visitors.”
+
+Elinor tried very seriously to convince him that there was no
+likelihood of her marrying Colonel Brandon; but it was an expectation
+of too much pleasure to himself to be relinquished, and he was really
+resolved on seeking an intimacy with that gentleman, and promoting the
+marriage by every possible attention. He had just compunction enough
+for having done nothing for his sisters himself, to be exceedingly
+anxious that everybody else should do a great deal; and an offer from
+Colonel Brandon, or a legacy from Mrs. Jennings, was the easiest means
+of atoning for his own neglect.
+
+They were lucky enough to find Lady Middleton at home, and Sir John
+came in before their visit ended. Abundance of civilities passed on all
+sides. Sir John was ready to like anybody, and though Mr. Dashwood did
+not seem to know much about horses, he soon set him down as a very
+good-natured fellow: while Lady Middleton saw enough of fashion in his
+appearance to think his acquaintance worth having; and Mr. Dashwood
+went away delighted with both.
+
+“I shall have a charming account to carry to Fanny,” said he, as he
+walked back with his sister. “Lady Middleton is really a most elegant
+woman! Such a woman as I am sure Fanny will be glad to know. And Mrs.
+Jennings too, an exceedingly well-behaved woman, though not so elegant
+as her daughter. Your sister need not have any scruple even of visiting
+_her_, which, to say the truth, has been a little the case, and very
+naturally; for we only knew that Mrs. Jennings was the widow of a man
+who had got all his money in a low way; and Fanny and Mrs. Ferrars were
+both strongly prepossessed, that neither she nor her daughters were
+such kind of women as Fanny would like to associate with. But now I can
+carry her a most satisfactory account of both.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+
+Mrs. John Dashwood had so much confidence in her husband’s judgment,
+that she waited the very next day both on Mrs. Jennings and her
+daughter; and her confidence was rewarded by finding even the former,
+even the woman with whom her sisters were staying, by no means unworthy
+her notice; and as for Lady Middleton, she found her one of the most
+charming women in the world!
+
+Lady Middleton was equally pleased with Mrs. Dashwood. There was a kind
+of cold hearted selfishness on both sides, which mutually attracted
+them; and they sympathised with each other in an insipid propriety of
+demeanor, and a general want of understanding.
+
+The same manners, however, which recommended Mrs. John Dashwood to the
+good opinion of Lady Middleton did not suit the fancy of Mrs. Jennings,
+and to _her_ she appeared nothing more than a little proud-looking
+woman of uncordial address, who met her husband’s sisters without any
+affection, and almost without having anything to say to them; for of
+the quarter of an hour bestowed on Berkeley Street, she sat at least
+seven minutes and a half in silence.
+
+Elinor wanted very much to know, though she did not chuse to ask,
+whether Edward was then in town; but nothing would have induced Fanny
+voluntarily to mention his name before her, till able to tell her that
+his marriage with Miss Morton was resolved on, or till her husband’s
+expectations on Colonel Brandon were answered; because she believed
+them still so very much attached to each other, that they could not be
+too sedulously divided in word and deed on every occasion. The
+intelligence however, which _she_ would not give, soon flowed from
+another quarter. Lucy came very shortly to claim Elinor’s compassion on
+being unable to see Edward, though he had arrived in town with Mr. and
+Mrs. Dashwood. He dared not come to Bartlett’s Buildings for fear of
+detection, and though their mutual impatience to meet, was not to be
+told, they could do nothing at present but write.
+
+Edward assured them himself of his being in town, within a very short
+time, by twice calling in Berkeley Street. Twice was his card found on
+the table, when they returned from their morning’s engagements. Elinor
+was pleased that he had called; and still more pleased that she had
+missed him.
+
+The Dashwoods were so prodigiously delighted with the Middletons, that,
+though not much in the habit of giving anything, they determined to
+give them—a dinner; and soon after their acquaintance began, invited
+them to dine in Harley Street, where they had taken a very good house
+for three months. Their sisters and Mrs. Jennings were invited
+likewise, and John Dashwood was careful to secure Colonel Brandon, who,
+always glad to be where the Miss Dashwoods were, received his eager
+civilities with some surprise, but much more pleasure. They were to
+meet Mrs. Ferrars; but Elinor could not learn whether her sons were to
+be of the party. The expectation of seeing _her_, however, was enough
+to make her interested in the engagement; for though she could now meet
+Edward’s mother without that strong anxiety which had once promised to
+attend such an introduction, though she could now see her with perfect
+indifference as to her opinion of herself, her desire of being in
+company with Mrs. Ferrars, her curiosity to know what she was like, was
+as lively as ever.
+
+The interest with which she thus anticipated the party, was soon
+afterwards increased, more powerfully than pleasantly, by her hearing
+that the Miss Steeles were also to be at it.
+
+So well had they recommended themselves to Lady Middleton, so agreeable
+had their assiduities made them to her, that though Lucy was certainly
+not so elegant, and her sister not even genteel, she was as ready as
+Sir John to ask them to spend a week or two in Conduit Street; and it
+happened to be particularly convenient to the Miss Steeles, as soon as
+the Dashwoods’ invitation was known, that their visit should begin a
+few days before the party took place.
+
+Their claims to the notice of Mrs. John Dashwood, as the nieces of the
+gentleman who for many years had had the care of her brother, might not
+have done much, however, towards procuring them seats at her table; but
+as Lady Middleton’s guests they must be welcome; and Lucy, who had long
+wanted to be personally known to the family, to have a nearer view of
+their characters and her own difficulties, and to have an opportunity
+of endeavouring to please them, had seldom been happier in her life,
+than she was on receiving Mrs. John Dashwood’s card.
+
+On Elinor its effect was very different. She began immediately to
+determine, that Edward who lived with his mother, must be asked as his
+mother was, to a party given by his sister; and to see him for the
+first time, after all that passed, in the company of Lucy!—she hardly
+knew how she could bear it!
+
+These apprehensions, perhaps, were not founded entirely on reason, and
+certainly not at all on truth. They were relieved however, not by her
+own recollection, but by the good will of Lucy, who believed herself to
+be inflicting a severe disappointment when she told her that Edward
+certainly would not be in Harley Street on Tuesday, and even hoped to
+be carrying the pain still farther by persuading her that he was kept
+away by the extreme affection for herself, which he could not conceal
+when they were together.
+
+The important Tuesday came that was to introduce the two young ladies
+to this formidable mother-in-law.
+
+“Pity me, dear Miss Dashwood!” said Lucy, as they walked up the stairs
+together—for the Middletons arrived so directly after Mrs. Jennings,
+that they all followed the servant at the same time:—“there is nobody
+here but you, that can feel for me. I declare I can hardly stand. Good
+gracious! In a moment I shall see the person that all my happiness
+depends on—that is to be my mother!”
+
+Elinor could have given her immediate relief by suggesting the
+possibility of its being Miss Morton’s mother, rather than her own,
+whom they were about to behold; but instead of doing that, she assured
+her, and with great sincerity, that she did pity her—to the utter
+amazement of Lucy, who, though really uncomfortable herself, hoped at
+least to be an object of irrepressible envy to Elinor.
+
+Mrs. Ferrars was a little, thin woman, upright, even to formality, in
+her figure, and serious, even to sourness, in her aspect. Her
+complexion was sallow; and her features small, without beauty, and
+naturally without expression; but a lucky contraction of the brow had
+rescued her countenance from the disgrace of insipidity, by giving it
+the strong characters of pride and ill nature. She was not a woman of
+many words; for, unlike people in general, she proportioned them to the
+number of her ideas; and of the few syllables that did escape her, not
+one fell to the share of Miss Dashwood, whom she eyed with the spirited
+determination of disliking her at all events.
+
+Elinor could not _now_ be made unhappy by this behaviour. A few months
+ago it would have hurt her exceedingly; but it was not in Mrs. Ferrars’
+power to distress her by it now; and the difference of her manners to
+the Miss Steeles, a difference which seemed purposely made to humble
+her more, only amused her. She could not but smile to see the
+graciousness of both mother and daughter towards the very person—for
+Lucy was particularly distinguished—whom of all others, had they known
+as much as she did, they would have been most anxious to mortify; while
+she herself, who had comparatively no power to wound them, sat
+pointedly slighted by both. But while she smiled at a graciousness so
+misapplied, she could not reflect on the mean-spirited folly from which
+it sprung, nor observe the studied attentions with which the Miss
+Steeles courted its continuance, without thoroughly despising them all
+four.
+
+Lucy was all exultation on being so honorably distinguished; and Miss
+Steele wanted only to be teazed about Dr. Davies to be perfectly happy.
+
+The dinner was a grand one, the servants were numerous, and every thing
+bespoke the Mistress’s inclination for show, and the Master’s ability
+to support it. In spite of the improvements and additions which were
+making to the Norland estate, and in spite of its owner having once
+been within some thousand pounds of being obliged to sell out at a
+loss, nothing gave any symptom of that indigence which he had tried to
+infer from it;—no poverty of any kind, except of conversation,
+appeared—but there, the deficiency was considerable. John Dashwood had
+not much to say for himself that was worth hearing, and his wife had
+still less. But there was no peculiar disgrace in this; for it was very
+much the case with the chief of their visitors, who almost all laboured
+under one or other of these disqualifications for being agreeable—Want
+of sense, either natural or improved—want of elegance—want of
+spirits—or want of temper.
+
+When the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room after dinner, this poverty
+was particularly evident, for the gentlemen _had_ supplied the
+discourse with some variety—the variety of politics, inclosing land,
+and breaking horses—but then it was all over; and one subject only
+engaged the ladies till coffee came in, which was the comparative
+heights of Harry Dashwood, and Lady Middleton’s second son William, who
+were nearly of the same age.
+
+Had both the children been there, the affair might have been determined
+too easily by measuring them at once; but as Harry only was present, it
+was all conjectural assertion on both sides; and every body had a right
+to be equally positive in their opinion, and to repeat it over and over
+again as often as they liked.
+
+The parties stood thus:
+
+The two mothers, though each really convinced that her own son was the
+tallest, politely decided in favour of the other.
+
+The two grandmothers, with not less partiality, but more sincerity,
+were equally earnest in support of their own descendant.
+
+Lucy, who was hardly less anxious to please one parent than the other,
+thought the boys were both remarkably tall for their age, and could not
+conceive that there could be the smallest difference in the world
+between them; and Miss Steele, with yet greater address gave it, as
+fast as she could, in favour of each.
+
+Elinor, having once delivered her opinion on William’s side, by which
+she offended Mrs. Ferrars and Fanny still more, did not see the
+necessity of enforcing it by any farther assertion; and Marianne, when
+called on for hers, offended them all, by declaring that she had no
+opinion to give, as she had never thought about it.
+
+Before her removing from Norland, Elinor had painted a very pretty pair
+of screens for her sister-in-law, which being now just mounted and
+brought home, ornamented her present drawing room; and these screens,
+catching the eye of John Dashwood on his following the other gentlemen
+into the room, were officiously handed by him to Colonel Brandon for
+his admiration.
+
+“These are done by my eldest sister,” said he; “and you, as a man of
+taste, will, I dare say, be pleased with them. I do not know whether
+you have ever happened to see any of her performances before, but she
+is in general reckoned to draw extremely well.”
+
+The Colonel, though disclaiming all pretensions to connoisseurship,
+warmly admired the screens, as he would have done any thing painted by
+Miss Dashwood; and on the curiosity of the others being of course
+excited, they were handed round for general inspection. Mrs. Ferrars,
+not aware of their being Elinor’s work, particularly requested to look
+at them; and after they had received gratifying testimony of Lady
+Middletons’s approbation, Fanny presented them to her mother,
+considerately informing her, at the same time, that they were done by
+Miss Dashwood.
+
+“Hum”—said Mrs. Ferrars—“very pretty,”—and without regarding them at
+all, returned them to her daughter.
+
+Perhaps Fanny thought for a moment that her mother had been quite rude
+enough,—for, colouring a little, she immediately said,
+
+“They are very pretty, ma’am—an’t they?” But then again, the dread of
+having been too civil, too encouraging herself, probably came over her,
+for she presently added,
+
+“Do you not think they are something in Miss Morton’s style of
+painting, Ma’am?—_She does_ paint most delightfully!—How beautifully
+her last landscape is done!”
+
+“Beautifully indeed! But _she_ does every thing well.”
+
+Marianne could not bear this.—She was already greatly displeased with
+Mrs. Ferrars; and such ill-timed praise of another, at Elinor’s
+expense, though she had not any notion of what was principally meant by
+it, provoked her immediately to say with warmth,
+
+“This is admiration of a very particular kind!—what is Miss Morton to
+us?—who knows, or who cares, for her?—it is Elinor of whom _we_ think
+and speak.”
+
+And so saying, she took the screens out of her sister-in-law’s hands,
+to admire them herself as they ought to be admired.
+
+Mrs. Ferrars looked exceedingly angry, and drawing herself up more
+stiffly than ever, pronounced in retort this bitter philippic, “Miss
+Morton is Lord Morton’s daughter.”
+
+Fanny looked very angry too, and her husband was all in a fright at his
+sister’s audacity. Elinor was much more hurt by Marianne’s warmth than
+she had been by what produced it; but Colonel Brandon’s eyes, as they
+were fixed on Marianne, declared that he noticed only what was amiable
+in it, the affectionate heart which could not bear to see a sister
+slighted in the smallest point.
+
+Marianne’s feelings did not stop here. The cold insolence of Mrs.
+Ferrars’s general behaviour to her sister, seemed, to her, to foretell
+such difficulties and distresses to Elinor, as her own wounded heart
+taught her to think of with horror; and urged by a strong impulse of
+affectionate sensibility, she moved after a moment, to her sister’s
+chair, and putting one arm round her neck, and one cheek close to hers,
+said in a low, but eager, voice,
+
+“Dear, dear Elinor, don’t mind them. Don’t let them make _you_
+unhappy.”
+
+She could say no more; her spirits were quite overcome, and hiding her
+face on Elinor’s shoulder, she burst into tears. Every body’s attention
+was called, and almost every body was concerned.—Colonel Brandon rose
+up and went to them without knowing what he did.—Mrs. Jennings, with a
+very intelligent “Ah! poor dear,” immediately gave her her salts; and
+Sir John felt so desperately enraged against the author of this nervous
+distress, that he instantly changed his seat to one close by Lucy
+Steele, and gave her, in a whisper, a brief account of the whole
+shocking affair.
+
+In a few minutes, however, Marianne was recovered enough to put an end
+to the bustle, and sit down among the rest; though her spirits retained
+the impression of what had passed, the whole evening.
+
+“Poor Marianne!” said her brother to Colonel Brandon, in a low voice,
+as soon as he could secure his attention: “She has not such good health
+as her sister,—she is very nervous,—she has not Elinor’s
+constitution;—and one must allow that there is something very trying to
+a young woman who _has been_ a beauty in the loss of her personal
+attractions. You would not think it perhaps, but Marianne _was_
+remarkably handsome a few months ago; quite as handsome as Elinor. Now
+you see it is all gone.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+
+Elinor’s curiosity to see Mrs. Ferrars was satisfied. She had found in
+her every thing that could tend to make a farther connection between
+the families undesirable. She had seen enough of her pride, her
+meanness, and her determined prejudice against herself, to comprehend
+all the difficulties that must have perplexed the engagement, and
+retarded the marriage, of Edward and herself, had he been otherwise
+free; and she had seen almost enough to be thankful for her _own_ sake,
+that one greater obstacle preserved her from suffering under any other
+of Mrs. Ferrars’s creation, preserved her from all dependence upon her
+caprice, or any solicitude for her good opinion. Or at least, if she
+did not bring herself quite to rejoice in Edward’s being fettered to
+Lucy, she determined, that had Lucy been more amiable, she _ought_ to
+have rejoiced.
+
+She wondered that Lucy’s spirits could be so very much elevated by the
+civility of Mrs. Ferrars;—that her interest and her vanity should so
+very much blind her as to make the attention which seemed only paid her
+because she was _not Elinor_, appear a compliment to herself—or to
+allow her to derive encouragement from a preference only given her,
+because her real situation was unknown. But that it was so, had not
+only been declared by Lucy’s eyes at the time, but was declared over
+again the next morning more openly, for at her particular desire, Lady
+Middleton set her down in Berkeley Street on the chance of seeing
+Elinor alone, to tell her how happy she was.
+
+The chance proved a lucky one, for a message from Mrs. Palmer soon
+after she arrived, carried Mrs. Jennings away.
+
+“My dear friend,” cried Lucy, as soon as they were by themselves, “I
+come to talk to you of my happiness. Could anything be so flattering as
+Mrs. Ferrars’s way of treating me yesterday? So exceeding affable as
+she was! You know how I dreaded the thoughts of seeing her; but the
+very moment I was introduced, there was such an affability in her
+behaviour as really should seem to say, she had quite took a fancy to
+me. Now was not it so? You saw it all; and was not you quite struck
+with it?”
+
+“She was certainly very civil to you.”
+
+“Civil!—Did you see nothing but only civility?—I saw a vast deal more.
+Such kindness as fell to the share of nobody but me!—No pride, no
+hauteur, and your sister just the same—all sweetness and affability!”
+
+Elinor wished to talk of something else, but Lucy still pressed her to
+own that she had reason for her happiness; and Elinor was obliged to go
+on.
+
+“Undoubtedly, if they had known your engagement,” said she, “nothing
+could be more flattering than their treatment of you;—but as that was
+not the case—”
+
+“I guessed you would say so,”—replied Lucy quickly—“but there was no
+reason in the world why Mrs. Ferrars should seem to like me, if she did
+not, and her liking me is every thing. You shan’t talk me out of my
+satisfaction. I am sure it will all end well, and there will be no
+difficulties at all, to what I used to think. Mrs. Ferrars is a
+charming woman, and so is your sister. They are both delightful women,
+indeed!—I wonder I should never hear you say how agreeable Mrs.
+Dashwood was!”
+
+To this Elinor had no answer to make, and did not attempt any.
+
+“Are you ill, Miss Dashwood?—you seem low—you don’t speak;—sure you
+an’t well.”
+
+“I never was in better health.”
+
+“I am glad of it with all my heart; but really you did not look it. I
+should be sorry to have _you_ ill; you, that have been the greatest
+comfort to me in the world!—Heaven knows what I should have done
+without your friendship.”
+
+Elinor tried to make a civil answer, though doubting her own success.
+But it seemed to satisfy Lucy, for she directly replied,
+
+“Indeed I am perfectly convinced of your regard for me, and next to
+Edward’s love, it is the greatest comfort I have. Poor Edward! But now
+there is one good thing, we shall be able to meet, and meet pretty
+often, for Lady Middleton’s delighted with Mrs. Dashwood, so we shall
+be a good deal in Harley Street, I dare say, and Edward spends half his
+time with his sister—besides, Lady Middleton and Mrs. Ferrars will
+visit now;—and Mrs. Ferrars and your sister were both so good to say
+more than once, they should always be glad to see me. They are such
+charming women!—I am sure if ever you tell your sister what I think of
+her, you cannot speak too high.”
+
+But Elinor would not give her any encouragement to hope that she
+_should_ tell her sister. Lucy continued.
+
+“I am sure I should have seen it in a moment, if Mrs. Ferrars had took
+a dislike to me. If she had only made me a formal courtesy, for
+instance, without saying a word, and never after had took any notice of
+me, and never looked at me in a pleasant way—you know what I mean—if I
+had been treated in that forbidding sort of way, I should have gave it
+all up in despair. I could not have stood it. For where she _does_
+dislike, I know it is most violent.”
+
+Elinor was prevented from making any reply to this civil triumph, by
+the door’s being thrown open, the servant’s announcing Mr. Ferrars, and
+Edward’s immediately walking in.
+
+It was a very awkward moment; and the countenance of each showed that
+it was so. They all looked exceedingly foolish; and Edward seemed to
+have as great an inclination to walk out of the room again, as to
+advance farther into it. The very circumstance, in its unpleasantest
+form, which they would each have been most anxious to avoid, had fallen
+on them.—They were not only all three together, but were together
+without the relief of any other person. The ladies recovered themselves
+first. It was not Lucy’s business to put herself forward, and the
+appearance of secrecy must still be kept up. She could therefore only
+_look_ her tenderness, and after slightly addressing him, said no more.
+
+But Elinor had more to do; and so anxious was she, for his sake and her
+own, to do it well, that she forced herself, after a moment’s
+recollection, to welcome him, with a look and manner that were almost
+easy, and almost open; and another struggle, another effort still
+improved them. She would not allow the presence of Lucy, nor the
+consciousness of some injustice towards herself, to deter her from
+saying that she was happy to see him, and that she had very much
+regretted being from home, when he called before in Berkeley Street.
+She would not be frightened from paying him those attentions which, as
+a friend and almost a relation, were his due, by the observant eyes of
+Lucy, though she soon perceived them to be narrowly watching her.
+
+Her manners gave some re-assurance to Edward, and he had courage enough
+to sit down; but his embarrassment still exceeded that of the ladies in
+a proportion, which the case rendered reasonable, though his sex might
+make it rare; for his heart had not the indifference of Lucy’s, nor
+could his conscience have quite the ease of Elinor’s.
+
+Lucy, with a demure and settled air, seemed determined to make no
+contribution to the comfort of the others, and would not say a word;
+and almost every thing that _was_ said, proceeded from Elinor, who was
+obliged to volunteer all the information about her mother’s health,
+their coming to town, &c. which Edward ought to have inquired about,
+but never did.
+
+Her exertions did not stop here; for she soon afterwards felt herself
+so heroically disposed as to determine, under pretence of fetching
+Marianne, to leave the others by themselves; and she really did it, and
+_that_ in the handsomest manner, for she loitered away several minutes
+on the landing-place, with the most high-minded fortitude, before she
+went to her sister. When that was once done, however, it was time for
+the raptures of Edward to cease; for Marianne’s joy hurried her into
+the drawing-room immediately. Her pleasure in seeing him was like every
+other of her feelings, strong in itself, and strongly spoken. She met
+him with a hand that would be taken, and a voice that expressed the
+affection of a sister.
+
+“Dear Edward!” she cried, “this is a moment of great happiness!—This
+would almost make amends for every thing!”
+
+Edward tried to return her kindness as it deserved, but before such
+witnesses he dared not say half what he really felt. Again they all sat
+down, and for a moment or two all were silent; while Marianne was
+looking with the most speaking tenderness, sometimes at Edward and
+sometimes at Elinor, regretting only that their delight in each other
+should be checked by Lucy’s unwelcome presence. Edward was the first to
+speak, and it was to notice Marianne’s altered looks, and express his
+fear of her not finding London agree with her.
+
+“Oh, don’t think of me!” she replied with spirited earnestness, though
+her eyes were filled with tears as she spoke, “don’t think of _my_
+health. Elinor is well, you see. That must be enough for us both.”
+
+This remark was not calculated to make Edward or Elinor more easy, nor
+to conciliate the good will of Lucy, who looked up at Marianne with no
+very benignant expression.
+
+“Do you like London?” said Edward, willing to say any thing that might
+introduce another subject.
+
+“Not at all. I expected much pleasure in it, but I have found none. The
+sight of you, Edward, is the only comfort it has afforded; and thank
+Heaven! you are what you always were!”
+
+She paused—no one spoke.
+
+“I think, Elinor,” she presently added, “we must employ Edward to take
+care of us in our return to Barton. In a week or two, I suppose, we
+shall be going; and, I trust, Edward will not be very unwilling to
+accept the charge.”
+
+Poor Edward muttered something, but what it was, nobody knew, not even
+himself. But Marianne, who saw his agitation, and could easily trace it
+to whatever cause best pleased herself, was perfectly satisfied, and
+soon talked of something else.
+
+“We spent such a day, Edward, in Harley Street yesterday! So dull, so
+wretchedly dull!—But I have much to say to you on that head, which
+cannot be said now.”
+
+And with this admirable discretion did she defer the assurance of her
+finding their mutual relatives more disagreeable than ever, and of her
+being particularly disgusted with his mother, till they were more in
+private.
+
+“But why were you not there, Edward?—Why did you not come?”
+
+“I was engaged elsewhere.”
+
+“Engaged! But what was that, when such friends were to be met?”
+
+“Perhaps, Miss Marianne,” cried Lucy, eager to take some revenge on
+her, “you think young men never stand upon engagements, if they have no
+mind to keep them, little as well as great.”
+
+Elinor was very angry, but Marianne seemed entirely insensible of the
+sting; for she calmly replied,
+
+“Not so, indeed; for, seriously speaking, I am very sure that
+conscience only kept Edward from Harley Street. And I really believe he
+_has_ the most delicate conscience in the world; the most scrupulous in
+performing every engagement, however minute, and however it may make
+against his interest or pleasure. He is the most fearful of giving
+pain, of wounding expectation, and the most incapable of being selfish,
+of any body I ever saw. Edward, it is so, and I will say it. What! are
+you never to hear yourself praised!—Then you must be no friend of mine;
+for those who will accept of my love and esteem, must submit to my open
+commendation.”
+
+The nature of her commendation, in the present case, however, happened
+to be particularly ill-suited to the feelings of two thirds of her
+auditors, and was so very unexhilarating to Edward, that he very soon
+got up to go away.
+
+“Going so soon!” said Marianne; “my dear Edward, this must not be.”
+
+And drawing him a little aside, she whispered her persuasion that Lucy
+could not stay much longer. But even this encouragement failed, for he
+would go; and Lucy, who would have outstaid him, had his visit lasted
+two hours, soon afterwards went away.
+
+“What can bring her here so often?” said Marianne, on her leaving them.
+“Could not she see that we wanted her gone!—how teazing to Edward!”
+
+“Why so?—we were all his friends, and Lucy has been the longest known
+to him of any. It is but natural that he should like to see her as well
+as ourselves.”
+
+Marianne looked at her steadily, and said, “You know, Elinor, that this
+is a kind of talking which I cannot bear. If you only hope to have your
+assertion contradicted, as I must suppose to be the case, you ought to
+recollect that I am the last person in the world to do it. I cannot
+descend to be tricked out of assurances, that are not really wanted.”
+
+She then left the room; and Elinor dared not follow her to say more,
+for bound as she was by her promise of secrecy to Lucy, she could give
+no information that would convince Marianne; and painful as the
+consequences of her still continuing in an error might be, she was
+obliged to submit to it. All that she could hope, was that Edward would
+not often expose her or himself to the distress of hearing Marianne’s
+mistaken warmth, nor to the repetition of any other part of the pain
+that had attended their recent meeting—and this she had every reason to
+expect.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+
+Within a few days after this meeting, the newspapers announced to the
+world, that the lady of Thomas Palmer, Esq. was safely delivered of a
+son and heir; a very interesting and satisfactory paragraph, at least
+to all those intimate connections who knew it before.
+
+This event, highly important to Mrs. Jennings’s happiness, produced a
+temporary alteration in the disposal of her time, and influenced, in a
+like degree, the engagements of her young friends; for as she wished to
+be as much as possible with Charlotte, she went thither every morning
+as soon as she was dressed, and did not return till late in the
+evening; and the Miss Dashwoods, at the particular request of the
+Middletons, spent the whole of every day in Conduit Street. For their
+own comfort they would much rather have remained, at least all the
+morning, in Mrs. Jennings’s house; but it was not a thing to be urged
+against the wishes of everybody. Their hours were therefore made over
+to Lady Middleton and the two Miss Steeles, by whom their company, in
+fact was as little valued, as it was professedly sought.
+
+They had too much sense to be desirable companions to the former; and
+by the latter they were considered with a jealous eye, as intruding on
+_their_ ground, and sharing the kindness which they wanted to
+monopolize. Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton’s
+behaviour to Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all.
+Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not
+believe them good-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she
+fancied them satirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to
+be satirical; but _that_ did not signify. It was censure in common use,
+and easily given.
+
+Their presence was a restraint both on her and on Lucy. It checked the
+idleness of one, and the business of the other. Lady Middleton was
+ashamed of doing nothing before them, and the flattery which Lucy was
+proud to think of and administer at other times, she feared they would
+despise her for offering. Miss Steele was the least discomposed of the
+three, by their presence; and it was in their power to reconcile her to
+it entirely. Would either of them only have given her a full and minute
+account of the whole affair between Marianne and Mr. Willoughby, she
+would have thought herself amply rewarded for the sacrifice of the best
+place by the fire after dinner, which their arrival occasioned. But
+this conciliation was not granted; for though she often threw out
+expressions of pity for her sister to Elinor, and more than once dropt
+a reflection on the inconstancy of beaux before Marianne, no effect was
+produced, but a look of indifference from the former, or of disgust in
+the latter. An effort even yet lighter might have made her their
+friend. Would they only have laughed at her about the Doctor! But so
+little were they, any more than the others, inclined to oblige her,
+that if Sir John dined from home, she might spend a whole day without
+hearing any other raillery on the subject, than what she was kind
+enough to bestow on herself.
+
+All these jealousies and discontents, however, were so totally
+unsuspected by Mrs. Jennings, that she thought it a delightful thing
+for the girls to be together; and generally congratulated her young
+friends every night, on having escaped the company of a stupid old
+woman so long. She joined them sometimes at Sir John’s, sometimes at
+her own house; but wherever it was, she always came in excellent
+spirits, full of delight and importance, attributing Charlotte’s well
+doing to her own care, and ready to give so exact, so minute a detail
+of her situation, as only Miss Steele had curiosity enough to desire.
+One thing _did_ disturb her; and of that she made her daily complaint.
+Mr. Palmer maintained the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex,
+of all infants being alike; and though she could plainly perceive, at
+different times, the most striking resemblance between this baby and
+every one of his relations on both sides, there was no convincing his
+father of it; no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like
+every other baby of the same age; nor could he even be brought to
+acknowledge the simple proposition of its being the finest child in the
+world.
+
+I come now to the relation of a misfortune, which about this time
+befell Mrs. John Dashwood. It so happened that while her two sisters
+with Mrs. Jennings were first calling on her in Harley Street, another
+of her acquaintance had dropt in—a circumstance in itself not
+apparently likely to produce evil to her. But while the imaginations of
+other people will carry them away to form wrong judgments of our
+conduct, and to decide on it by slight appearances, one’s happiness
+must in some measure be always at the mercy of chance. In the present
+instance, this last-arrived lady allowed her fancy to so far outrun
+truth and probability, that on merely hearing the name of the Miss
+Dashwoods, and understanding them to be Mr. Dashwood’s sisters, she
+immediately concluded them to be staying in Harley Street; and this
+misconstruction produced within a day or two afterwards, cards of
+invitation for them as well as for their brother and sister, to a small
+musical party at her house. The consequence of which was, that Mrs.
+John Dashwood was obliged to submit not only to the exceedingly great
+inconvenience of sending her carriage for the Miss Dashwoods, but, what
+was still worse, must be subject to all the unpleasantness of appearing
+to treat them with attention: and who could tell that they might not
+expect to go out with her a second time? The power of disappointing
+them, it was true, must always be hers. But that was not enough; for
+when people are determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be
+wrong, they feel injured by the expectation of any thing better from
+them.
+
+Marianne had now been brought by degrees, so much into the habit of
+going out every day, that it was become a matter of indifference to
+her, whether she went or not: and she prepared quietly and mechanically
+for every evening’s engagement, though without expecting the smallest
+amusement from any, and very often without knowing, till the last
+moment, where it was to take her.
+
+To her dress and appearance she was grown so perfectly indifferent, as
+not to bestow half the consideration on it, during the whole of her
+toilet, which it received from Miss Steele in the first five minutes of
+their being together, when it was finished. Nothing escaped _her_
+minute observation and general curiosity; she saw every thing, and
+asked every thing; was never easy till she knew the price of every part
+of Marianne’s dress; could have guessed the number of her gowns
+altogether with better judgment than Marianne herself, and was not
+without hopes of finding out before they parted, how much her washing
+cost per week, and how much she had every year to spend upon herself.
+The impertinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally
+concluded with a compliment, which though meant as its douceur, was
+considered by Marianne as the greatest impertinence of all; for after
+undergoing an examination into the value and make of her gown, the
+colour of her shoes, and the arrangement of her hair, she was almost
+sure of being told that upon “her word she looked vastly smart, and she
+dared to say she would make a great many conquests.”
+
+With such encouragement as this, was she dismissed on the present
+occasion, to her brother’s carriage; which they were ready to enter
+five minutes after it stopped at the door, a punctuality not very
+agreeable to their sister-in-law, who had preceded them to the house of
+her acquaintance, and was there hoping for some delay on their part
+that might inconvenience either herself or her coachman.
+
+The events of this evening were not very remarkable. The party, like
+other musical parties, comprehended a great many people who had real
+taste for the performance, and a great many more who had none at all;
+and the performers themselves were, as usual, in their own estimation,
+and that of their immediate friends, the first private performers in
+England.
+
+As Elinor was neither musical, nor affecting to be so, she made no
+scruple of turning her eyes from the grand pianoforte, whenever it
+suited her, and unrestrained even by the presence of a harp, and
+violoncello, would fix them at pleasure on any other object in the
+room. In one of these excursive glances she perceived among a group of
+young men, the very he, who had given them a lecture on toothpick-cases
+at Gray’s. She perceived him soon afterwards looking at herself, and
+speaking familiarly to her brother; and had just determined to find out
+his name from the latter, when they both came towards her, and Mr.
+Dashwood introduced him to her as Mr. Robert Ferrars.
+
+He addressed her with easy civility, and twisted his head into a bow
+which assured her as plainly as words could have done, that he was
+exactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by Lucy. Happy
+had it been for her, if her regard for Edward had depended less on his
+own merit, than on the merit of his nearest relations! For then his
+brother’s bow must have given the finishing stroke to what the
+ill-humour of his mother and sister would have begun. But while she
+wondered at the difference of the two young men, she did not find that
+the emptiness and conceit of the one, put her out of all charity with
+the modesty and worth of the other. Why they _were_ different, Robert
+explained to her himself in the course of a quarter of an hour’s
+conversation; for, talking of his brother, and lamenting the extreme
+_gaucherie_ which he really believed kept him from mixing in proper
+society, he candidly and generously attributed it much less to any
+natural deficiency, than to the misfortune of a private education;
+while he himself, though probably without any particular, any material
+superiority by nature, merely from the advantage of a public school,
+was as well fitted to mix in the world as any other man.
+
+“Upon my soul,” he added, “I believe it is nothing more; and so I often
+tell my mother, when she is grieving about it. ‘My dear Madam,’ I
+always say to her, ‘you must make yourself easy. The evil is now
+irremediable, and it has been entirely your own doing. Why would you be
+persuaded by my uncle, Sir Robert, against your own judgment, to place
+Edward under private tuition, at the most critical time of his life? If
+you had only sent him to Westminster as well as myself, instead of
+sending him to Mr. Pratt’s, all this would have been prevented.’ This
+is the way in which I always consider the matter, and my mother is
+perfectly convinced of her error.”
+
+Elinor would not oppose his opinion, because, whatever might be her
+general estimation of the advantage of a public school, she could not
+think of Edward’s abode in Mr. Pratt’s family, with any satisfaction.
+
+“You reside in Devonshire, I think,”—was his next observation, “in a
+cottage near Dawlish.”
+
+Elinor set him right as to its situation; and it seemed rather
+surprising to him that anybody could live in Devonshire, without living
+near Dawlish. He bestowed his hearty approbation however on their
+species of house.
+
+“For my own part,” said he, “I am excessively fond of a cottage; there
+is always so much comfort, so much elegance about them. And I protest,
+if I had any money to spare, I should buy a little land and build one
+myself, within a short distance of London, where I might drive myself
+down at any time, and collect a few friends about me, and be happy. I
+advise every body who is going to build, to build a cottage. My friend
+Lord Courtland came to me the other day on purpose to ask my advice,
+and laid before me three different plans of Bonomi’s. I was to decide
+on the best of them. ‘My dear Courtland,’ said I, immediately throwing
+them all into the fire, ‘do not adopt either of them, but by all means
+build a cottage.’ And that I fancy, will be the end of it.
+
+“Some people imagine that there can be no accommodations, no space in a
+cottage; but this is all a mistake. I was last month at my friend
+Elliott’s, near Dartford. Lady Elliott wished to give a dance. ‘But how
+can it be done?’ said she; ‘my dear Ferrars, do tell me how it is to be
+managed. There is not a room in this cottage that will hold ten couple,
+and where can the supper be?’ _I_ immediately saw that there could be
+no difficulty in it, so I said, ‘My dear Lady Elliott, do not be
+uneasy. The dining parlour will admit eighteen couple with ease;
+card-tables may be placed in the drawing-room; the library may be open
+for tea and other refreshments; and let the supper be set out in the
+saloon.’ Lady Elliott was delighted with the thought. We measured the
+dining-room, and found it would hold exactly eighteen couple, and the
+affair was arranged precisely after my plan. So that, in fact, you see,
+if people do but know how to set about it, every comfort may be as well
+enjoyed in a cottage as in the most spacious dwelling.”
+
+Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the
+compliment of rational opposition.
+
+As John Dashwood had no more pleasure in music than his eldest sister,
+his mind was equally at liberty to fix on any thing else; and a thought
+struck him during the evening, which he communicated to his wife, for
+her approbation, when they got home. The consideration of Mrs.
+Dennison’s mistake, in supposing his sisters their guests, had
+suggested the propriety of their being really invited to become such,
+while Mrs. Jennings’s engagements kept her from home. The expense would
+be nothing, the inconvenience not more; and it was altogether an
+attention which the delicacy of his conscience pointed out to be
+requisite to its complete enfranchisement from his promise to his
+father. Fanny was startled at the proposal.
+
+“I do not see how it can be done,” said she, “without affronting Lady
+Middleton, for they spend every day with her; otherwise I should be
+exceedingly glad to do it. You know I am always ready to pay them any
+attention in my power, as my taking them out this evening shows. But
+they are Lady Middleton’s visitors. How can I ask them away from her?”
+
+Her husband, but with great humility, did not see the force of her
+objection. “They had already spent a week in this manner in Conduit
+Street, and Lady Middleton could not be displeased at their giving the
+same number of days to such near relations.”
+
+Fanny paused a moment, and then, with fresh vigor, said,
+
+“My love, I would ask them with all my heart, if it was in my power.
+But I had just settled within myself to ask the Miss Steeles to spend a
+few days with us. They are very well behaved, good kind of girls; and I
+think the attention is due to them, as their uncle did so very well by
+Edward. We can ask your sisters some other year, you know; but the Miss
+Steeles may not be in town any more. I am sure you will like them;
+indeed, you _do_ like them, you know, very much already, and so does my
+mother; and they are such favourites with Harry!”
+
+Mr. Dashwood was convinced. He saw the necessity of inviting the Miss
+Steeles immediately, and his conscience was pacified by the resolution
+of inviting his sisters another year; at the same time, however, slyly
+suspecting that another year would make the invitation needless, by
+bringing Elinor to town as Colonel Brandon’s wife, and Marianne as
+_their_ visitor.
+
+Fanny, rejoicing in her escape, and proud of the ready wit that had
+procured it, wrote the next morning to Lucy, to request her company and
+her sister’s, for some days, in Harley Street, as soon as Lady
+Middleton could spare them. This was enough to make Lucy really and
+reasonably happy. Mrs. Dashwood seemed actually working for her,
+herself; cherishing all her hopes, and promoting all her views! Such an
+opportunity of being with Edward and his family was, above all things,
+the most material to her interest, and such an invitation the most
+gratifying to her feelings! It was an advantage that could not be too
+gratefully acknowledged, nor too speedily made use of; and the visit to
+Lady Middleton, which had not before had any precise limits, was
+instantly discovered to have been always meant to end in two days’
+time.
+
+When the note was shown to Elinor, as it was within ten minutes after
+its arrival, it gave her, for the first time, some share in the
+expectations of Lucy; for such a mark of uncommon kindness, vouchsafed
+on so short an acquaintance, seemed to declare that the good-will
+towards her arose from something more than merely malice against
+herself; and might be brought, by time and address, to do every thing
+that Lucy wished. Her flattery had already subdued the pride of Lady
+Middleton, and made an entry into the close heart of Mrs. John
+Dashwood; and these were effects that laid open the probability of
+greater.
+
+The Miss Steeles removed to Harley Street, and all that reached Elinor
+of their influence there, strengthened her expectation of the event.
+Sir John, who called on them more than once, brought home such accounts
+of the favour they were in, as must be universally striking. Mrs.
+Dashwood had never been so much pleased with any young women in her
+life, as she was with them; had given each of them a needle book made
+by some emigrant; called Lucy by her Christian name; and did not know
+whether she should ever be able to part with them.
+
+END OF THE SECOND VOLUME
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+
+Mrs. Palmer was so well at the end of a fortnight, that her mother felt
+it no longer necessary to give up the whole of her time to her; and,
+contenting herself with visiting her once or twice a day, returned from
+that period to her own home, and her own habits, in which she found the
+Miss Dashwoods very ready to resume their former share.
+
+About the third or fourth morning after their being thus resettled in
+Berkeley Street, Mrs. Jennings, on returning from her ordinary visit to
+Mrs. Palmer, entered the drawing-room, where Elinor was sitting by
+herself, with an air of such hurrying importance as prepared her to
+hear something wonderful; and giving her time only to form that idea,
+began directly to justify it, by saying,
+
+“Lord! my dear Miss Dashwood! have you heard the news?”
+
+“No, ma’am. What is it?”
+
+“Something so strange! But you shall hear it all. When I got to Mr.
+Palmer’s, I found Charlotte quite in a fuss about the child. She was
+sure it was very ill—it cried, and fretted, and was all over pimples.
+So I looked at it directly, and, ‘Lord! my dear,’ says I, ‘it is
+nothing in the world, but the red gum;’ and nurse said just the same.
+But Charlotte, she would not be satisfied, so Mr. Donavan was sent for;
+and luckily he happened to just come in from Harley Street, so he
+stepped over directly, and as soon as ever he saw the child, he said
+just as we did, that it was nothing in the world but the red gum, and
+then Charlotte was easy. And so, just as he was going away again, it
+came into my head, I am sure I do not know how I happened to think of
+it, but it came into my head to ask him if there was any news. So upon
+that, he smirked, and simpered, and looked grave, and seemed to know
+something or other, and at last he said in a whisper, ‘For fear any
+unpleasant report should reach the young ladies under your care as to
+their sister’s indisposition, I think it advisable to say, that I
+believe there is no great reason for alarm; I hope Mrs. Dashwood will
+do very well.’”
+
+“What! is Fanny ill?”
+
+“That is exactly what I said, my dear. ‘Lord!’ says I, ‘is Mrs.
+Dashwood ill?’ So then it all came out; and the long and the short of
+the matter, by all I can learn, seems to be this. Mr. Edward Ferrars,
+the very young man I used to joke with you about (but however, as it
+turns out, I am monstrous glad there was never any thing in it), Mr.
+Edward Ferrars, it seems, has been engaged above this twelvemonth to my
+cousin Lucy!—There’s for you, my dear! And not a creature knowing a
+syllable of the matter, except Nancy! Could you have believed such a
+thing possible? There is no great wonder in their liking one another;
+but that matters should be brought so forward between them, and nobody
+suspect it! _That_ is strange! I never happened to see them together,
+or I am sure I should have found it out directly. Well, and so this was
+kept a great secret, for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, and neither she nor your
+brother or sister suspected a word of the matter: till this very
+morning, poor Nancy, who, you know, is a well-meaning creature, but no
+conjurer, popt it all out. ‘Lord!’ thinks she to herself, ‘they are all
+so fond of Lucy, to be sure they will make no difficulty about it;’ and
+so, away she went to your sister, who was sitting all alone at her
+carpet-work, little suspecting what was to come—for she had just been
+saying to your brother, only five minutes before, that she thought to
+make a match between Edward and some Lord’s daughter or other, I forget
+who. So you may think what a blow it was to all her vanity and pride.
+She fell into violent hysterics immediately, with such screams as
+reached your brother’s ears, as he was sitting in his own dressing-room
+down stairs, thinking about writing a letter to his steward in the
+country. So up he flew directly, and a terrible scene took place, for
+Lucy was come to them by that time, little dreaming what was going on.
+Poor soul! I pity _her_. And I must say, I think she was used very
+hardly; for your sister scolded like any fury, and soon drove her into
+a fainting fit. Nancy, she fell upon her knees, and cried bitterly; and
+your brother, he walked about the room, and said he did not know what
+to do. Mrs. Dashwood declared they should not stay a minute longer in
+the house, and your brother was forced to go down upon _his_ knees too,
+to persuade her to let them stay till they had packed up their clothes.
+_Then_ she fell into hysterics again, and he was so frightened that he
+would send for Mr. Donavan, and Mr. Donavan found the house in all this
+uproar. The carriage was at the door ready to take my poor cousins
+away, and they were just stepping in as he came off; poor Lucy in such
+a condition, he says, she could hardly walk; and Nancy, she was almost
+as bad. I declare, I have no patience with your sister; and I hope,
+with all my heart, it will be a match in spite of her. Lord! what a
+taking poor Mr. Edward will be in when he hears of it! To have his love
+used so scornfully! for they say he is monstrous fond of her, as well
+he may. I should not wonder, if he was to be in the greatest
+passion!—and Mr. Donavan thinks just the same. He and I had a great
+deal of talk about it; and the best of all is, that he is gone back
+again to Harley Street, that he may be within call when Mrs. Ferrars is
+told of it, for she was sent for as soon as ever my cousins left the
+house, for your sister was sure _she_ would be in hysterics too; and so
+she may, for what I care. I have no pity for either of them. I have no
+notion of people’s making such a to-do about money and greatness. There
+is no reason on earth why Mr. Edward and Lucy should not marry; for I
+am sure Mrs. Ferrars may afford to do very well by her son, and though
+Lucy has next to nothing herself, she knows better than any body how to
+make the most of every thing; I dare say, if Mrs. Ferrars would only
+allow him five hundred a-year, she would make as good an appearance
+with it as any body else would with eight. Lord! how snug they might
+live in such another cottage as yours—or a little bigger—with two
+maids, and two men; and I believe I could help them to a housemaid, for
+my Betty has a sister out of place, that would fit them exactly.”
+
+Here Mrs. Jennings ceased, and as Elinor had had time enough to collect
+her thoughts, she was able to give such an answer, and make such
+observations, as the subject might naturally be supposed to produce.
+Happy to find that she was not suspected of any extraordinary interest
+in it; that Mrs. Jennings (as she had of late often hoped might be the
+case) had ceased to imagine her at all attached to Edward; and happy
+above all the rest, in the absence of Marianne, she felt very well able
+to speak of the affair without embarrassment, and to give her judgment,
+as she believed, with impartiality on the conduct of every one
+concerned in it.
+
+She could hardly determine what her own expectation of its event really
+was; though she earnestly tried to drive away the notion of its being
+possible to end otherwise at last, than in the marriage of Edward and
+Lucy. What Mrs. Ferrars would say and do, though there could not be a
+doubt of its nature, she was anxious to hear; and still more anxious to
+know how Edward would conduct himself. For _him_ she felt much
+compassion;—for Lucy very little—and it cost her some pains to procure
+that little;—for the rest of the party none at all.
+
+As Mrs. Jennings could talk on no other subject, Elinor soon saw the
+necessity of preparing Marianne for its discussion. No time was to be
+lost in undeceiving her, in making her acquainted with the real truth,
+and in endeavouring to bring her to hear it talked of by others,
+without betraying that she felt any uneasiness for her sister, or any
+resentment against Edward.
+
+Elinor’s office was a painful one.—She was going to remove what she
+really believed to be her sister’s chief consolation,—to give such
+particulars of Edward as she feared would ruin him for ever in her good
+opinion,-and to make Marianne, by a resemblance in their situations,
+which to _her_ fancy would seem strong, feel all her own disappointment
+over again. But unwelcome as such a task must be, it was necessary to
+be done, and Elinor therefore hastened to perform it.
+
+She was very far from wishing to dwell on her own feelings, or to
+represent herself as suffering much, any otherwise than as the
+self-command she had practised since her first knowledge of Edward’s
+engagement, might suggest a hint of what was practicable to Marianne.
+Her narration was clear and simple; and though it could not be given
+without emotion, it was not accompanied by violent agitation, nor
+impetuous grief. _That_ belonged rather to the hearer, for Marianne
+listened with horror, and cried excessively. Elinor was to be the
+comforter of others in her own distresses, no less than in theirs; and
+all the comfort that could be given by assurances of her own composure
+of mind, and a very earnest vindication of Edward from every charge but
+of imprudence, was readily offered.
+
+But Marianne for some time would give credit to neither. Edward seemed
+a second Willoughby; and acknowledging as Elinor did, that she _had_
+loved him most sincerely, could she feel less than herself! As for Lucy
+Steele, she considered her so totally unamiable, so absolutely
+incapable of attaching a sensible man, that she could not be persuaded
+at first to believe, and afterwards to pardon, any former affection of
+Edward for her. She would not even admit it to have been natural; and
+Elinor left her to be convinced that it was so, by that which only
+could convince her, a better knowledge of mankind.
+
+Her first communication had reached no farther than to state the fact
+of the engagement, and the length of time it had existed.—Marianne’s
+feelings had then broken in, and put an end to all regularity of
+detail; and for some time all that could be done was to soothe her
+distress, lessen her alarms, and combat her resentment. The first
+question on her side, which led to farther particulars, was,—
+
+“How long has this been known to you, Elinor? has he written to you?”
+
+“I have known it these four months. When Lucy first came to Barton Park
+last November, she told me in confidence of her engagement.”
+
+At these words, Marianne’s eyes expressed the astonishment which her
+lips could not utter. After a pause of wonder, she exclaimed—
+
+“Four months!—Have you known of this four months?”
+
+Elinor confirmed it.
+
+“What! while attending me in all my misery, has this been on your
+heart? And I have reproached you for being happy!”
+
+“It was not fit that you should then know how much I was the reverse!”
+
+“Four months!” cried Marianne again. “So calm! so cheerful! How have
+you been supported?”
+
+“By feeling that I was doing my duty.—My promise to Lucy, obliged me to
+be secret. I owed it to her, therefore, to avoid giving any hint of the
+truth; and I owed it to my family and friends, not to create in them a
+solicitude about me, which it could not be in my power to satisfy.”
+
+Marianne seemed much struck.
+
+“I have very often wished to undeceive yourself and my mother,” added
+Elinor; “and once or twice I have attempted it;—but without betraying
+my trust, I never could have convinced you.”
+
+“Four months! and yet you loved him!”
+
+“Yes. But I did not love only him; and while the comfort of others was
+dear to me, I was glad to spare them from knowing how much I felt. Now,
+I can think and speak of it with little emotion. I would not have you
+suffer on my account; for I assure you I no longer suffer materially
+myself. I have many things to support me. I am not conscious of having
+provoked the disappointment by any imprudence of my own, I have borne
+it as much as possible without spreading it farther. I acquit Edward of
+essential misconduct. I wish him very happy; and I am so sure of his
+always doing his duty, that though now he may harbour some regret, in
+the end he must become so. Lucy does not want sense, and that is the
+foundation on which every thing good may be built. And after all,
+Marianne, after all that is bewitching in the idea of a single and
+constant attachment, and all that can be said of one’s happiness
+depending entirely on any particular person, it is not meant—it is not
+fit—it is not possible that it should be so. Edward will marry Lucy; he
+will marry a woman superior in person and understanding to half her
+sex; and time and habit will teach him to forget that he ever thought
+another superior to _her_.”
+
+“If such is your way of thinking,” said Marianne, “if the loss of what
+is most valued is so easily to be made up by something else, your
+resolution, your self-command, are, perhaps, a little less to be
+wondered at.—They are brought more within my comprehension.”
+
+“I understand you. You do not suppose that I have ever felt much. For
+four months, Marianne, I have had all this hanging on my mind, without
+being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature; knowing that it
+would make you and my mother most unhappy whenever it were explained to
+you, yet unable to prepare you for it in the least. It was told me,—it
+was in a manner forced on me by the very person herself, whose prior
+engagement ruined all my prospects; and told me, as I thought, with
+triumph. This person’s suspicions, therefore, I have had to oppose, by
+endeavouring to appear indifferent where I have been most deeply
+interested; and it has not been only once; I have had her hopes and
+exultation to listen to again and again. I have known myself to be
+divided from Edward for ever, without hearing one circumstance that
+could make me less desire the connection. Nothing has proved him
+unworthy; nor has anything declared him indifferent to me.  I have had
+to contend against the unkindness of his sister, and the insolence of
+his mother; and have suffered the punishment of an attachment, without
+enjoying its advantages. And all this has been going on at a time,
+when, as you know too well, it has not been my only unhappiness. If you
+can think me capable of ever feeling, surely you may suppose that I
+have suffered _now_. The composure of mind with which I have brought
+myself at present to consider the matter, the consolation that I have
+been willing to admit, have been the effect of constant and painful
+exertion; they did not spring up of themselves; they did not occur to
+relieve my spirits at first. No, Marianne. _Then_, if I had not been
+bound to silence, perhaps nothing could have kept me entirely—not even
+what I owed to my dearest friends—from openly showing that I was _very_
+unhappy.”
+
+Marianne was quite subdued.
+
+“Oh! Elinor,” she cried, “you have made me hate myself for ever.—How
+barbarous have I been to you!—you, who have been my only comfort, who
+have borne with me in all my misery, who have seemed to be only
+suffering for me!—Is this my gratitude?—Is this the only return I can
+make you?—Because your merit cries out upon myself, I have been trying
+to do it away.”
+
+The tenderest caresses followed this confession. In such a frame of
+mind as she was now in, Elinor had no difficulty in obtaining from her
+whatever promise she required; and at her request, Marianne engaged
+never to speak of the affair to any one with the least appearance of
+bitterness; to meet Lucy without betraying the smallest increase of
+dislike to her; and even to see Edward himself, if chance should bring
+them together, without any diminution of her usual cordiality. These
+were great concessions; but where Marianne felt that she had injured,
+no reparation could be too much for her to make.
+
+She performed her promise of being discreet, to admiration.—She
+attended to all that Mrs. Jennings had to say upon the subject, with an
+unchanging complexion, dissented from her in nothing, and was heard
+three times to say, “Yes, ma’am.”—She listened to her praise of Lucy
+with only moving from one chair to another, and when Mrs. Jennings
+talked of Edward’s affection, it cost her only a spasm in her
+throat.—Such advances towards heroism in her sister, made Elinor feel
+equal to any thing herself.
+
+The next morning brought a farther trial of it, in a visit from their
+brother, who came with a most serious aspect to talk over the dreadful
+affair, and bring them news of his wife.
+
+“You have heard, I suppose,” said he with great solemnity, as soon as
+he was seated, “of the very shocking discovery that took place under
+our roof yesterday.”
+
+They all looked their assent; it seemed too awful a moment for speech.
+
+“Your sister,” he continued, “has suffered dreadfully. Mrs. Ferrars
+too—in short it has been a scene of such complicated distress—but I
+will hope that the storm may be weathered without our being any of us
+quite overcome. Poor Fanny! she was in hysterics all yesterday. But I
+would not alarm you too much. Donavan says there is nothing materially
+to be apprehended; her constitution is a good one, and her resolution
+equal to any thing. She has borne it all, with the fortitude of an
+angel! She says she never shall think well of anybody again; and one
+cannot wonder at it, after being so deceived!—meeting with such
+ingratitude, where so much kindness had been shown, so much confidence
+had been placed! It was quite out of the benevolence of her heart, that
+she had asked these young women to her house; merely because she
+thought they deserved some attention, were harmless, well-behaved
+girls, and would be pleasant companions; for otherwise we both wished
+very much to have invited you and Marianne to be with us, while your
+kind friend there, was attending her daughter. And now to be so
+rewarded! ‘I wish, with all my heart,’ says poor Fanny in her
+affectionate way, ‘that we had asked your sisters instead of them.’”
+
+Here he stopped to be thanked; which being done, he went on.
+
+“What poor Mrs. Ferrars suffered, when first Fanny broke it to her, is
+not to be described. While she with the truest affection had been
+planning a most eligible connection for him, was it to be supposed that
+he could be all the time secretly engaged to another person!—such a
+suspicion could never have entered her head! If she suspected _any_
+prepossession elsewhere, it could not be in _that_ quarter. ‘_There_,
+to be sure,’ said she, ‘I might have thought myself safe.’ She was
+quite in an agony. We consulted together, however, as to what should be
+done, and at last she determined to send for Edward. He came. But I am
+sorry to relate what ensued. All that Mrs. Ferrars could say to make
+him put an end to the engagement, assisted too as you may well suppose
+by my arguments, and Fanny’s entreaties, was of no avail. Duty,
+affection, every thing was disregarded. I never thought Edward so
+stubborn, so unfeeling before. His mother explained to him her liberal
+designs, in case of his marrying Miss Morton; told him she would settle
+on him the Norfolk estate, which, clear of land-tax, brings in a good
+thousand a-year; offered even, when matters grew desperate, to make it
+twelve hundred; and in opposition to this, if he still persisted in
+this low connection, represented to him the certain penury that must
+attend the match. His own two thousand pounds she protested should be
+his all; she would never see him again; and so far would she be from
+affording him the smallest assistance, that if he were to enter into
+any profession with a view of better support, she would do all in her
+power to prevent him advancing in it.”
+
+Here Marianne, in an ecstasy of indignation, clapped her hands
+together, and cried, “Gracious God! can this be possible!”
+
+“Well may you wonder, Marianne,” replied her brother, “at the obstinacy
+which could resist such arguments as these. Your exclamation is very
+natural.”
+
+Marianne was going to retort, but she remembered her promises, and
+forbore.
+
+“All this, however,” he continued, “was urged in vain. Edward said very
+little; but what he did say, was in the most determined manner. Nothing
+should prevail on him to give up his engagement. He would stand to it,
+cost him what it might.”
+
+“Then,” cried Mrs. Jennings with blunt sincerity, no longer able to be
+silent, “he has acted like an honest man! I beg your pardon, Mr.
+Dashwood, but if he had done otherwise, I should have thought him a
+rascal. I have some little concern in the business, as well as
+yourself, for Lucy Steele is my cousin, and I believe there is not a
+better kind of girl in the world, nor one who more deserves a good
+husband.”
+
+John Dashwood was greatly astonished; but his nature was calm, not open
+to provocation, and he never wished to offend anybody, especially
+anybody of good fortune. He therefore replied, without any resentment,
+
+“I would by no means speak disrespectfully of any relation of yours,
+madam. Miss Lucy Steele is, I dare say, a very deserving young woman,
+but in the present case you know, the connection must be impossible.
+And to have entered into a secret engagement with a young man under her
+uncle’s care, the son of a woman especially of such very large fortune
+as Mrs. Ferrars, is perhaps, altogether a little extraordinary. In
+short, I do not mean to reflect upon the behaviour of any person whom
+you have a regard for, Mrs. Jennings. We all wish her extremely happy;
+and Mrs. Ferrars’s conduct throughout the whole, has been such as every
+conscientious, good mother, in like circumstances, would adopt. It has
+been dignified and liberal. Edward has drawn his own lot, and I fear it
+will be a bad one.”
+
+Marianne sighed out her similar apprehension; and Elinor’s heart wrung
+for the feelings of Edward, while braving his mother’s threats, for a
+woman who could not reward him.
+
+“Well, sir,” said Mrs. Jennings, “and how did it end?”
+
+“I am sorry to say, ma’am, in a most unhappy rupture:—Edward is
+dismissed for ever from his mother’s notice. He left her house
+yesterday, but where he is gone, or whether he is still in town, I do
+not know; for _we_ of course can make no inquiry.”
+
+“Poor young man!—and what is to become of him?”
+
+“What, indeed, ma’am! It is a melancholy consideration. Born to the
+prospect of such affluence! I cannot conceive a situation more
+deplorable. The interest of two thousand pounds—how can a man live on
+it?—and when to that is added the recollection, that he might, but for
+his own folly, within three months have been in the receipt of two
+thousand, five hundred a-year (for Miss Morton has thirty thousand
+pounds,) I cannot picture to myself a more wretched condition. We must
+all feel for him; and the more so, because it is totally out of our
+power to assist him.”
+
+“Poor young man!” cried Mrs. Jennings, “I am sure he should be very
+welcome to bed and board at my house; and so I would tell him if I
+could see him. It is not fit that he should be living about at his own
+charge now, at lodgings and taverns.”
+
+Elinor’s heart thanked her for such kindness towards Edward, though she
+could not forbear smiling at the form of it.
+
+“If he would only have done as well by himself,” said John Dashwood,
+“as all his friends were disposed to do by him, he might now have been
+in his proper situation, and would have wanted for nothing. But as it
+is, it must be out of anybody’s power to assist him. And there is one
+thing more preparing against him, which must be worse than all—his
+mother has determined, with a very natural kind of spirit, to settle
+_that_ estate upon Robert immediately, which might have been Edward’s,
+on proper conditions. I left her this morning with her lawyer, talking
+over the business.”
+
+“Well!” said Mrs. Jennings, “that is _her_ revenge. Everybody has a way
+of their own. But I don’t think mine would be, to make one son
+independent, because another had plagued me.”
+
+Marianne got up and walked about the room.
+
+“Can anything be more galling to the spirit of a man,” continued John,
+“than to see his younger brother in possession of an estate which might
+have been his own? Poor Edward! I feel for him sincerely.”
+
+A few minutes more spent in the same kind of effusion, concluded his
+visit; and with repeated assurances to his sisters that he really
+believed there was no material danger in Fanny’s indisposition, and
+that they need not therefore be very uneasy about it, he went away;
+leaving the three ladies unanimous in their sentiments on the present
+occasion, as far at least as it regarded Mrs. Ferrars’s conduct, the
+Dashwoods’, and Edward’s.
+
+Marianne’s indignation burst forth as soon as he quitted the room; and
+as her vehemence made reserve impossible in Elinor, and unnecessary in
+Mrs. Jennings, they all joined in a very spirited critique upon the
+party.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+
+Mrs. Jennings was very warm in her praise of Edward’s conduct, but only
+Elinor and Marianne understood its true merit. _They_ only knew how
+little he had had to tempt him to be disobedient, and how small was the
+consolation, beyond the consciousness of doing right, that could remain
+to him in the loss of friends and fortune. Elinor gloried in his
+integrity; and Marianne forgave all his offences in compassion for his
+punishment. But though confidence between them was, by this public
+discovery, restored to its proper state, it was not a subject on which
+either of them were fond of dwelling when alone. Elinor avoided it upon
+principle, as tending to fix still more upon her thoughts, by the too
+warm, too positive assurances of Marianne, that belief of Edward’s
+continued affection for herself which she rather wished to do away; and
+Marianne’s courage soon failed her, in trying to converse upon a topic
+which always left her more dissatisfied with herself than ever, by the
+comparison it necessarily produced between Elinor’s conduct and her
+own.
+
+She felt all the force of that comparison; but not as her sister had
+hoped, to urge her to exertion now; she felt it with all the pain of
+continual self-reproach, regretted most bitterly that she had never
+exerted herself before; but it brought only the torture of penitence,
+without the hope of amendment. Her mind was so much weakened that she
+still fancied present exertion impossible, and therefore it only
+dispirited her more.
+
+Nothing new was heard by them, for a day or two afterwards, of affairs
+in Harley Street, or Bartlett’s Buildings. But though so much of the
+matter was known to them already, that Mrs. Jennings might have had
+enough to do in spreading that knowledge farther, without seeking after
+more, she had resolved from the first to pay a visit of comfort and
+inquiry to her cousins as soon as she could; and nothing but the
+hindrance of more visitors than usual, had prevented her going to them
+within that time.
+
+The third day succeeding their knowledge of the particulars, was so
+fine, so beautiful a Sunday as to draw many to Kensington Gardens,
+though it was only the second week in March. Mrs. Jennings and Elinor
+were of the number; but Marianne, who knew that the Willoughbys were
+again in town, and had a constant dread of meeting them, chose rather
+to stay at home, than venture into so public a place.
+
+An intimate acquaintance of Mrs. Jennings joined them soon after they
+entered the Gardens, and Elinor was not sorry that by her continuing
+with them, and engaging all Mrs. Jennings’s conversation, she was
+herself left to quiet reflection. She saw nothing of the Willoughbys,
+nothing of Edward, and for some time nothing of anybody who could by
+any chance whether grave or gay, be interesting to her. But at last she
+found herself with some surprise, accosted by Miss Steele, who, though
+looking rather shy, expressed great satisfaction in meeting them, and
+on receiving encouragement from the particular kindness of Mrs.
+Jennings, left her own party for a short time, to join their’s. Mrs.
+Jennings immediately whispered to Elinor,
+
+“Get it all out of her, my dear. She will tell you any thing if you
+ask. You see I cannot leave Mrs. Clarke.”
+
+It was lucky, however, for Mrs. Jennings’s curiosity and Elinor’s too,
+that she would tell any thing _without_ being asked; for nothing would
+otherwise have been learnt.
+
+“I am so glad to meet you;” said Miss Steele, taking her familiarly by
+the arm—“for I wanted to see you of all things in the world.” And then
+lowering her voice, “I suppose Mrs. Jennings has heard all about it. Is
+she angry?”
+
+“Not at all, I believe, with you.”
+
+“That is a good thing. And Lady Middleton, is _she_ angry?”
+
+“I cannot suppose it possible that she should be.”
+
+“I am monstrous glad of it. Good gracious! I have had such a time of
+it! I never saw Lucy in such a rage in my life. She vowed at first she
+would never trim me up a new bonnet, nor do any thing else for me
+again, so long as she lived; but now she is quite come to, and we are
+as good friends as ever. Look, she made me this bow to my hat, and put
+in the feather last night. There now, _you_ are going to laugh at me
+too. But why should not I wear pink ribbons? I do not care if it _is_
+the Doctor’s favourite colour. I am sure, for my part, I should never
+have known he _did_ like it better than any other colour, if he had not
+happened to say so. My cousins have been so plaguing me! I declare
+sometimes I do not know which way to look before them.”
+
+She had wandered away to a subject on which Elinor had nothing to say,
+and therefore soon judged it expedient to find her way back again to
+the first.
+
+“Well, but Miss Dashwood,” speaking triumphantly, “people may say what
+they chuse about Mr. Ferrars’s declaring he would not have Lucy, for it
+is no such thing I can tell you; and it is quite a shame for such
+ill-natured reports to be spread abroad. Whatever Lucy might think
+about it herself, you know, it was no business of other people to set
+it down for certain.”
+
+“I never heard any thing of the kind hinted at before, I assure you,”
+said Elinor.
+
+“Oh, did not you? But it _was_ said, I know, very well, and by more
+than one; for Miss Godby told Miss Sparks, that nobody in their senses
+could expect Mr. Ferrars to give up a woman like Miss Morton, with
+thirty thousand pounds to her fortune, for Lucy Steele that had nothing
+at all; and I had it from Miss Sparks myself. And besides that, my
+cousin Richard said himself, that when it came to the point he was
+afraid Mr. Ferrars would be off; and when Edward did not come near us
+for three days, I could not tell what to think myself; and I believe in
+my heart Lucy gave it up all for lost; for we came away from your
+brother’s Wednesday, and we saw nothing of him not all Thursday,
+Friday, and Saturday, and did not know what was become of him. Once
+Lucy thought to write to him, but then her spirits rose against that.
+However this morning he came just as we came home from church; and then
+it all came out, how he had been sent for Wednesday to Harley Street,
+and been talked to by his mother and all of them, and how he had
+declared before them all that he loved nobody but Lucy, and nobody but
+Lucy would he have. And how he had been so worried by what passed, that
+as soon as he had went away from his mother’s house, he had got upon
+his horse, and rid into the country, some where or other; and how he
+had stayed about at an inn all Thursday and Friday, on purpose to get
+the better of it. And after thinking it all over and over again, he
+said, it seemed to him as if, now he had no fortune, and no nothing at
+all, it would be quite unkind to keep her on to the engagement, because
+it must be for her loss, for he had nothing but two thousand pounds,
+and no hope of any thing else; and if he was to go into orders, as he
+had some thoughts, he could get nothing but a curacy, and how was they
+to live upon that?—He could not bear to think of her doing no better,
+and so he begged, if she had the least mind for it, to put an end to
+the matter directly, and leave him shift for himself. I heard him say
+all this as plain as could possibly be. And it was entirely for _her_
+sake, and upon _her_ account, that he said a word about being off, and
+not upon his own. I will take my oath he never dropt a syllable of
+being tired of her, or of wishing to marry Miss Morton, or any thing
+like it. But, to be sure, Lucy would not give ear to such kind of
+talking; so she told him directly (with a great deal about sweet and
+love, you know, and all that—Oh, la! one can’t repeat such kind of
+things you know)—she told him directly, she had not the least mind in
+the world to be off, for she could live with him upon a trifle, and how
+little so ever he might have, she should be very glad to have it all,
+you know, or something of the kind. So then he was monstrous happy, and
+talked on some time about what they should do, and they agreed he
+should take orders directly, and they must wait to be married till he
+got a living. And just then I could not hear any more, for my cousin
+called from below to tell me Mrs. Richardson was come in her coach, and
+would take one of us to Kensington Gardens; so I was forced to go into
+the room and interrupt them, to ask Lucy if she would like to go, but
+she did not care to leave Edward; so I just run up stairs and put on a
+pair of silk stockings and came off with the Richardsons.”
+
+“I do not understand what you mean by interrupting them,” said Elinor;
+“you were all in the same room together, were not you?”
+
+“No, indeed, not us. La! Miss Dashwood, do you think people make love
+when any body else is by? Oh, for shame!—To be sure you must know
+better than that. (Laughing affectedly.)—No, no; they were shut up in
+the drawing-room together, and all I heard was only by listening at the
+door.”
+
+“How!” cried Elinor; “have you been repeating to me what you only
+learnt yourself by listening at the door? I am sorry I did not know it
+before; for I certainly would not have suffered you to give me
+particulars of a conversation which you ought not to have known
+yourself. How could you behave so unfairly by your sister?”
+
+“Oh, la! there is nothing in _that_. I only stood at the door, and
+heard what I could. And I am sure Lucy would have done just the same by
+me; for a year or two back, when Martha Sharpe and I had so many
+secrets together, she never made any bones of hiding in a closet, or
+behind a chimney-board, on purpose to hear what we said.”
+
+Elinor tried to talk of something else; but Miss Steele could not be
+kept beyond a couple of minutes, from what was uppermost in her mind.
+
+“Edward talks of going to Oxford soon,” said she; “but now he is
+lodging at No.—, Pall Mall. What an ill-natured woman his mother is,
+an’t she? And your brother and sister were not very kind! However, I
+shan’t say anything against them to _you;_ and to be sure they did send
+us home in their own chariot, which was more than I looked for. And for
+my part, I was all in a fright for fear your sister should ask us for
+the huswifes she had gave us a day or two before; but, however, nothing
+was said about them, and I took care to keep mine out of sight. Edward
+have got some business at Oxford, he says; so he must go there for a
+time; and after _that_, as soon as he can light upon a Bishop, he will
+be ordained. I wonder what curacy he will get! Good gracious! (giggling
+as she spoke) I’d lay my life I know what my cousins will say, when
+they hear of it. They will tell me I should write to the Doctor, to get
+Edward the curacy of his new living. I know they will; but I am sure I
+would not do such a thing for all the world. ‘La!’ I shall say
+directly, ‘I wonder how you could think of such a thing? _I_ write to
+the Doctor, indeed!’”
+
+“Well,” said Elinor, “it is a comfort to be prepared against the worst.
+You have got your answer ready.”
+
+Miss Steele was going to reply on the same subject, but the approach of
+her own party made another more necessary.
+
+“Oh, la! here come the Richardsons. I had a vast deal more to say to
+you, but I must not stay away from them not any longer. I assure you
+they are very genteel people. He makes a monstrous deal of money, and
+they keep their own coach. I have not time to speak to Mrs. Jennings
+about it myself, but pray tell her I am quite happy to hear she is not
+in anger against us, and Lady Middleton the same; and if anything
+should happen to take you and your sister away, and Mrs. Jennings
+should want company, I am sure we should be very glad to come and stay
+with her for as long a time as she likes. I suppose Lady Middleton
+won’t ask us any more this bout. Good-by; I am sorry Miss Marianne was
+not here. Remember me kindly to her. La! if you have not got your
+spotted muslin on!—I wonder you was not afraid of its being torn.”
+
+Such was her parting concern; for after this, she had time only to pay
+her farewell compliments to Mrs. Jennings, before her company was
+claimed by Mrs. Richardson; and Elinor was left in possession of
+knowledge which might feed her powers of reflection some time, though
+she had learnt very little more than what had been already foreseen and
+foreplanned in her own mind. Edward’s marriage with Lucy was as firmly
+determined on, and the time of its taking place remained as absolutely
+uncertain, as she had concluded it would be;—every thing depended,
+exactly after her expectation, on his getting that preferment, of
+which, at present, there seemed not the smallest chance.
+
+As soon as they returned to the carriage, Mrs. Jennings was eager for
+information; but as Elinor wished to spread as little as possible
+intelligence that had in the first place been so unfairly obtained, she
+confined herself to the brief repetition of such simple particulars, as
+she felt assured that Lucy, for the sake of her own consequence, would
+choose to have known. The continuance of their engagement, and the
+means that were able to be taken for promoting its end, was all her
+communication; and this produced from Mrs. Jennings the following
+natural remark.
+
+“Wait for his having a living!—ay, we all know how _that_ will
+end:—they will wait a twelvemonth, and finding no good comes of it,
+will set down upon a curacy of fifty pounds a-year, with the interest
+of his two thousand pounds, and what little matter Mr. Steele and Mr.
+Pratt can give her. Then they will have a child every year! and Lord
+help ’em! how poor they will be! I must see what I can give them
+towards furnishing their house. Two maids and two men, indeed! as I
+talked of t’ other day. No, no, they must get a stout girl of all
+works. Betty’s sister would never do for them _now_.”
+
+The next morning brought Elinor a letter by the two-penny post from
+Lucy herself. It was as follows:
+
+“Bartlett’s Building, March.
+
+
+“I hope my dear Miss Dashwood will excuse the liberty I take of writing
+to her; but I know your friendship for me will make you pleased to hear
+such a good account of myself and my dear Edward, after all the
+troubles we have went through lately, therefore will make no more
+apologies, but proceed to say that, thank God! though we have suffered
+dreadfully, we are both quite well now, and as happy as we must always
+be in one another’s love. We have had great trials, and great
+persecutions, but however, at the same time, gratefully acknowledge
+many friends, yourself not the least among them, whose great kindness I
+shall always thankfully remember, as will Edward too, who I have told
+of it. I am sure you will be glad to hear, as likewise dear Mrs.
+Jennings, I spent two happy hours with him yesterday afternoon, he
+would not hear of our parting, though earnestly did I, as I thought my
+duty required, urge him to it for prudence sake, and would have parted
+for ever on the spot, would he consent to it; but he said it should
+never be, he did not regard his mother’s anger, while he could have my
+affections; our prospects are not very bright, to be sure, but we must
+wait, and hope for the best; he will be ordained shortly; and should it
+ever be in your power to recommend him to any body that has a living to
+bestow, am very sure you will not forget us, and dear Mrs. Jennings
+too, trust she will speak a good word for us to Sir John, or Mr.
+Palmer, or any friend that may be able to assist us.—Poor Anne was much
+to blame for what she did, but she did it for the best, so I say
+nothing; hope Mrs. Jennings won’t think it too much trouble to give us
+a call, should she come this way any morning, ’twould be a great
+kindness, and my cousins would be proud to know her.—My paper reminds
+me to conclude; and begging to be most gratefully and respectfully
+remembered to her, and to Sir John, and Lady Middleton, and the dear
+children, when you chance to see them, and love to Miss Marianne,
+
+
+“I am, &c.”
+
+
+As soon as Elinor had finished it, she performed what she concluded to
+be its writer’s real design, by placing it in the hands of Mrs.
+Jennings, who read it aloud with many comments of satisfaction and
+praise.
+
+“Very well indeed!—how prettily she writes!—aye, that was quite proper
+to let him be off if he would. That was just like Lucy. Poor soul! I
+wish I _could_ get him a living, with all my heart. She calls me dear
+Mrs. Jennings, you see. She is a good-hearted girl as ever lived. Very
+well upon my word. That sentence is very prettily turned. Yes, yes, I
+will go and see her, sure enough. How attentive she is, to think of
+every body!—Thank you, my dear, for showing it me. It is as pretty a
+letter as ever I saw, and does Lucy’s head and heart great credit.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+
+The Miss Dashwoods had now been rather more than two months in town,
+and Marianne’s impatience to be gone increased every day. She sighed
+for the air, the liberty, the quiet of the country; and fancied that if
+any place could give her ease, Barton must do it. Elinor was hardly
+less anxious than herself for their removal, and only so much less bent
+on its being effected immediately, as that she was conscious of the
+difficulties of so long a journey, which Marianne could not be brought
+to acknowledge. She began, however, seriously to turn her thoughts
+towards its accomplishment, and had already mentioned their wishes to
+their kind hostess, who resisted them with all the eloquence of her
+good-will, when a plan was suggested, which, though detaining them from
+home yet a few weeks longer, appeared to Elinor altogether much more
+eligible than any other. The Palmers were to remove to Cleveland about
+the end of March, for the Easter holidays; and Mrs. Jennings, with both
+her friends, received a very warm invitation from Charlotte to go with
+them. This would not, in itself, have been sufficient for the delicacy
+of Miss Dashwood;—but it was inforced with so much real politeness by
+Mr. Palmer himself, as, joined to the very great amendment of his
+manners towards them since her sister had been known to be unhappy,
+induced her to accept it with pleasure.
+
+When she told Marianne what she had done, however, her first reply was
+not very auspicious.
+
+“Cleveland!”—she cried, with great agitation. “No, I cannot go to
+Cleveland.”
+
+“You forget,” said Elinor gently, “that its situation is not—that it is
+not in the neighbourhood of—”
+
+“But it is in Somersetshire.—I cannot go into Somersetshire.—There,
+where I looked forward to going...No, Elinor, you cannot expect me to
+go there.”
+
+Elinor would not argue upon the propriety of overcoming such
+feelings;—she only endeavoured to counteract them by working on
+others;—represented it, therefore, as a measure which would fix the
+time of her returning to that dear mother, whom she so much wished to
+see, in a more eligible, more comfortable manner, than any other plan
+could do, and perhaps without any greater delay. From Cleveland, which
+was within a few miles of Bristol, the distance to Barton was not
+beyond one day, though a long day’s journey; and their mother’s servant
+might easily come there to attend them down; and as there could be no
+occasion of their staying above a week at Cleveland, they might now be
+at home in little more than three weeks’ time. As Marianne’s affection
+for her mother was sincere, it must triumph with little difficulty,
+over the imaginary evils she had started.
+
+Mrs. Jennings was so far from being weary of her guests, that she
+pressed them very earnestly to return with her again from Cleveland.
+Elinor was grateful for the attention, but it could not alter her
+design; and their mother’s concurrence being readily gained, every
+thing relative to their return was arranged as far as it could be;—and
+Marianne found some relief in drawing up a statement of the hours that
+were yet to divide her from Barton.
+
+“Ah! Colonel, I do not know what you and I shall do without the Miss
+Dashwoods;”—was Mrs. Jennings’s address to him when he first called on
+her, after their leaving her was settled—“for they are quite resolved
+upon going home from the Palmers;—and how forlorn we shall be, when I
+come back!—Lord! we shall sit and gape at one another as dull as two
+cats.”
+
+Perhaps Mrs. Jennings was in hopes, by this vigorous sketch of their
+future ennui, to provoke him to make that offer, which might give
+himself an escape from it; and if so, she had soon afterwards good
+reason to think her object gained; for, on Elinor’s moving to the
+window to take more expeditiously the dimensions of a print, which she
+was going to copy for her friend, he followed her to it with a look of
+particular meaning, and conversed with her there for several minutes.
+The effect of his discourse on the lady too, could not escape her
+observation, for though she was too honorable to listen, and had even
+changed her seat, on purpose that she might _not_ hear, to one close by
+the piano forte on which Marianne was playing, she could not keep
+herself from seeing that Elinor changed colour, attended with
+agitation, and was too intent on what he said to pursue her employment.
+Still farther in confirmation of her hopes, in the interval of
+Marianne’s turning from one lesson to another, some words of the
+Colonel’s inevitably reached her ear, in which he seemed to be
+apologising for the badness of his house. This set the matter beyond a
+doubt. She wondered, indeed, at his thinking it necessary to do so; but
+supposed it to be the proper etiquette. What Elinor said in reply she
+could not distinguish, but judged from the motion of her lips, that she
+did not think _that_ any material objection; and Mrs. Jennings
+commended her in her heart for being so honest. They then talked on for
+a few minutes longer without her catching a syllable, when another
+lucky stop in Marianne’s performance brought her these words in the
+Colonel’s calm voice,—
+
+“I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.”
+
+Astonished and shocked at so unlover-like a speech, she was almost
+ready to cry out, “Lord! what should hinder it?”—but checking her
+desire, confined herself to this silent ejaculation.
+
+“This is very strange!—sure he need not wait to be older.”
+
+This delay on the Colonel’s side, however, did not seem to offend or
+mortify his fair companion in the least, for on their breaking up the
+conference soon afterwards, and moving different ways, Mrs. Jennings
+very plainly heard Elinor say, and with a voice which showed her to
+feel what she said,
+
+“I shall always think myself very much obliged to you.”
+
+Mrs. Jennings was delighted with her gratitude, and only wondered that
+after hearing such a sentence, the Colonel should be able to take leave
+of them, as he immediately did, with the utmost _sang-froid_, and go
+away without making her any reply! She had not thought her old friend
+could have made so indifferent a suitor.
+
+What had really passed between them was to this effect.
+
+“I have heard,” said he, with great compassion, “of the injustice your
+friend Mr. Ferrars has suffered from his family; for if I understand
+the matter right, he has been entirely cast off by them for persevering
+in his engagement with a very deserving young woman. Have I been
+rightly informed? Is it so?;”
+
+Elinor told him that it was.
+
+“The cruelty, the impolitic cruelty,” he replied, with great feeling,
+“of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young people long attached
+to each other, is terrible. Mrs. Ferrars does not know what she may be
+doing—what she may drive her son to. I have seen Mr. Ferrars two or
+three times in Harley Street, and am much pleased with him. He is not a
+young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted in a short time,
+but I have seen enough of him to wish him well for his own sake, and as
+a friend of yours, I wish it still more. I understand that he intends
+to take orders. Will you be so good as to tell him that the living of
+Delaford, now just vacant, as I am informed by this day’s post, is his,
+if he think it worth his acceptance; but _that_, perhaps, so
+unfortunately circumstanced as he is now, it may be nonsense to appear
+to doubt; I only wish it were more valuable. It is a rectory, but a
+small one; the late incumbent, I believe, did not make more than 200£
+per annum, and though it is certainly capable of improvement, I fear,
+not to such an amount as to afford him a very comfortable income. Such
+as it is, however, my pleasure in presenting it to him, will be very
+great. Pray assure him of it.”
+
+Elinor’s astonishment at this commission could hardly have been
+greater, had the Colonel been really making her an offer of his hand.
+The preferment, which only two days before she had considered as
+hopeless for Edward, was already provided to enable him to marry; and
+_she_, of all people in the world, was fixed on to bestow it! Her
+emotion was such as Mrs. Jennings had attributed to a very different
+cause; but whatever minor feelings less pure, less pleasing, might have
+a share in that emotion, her esteem for the general benevolence, and
+her gratitude for the particular friendship, which together prompted
+Colonel Brandon to this act, were strongly felt, and warmly expressed.
+She thanked him for it with all her heart, spoke of Edward’s principles
+and disposition with that praise which she knew them to deserve; and
+promised to undertake the commission with pleasure, if it were really
+his wish to put off so agreeable an office to another. But at the same
+time, she could not help thinking that no one could so well perform it
+as himself. It was an office in short, from which, unwilling to give
+Edward the pain of receiving an obligation from _her_, she would have
+been very glad to be spared herself; but Colonel Brandon, on motives of
+equal delicacy, declining it likewise, still seemed so desirous of its
+being given through her means, that she would not on any account make
+farther opposition. Edward, she believed, was still in town, and
+fortunately she had heard his address from Miss Steele. She could
+undertake therefore to inform him of it, in the course of the day.
+After this had been settled, Colonel Brandon began to talk of his own
+advantage in securing so respectable and agreeable a neighbour, and
+_then_ it was that he mentioned with regret, that the house was small
+and indifferent; an evil which Elinor, as Mrs. Jennings had supposed
+her to do, made very light of, at least as far as regarded its size.
+
+“The smallness of the house,” said she, “I cannot imagine any
+inconvenience to them, for it will be in proportion to their family and
+income.”
+
+By which the Colonel was surprised to find that _she_ was considering
+Mr. Ferrars’s marriage as the certain consequence of the presentation;
+for he did not suppose it possible that Delaford living could supply
+such an income, as anybody in his style of life would venture to settle
+on, and he said so.
+
+“This little rectory _can_ do no more than make Mr. Ferrars comfortable
+as a bachelor; it cannot enable him to marry. I am sorry to say that my
+patronage ends with this; and my interest is hardly more extensive. If,
+however, by an unforeseen chance it should be in my power to serve him
+farther, I must think very differently of him from what I now do, if I
+am not as ready to be useful to him then as I sincerely wish I could be
+at present. What I am now doing indeed, seems nothing at all, since it
+can advance him so little towards what must be his principal, his only
+object of happiness. His marriage must still be a distant good; at
+least, I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.”
+
+Such was the sentence which, when misunderstood, so justly offended the
+delicate feelings of Mrs. Jennings; but after this narration of what
+really passed between Colonel Brandon and Elinor, while they stood at
+the window, the gratitude expressed by the latter on their parting, may
+perhaps appear in general, not less reasonably excited, nor less
+properly worded than if it had arisen from an offer of marriage.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+
+
+“Well, Miss Dashwood,” said Mrs. Jennings, sagaciously smiling, as soon
+as the gentleman had withdrawn, “I do not ask you what the Colonel has
+been saying to you; for though, upon my honour, I _tried_ to keep out
+of hearing, I could not help catching enough to understand his
+business. And I assure you I never was better pleased in my life, and I
+wish you joy of it with all my heart.”
+
+“Thank you, ma’am,” said Elinor. “It _is_ a matter of great joy to me;
+and I feel the goodness of Colonel Brandon most sensibly. There are not
+many men who would act as he has done. Few people who have so
+compassionate a heart! I never was more astonished in my life.”
+
+“Lord! my dear, you are very modest. I an’t the least astonished at it
+in the world, for I have often thought of late, there was nothing more
+likely to happen.”
+
+“You judged from your knowledge of the Colonel’s general benevolence;
+but at least you could not foresee that the opportunity would so very
+soon occur.”
+
+“Opportunity!” repeated Mrs. Jennings—“Oh! as to that, when a man has
+once made up his mind to such a thing, somehow or other he will soon
+find an opportunity. Well, my dear, I wish you joy of it again and
+again; and if ever there was a happy couple in the world, I think I
+shall soon know where to look for them.”
+
+“You mean to go to Delaford after them I suppose,” said Elinor, with a
+faint smile.
+
+“Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed. And as to the house being a bad one,
+I do not know what the Colonel would be at, for it is as good a one as
+ever I saw.”
+
+“He spoke of its being out of repair.”
+
+“Well, and whose fault is that? why don’t he repair it?—who should do
+it but himself?”
+
+They were interrupted by the servant’s coming in to announce the
+carriage being at the door; and Mrs. Jennings immediately preparing to
+go, said,—
+
+“Well, my dear, I must be gone before I have had half my talk out. But,
+however, we may have it all over in the evening; for we shall be quite
+alone. I do not ask you to go with me, for I dare say your mind is too
+full of the matter to care for company; and besides, you must long to
+tell your sister all about it.”
+
+Marianne had left the room before the conversation began.
+
+“Certainly, ma’am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall not mention
+it at present to any body else.”
+
+“Oh! very well,” said Mrs. Jennings rather disappointed. “Then you
+would not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of going as far as
+Holborn to-day.”
+
+“No, ma’am, not even Lucy if you please. One day’s delay will not be
+very material; and till I have written to Mr. Ferrars, I think it ought
+not to be mentioned to any body else. I shall do _that_ directly. It is
+of importance that no time should be lost with him, for he will of
+course have much to do relative to his ordination.”
+
+This speech at first puzzled Mrs. Jennings exceedingly. Why Mr. Ferrars
+was to have been written to about it in such a hurry, she could not
+immediately comprehend. A few moments’ reflection, however, produced a
+very happy idea, and she exclaimed;—
+
+“Oh, ho!—I understand you. Mr. Ferrars is to be the man. Well, so much
+the better for him. Ay, to be sure, he must be ordained in readiness;
+and I am very glad to find things are so forward between you. But, my
+dear, is not this rather out of character? Should not the Colonel write
+himself?—sure, he is the proper person.”
+
+Elinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings’s
+speech, neither did she think it worth inquiring into; and therefore
+only replied to its conclusion.
+
+“Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather wished any one to
+announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself.”
+
+“And so _you_ are forced to do it. Well _that_ is an odd kind of
+delicacy! However, I will not disturb you (seeing her preparing to
+write.) You know your own concerns best. So goodby, my dear. I have not
+heard of any thing to please me so well since Charlotte was brought to
+bed.”
+
+And away she went; but returning again in a moment,
+
+“I have just been thinking of Betty’s sister, my dear. I should be very
+glad to get her so good a mistress. But whether she would do for a
+lady’s maid, I am sure I can’t tell. She is an excellent housemaid, and
+works very well at her needle. However, you will think of all that at
+your leisure.”
+
+“Certainly, ma’am,” replied Elinor, not hearing much of what she said,
+and more anxious to be alone, than to be mistress of the subject.
+
+How she should begin—how she should express herself in her note to
+Edward, was now all her concern. The particular circumstances between
+them made a difficulty of that which to any other person would have
+been the easiest thing in the world; but she equally feared to say too
+much or too little, and sat deliberating over her paper, with the pen
+in her hand, till broken in on by the entrance of Edward himself.
+
+He had met Mrs. Jennings at the door in her way to the carriage, as he
+came to leave his farewell card; and she, after apologising for not
+returning herself, had obliged him to enter, by saying that Miss
+Dashwood was above, and wanted to speak with him on very particular
+business.
+
+Elinor had just been congratulating herself, in the midst of her
+perplexity, that however difficult it might be to express herself
+properly by letter, it was at least preferable to giving the
+information by word of mouth, when her visitor entered, to force her
+upon this greatest exertion of all. Her astonishment and confusion were
+very great on his so sudden appearance. She had not seen him before
+since his engagement became public, and therefore not since his knowing
+her to be acquainted with it; which, with the consciousness of what she
+had been thinking of, and what she had to tell him, made her feel
+particularly uncomfortable for some minutes. He too was much
+distressed; and they sat down together in a most promising state of
+embarrassment.—Whether he had asked her pardon for his intrusion on
+first coming into the room, he could not recollect; but determining to
+be on the safe side, he made his apology in form as soon as he could
+say any thing, after taking a chair.
+
+“Mrs. Jennings told me,” said he, “that you wished to speak with me, at
+least I understood her so—or I certainly should not have intruded on
+you in such a manner; though at the same time, I should have been
+extremely sorry to leave London without seeing you and your sister;
+especially as it will most likely be some time—it is not probable that
+I should soon have the pleasure of meeting you again. I go to Oxford
+tomorrow.”
+
+“You would not have gone, however,” said Elinor, recovering herself,
+and determined to get over what she so much dreaded as soon as
+possible, “without receiving our good wishes, even if we had not been
+able to give them in person. Mrs. Jennings was quite right in what she
+said. I have something of consequence to inform you of, which I was on
+the point of communicating by paper. I am charged with a most agreeable
+office (breathing rather faster than usual as she spoke.) Colonel
+Brandon, who was here only ten minutes ago, has desired me to say, that
+understanding you mean to take orders, he has great pleasure in
+offering you the living of Delaford now just vacant, and only wishes it
+were more valuable. Allow me to congratulate you on having so
+respectable and well-judging a friend, and to join in his wish that the
+living—it is about two hundred a-year—were much more considerable, and
+such as might better enable you to—as might be more than a temporary
+accommodation to yourself—such, in short, as might establish all your
+views of happiness.”
+
+What Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it cannot be expected
+that any one else should say for him. He _looked_ all the astonishment
+which such unexpected, such unthought-of information could not fail of
+exciting; but he said only these two words,—
+
+“Colonel Brandon!”
+
+“Yes,” continued Elinor, gathering more resolution, as some of the
+worst was over, “Colonel Brandon means it as a testimony of his concern
+for what has lately passed—for the cruel situation in which the
+unjustifiable conduct of your family has placed you—a concern which I
+am sure Marianne, myself, and all your friends, must share; and
+likewise as a proof of his high esteem for your general character, and
+his particular approbation of your behaviour on the present occasion.”
+
+“Colonel Brandon give _me_ a living!—Can it be possible?”
+
+“The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find
+friendship any where.”
+
+“No,” replied he, with sudden consciousness, “not to find it in _you;_
+for I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your goodness, I owe it all.—I
+feel it—I would express it if I could—but, as you well know, I am no
+orator.”
+
+“You are very much mistaken. I do assure you that you owe it entirely,
+at least almost entirely, to your own merit, and Colonel Brandon’s
+discernment of it. I have had no hand in it. I did not even know, till
+I understood his design, that the living was vacant; nor had it ever
+occurred to me that he might have had such a living in his gift. As a
+friend of mine, of my family, he may, perhaps—indeed I know he _has_,
+still greater pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my word, you owe
+nothing to my solicitation.”
+
+Truth obliged her to acknowledge some small share in the action, but
+she was at the same time so unwilling to appear as the benefactress of
+Edward, that she acknowledged it with hesitation; which probably
+contributed to fix that suspicion in his mind which had recently
+entered it. For a short time he sat deep in thought, after Elinor had
+ceased to speak;—at last, and as if it were rather an effort, he said,
+
+“Colonel Brandon seems a man of great worth and respectability. I have
+always heard him spoken of as such, and your brother I know esteems him
+highly. He is undoubtedly a sensible man, and in his manners perfectly
+the gentleman.”
+
+“Indeed,” replied Elinor, “I believe that you will find him, on farther
+acquaintance, all that you have heard him to be, and as you will be
+such very near neighbours (for I understand the parsonage is almost
+close to the mansion-house,) it is particularly important that he
+_should_ be all this.”
+
+Edward made no answer; but when she had turned away her head, gave her
+a look so serious, so earnest, so uncheerful, as seemed to say, that he
+might hereafter wish the distance between the parsonage and the
+mansion-house much greater.
+
+“Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street,” said he, soon
+afterwards, rising from his chair.
+
+Elinor told him the number of the house.
+
+“I must hurry away then, to give him those thanks which you will not
+allow me to give _you;_ to assure him that he has made me a very—an
+exceedingly happy man.”
+
+Elinor did not offer to detain him; and they parted, with a very
+earnest assurance on _her_ side of her unceasing good wishes for his
+happiness in every change of situation that might befall him; on _his_,
+with rather an attempt to return the same good will, than the power of
+expressing it.
+
+“When I see him again,” said Elinor to herself, as the door shut him
+out, “I shall see him the husband of Lucy.”
+
+And with this pleasing anticipation, she sat down to reconsider the
+past, recall the words and endeavour to comprehend all the feelings of
+Edward; and, of course, to reflect on her own with discontent.
+
+When Mrs. Jennings came home, though she returned from seeing people
+whom she had never seen before, and of whom therefore she must have a
+great deal to say, her mind was so much more occupied by the important
+secret in her possession, than by anything else, that she reverted to
+it again as soon as Elinor appeared.
+
+“Well, my dear,” she cried, “I sent you up the young man. Did not I do
+right?—And I suppose you had no great difficulty—You did not find him
+very unwilling to accept your proposal?”
+
+“No, ma’am; _that_ was not very likely.”
+
+“Well, and how soon will he be ready?—For it seems all to depend upon
+that.”
+
+“Really,” said Elinor, “I know so little of these kind of forms, that I
+can hardly even conjecture as to the time, or the preparation
+necessary; but I suppose two or three months will complete his
+ordination.”
+
+“Two or three months!” cried Mrs. Jennings; “Lord! my dear, how calmly
+you talk of it; and can the Colonel wait two or three months! Lord
+bless me!—I am sure it would put _me_ quite out of patience!—And though
+one would be very glad to do a kindness by poor Mr. Ferrars, I do think
+it is not worth while to wait two or three months for him. Sure
+somebody else might be found that would do as well; somebody that is in
+orders already.”
+
+“My dear ma’am,” said Elinor, “what can you be thinking of? Why,
+Colonel Brandon’s only object is to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.”
+
+“Lord bless you, my dear! Sure you do not mean to persuade me that the
+Colonel only marries you for the sake of giving ten guineas to Mr.
+Ferrars!”
+
+The deception could not continue after this; and an explanation
+immediately took place, by which both gained considerable amusement for
+the moment, without any material loss of happiness to either, for Mrs.
+Jennings only exchanged one form of delight for another, and still
+without forfeiting her expectation of the first.
+
+“Aye, aye, the parsonage is but a small one,” said she, after the first
+ebullition of surprise and satisfaction was over, “and very likely
+_may_ be out of repair; but to hear a man apologising, as I thought,
+for a house that to my knowledge has five sitting rooms on the
+ground-floor, and I think the housekeeper told me could make up fifteen
+beds! and to you too, that had been used to live in Barton cottage! It
+seems quite ridiculous. But, my dear, we must touch up the Colonel to
+do some thing to the parsonage, and make it comfortable for them,
+before Lucy goes to it.”
+
+“But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of the living’s
+being enough to allow them to marry.”
+
+“The Colonel is a ninny, my dear; because he has two thousand a-year
+himself, he thinks that nobody else can marry on less. Take my word for
+it, that, if I am alive, I shall be paying a visit at Delaford
+Parsonage before Michaelmas; and I am sure I shan’t go if Lucy an’t
+there.”
+
+Elinor was quite of her opinion, as to the probability of their not
+waiting for any thing more.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+
+
+Edward, having carried his thanks to Colonel Brandon, proceeded with
+his happiness to Lucy; and such was the excess of it by the time he
+reached Bartlett’s Buildings, that she was able to assure Mrs.
+Jennings, who called on her again the next day with her
+congratulations, that she had never seen him in such spirits before in
+her life.
+
+Her own happiness, and her own spirits, were at least very certain; and
+she joined Mrs. Jennings most heartily in her expectation of their
+being all comfortably together in Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas.
+So far was she, at the same time, from any backwardness to give Elinor
+that credit which Edward _would_ give her, that she spoke of her
+friendship for them both with the most grateful warmth, was ready to
+own all their obligation to her, and openly declared that no exertion
+for their good on Miss Dashwood’s part, either present or future, would
+ever surprise her, for she believed her capable of doing any thing in
+the world for those she really valued. As for Colonel Brandon, she was
+not only ready to worship him as a saint, but was moreover truly
+anxious that he should be treated as one in all worldly concerns;
+anxious that his tithes should be raised to the utmost; and secretly
+resolved to avail herself, at Delaford, as far as she possibly could,
+of his servants, his carriage, his cows, and his poultry.
+
+It was now above a week since John Dashwood had called in Berkeley
+Street, and as since that time no notice had been taken by them of his
+wife’s indisposition, beyond one verbal enquiry, Elinor began to feel
+it necessary to pay her a visit.—This was an obligation, however, which
+not only opposed her own inclination, but which had not the assistance
+of any encouragement from her companions. Marianne, not contented with
+absolutely refusing to go herself, was very urgent to prevent her
+sister’s going at all; and Mrs. Jennings, though her carriage was
+always at Elinor’s service, so very much disliked Mrs. John Dashwood,
+that not even her curiosity to see how she looked after the late
+discovery, nor her strong desire to affront her by taking Edward’s
+part, could overcome her unwillingness to be in her company again. The
+consequence was, that Elinor set out by herself to pay a visit, for
+which no one could really have less inclination, and to run the risk of
+a tête-à-tête with a woman, whom neither of the others had so much
+reason to dislike.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood was denied; but before the carriage could turn from the
+house, her husband accidentally came out. He expressed great pleasure
+in meeting Elinor, told her that he had been just going to call in
+Berkeley Street, and, assuring her that Fanny would be very glad to see
+her, invited her to come in.
+
+They walked up stairs in to the drawing-room.—Nobody was there.
+
+“Fanny is in her own room, I suppose,” said he: “I will go to her
+presently, for I am sure she will not have the least objection in the
+world to seeing _you_. Very far from it, indeed. _Now_ especially there
+cannot be—but however, you and Marianne were always great favourites.
+Why would not Marianne come?”
+
+Elinor made what excuse she could for her.
+
+“I am not sorry to see you alone,” he replied, “for I have a good deal
+to say to you. This living of Colonel Brandon’s—can it be true?—has he
+really given it to Edward?—I heard it yesterday by chance, and was
+coming to you on purpose to enquire farther about it.”
+
+“It is perfectly true.—Colonel Brandon has given the living of Delaford
+to Edward.”
+
+“Really!—Well, this is very astonishing!—no relationship!—no connection
+between them!—and now that livings fetch such a price!—what was the
+value of this?”
+
+“About two hundred a year.”
+
+“Very well—and for the next presentation to a living of that
+value—supposing the late incumbent to have been old and sickly, and
+likely to vacate it soon—he might have got I dare say—fourteen hundred
+pounds. And how came he not to have settled that matter before this
+person’s death? _Now_, indeed it would be too late to sell it, but a
+man of Colonel Brandon’s sense! I wonder he should be so improvident in
+a point of such common, such natural, concern! Well, I am convinced
+that there is a vast deal of inconsistency in almost every human
+character. I suppose, however—on recollection—that the case may
+probably be _this_. Edward is only to hold the living till the person
+to whom the Colonel has really sold the presentation, is old enough to
+take it. Aye, aye, that is the fact, depend upon it.”
+
+Elinor contradicted it, however, very positively; and by relating that
+she had herself been employed in conveying the offer from Colonel
+Brandon to Edward, and, therefore, must understand the terms on which
+it was given, obliged him to submit to her authority.
+
+“It is truly astonishing!”—he cried, after hearing what she said—“what
+could be the Colonel’s motive?”
+
+“A very simple one—to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.”
+
+“Well, well; whatever Colonel Brandon may be, Edward is a very lucky
+man.—You will not mention the matter to Fanny, however, for though I
+have broke it to her, and she bears it vastly well,—she will not like
+to hear it much talked of.”
+
+Elinor had some difficulty here to refrain from observing, that she
+thought Fanny might have borne with composure, an acquisition of wealth
+to her brother, by which neither she nor her child could be possibly
+impoverished.
+
+“Mrs. Ferrars,” added he, lowering his voice to the tone becoming so
+important a subject, “knows nothing about it at present, and I believe
+it will be best to keep it entirely concealed from her as long as may
+be. When the marriage takes place, I fear she must hear of it all.”
+
+“But why should such precaution be used? Though it is not to be
+supposed that Mrs. Ferrars can have the smallest satisfaction in
+knowing that her son has money enough to live upon, for _that_ must be
+quite out of the question; yet why, upon her late behaviour, is she
+supposed to feel at all? She has done with her son,—she cast him off
+for ever, and has made all those over whom she had any influence, cast
+him off likewise. Surely, after doing so, she cannot be imagined liable
+to any impression of sorrow or of joy on his account: she cannot be
+interested in any thing that befalls him. She would not be so weak as
+to throw away the comfort of a child, and yet retain the anxiety of a
+parent!”
+
+“Ah! Elinor,” said John, “your reasoning is very good, but it is
+founded on ignorance of human nature. When Edward’s unhappy match takes
+place, depend upon it his mother will feel as much as if she had never
+discarded him; and, therefore every circumstance that may accelerate
+that dreadful event, must be concealed from her as much as possible.
+Mrs. Ferrars can never forget that Edward is her son.”
+
+“You surprise me; I should think it must nearly have escaped her memory
+by _this_ time.”
+
+“You wrong her exceedingly. Mrs. Ferrars is one of the most
+affectionate mothers in the world.”
+
+Elinor was silent.
+
+“We think _now_,”—said Mr. Dashwood, after a short pause, “of
+_Robert’s_ marrying Miss Morton.”
+
+Elinor, smiling at the grave and decisive importance of her brother’s
+tone, calmly replied,—
+
+“The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair.”
+
+“Choice!—how do you mean?”
+
+“I only mean that I suppose, from your manner of speaking, it must be
+the same to Miss Morton whether she marry Edward or Robert.”
+
+“Certainly, there can be no difference; for Robert will now to all
+intents and purposes be considered as the eldest son;—and as to any
+thing else, they are both very agreeable young men: I do not know that
+one is superior to the other.”
+
+Elinor said no more, and John was also for a short time silent.—His
+reflections ended thus.
+
+“Of _one_ thing, my dear sister,” kindly taking her hand, and speaking
+in an awful whisper, “I may assure you;—and I _will_ do it, because I
+know it must gratify you. I have good reason to think—indeed I have it
+from the best authority, or I should not repeat it, for otherwise it
+would be very wrong to say any thing about it,—but I have it from the
+very best authority,—not that I ever precisely heard Mrs. Ferrars say
+it herself—but her daughter _did_, and I have it from her,—that in
+short, whatever objections there might be against a certain—a certain
+connection, you understand me,—it would have been far preferable to
+her,—it would not have given her half the vexation that _this_ does. I
+was exceedingly pleased to hear that Mrs. Ferrars considered it in that
+light; a very gratifying circumstance you know to us all. ‘It would
+have been beyond comparison,’ she said, ‘the least evil of the two, and
+she would be glad to compound _now_ for nothing worse.’ But however,
+all that is quite out of the question,—not to be thought of or
+mentioned—as to any attachment you know, it never could be: all that is
+gone by. But I thought I would just tell you of this, because I knew
+how much it must please you. Not that you have any reason to regret, my
+dear Elinor. There is no doubt of your doing exceedingly well,—quite as
+well, or better, perhaps, all things considered. Has Colonel Brandon
+been with you lately?”
+
+Elinor had heard enough, if not to gratify her vanity, and raise her
+self-importance, to agitate her nerves and fill her mind;—and she was
+therefore glad to be spared from the necessity of saying much in reply
+herself, and from the danger of hearing any thing more from her
+brother, by the entrance of Mr. Robert Ferrars. After a few moments’
+chat, John Dashwood, recollecting that Fanny was yet uninformed of her
+sister’s being there, quitted the room in quest of her; and Elinor was
+left to improve her acquaintance with Robert, who, by the gay
+unconcern, the happy self-complacency of his manner while enjoying so
+unfair a division of his mother’s love and liberality, to the prejudice
+of his banished brother, earned only by his own dissipated course of
+life, and that brother’s integrity, was confirming her most
+unfavourable opinion of his head and heart.
+
+They had scarcely been two minutes by themselves, before he began to
+speak of Edward; for he, too, had heard of the living, and was very
+inquisitive on the subject. Elinor repeated the particulars of it, as
+she had given them to John; and their effect on Robert, though very
+different, was not less striking than it had been on _him_. He laughed
+most immoderately. The idea of Edward’s being a clergyman, and living
+in a small parsonage-house, diverted him beyond measure;—and when to
+that was added the fanciful imagery of Edward reading prayers in a
+white surplice, and publishing the banns of marriage between John Smith
+and Mary Brown, he could conceive nothing more ridiculous.
+
+Elinor, while she waited in silence and immovable gravity, the
+conclusion of such folly, could not restrain her eyes from being fixed
+on him with a look that spoke all the contempt it excited. It was a
+look, however, very well bestowed, for it relieved her own feelings,
+and gave no intelligence to him. He was recalled from wit to wisdom,
+not by any reproof of hers, but by his own sensibility.
+
+“We may treat it as a joke,” said he, at last, recovering from the
+affected laugh which had considerably lengthened out the genuine gaiety
+of the moment; “but, upon my soul, it is a most serious business. Poor
+Edward! he is ruined for ever. I am extremely sorry for it; for I know
+him to be a very good-hearted creature; as well-meaning a fellow
+perhaps, as any in the world. You must not judge of him, Miss Dashwood,
+from _your_ slight acquaintance. Poor Edward! His manners are certainly
+not the happiest in nature. But we are not all born, you know, with the
+same powers,—the same address. Poor fellow! to see him in a circle of
+strangers! To be sure it was pitiable enough; but upon my soul, I
+believe he has as good a heart as any in the kingdom; and I declare and
+protest to you I never was so shocked in my life, as when it all burst
+forth. I could not believe it. My mother was the first person who told
+me of it; and I, feeling myself called on to act with resolution,
+immediately said to her, ‘My dear madam, I do not know what you may
+intend to do on the occasion, but as for myself, I must say, that if
+Edward does marry this young woman, _I_ never will see him again.’ That
+was what I said immediately. I was most uncommonly shocked, indeed!
+Poor Edward! he has done for himself completely,—shut himself out for
+ever from all decent society! But, as I directly said to my mother, I
+am not in the least surprised at it; from his style of education, it
+was always to be expected. My poor mother was half frantic.”
+
+“Have you ever seen the lady?”
+
+“Yes; once, while she was staying in this house, I happened to drop in
+for ten minutes; and I saw quite enough of her. The merest awkward
+country girl, without style, or elegance, and almost without beauty. I
+remember her perfectly. Just the kind of girl I should suppose likely
+to captivate poor Edward. I offered immediately, as soon as my mother
+related the affair to me, to talk to him myself, and dissuade him from
+the match; but it was too late _then_, I found, to do any thing, for
+unluckily, I was not in the way at first, and knew nothing of it till
+after the breach had taken place, when it was not for me, you know, to
+interfere. But had I been informed of it a few hours earlier, I think
+it is most probable that something might have been hit on. I certainly
+should have represented it to Edward in a very strong light. ‘My dear
+fellow,’ I should have said, ‘consider what you are doing. You are
+making a most disgraceful connection, and such a one as your family are
+unanimous in disapproving.’ I cannot help thinking, in short, that
+means might have been found. But now it is all too late. He must be
+starved, you know, that is certain; absolutely starved.”
+
+He had just settled this point with great composure, when the entrance
+of Mrs. John Dashwood put an end to the subject. But though _she_ never
+spoke of it out of her own family, Elinor could see its influence on
+her mind, in the something like confusion of countenance with which she
+entered, and an attempt at cordiality in her behaviour to herself. She
+even proceeded so far as to be concerned to find that Elinor and her
+sister were so soon to leave town, as she had hoped to see more of
+them;—an exertion in which her husband, who attended her into the room,
+and hung enamoured over her accents, seemed to distinguish every thing
+that was most affectionate and graceful.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII.
+
+
+One other short call in Harley Street, in which Elinor received her
+brother’s congratulations on their travelling so far towards Barton
+without any expense, and on Colonel Brandon’s being to follow them to
+Cleveland in a day or two, completed the intercourse of the brother and
+sisters in town;—and a faint invitation from Fanny, to come to Norland
+whenever it should happen to be in their way, which of all things was
+the most unlikely to occur, with a more warm, though less public,
+assurance, from John to Elinor, of the promptitude with which he should
+come to see her at Delaford, was all that foretold any meeting in the
+country.
+
+It amused her to observe that all her friends seemed determined to send
+her to Delaford;—a place, in which, of all others, she would now least
+chuse to visit, or wish to reside; for not only was it considered as
+her future home by her brother and Mrs. Jennings, but even Lucy, when
+they parted, gave her a pressing invitation to visit her there.
+
+Very early in April, and tolerably early in the day, the two parties
+from Hanover Square and Berkeley Street set out from their respective
+homes, to meet, by appointment, on the road. For the convenience of
+Charlotte and her child, they were to be more than two days on their
+journey, and Mr. Palmer, travelling more expeditiously with Colonel
+Brandon, was to join them at Cleveland soon after their arrival.
+
+Marianne, few as had been her hours of comfort in London, and eager as
+she had long been to quit it, could not, when it came to the point, bid
+adieu to the house in which she had for the last time enjoyed those
+hopes, and that confidence, in Willoughby, which were now extinguished
+for ever, without great pain. Nor could she leave the place in which
+Willoughby remained, busy in new engagements, and new schemes, in which
+_she_ could have no share, without shedding many tears.
+
+Elinor’s satisfaction, at the moment of removal, was more positive. She
+had no such object for her lingering thoughts to fix on, she left no
+creature behind, from whom it would give her a moment’s regret to be
+divided for ever, she was pleased to be free herself from the
+persecution of Lucy’s friendship, she was grateful for bringing her
+sister away unseen by Willoughby since his marriage, and she looked
+forward with hope to what a few months of tranquility at Barton might
+do towards restoring Marianne’s peace of mind, and confirming her own.
+
+Their journey was safely performed. The second day brought them into
+the cherished, or the prohibited, county of Somerset, for as such was
+it dwelt on by turns in Marianne’s imagination; and in the forenoon of
+the third they drove up to Cleveland.
+
+Cleveland was a spacious, modern-built house, situated on a sloping
+lawn. It had no park, but the pleasure-grounds were tolerably
+extensive; and like every other place of the same degree of importance,
+it had its open shrubbery, and closer wood walk, a road of smooth
+gravel winding round a plantation, led to the front, the lawn was
+dotted over with timber, the house itself was under the guardianship of
+the fir, the mountain-ash, and the acacia, and a thick screen of them
+altogether, interspersed with tall Lombardy poplars, shut out the
+offices.
+
+Marianne entered the house with a heart swelling with emotion from the
+consciousness of being only eighty miles from Barton, and not thirty
+from Combe Magna; and before she had been five minutes within its
+walls, while the others were busily helping Charlotte to show her child
+to the housekeeper, she quitted it again, stealing away through the
+winding shrubberies, now just beginning to be in beauty, to gain a
+distant eminence; where, from its Grecian temple, her eye, wandering
+over a wide tract of country to the south-east, could fondly rest on
+the farthest ridge of hills in the horizon, and fancy that from their
+summits Combe Magna might be seen.
+
+In such moments of precious, invaluable misery, she rejoiced in tears
+of agony to be at Cleveland; and as she returned by a different circuit
+to the house, feeling all the happy privilege of country liberty, of
+wandering from place to place in free and luxurious solitude, she
+resolved to spend almost every hour of every day while she remained
+with the Palmers, in the indulgence of such solitary rambles.
+
+She returned just in time to join the others as they quitted the house,
+on an excursion through its more immediate premises; and the rest of
+the morning was easily whiled away, in lounging round the kitchen
+garden, examining the bloom upon its walls, and listening to the
+gardener’s lamentations upon blights, in dawdling through the
+green-house, where the loss of her favourite plants, unwarily exposed,
+and nipped by the lingering frost, raised the laughter of
+Charlotte,—and in visiting her poultry-yard, where, in the disappointed
+hopes of her dairy-maid, by hens forsaking their nests, or being stolen
+by a fox, or in the rapid decrease of a promising young brood, she
+found fresh sources of merriment.
+
+The morning was fine and dry, and Marianne, in her plan of employment
+abroad, had not calculated for any change of weather during their stay
+at Cleveland. With great surprise therefore, did she find herself
+prevented by a settled rain from going out again after dinner. She had
+depended on a twilight walk to the Grecian temple, and perhaps all over
+the grounds, and an evening merely cold or damp would not have deterred
+her from it; but a heavy and settled rain even _she_ could not fancy
+dry or pleasant weather for walking.
+
+Their party was small, and the hours passed quietly away. Mrs. Palmer
+had her child, and Mrs. Jennings her carpet-work; they talked of the
+friends they had left behind, arranged Lady Middleton’s engagements,
+and wondered whether Mr. Palmer and Colonel Brandon would get farther
+than Reading that night. Elinor, however little concerned in it, joined
+in their discourse; and Marianne, who had the knack of finding her way
+in every house to the library, however it might be avoided by the
+family in general, soon procured herself a book.
+
+Nothing was wanting on Mrs. Palmer’s side that constant and friendly
+good humour could do, to make them feel themselves welcome. The
+openness and heartiness of her manner more than atoned for that want of
+recollection and elegance which made her often deficient in the forms
+of politeness; her kindness, recommended by so pretty a face, was
+engaging; her folly, though evident was not disgusting, because it was
+not conceited; and Elinor could have forgiven every thing but her
+laugh.
+
+The two gentlemen arrived the next day to a very late dinner, affording
+a pleasant enlargement of the party, and a very welcome variety to
+their conversation, which a long morning of the same continued rain had
+reduced very low.
+
+Elinor had seen so little of Mr. Palmer, and in that little had seen so
+much variety in his address to her sister and herself, that she knew
+not what to expect to find him in his own family. She found him,
+however, perfectly the gentleman in his behaviour to all his visitors,
+and only occasionally rude to his wife and her mother; she found him
+very capable of being a pleasant companion, and only prevented from
+being so always, by too great an aptitude to fancy himself as much
+superior to people in general, as he must feel himself to be to Mrs.
+Jennings and Charlotte. For the rest of his character and habits, they
+were marked, as far as Elinor could perceive, with no traits at all
+unusual in his sex and time of life. He was nice in his eating,
+uncertain in his hours; fond of his child, though affecting to slight
+it; and idled away the mornings at billiards, which ought to have been
+devoted to business. She liked him, however, upon the whole, much
+better than she had expected, and in her heart was not sorry that she
+could like him no more;—not sorry to be driven by the observation of
+his Epicurism, his selfishness, and his conceit, to rest with
+complacency on the remembrance of Edward’s generous temper, simple
+taste, and diffident feelings.
+
+Of Edward, or at least of some of his concerns, she now received
+intelligence from Colonel Brandon, who had been into Dorsetshire
+lately; and who, treating her at once as the disinterested friend of
+Mr. Ferrars, and the kind confidante of himself, talked to her a great
+deal of the parsonage at Delaford, described its deficiencies, and told
+her what he meant to do himself towards removing them.—His behaviour to
+her in this, as well as in every other particular, his open pleasure in
+meeting her after an absence of only ten days, his readiness to
+converse with her, and his deference for her opinion, might very well
+justify Mrs. Jennings’s persuasion of his attachment, and would have
+been enough, perhaps, had not Elinor still, as from the first, believed
+Marianne his real favourite, to make her suspect it herself. But as it
+was, such a notion had scarcely ever entered her head, except by Mrs.
+Jennings’s suggestion; and she could not help believing herself the
+nicest observer of the two;—she watched his eyes, while Mrs. Jennings
+thought only of his behaviour;—and while his looks of anxious
+solicitude on Marianne’s feeling, in her head and throat, the beginning
+of a heavy cold, because unexpressed by words, entirely escaped the
+latter lady’s observation;—_she_ could discover in them the quick
+feelings, and needless alarm of a lover.
+
+Two delightful twilight walks on the third and fourth evenings of her
+being there, not merely on the dry gravel of the shrubbery, but all
+over the grounds, and especially in the most distant parts of them,
+where there was something more of wildness than in the rest, where the
+trees were the oldest, and the grass was the longest and wettest,
+had—assisted by the still greater imprudence of sitting in her wet
+shoes and stockings—given Marianne a cold so violent as, though for a
+day or two trifled with or denied, would force itself by increasing
+ailments on the concern of every body, and the notice of herself.
+Prescriptions poured in from all quarters, and as usual, were all
+declined. Though heavy and feverish, with a pain in her limbs, and a
+cough, and a sore throat, a good night’s rest was to cure her entirely;
+and it was with difficulty that Elinor prevailed on her, when she went
+to bed, to try one or two of the simplest of the remedies.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+
+Marianne got up the next morning at her usual time; to every inquiry
+replied that she was better, and tried to prove herself so, by engaging
+in her accustomary employments. But a day spent in sitting shivering
+over the fire with a book in her hand, which she was unable to read, or
+in lying, weary and languid, on a sofa, did not speak much in favour of
+her amendment; and when, at last, she went early to bed, more and more
+indisposed, Colonel Brandon was only astonished at her sister’s
+composure, who, though attending and nursing her the whole day, against
+Marianne’s inclination, and forcing proper medicines on her at night,
+trusted, like Marianne, to the certainty and efficacy of sleep, and
+felt no real alarm.
+
+A very restless and feverish night, however, disappointed the
+expectation of both; and when Marianne, after persisting in rising,
+confessed herself unable to sit up, and returned voluntarily to her
+bed, Elinor was very ready to adopt Mrs. Jennings’s advice, of sending
+for the Palmers’ apothecary.
+
+He came, examined his patient, and though encouraging Miss Dashwood to
+expect that a very few days would restore her sister to health, yet, by
+pronouncing her disorder to have a putrid tendency, and allowing the
+word “infection” to pass his lips, gave instant alarm to Mrs. Palmer,
+on her baby’s account. Mrs. Jennings, who had been inclined from the
+first to think Marianne’s complaint more serious than Elinor, now
+looked very grave on Mr. Harris’s report, and confirming Charlotte’s
+fears and caution, urged the necessity of her immediate removal with
+her infant; and Mr. Palmer, though treating their apprehensions as
+idle, found the anxiety and importunity of his wife too great to be
+withstood. Her departure, therefore, was fixed on; and within an hour
+after Mr. Harris’s arrival, she set off, with her little boy and his
+nurse, for the house of a near relation of Mr. Palmer’s, who lived a
+few miles on the other side of Bath; whither her husband promised, at
+her earnest entreaty, to join her in a day or two; and whither she was
+almost equally urgent with her mother to accompany her. Mrs. Jennings,
+however, with a kindness of heart which made Elinor really love her,
+declared her resolution of not stirring from Cleveland as long as
+Marianne remained ill, and of endeavouring, by her own attentive care,
+to supply to her the place of the mother she had taken her from; and
+Elinor found her on every occasion a most willing and active helpmate,
+desirous to share in all her fatigues, and often by her better
+experience in nursing, of material use.
+
+Poor Marianne, languid and low from the nature of her malady, and
+feeling herself universally ill, could no longer hope that tomorrow
+would find her recovered; and the idea of what tomorrow would have
+produced, but for this unlucky illness, made every ailment severe; for
+on that day they were to have begun their journey home; and, attended
+the whole way by a servant of Mrs. Jennings, were to have taken their
+mother by surprise on the following forenoon. The little she said was
+all in lamentation of this inevitable delay; though Elinor tried to
+raise her spirits, and make her believe, as she _then_ really believed
+herself, that it would be a very short one.
+
+The next day produced little or no alteration in the state of the
+patient; she certainly was not better, and, except that there was no
+amendment, did not appear worse. Their party was now farther reduced;
+for Mr. Palmer, though very unwilling to go as well from real humanity
+and good-nature, as from a dislike of appearing to be frightened away
+by his wife, was persuaded at last by Colonel Brandon to perform his
+promise of following her; and while he was preparing to go, Colonel
+Brandon himself, with a much greater exertion, began to talk of going
+likewise.—Here, however, the kindness of Mrs. Jennings interposed most
+acceptably; for to send the Colonel away while his love was in so much
+uneasiness on her sister’s account, would be to deprive them both, she
+thought, of every comfort; and therefore telling him at once that his
+stay at Cleveland was necessary to herself, that she should want him to
+play at piquet of an evening, while Miss Dashwood was above with her
+sister, &c. she urged him so strongly to remain, that he, who was
+gratifying the first wish of his own heart by a compliance, could not
+long even affect to demur; especially as Mrs. Jennings’s entreaty was
+warmly seconded by Mr. Palmer, who seemed to feel a relief to himself,
+in leaving behind him a person so well able to assist or advise Miss
+Dashwood in any emergence.
+
+Marianne was, of course, kept in ignorance of all these arrangements.
+She knew not that she had been the means of sending the owners of
+Cleveland away, in about seven days from the time of their arrival. It
+gave her no surprise that she saw nothing of Mrs. Palmer; and as it
+gave her likewise no concern, she never mentioned her name.
+
+Two days passed away from the time of Mr. Palmer’s departure, and her
+situation continued, with little variation, the same. Mr. Harris, who
+attended her every day, still talked boldly of a speedy recovery, and
+Miss Dashwood was equally sanguine; but the expectation of the others
+was by no means so cheerful. Mrs. Jennings had determined very early in
+the seizure that Marianne would never get over it, and Colonel Brandon,
+who was chiefly of use in listening to Mrs. Jennings’s forebodings, was
+not in a state of mind to resist their influence. He tried to reason
+himself out of fears, which the different judgment of the apothecary
+seemed to render absurd; but the many hours of each day in which he was
+left entirely alone, were but too favourable for the admission of every
+melancholy idea, and he could not expel from his mind the persuasion
+that he should see Marianne no more.
+
+On the morning of the third day however, the gloomy anticipations of
+both were almost done away; for when Mr. Harris arrived, he declared
+his patient materially better. Her pulse was much stronger, and every
+symptom more favourable than on the preceding visit. Elinor, confirmed
+in every pleasant hope, was all cheerfulness; rejoicing that in her
+letters to her mother, she had pursued her own judgment rather than her
+friend’s, in making very light of the indisposition which delayed them
+at Cleveland; and almost fixing on the time when Marianne would be able
+to travel.
+
+But the day did not close so auspiciously as it began. Towards the
+evening Marianne became ill again, growing more heavy, restless, and
+uncomfortable than before. Her sister, however, still sanguine, was
+willing to attribute the change to nothing more than the fatigue of
+having sat up to have her bed made; and carefully administering the
+cordials prescribed, saw her, with satisfaction, sink at last into a
+slumber, from which she expected the most beneficial effects. Her
+sleep, though not so quiet as Elinor wished to see it, lasted a
+considerable time; and anxious to observe the result of it herself, she
+resolved to sit with her during the whole of it. Mrs. Jennings, knowing
+nothing of any change in the patient, went unusually early to bed; her
+maid, who was one of the principal nurses, was recreating herself in
+the housekeeper’s room, and Elinor remained alone with Marianne.
+
+The repose of the latter became more and more disturbed; and her
+sister, who watched, with unremitting attention her continual change of
+posture, and heard the frequent but inarticulate sounds of complaint
+which passed her lips, was almost wishing to rouse her from so painful
+a slumber, when Marianne, suddenly awakened by some accidental noise in
+the house, started hastily up, and, with feverish wildness, cried out,—
+
+“Is mama coming?”
+
+“Not yet,” cried the other, concealing her terror, and assisting
+Marianne to lie down again, “but she will be here, I hope, before it is
+long. It is a great way, you know, from hence to Barton.”
+
+“But she must not go round by London,” cried Marianne, in the same
+hurried manner. “I shall never see her, if she goes by London.”
+
+Elinor perceived with alarm that she was not quite herself, and, while
+attempting to soothe her, eagerly felt her pulse. It was lower and
+quicker than ever! and Marianne, still talking wildly of mama, her
+alarm increased so rapidly, as to determine her on sending instantly
+for Mr. Harris, and despatching a messenger to Barton for her mother.
+To consult with Colonel Brandon on the best means of effecting the
+latter, was a thought which immediately followed the resolution of its
+performance; and as soon she had rung up the maid to take her place by
+her sister, she hastened down to the drawing-room, where she knew he
+was generally to be found at a much later hour than the present.
+
+It was no time for hesitation. Her fears and her difficulties were
+immediately before him. Her fears, he had no courage, no confidence to
+attempt the removal of:—he listened to them in silent despondence;—but
+her difficulties were instantly obviated, for with a readiness that
+seemed to speak the occasion, and the service pre-arranged in his mind,
+he offered himself as the messenger who should fetch Mrs. Dashwood.
+Elinor made no resistance that was not easily overcome. She thanked him
+with brief, though fervent gratitude, and while he went to hurry off
+his servant with a message to Mr. Harris, and an order for post-horses
+directly, she wrote a few lines to her mother.
+
+The comfort of such a friend at that moment as Colonel Brandon—or such
+a companion for her mother,—how gratefully was it felt!—a companion
+whose judgment would guide, whose attendance must relieve, and whose
+friendship might soothe her!—as far as the shock of such a summons
+_could_ be lessened to her, his presence, his manners, his assistance,
+would lessen it.
+
+_He_, meanwhile, whatever he might feel, acted with all the firmness of
+a collected mind, made every necessary arrangement with the utmost
+despatch, and calculated with exactness the time in which she might
+look for his return. Not a moment was lost in delay of any kind. The
+horses arrived, even before they were expected, and Colonel Brandon
+only pressing her hand with a look of solemnity, and a few words spoken
+too low to reach her ear, hurried into the carriage. It was then about
+twelve o’clock, and she returned to her sister’s apartment to wait for
+the arrival of the apothecary, and to watch by her the rest of the
+night. It was a night of almost equal suffering to both. Hour after
+hour passed away in sleepless pain and delirium on Marianne’s side, and
+in the most cruel anxiety on Elinor’s, before Mr. Harris appeared. Her
+apprehensions once raised, paid by their excess for all her former
+security; and the servant who sat up with her, for she would not allow
+Mrs. Jennings to be called, only tortured her more, by hints of what
+her mistress had always thought.
+
+Marianne’s ideas were still, at intervals, fixed incoherently on her
+mother, and whenever she mentioned her name, it gave a pang to the
+heart of poor Elinor, who, reproaching herself for having trifled with
+so many days of illness, and wretched for some immediate relief,
+fancied that all relief might soon be in vain, that every thing had
+been delayed too long, and pictured to herself her suffering mother
+arriving too late to see this darling child, or to see her rational.
+
+She was on the point of sending again for Mr. Harris, or if _he_ could
+not come, for some other advice, when the former—but not till after
+five o’clock—arrived. His opinion, however, made some little amends for
+his delay, for though acknowledging a very unexpected and unpleasant
+alteration in his patient, he would not allow the danger to be
+material, and talked of the relief which a fresh mode of treatment must
+procure, with a confidence which, in a lesser degree, was communicated
+to Elinor. He promised to call again in the course of three or four
+hours, and left both the patient and her anxious attendant more
+composed than he had found them.
+
+With strong concern, and with many reproaches for not being called to
+their aid, did Mrs. Jennings hear in the morning of what had passed.
+Her former apprehensions, now with greater reason restored, left her no
+doubt of the event; and though trying to speak comfort to Elinor, her
+conviction of her sister’s danger would not allow her to offer the
+comfort of hope. Her heart was really grieved. The rapid decay, the
+early death of a girl so young, so lovely as Marianne, must have struck
+a less interested person with concern. On Mrs. Jennings’s compassion
+she had other claims. She had been for three months her companion, was
+still under her care, and she was known to have been greatly injured,
+and long unhappy. The distress of her sister too, particularly a
+favourite, was before her;—and as for their mother, when Mrs. Jennings
+considered that Marianne might probably be to _her_ what Charlotte was
+to herself, her sympathy in _her_ sufferings was very sincere.
+
+Mr. Harris was punctual in his second visit;—but he came to be
+disappointed in his hopes of what the last would produce. His medicines
+had failed;—the fever was unabated; and Marianne only more quiet—not
+more herself—remained in a heavy stupor. Elinor, catching all, and more
+than all, his fears in a moment, proposed to call in further advice.
+But he judged it unnecessary: he had still something more to try, some
+more fresh application, of whose success he was as confident as the
+last, and his visit concluded with encouraging assurances which reached
+the ear, but could not enter the heart of Miss Dashwood. She was calm,
+except when she thought of her mother; but she was almost hopeless; and
+in this state she continued till noon, scarcely stirring from her
+sister’s bed, her thoughts wandering from one image of grief, one
+suffering friend to another, and her spirits oppressed to the utmost by
+the conversation of Mrs. Jennings, who scrupled not to attribute the
+severity and danger of this attack to the many weeks of previous
+indisposition which Marianne’s disappointment had brought on. Elinor
+felt all the reasonableness of the idea, and it gave fresh misery to
+her reflections.
+
+About noon, however, she began—but with a caution—a dread of
+disappointment which for some time kept her silent, even to her
+friend—to fancy, to hope she could perceive a slight amendment in her
+sister’s pulse;—she waited, watched, and examined it again and
+again;—and at last, with an agitation more difficult to bury under
+exterior calmness, than all her foregoing distress, ventured to
+communicate her hopes. Mrs. Jennings, though forced, on examination, to
+acknowledge a temporary revival, tried to keep her young friend from
+indulging a thought of its continuance;—and Elinor, conning over every
+injunction of distrust, told herself likewise not to hope. But it was
+too late. Hope had already entered; and feeling all its anxious
+flutter, she bent over her sister to watch—she hardly knew for what.
+Half an hour passed away, and the favourable symptom yet blessed her.
+Others even arose to confirm it. Her breath, her skin, her lips, all
+flattered Elinor with signs of amendment; and Marianne fixed her eyes
+on her with a rational, though languid, gaze. Anxiety and hope now
+oppressed her in equal degrees, and left her no moment of tranquillity
+till the arrival of Mr. Harris at four o’clock;—when his assurances,
+his felicitations on a recovery in her sister even surpassing his
+expectation, gave her confidence, comfort, and tears of joy.
+
+Marianne was in every respect materially better, and he declared her
+entirely out of danger. Mrs. Jennings, perhaps satisfied with the
+partial justification of her forebodings which had been found in their
+late alarm, allowed herself to trust in his judgment, and admitted,
+with unfeigned joy, and soon with unequivocal cheerfulness, the
+probability of an entire recovery.
+
+Elinor could not be cheerful. Her joy was of a different kind, and led
+to any thing rather than to gaiety. Marianne restored to life, health,
+friends, and to her doting mother, was an idea to fill her heart with
+sensations of exquisite comfort, and expand it in fervent
+gratitude;—but it led to no outward demonstrations of joy, no words, no
+smiles. All within Elinor’s breast was satisfaction, silent and strong.
+
+She continued by the side of her sister, with little intermission the
+whole afternoon, calming every fear, satisfying every inquiry of her
+enfeebled spirits, supplying every succour, and watching almost every
+look and every breath. The possibility of a relapse would of course, in
+some moments, occur to remind her of what anxiety was—but when she saw,
+on her frequent and minute examination, that every symptom of recovery
+continued, and saw Marianne at six o’clock sink into a quiet, steady,
+and to all appearance comfortable, sleep, she silenced every doubt.
+
+The time was now drawing on, when Colonel Brandon might be expected
+back. At ten o’clock, she trusted, or at least not much later her
+mother would be relieved from the dreadful suspense in which she must
+now be travelling towards them. The Colonel, too!—perhaps scarcely less
+an object of pity!—Oh!—how slow was the progress of time which yet kept
+them in ignorance!
+
+At seven o’clock, leaving Marianne still sweetly asleep, she joined
+Mrs. Jennings in the drawing-room to tea. Of breakfast she had been
+kept by her fears, and of dinner by their sudden reverse, from eating
+much;—and the present refreshment, therefore, with such feelings of
+content as she brought to it, was particularly welcome. Mrs. Jennings
+would have persuaded her, at its conclusion, to take some rest before
+her mother’s arrival, and allow _her_ to take her place by Marianne;
+but Elinor had no sense of fatigue, no capability of sleep at that
+moment about her, and she was not to be kept away from her sister an
+unnecessary instant. Mrs. Jennings therefore attending her up stairs
+into the sick chamber, to satisfy herself that all continued right,
+left her there again to her charge and her thoughts, and retired to her
+own room to write letters and sleep.
+
+The night was cold and stormy. The wind roared round the house, and the
+rain beat against the windows; but Elinor, all happiness within,
+regarded it not. Marianne slept through every blast; and the
+travellers—they had a rich reward in store, for every present
+inconvenience.
+
+The clock struck eight. Had it been ten, Elinor would have been
+convinced that at that moment she heard a carriage driving up to the
+house; and so strong was the persuasion that she _did_, in spite of the
+_almost_ impossibility of their being already come, that she moved into
+the adjoining dressing-closet and opened a window shutter, to be
+satisfied of the truth. She instantly saw that her ears had not
+deceived her. The flaring lamps of a carriage were immediately in view.
+By their uncertain light she thought she could discern it to be drawn
+by four horses; and this, while it told the excess of her poor mother’s
+alarm, gave some explanation to such unexpected rapidity.
+
+Never in her life had Elinor found it so difficult to be calm, as at
+that moment. The knowledge of what her mother must be feeling as the
+carriage stopt at the door—of her doubt—her dread—perhaps her
+despair!—and of what _she_ had to tell!—with such knowledge it was
+impossible to be calm. All that remained to be done was to be speedy;
+and, therefore staying only till she could leave Mrs. Jennings’s maid
+with her sister, she hurried down stairs.
+
+The bustle in the vestibule, as she passed along an inner lobby,
+assured her that they were already in the house. She rushed to the
+drawing-room,—she entered it,—and saw only Willoughby.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV.
+
+
+Elinor, starting back with a look of horror at the sight of him, obeyed
+the first impulse of her heart in turning instantly to quit the room,
+and her hand was already on the lock, when its action was suspended by
+his hastily advancing, and saying, in a voice rather of command than
+supplication,
+
+“Miss Dashwood, for half an hour—for ten minutes—I entreat you to
+stay.”
+
+“No, sir,” she replied with firmness, “I shall _not_ stay. Your
+business cannot be with _me_. The servants, I suppose, forgot to tell
+you that Mr. Palmer was not in the house.”
+
+“Had they told me,” he cried with vehemence, “that Mr. Palmer and all
+his relations were at the devil, it would not have turned me from the
+door. My business is with you, and only you.”
+
+“With me!”—in the utmost amazement—“well, sir,—be quick—and if you
+can—less violent.”
+
+“Sit down, and I will be both.”
+
+She hesitated; she knew not what to do. The possibility of Colonel
+Brandon’s arriving and finding her there, came across her. But she had
+promised to hear him, and her curiosity no less than her honor was
+engaged. After a moment’s recollection, therefore, concluding that
+prudence required dispatch, and that her acquiescence would best
+promote it, she walked silently towards the table, and sat down. He
+took the opposite chair, and for half a minute not a word was said by
+either.
+
+“Pray be quick, sir,”—said Elinor, impatiently;—“I have no time to
+spare.”
+
+He was sitting in an attitude of deep meditation, and seemed not to
+hear her.
+
+“Your sister,” said he, with abruptness, a moment afterwards—“is out of
+danger. I heard it from the servant. God be praised!—But is it true? is
+it really true?”
+
+Elinor would not speak. He repeated the inquiry with yet greater
+eagerness.
+
+“For God’s sake tell me, is she out of danger, or is she not?”
+
+“We hope she is.”
+
+He rose up, and walked across the room.
+
+“Had I known as much half an hour ago;—but since I _am_ here,” speaking
+with a forced vivacity as he returned to his seat,—“what does it
+signify? For once, Miss Dashwood—it will be the last time, perhaps—let
+us be cheerful together. I am in a fine mood for gaiety. Tell me
+honestly” a deeper glow overspreading his cheeks, “do you think me most
+a knave or a fool?”
+
+Elinor looked at him with greater astonishment than ever. She began to
+think that he must be in liquor;—the strangeness of such a visit, and
+of such manners, seemed no otherwise intelligible; and with this
+impression she immediately rose, saying,
+
+“Mr. Willoughby, I advise you at present to return to Combe. I am not
+at leisure to remain with you longer. Whatever your business may be
+with me, it will be better recollected and explained to-morrow.”
+
+“I understand you,” he replied, with an expressive smile, and a voice
+perfectly calm; “yes, I am very drunk. A pint of porter with my cold
+beef at Marlborough was enough to over-set me.”
+
+“At Marlborough!”—cried Elinor, more and more at a loss to understand
+what he would be at.
+
+“Yes,—I left London this morning at eight o’clock, and the only ten
+minutes I have spent out of my chaise since that time procured me a
+nuncheon at Marlborough.”
+
+The steadiness of his manner, and the intelligence of his eye as he
+spoke, convincing Elinor, that whatever other unpardonable folly might
+bring him to Cleveland, he was not brought there by intoxication, she
+said, after a moment’s recollection,
+
+“Mr. Willoughby, you _ought_ to feel, and I certainly _do_, that after
+what has passed, your coming here in this manner, and forcing yourself
+upon my notice, requires a very particular excuse. What is it, that you
+mean by it?”
+
+“I mean,” said he, with serious energy, “if I can, to make you hate me
+one degree less than you do _now_. I mean to offer some kind of
+explanation, some kind of apology, for the past; to open my whole heart
+to you, and by convincing you, that though I have been always a
+blockhead, I have not been always a rascal, to obtain something like
+forgiveness from Ma— from your sister.”
+
+“Is this the real reason of your coming?”
+
+“Upon my soul it is,”—was his answer, with a warmth which brought all
+the former Willoughby to her remembrance, and in spite of herself made
+her think him sincere.
+
+“If that is all, you may be satisfied already; for Marianne _does_, she
+has _long_ forgiven you.”
+
+“Has she?” he cried, in the same eager tone. “Then she has forgiven me
+before she ought to have done it. But she shall forgive me again, and
+on more reasonable grounds. _Now_ will you listen to me?”
+
+Elinor bowed her assent.
+
+“I do not know,” said he, after a pause of expectation on her side, and
+thoughtfulness on his own, “how _you_ may have accounted for my
+behaviour to your sister, or what diabolical motive you may have
+imputed to me. Perhaps you will hardly think the better of me,—it is
+worth the trial however, and you shall hear every thing. When I first
+became intimate in your family, I had no other intention, no other view
+in the acquaintance than to pass my time pleasantly while I was obliged
+to remain in Devonshire, more pleasantly than I had ever done before.
+Your sister’s lovely person and interesting manners could not but
+please me; and her behaviour to me almost from the first, was of a
+kind—it is astonishing, when I reflect on what it was, and what _she_
+was, that my heart should have been so insensible! But at first I must
+confess, my vanity only was elevated by it. Careless of her happiness,
+thinking only of my own amusement, giving way to feelings which I had
+always been too much in the habit of indulging, I endeavoured, by every
+means in my power, to make myself pleasing to her, without any design
+of returning her affection.”
+
+Miss Dashwood, at this point, turning her eyes on him with the most
+angry contempt, stopped him, by saying,
+
+“It is hardly worth while, Mr. Willoughby, for you to relate, or for me
+to listen any longer. Such a beginning as this cannot be followed by
+any thing. Do not let me be pained by hearing any thing more on the
+subject.”
+
+“I insist on you hearing the whole of it,” he replied, “My fortune was
+never large, and I had always been expensive, always in the habit of
+associating with people of better income than myself. Every year since
+my coming of age, or even before, I believe, had added to my debts; and
+though the death of my old cousin, Mrs. Smith, was to set me free; yet
+that event being uncertain, and possibly far distant, it had been for
+some time my intention to re-establish my circumstances by marrying a
+woman of fortune. To attach myself to your sister, therefore, was not a
+thing to be thought of; and with a meanness, selfishness, cruelty,
+which no indignant, no contemptuous look, even of yours, Miss Dashwood,
+can ever reprobate too much,—I was acting in this manner, trying to
+engage her regard, without a thought of returning it. But one thing may
+be said for me: even in that horrid state of selfish vanity, I did not
+know the extent of the injury I meditated, because I did not _then_
+know what it was to love. But have I ever known it? Well may it be
+doubted; for, had I really loved, could I have sacrificed my feelings
+to vanity, to avarice? or, what is more, could I have sacrificed hers?
+But I have done it. To avoid a comparative poverty, which her affection
+and her society would have deprived of all its horrors, I have, by
+raising myself to affluence, lost every thing that could make it a
+blessing.”
+
+“You did then,” said Elinor, a little softened, “believe yourself at
+one time attached to her?”
+
+“To have resisted such attractions, to have withstood such tenderness!
+Is there a man on earth who could have done it? Yes, I found myself, by
+insensible degrees, sincerely fond of her; and the happiest hours of my
+life were what I spent with her when I felt my intentions were strictly
+honourable, and my feelings blameless. Even _then_, however, when fully
+determined on paying my addresses to her, I allowed myself most
+improperly to put off, from day to day, the moment of doing it, from an
+unwillingness to enter into an engagement while my circumstances were
+so greatly embarrassed. I will not reason here—nor will I stop for
+_you_ to expatiate on the absurdity, and the worse than absurdity, of
+scrupling to engage my faith where my honour was already bound. The
+event has proved, that I was a cunning fool, providing with great
+circumspection for a possible opportunity of making myself contemptible
+and wretched for ever. At last, however, my resolution was taken, and I
+had determined, as soon as I could engage her alone, to justify the
+attentions I had so invariably paid her, and openly assure her of an
+affection which I had already taken such pains to display. But in the
+interim—in the interim of the very few hours that were to pass, before
+I could have an opportunity of speaking with her in private—a
+circumstance occurred—an unlucky circumstance, to ruin all my
+resolution, and with it all my comfort. A discovery took place,”—here
+he hesitated and looked down. “Mrs. Smith had somehow or other been
+informed, I imagine by some distant relation, whose interest it was to
+deprive me of her favour, of an affair, a connection—but I need not
+explain myself farther,” he added, looking at her with an heightened
+colour and an enquiring eye,—“your particular intimacy—you have
+probably heard the whole story long ago.”
+
+“I have,” returned Elinor, colouring likewise, and hardening her heart
+anew against any compassion for him, “I have heard it all. And how you
+will explain away any part of your guilt in that dreadful business, I
+confess is beyond my comprehension.”
+
+“Remember,” cried Willoughby, “from whom you received the account.
+Could it be an impartial one? I acknowledge that her situation and her
+character ought to have been respected by me. I do not mean to justify
+myself, but at the same time cannot leave you to suppose that I have
+nothing to urge—that because she was injured she was irreproachable,
+and because _I_ was a libertine, _she_ must be a saint. If the violence
+of her passions, the weakness of her understanding—I do not mean,
+however, to defend myself. Her affection for me deserved better
+treatment, and I often, with great self-reproach, recall the tenderness
+which, for a very short time, had the power of creating any return. I
+wish—I heartily wish it had never been. But I have injured more than
+herself; and I have injured one, whose affection for me (may I say it?)
+was scarcely less warm than hers; and whose mind—Oh! how infinitely
+superior!”
+
+“Your indifference, however, towards that unfortunate girl—I must say
+it, unpleasant to me as the discussion of such a subject may well
+be—your indifference is no apology for your cruel neglect of her. Do
+not think yourself excused by any weakness, any natural defect of
+understanding on her side, in the wanton cruelty so evident on yours.
+You must have known, that while you were enjoying yourself in
+Devonshire pursuing fresh schemes, always gay, always happy, she was
+reduced to the extremest indigence.”
+
+“But, upon my soul, I did _not_ know it,” he warmly replied; “I did not
+recollect that I had omitted to give her my direction; and common sense
+might have told her how to find it out.”
+
+“Well, sir, and what said Mrs. Smith?”
+
+“She taxed me with the offence at once, and my confusion may be
+guessed. The purity of her life, the formality of her notions, her
+ignorance of the world—every thing was against me. The matter itself I
+could not deny, and vain was every endeavour to soften it. She was
+previously disposed, I believe, to doubt the morality of my conduct in
+general, and was moreover discontented with the very little attention,
+the very little portion of my time that I had bestowed on her, in my
+present visit. In short, it ended in a total breach. By one measure I
+might have saved myself. In the height of her morality, good woman! she
+offered to forgive the past, if I would marry Eliza. That could not
+be—and I was formally dismissed from her favour and her house. The
+night following this affair—I was to go the next morning—was spent by
+me in deliberating on what my future conduct should be. The struggle
+was great—but it ended too soon. My affection for Marianne, my thorough
+conviction of her attachment to me—it was all insufficient to outweigh
+that dread of poverty, or get the better of those false ideas of the
+necessity of riches, which I was naturally inclined to feel, and
+expensive society had increased. I had reason to believe myself secure
+of my present wife, if I chose to address her, and I persuaded myself
+to think that nothing else in common prudence remained for me to do. A
+heavy scene however awaited me, before I could leave Devonshire;—I was
+engaged to dine with you on that very day; some apology was therefore
+necessary for my breaking this engagement. But whether I should write
+this apology, or deliver it in person, was a point of long debate. To
+see Marianne, I felt, would be dreadful, and I even doubted whether I
+could see her again, and keep to my resolution. In that point, however,
+I undervalued my own magnanimity, as the event declared; for I went, I
+saw her, and saw her miserable, and left her miserable—and left her
+hoping never to see her again.”
+
+“Why did you call, Mr. Willoughby?” said Elinor, reproachfully; “a note
+would have answered every purpose. Why was it necessary to call?”
+
+“It was necessary to my own pride. I could not bear to leave the
+country in a manner that might lead you, or the rest of the
+neighbourhood, to suspect any part of what had really passed between
+Mrs. Smith and myself—and I resolved therefore on calling at the
+cottage, in my way to Honiton. The sight of your dear sister, however,
+was really dreadful; and, to heighten the matter, I found her alone.
+You were all gone I do not know where. I had left her only the evening
+before, so fully, so firmly resolved within my self on doing right! A
+few hours were to have engaged her to me for ever; and I remember how
+happy, how gay were my spirits, as I walked from the cottage to
+Allenham, satisfied with myself, delighted with every body! But in
+this, our last interview of friendship, I approached her with a sense
+of guilt that almost took from me the power of dissembling. Her sorrow,
+her disappointment, her deep regret, when I told her that I was obliged
+to leave Devonshire so immediately—I never shall forget it—united too
+with such reliance, such confidence in me!—Oh, God!—what a hard-hearted
+rascal I was!”
+
+They were both silent for a few moments. Elinor first spoke.
+
+“Did you tell her that you should soon return?”
+
+“I do not know what I told her,” he replied, impatiently; “less than
+was due to the past, beyond a doubt, and in all likelihood much more
+than was justified by the future. I cannot think of it.—It won’t
+do.—Then came your dear mother to torture me farther, with all her
+kindness and confidence. Thank Heaven! it _did_ torture me. I was
+miserable. Miss Dashwood, you cannot have an idea of the comfort it
+gives me to look back on my own misery. I owe such a grudge to myself
+for the stupid, rascally folly of my own heart, that all my past
+sufferings under it are only triumph and exultation to me now. Well, I
+went, left all that I loved, and went to those to whom, at best, I was
+only indifferent. My journey to town—travelling with my own horses, and
+therefore so tediously—no creature to speak to—my own reflections so
+cheerful—when I looked forward every thing so inviting!—when I looked
+back at Barton, the picture so soothing!—oh, it was a blessed journey!”
+
+He stopped.
+
+“Well, sir,” said Elinor, who, though pitying him, grew impatient for
+his departure, “and this is all?”
+
+“All!—no:—have you forgot what passed in town? That infamous letter?
+Did she show it you?”
+
+“Yes, I saw every note that passed.”
+
+“When the first of hers reached me (as it immediately did, for I was in
+town the whole time,) what I felt is—in the common phrase, not to be
+expressed; in a more simple one—perhaps too simple to raise any
+emotion—my feelings were very, very painful.—Every line, every word
+was—in the hackneyed metaphor which their dear writer, were she here,
+would forbid—a dagger to my heart. To know that Marianne was in town
+was—in the same language—a thunderbolt.—Thunderbolts and daggers!—what
+a reproof would she have given me!—her taste, her opinions—I believe
+they are better known to me than my own,—and I am sure they are
+dearer.”
+
+Elinor’s heart, which had undergone many changes in the course of this
+extraordinary conversation, was now softened again;—yet she felt it her
+duty to check such ideas in her companion as the last.
+
+“This is not right, Mr. Willoughby.—Remember that you are married.
+Relate only what in your conscience you think necessary for me to
+hear.”
+
+“Marianne’s note, by assuring me that I was still as dear to her as in
+former days,—that in spite of the many, many weeks we had been
+separated, she was as constant in her own feelings, and as full of
+faith in the constancy of mine as ever,—awakened all my remorse. I say
+awakened, because time and London, business and dissipation, had in
+some measure quieted it, and I had been growing a fine hardened
+villain, fancying myself indifferent to her, and chusing to fancy that
+she too must have become indifferent to me; talking to myself of our
+past attachment as a mere idle, trifling business, shrugging up my
+shoulders in proof of its being so, and silencing every reproach,
+overcoming every scruple, by secretly saying now and then, ‘I shall be
+heartily glad to hear she is well married.’ But this note made me know
+myself better. I felt that she was infinitely dearer to me than any
+other woman in the world, and that I was using her infamously. But
+every thing was then just settled between Miss Grey and me. To retreat
+was impossible. All that I had to do, was to avoid you both. I sent no
+answer to Marianne, intending by that to preserve myself from her
+farther notice; and for some time I was even determined not to call in
+Berkeley Street;—but at last, judging it wiser to affect the air of a
+cool, common acquaintance than anything else, I watched you all safely
+out of the house one morning, and left my name.”
+
+“Watched us out of the house!”
+
+“Even so. You would be surprised to hear how often I watched you, how
+often I was on the point of falling in with you. I have entered many a
+shop to avoid your sight, as the carriage drove by. Lodging as I did in
+Bond Street, there was hardly a day in which I did not catch a glimpse
+of one or other of you; and nothing but the most constant watchfulness
+on my side, a most invariably prevailing desire to keep out of your
+sight, could have separated us so long. I avoided the Middletons as
+much as possible, as well as everybody else who was likely to prove an
+acquaintance in common. Not aware of their being in town, however, I
+blundered on Sir John, I believe, the first day of his coming, and the
+day after I had called at Mrs. Jennings’s. He asked me to a party, a
+dance at his house in the evening. Had he _not_ told me as an
+inducement that you and your sister were to be there, I should have
+felt it too certain a thing, to trust myself near him. The next morning
+brought another short note from Marianne—still affectionate, open,
+artless, confiding—everything that could make _my_ conduct most
+hateful. I could not answer it. I tried—but could not frame a sentence.
+But I thought of her, I believe, every moment of the day. If you _can_
+pity me, Miss Dashwood, pity my situation as it was _then_. With my
+head and heart full of your sister, I was forced to play the happy
+lover to another woman! Those three or four weeks were worse than all.
+Well, at last, as I need not tell you, you were forced on me; and what
+a sweet figure I cut! what an evening of agony it was! Marianne,
+beautiful as an angel on one side, calling me Willoughby in such a
+tone! Oh, God! holding out her hand to me, asking me for an
+explanation, with those bewitching eyes fixed in such speaking
+solicitude on my face! and Sophia, jealous as the devil on the other
+hand, looking all that was—Well, it does not signify; it is over now.
+Such an evening! I ran away from you all as soon as I could; but not
+before I had seen Marianne’s sweet face as white as death. _That_ was
+the last, last look I ever had of her; the last manner in which she
+appeared to me. It was a horrid sight! yet when I thought of her to-day
+as really dying, it was a kind of comfort to me to imagine that I knew
+exactly how she would appear to those, who saw her last in this world.
+She was before me, constantly before me, as I travelled, in the same
+look and hue.”
+
+A short pause of mutual thoughtfulness succeeded. Willoughby first
+rousing himself, broke it thus:
+
+“Well, let me make haste and be gone. Your sister is certainly better,
+certainly out of danger?”
+
+“We are assured of it.”
+
+“Your poor mother, too!—doting on Marianne.”
+
+“But the letter, Mr. Willoughby, your own letter; have you any thing to
+say about that?”
+
+“Yes, yes, _that_ in particular. Your sister wrote to me again, you
+know, the very next morning. You saw what she said. I was breakfasting
+at the Ellisons,—and her letter, with some others, was brought to me
+there from my lodgings. It happened to catch Sophia’s eye before it
+caught mine—and its size, the elegance of the paper, the hand-writing
+altogether, immediately gave her a suspicion. Some vague report had
+reached her before of my attachment to some young lady in Devonshire,
+and what had passed within her observation the preceding evening had
+marked who the young lady was, and made her more jealous than ever.
+Affecting that air of playfulness, therefore, which is delightful in a
+woman one loves, she opened the letter directly, and read its contents.
+She was well paid for her impudence. She read what made her wretched.
+Her wretchedness I could have borne, but her passion—her malice—At all
+events it must be appeased. And, in short—what do you think of my
+wife’s style of letter-writing?—delicate—tender—truly feminine—was it
+not?”
+
+“Your wife!—The letter was in your own hand-writing.”
+
+“Yes, but I had only the credit of servilely copying such sentences as
+I was ashamed to put my name to. The original was all her own—her own
+happy thoughts and gentle diction. But what could I do!—we were
+engaged, every thing in preparation, the day almost fixed—But I am
+talking like a fool. Preparation! Day! In honest words, her money was
+necessary to me, and in a situation like mine, any thing was to be done
+to prevent a rupture. And after all, what did it signify to my
+character in the opinion of Marianne and her friends, in what language
+my answer was couched? It must have been only to one end. My business
+was to declare myself a scoundrel, and whether I did it with a bow or a
+bluster was of little importance. ‘I am ruined for ever in their
+opinion,’ said I to myself: ‘I am shut out for ever from their society,
+they already think me an unprincipled fellow, this letter will only
+make them think me a blackguard one.’ Such were my reasonings, as, in a
+sort of desperate carelessness, I copied my wife’s words, and parted
+with the last relics of Marianne. Her three notes,—unluckily they were
+all in my pocketbook, or I should have denied their existence, and
+hoarded them for ever,—I was forced to put them up, and could not even
+kiss them. And the lock of hair—that too I had always carried about me
+in the same pocket-book, which was now searched by Madam with the most
+ingratiating virulence,—the dear lock,—all, every memento was torn from
+me.”
+
+“You are very wrong, Mr. Willoughby, very blamable,” said Elinor, while
+her voice, in spite of herself, betrayed her compassionate emotion;
+“you ought not to speak in this way, either of Mrs. Willoughby or my
+sister. You had made your own choice. It was not forced on you. Your
+wife has a claim to your politeness, to your respect, at least. She
+must be attached to you, or she would not have married you. To treat
+her with unkindness, to speak of her slightingly is no atonement to
+Marianne—nor can I suppose it a relief to your own conscience.”
+
+“Do not talk to me of my wife,” said he with a heavy sigh; “she does
+not deserve your compassion. She knew I had no regard for her when we
+married. Well, married we were, and came down to Combe Magna to be
+happy, and afterwards returned to town to be gay. And now do you pity
+me, Miss Dashwood? Or have I said all this to no purpose? Am I,—be it
+only one degree,—am I less guilty in your opinion than I was before? My
+intentions were not always wrong. Have I explained away any part of my
+guilt?”
+
+“Yes, you have certainly removed something—a little. You have proved
+yourself, on the whole, less faulty than I had believed you. You have
+proved your heart less wicked, much less wicked. But I hardly know—the
+misery that you have inflicted—I hardly know what could have made it
+worse.”
+
+“Will you repeat to your sister when she is recovered, what I have been
+telling you?—Let me be a little lightened too in her opinion as well as
+in yours. You tell me that she has forgiven me already. Let me be able
+to fancy that a better knowledge of my heart, and of my present
+feelings, will draw from her a more spontaneous, more natural, more
+gentle, less dignified, forgiveness. Tell her of my misery and my
+penitence—tell her that my heart was never inconstant to her, and if
+you will, that at this moment she is dearer to me than ever.”
+
+“I will tell her all that is necessary to what may comparatively be
+called, your justification. But you have not explained to me the
+particular reason of your coming now, nor how you heard of her
+illness.”
+
+“Last night, in Drury Lane lobby, I ran against Sir John Middleton, and
+when he saw who I was, for the first time these two months, he spoke to
+me. That he had cut me ever since my marriage, I had seen without
+surprise or resentment. Now, however, his good-natured, honest, stupid
+soul, full of indignation against me, and concern for your sister,
+could not resist the temptation of telling me what he knew ought to,
+though probably he did not think it _would_, vex me horridly. As
+bluntly as he could speak it, therefore, he told me that Marianne
+Dashwood was dying of a putrid fever at Cleveland—a letter that morning
+received from Mrs. Jennings declared her danger most imminent—the
+Palmers are all gone off in a fright, &c. I was too much shocked to be
+able to pass myself off as insensible even to the undiscerning Sir
+John. His heart was softened in seeing mine suffer; and so much of his
+ill-will was done away, that when we parted, he almost shook me by the
+hand while he reminded me of an old promise about a pointer puppy. What
+I felt on hearing that your sister was dying, and dying too, believing
+me the greatest villain upon earth, scorning, hating me in her latest
+moments—for how could I tell what horrid projects might not have been
+imputed? _One_ person I was sure would represent me as capable of
+anything—What I felt was dreadful! My resolution was soon made, and at
+eight o’clock this morning I was in my carriage. Now you know all.”
+
+Elinor made no answer. Her thoughts were silently fixed on the
+irreparable injury which too early an independence and its consequent
+habits of idleness, dissipation, and luxury, had made in the mind, the
+character, the happiness, of a man who, to every advantage of person
+and talents, united a disposition naturally open and honest, and a
+feeling, affectionate temper. The world had made him extravagant and
+vain—Extravagance and vanity had made him cold-hearted and selfish.
+Vanity, while seeking its own guilty triumph at the expense of another,
+had involved him in a real attachment, which extravagance, or at least
+its offspring, necessity, had required to be sacrificed. Each faulty
+propensity in leading him to evil, had led him likewise to punishment.
+The attachment, from which against honour, against feeling, against
+every better interest he had outwardly torn himself, now, when no
+longer allowable, governed every thought; and the connection, for the
+sake of which he had, with little scruple, left her sister to misery,
+was likely to prove a source of unhappiness to himself of a far more
+incurable nature. From a reverie of this kind she was recalled at the
+end of some minutes by Willoughby, who, rousing himself from a reverie
+at least equally painful, started up in preparation for going, and
+said—
+
+“There is no use in staying here; I must be off.”
+
+“Are you going back to town?”
+
+“No—to Combe Magna. I have business there; from thence to town in a day
+or two. Good bye.”
+
+He held out his hand. She could not refuse to give him hers;—he pressed
+it with affection.
+
+“And you _do_ think something better of me than you did?” said he,
+letting it fall, and leaning against the mantel-piece as if forgetting
+he was to go.
+
+Elinor assured him that she did;—that she forgave, pitied, wished him
+well—was even interested in his happiness—and added some gentle counsel
+as to the behaviour most likely to promote it. His answer was not very
+encouraging.
+
+“As to that,” said he, “I must rub through the world as well as I can.
+Domestic happiness is out of the question. If, however, I am allowed to
+think that you and yours feel an interest in my fate and actions, it
+may be the means—it may put me on my guard—at least, it may be
+something to live for. Marianne to be sure is lost to me for ever. Were
+I even by any blessed chance at liberty again—”
+
+Elinor stopped him with a reproof.
+
+“Well,”—he replied—“once more good bye. I shall now go away and live in
+dread of one event.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“Your sister’s marriage.”
+
+“You are very wrong. She can never be more lost to you than she is
+now.”
+
+“But she will be gained by some one else. And if that some one should
+be the very he whom, of all others, I could least bear—but I will not
+stay to rob myself of all your compassionate goodwill, by showing that
+where I have most injured I can least forgive. Good bye,—God bless
+you!”
+
+And with these words, he almost ran out of the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV.
+
+
+Elinor, for some time after he left her, for some time even after the
+sound of his carriage had died away, remained too much oppressed by a
+crowd of ideas, widely differing in themselves, but of which sadness
+was the general result, to think even of her sister.
+
+Willoughby, he, whom only half an hour ago she had abhorred as the most
+worthless of men, Willoughby, in spite of all his faults, excited a
+degree of commiseration for the sufferings produced by them, which made
+her think of him as now separated for ever from her family, with a
+tenderness, a regret, rather in proportion, as she soon acknowledged
+within herself—to his wishes than to his merits. She felt that his
+influence over her mind was heightened by circumstances which ought not
+in reason to have weight; by that person of uncommon attraction, that
+open, affectionate, and lively manner which it was no merit to possess;
+and by that still ardent love for Marianne, which it was not even
+innocent to indulge. But she felt that it was so, long, long before she
+could feel his influence less.
+
+When at last she returned to the unconscious Marianne, she found her
+just awaking, refreshed by so long and sweet a sleep to the extent of
+her hopes. Elinor’s heart was full. The past, the present, the future,
+Willoughby’s visit, Marianne’s safety, and her mother’s expected
+arrival, threw her altogether into an agitation of spirits which kept
+off every indication of fatigue, and made her only fearful of betraying
+herself to her sister. Short was the time, however, in which that fear
+could affect her, for within half an hour after Willoughby’s leaving
+the house, she was again called down stairs by the sound of another
+carriage.—Eager to save her mother from every unnecessary moment’s
+horrible suspense, she ran immediately into the hall, and reached the
+outward door just in time to receive and support her as she entered it.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood, whose terror as they drew near the house had produced
+almost the conviction of Marianne’s being no more, had no voice to
+inquire after her, no voice even for Elinor; but _she_, waiting neither
+for salutation nor inquiry, instantly gave the joyful relief; and her
+mother, catching it with all her usual warmth, was in a moment as much
+overcome by her happiness, as she had been before by her fears. She was
+supported into the drawing-room between her daughter and her friend;
+and there, shedding tears of joy, though still unable to speak,
+embraced Elinor again and again, turning from her at intervals to press
+Colonel Brandon’s hand, with a look which spoke at once her gratitude,
+and her conviction of his sharing with herself in the bliss of the
+moment. He shared it, however, in a silence even greater than her own.
+
+As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had recovered herself, to see Marianne was her
+first desire; and in two minutes she was with her beloved child,
+rendered dearer to her than ever by absence, unhappiness, and danger.
+Elinor’s delight, as she saw what each felt in the meeting, was only
+checked by an apprehension of its robbing Marianne of farther sleep:
+but Mrs. Dashwood could be calm, could be even prudent, when the life
+of a child was at stake, and Marianne, satisfied in knowing her mother
+was near her, and conscious of being too weak for conversation,
+submitted readily to the silence and quiet prescribed by every nurse
+around her. Mrs. Dashwood _would_ sit up with her all night; and
+Elinor, in compliance with her mother’s entreaty, went to bed. But the
+rest, which one night entirely sleepless, and many hours of the most
+wearing anxiety seemed to make requisite, was kept off by irritation of
+spirits. Willoughby, “poor Willoughby,” as she now allowed herself to
+call him, was constantly in her thoughts; she would not but have heard
+his vindication for the world, and now blamed, now acquitted herself
+for having judged him so harshly before. But her promise of relating it
+to her sister was invariably painful. She dreaded the performance of
+it, dreaded what its effect on Marianne might be; doubted whether after
+such an explanation she could ever be happy with another; and for a
+moment wished Willoughby a widower. Then, remembering Colonel Brandon,
+reproved herself, felt that to _his_ sufferings and _his_ constancy far
+more than to his rival’s, the reward of her sister was due, and wished
+any thing rather than Mrs. Willoughby’s death.
+
+The shock of Colonel Brandon’s errand at Barton had been much softened
+to Mrs. Dashwood by her own previous alarm; for so great was her
+uneasiness about Marianne, that she had already determined to set out
+for Cleveland on that very day, without waiting for any further
+intelligence, and had so far settled her journey before his arrival,
+that the Careys were then expected every moment to fetch Margaret away,
+as her mother was unwilling to take her where there might be infection.
+
+Marianne continued to mend every day, and the brilliant cheerfulness of
+Mrs. Dashwood’s looks and spirits proved her to be, as she repeatedly
+declared herself, one of the happiest women in the world. Elinor could
+not hear the declaration, nor witness its proofs without sometimes
+wondering whether her mother ever recollected Edward. But Mrs.
+Dashwood, trusting to the temperate account of her own disappointment
+which Elinor had sent her, was led away by the exuberance of her joy to
+think only of what would increase it. Marianne was restored to her from
+a danger in which, as she now began to feel, her own mistaken judgment
+in encouraging the unfortunate attachment to Willoughby, had
+contributed to place her;—and in her recovery she had yet another
+source of joy unthought of by Elinor. It was thus imparted to her, as
+soon as any opportunity of private conference between them occurred.
+
+“At last we are alone. My Elinor, you do not yet know all my happiness.
+Colonel Brandon loves Marianne. He has told me so himself.”
+
+Her daughter, feeling by turns both pleased and pained, surprised and
+not surprised, was all silent attention.
+
+“You are never like me, dear Elinor, or I should wonder at your
+composure now. Had I sat down to wish for any possible good to my
+family, I should have fixed on Colonel Brandon’s marrying one of you as
+the object most desirable. And I believe Marianne will be the most
+happy with him of the two.”
+
+Elinor was half inclined to ask her reason for thinking so, because
+satisfied that none founded on an impartial consideration of their age,
+characters, or feelings, could be given;—but her mother must always be
+carried away by her imagination on any interesting subject, and
+therefore instead of an inquiry, she passed it off with a smile.
+
+“He opened his whole heart to me yesterday as we travelled. It came out
+quite unawares, quite undesignedly. I, you may well believe, could talk
+of nothing but my child;—he could not conceal his distress; I saw that
+it equalled my own, and he perhaps, thinking that mere friendship, as
+the world now goes, would not justify so warm a sympathy—or rather, not
+thinking at all, I suppose—giving way to irresistible feelings, made me
+acquainted with his earnest, tender, constant, affection for Marianne.
+He has loved her, my Elinor, ever since the first moment of seeing
+her.”
+
+Here, however, Elinor perceived,—not the language, not the professions
+of Colonel Brandon, but the natural embellishments of her mother’s
+active fancy, which fashioned every thing delightful to her as it
+chose.
+
+“His regard for her, infinitely surpassing anything that Willoughby
+ever felt or feigned, as much more warm, as more sincere or
+constant—which ever we are to call it—has subsisted through all the
+knowledge of dear Marianne’s unhappy prepossession for that worthless
+young man!—and without selfishness—without encouraging a hope!—could he
+have seen her happy with another—Such a noble mind!—such openness, such
+sincerity!—no one can be deceived in _him_.”
+
+“Colonel Brandon’s character,” said Elinor, “as an excellent man, is
+well established.”
+
+“I know it is,”—replied her mother seriously, “or after such a warning,
+_I_ should be the last to encourage such affection, or even to be
+pleased by it. But his coming for me as he did, with such active, such
+ready friendship, is enough to prove him one of the worthiest of men.”
+
+“His character, however,” answered Elinor, “does not rest on _one_ act
+of kindness, to which his affection for Marianne, were humanity out of
+the case, would have prompted him. To Mrs. Jennings, to the Middletons,
+he has been long and intimately known; they equally love and respect
+him; and even my own knowledge of him, though lately acquired, is very
+considerable; and so highly do _I_ value and esteem him, that if
+Marianne can be happy with him, I shall be as ready as yourself to
+think our connection the greatest blessing to us in the world. What
+answer did you give him?—Did you allow him to hope?”
+
+“Oh! my love, I could not then talk of hope to him or to myself.
+Marianne might at that moment be dying. But he did not ask for hope or
+encouragement. His was an involuntary confidence, an irrepressible
+effusion to a soothing friend, not an application to a parent. Yet
+after a time I _did_ say, for at first I was quite overcome, that if
+she lived, as I trusted she might, my greatest happiness would lie in
+promoting their marriage; and since our arrival, since our delightful
+security, I have repeated it to him more fully, have given him every
+encouragement in my power. Time, a very little time, I tell him, will
+do everything; Marianne’s heart is not to be wasted for ever on such a
+man as Willoughby. His own merits must soon secure it.”
+
+“To judge from the Colonel’s spirits, however, you have not yet made
+him equally sanguine.”
+
+“No. He thinks Marianne’s affection too deeply rooted for any change in
+it under a great length of time, and even supposing her heart again
+free, is too diffident of himself to believe, that with such a
+difference of age and disposition he could ever attach her. There,
+however, he is quite mistaken. His age is only so much beyond hers as
+to be an advantage, as to make his character and principles fixed; and
+his disposition, I am well convinced, is exactly the very one to make
+your sister happy. And his person, his manners too, are all in his
+favour. My partiality does not blind me; he certainly is not so
+handsome as Willoughby; but at the same time, there is something much
+more pleasing in his countenance. There was always a something, if you
+remember, in Willoughby’s eyes at times, which I did not like.”
+
+Elinor could _not_ remember it; but her mother, without waiting for her
+assent, continued,
+
+“And his manners, the Colonel’s manners are not only more pleasing to
+me than Willoughby’s ever were, but they are of a kind I well know to
+be more solidly attaching to Marianne. Their gentleness, their genuine
+attention to other people, and their manly unstudied simplicity is much
+more accordant with her real disposition, than the liveliness, often
+artificial, and often ill-timed of the other. I am very sure myself,
+that had Willoughby turned out as really amiable, as he has proved
+himself the contrary, Marianne would yet never have been so happy with
+_him_ as she will be with Colonel Brandon.”
+
+She paused.—Her daughter could not quite agree with her, but her
+dissent was not heard, and therefore gave no offence.
+
+“At Delaford, she will be within an easy distance of me,” added Mrs.
+Dashwood, “even if I remain at Barton; and in all probability,—for I
+hear it is a large village,—indeed there certainly _must_ be some small
+house or cottage close by, that would suit us quite as well as our
+present situation.”
+
+Poor Elinor!—here was a new scheme for getting her to Delaford!—but her
+spirit was stubborn.
+
+“His fortune too!—for at my time of life you know, everybody cares
+about _that;_—and though I neither know nor desire to know, what it
+really is, I am sure it must be a good one.”
+
+Here they were interrupted by the entrance of a third person, and
+Elinor withdrew to think it all over in private, to wish success to her
+friend, and yet in wishing it, to feel a pang for Willoughby.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI.
+
+
+Marianne’s illness, though weakening in its kind, had not been long
+enough to make her recovery slow; and with youth, natural strength, and
+her mother’s presence in aid, it proceeded so smoothly as to enable her
+to remove, within four days after the arrival of the latter, into Mrs.
+Palmer’s dressing-room. When there, at her own particular request, for
+she was impatient to pour forth her thanks to him for fetching her
+mother, Colonel Brandon was invited to visit her.
+
+His emotion on entering the room, in seeing her altered looks, and in
+receiving the pale hand which she immediately held out to him, was
+such, as, in Elinor’s conjecture, must arise from something more than
+his affection for Marianne, or the consciousness of its being known to
+others; and she soon discovered in his melancholy eye and varying
+complexion as he looked at her sister, the probable recurrence of many
+past scenes of misery to his mind, brought back by that resemblance
+between Marianne and Eliza already acknowledged, and now strengthened
+by the hollow eye, the sickly skin, the posture of reclining weakness,
+and the warm acknowledgment of peculiar obligation.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood, not less watchful of what passed than her daughter, but
+with a mind very differently influenced, and therefore watching to very
+different effect, saw nothing in the Colonel’s behaviour but what arose
+from the most simple and self-evident sensations, while in the actions
+and words of Marianne she persuaded herself to think that something
+more than gratitude already dawned.
+
+At the end of another day or two, Marianne growing visibly stronger
+every twelve hours, Mrs. Dashwood, urged equally by her own and her
+daughter’s wishes, began to talk of removing to Barton. On _her_
+measures depended those of her two friends; Mrs. Jennings could not
+quit Cleveland during the Dashwoods’ stay; and Colonel Brandon was soon
+brought, by their united request, to consider his own abode there as
+equally determinate, if not equally indispensable. At his and Mrs.
+Jennings’s united request in return, Mrs. Dashwood was prevailed on to
+accept the use of his carriage on her journey back, for the better
+accommodation of her sick child; and the Colonel, at the joint
+invitation of Mrs. Dashwood and Mrs. Jennings, whose active good-nature
+made her friendly and hospitable for other people as well as herself,
+engaged with pleasure to redeem it by a visit at the cottage, in the
+course of a few weeks.
+
+The day of separation and departure arrived; and Marianne, after taking
+so particular and lengthened a leave of Mrs. Jennings, one so earnestly
+grateful, so full of respect and kind wishes as seemed due to her own
+heart from a secret acknowledgment of past inattention, and bidding
+Colonel Brandon farewell with a cordiality of a friend, was carefully
+assisted by him into the carriage, of which he seemed anxious that she
+should engross at least half. Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor then followed,
+and the others were left by themselves, to talk of the travellers, and
+feel their own dullness, till Mrs. Jennings was summoned to her chaise
+to take comfort in the gossip of her maid for the loss of her two young
+companions; and Colonel Brandon immediately afterwards took his
+solitary way to Delaford.
+
+The Dashwoods were two days on the road, and Marianne bore her journey
+on both, without essential fatigue. Every thing that the most zealous
+affection, the most solicitous care could do to render her comfortable,
+was the office of each watchful companion, and each found their reward
+in her bodily ease, and her calmness of spirits. To Elinor, the
+observation of the latter was particularly grateful. She, who had seen
+her week after week so constantly suffering, oppressed by anguish of
+heart which she had neither courage to speak of, nor fortitude to
+conceal, now saw with a joy, which no other could equally share, an
+apparent composure of mind, which, in being the result as she trusted
+of serious reflection, must eventually lead her to contentment and
+cheerfulness.
+
+As they approached Barton, indeed, and entered on scenes of which every
+field and every tree brought some peculiar, some painful recollection,
+she grew silent and thoughtful, and turning away her face from their
+notice, sat earnestly gazing through the window. But here, Elinor could
+neither wonder nor blame; and when she saw, as she assisted Marianne
+from the carriage, that she had been crying, she saw only an emotion
+too natural in itself to raise any thing less tender than pity, and in
+its unobtrusiveness entitled to praise. In the whole of her subsequent
+manner, she traced the direction of a mind awakened to reasonable
+exertion; for no sooner had they entered their common sitting-room,
+than Marianne turned her eyes around it with a look of resolute
+firmness, as if determined at once to accustom herself to the sight of
+every object with which the remembrance of Willoughby could be
+connected.—She said little, but every sentence aimed at cheerfulness,
+and though a sigh sometimes escaped her, it never passed away without
+the atonement of a smile. After dinner she would try her piano-forte.
+She went to it; but the music on which her eye first rested was an
+opera, procured for her by Willoughby, containing some of their
+favourite duets, and bearing on its outward leaf her own name in his
+hand-writing.—That would not do.—She shook her head, put the music
+aside, and after running over the keys for a minute, complained of
+feebleness in her fingers, and closed the instrument again; declaring
+however with firmness as she did so, that she should in future practice
+much.
+
+The next morning produced no abatement in these happy symptoms. On the
+contrary, with a mind and body alike strengthened by rest, she looked
+and spoke with more genuine spirit, anticipating the pleasure of
+Margaret’s return, and talking of the dear family party which would
+then be restored, of their mutual pursuits and cheerful society, as the
+only happiness worth a wish.
+
+“When the weather is settled, and I have recovered my strength,” said
+she, “we will take long walks together every day. We will walk to the
+farm at the edge of the down, and see how the children go on; we will
+walk to Sir John’s new plantations at Barton Cross, and the Abbeyland;
+and we will often go to the old ruins of the Priory, and try to trace
+its foundations as far as we are told they once reached. I know we
+shall be happy. I know the summer will pass happily away. I mean never
+to be later in rising than six, and from that time till dinner I shall
+divide every moment between music and reading. I have formed my plan,
+and am determined to enter on a course of serious study. Our own
+library is too well known to me, to be resorted to for any thing beyond
+mere amusement. But there are many works well worth reading at the
+Park; and there are others of more modern production which I know I can
+borrow of Colonel Brandon. By reading only six hours a-day, I shall
+gain in the course of a twelve-month a great deal of instruction which
+I now feel myself to want.”
+
+Elinor honoured her for a plan which originated so nobly as this;
+though smiling to see the same eager fancy which had been leading her
+to the extreme of languid indolence and selfish repining, now at work
+in introducing excess into a scheme of such rational employment and
+virtuous self-control. Her smile however changed to a sigh when she
+remembered that promise to Willoughby was yet unfulfilled, and feared
+she had that to communicate which might again unsettle the mind of
+Marianne, and ruin at least for a time this fair prospect of busy
+tranquillity. Willing therefore to delay the evil hour, she resolved to
+wait till her sister’s health were more secure, before she appointed
+it. But the resolution was made only to be broken.
+
+Marianne had been two or three days at home, before the weather was
+fine enough for an invalid like herself to venture out. But at last a
+soft, genial morning appeared; such as might tempt the daughter’s
+wishes and the mother’s confidence; and Marianne, leaning on Elinor’s
+arm, was authorised to walk as long as she could without fatigue, in
+the lane before the house.
+
+The sisters set out at a pace, slow as the feebleness of Marianne in an
+exercise hitherto untried since her illness required; and they had
+advanced only so far beyond the house as to admit a full view of the
+hill, the important hill behind, when pausing with her eyes turned
+towards it, Marianne calmly said,—
+
+“There, exactly there,”—pointing with one hand, “on that projecting
+mound,—there I fell; and there I first saw Willoughby.”
+
+Her voice sunk with the word, but presently reviving she added,
+
+“I am thankful to find that I can look with so little pain on the spot!
+shall we ever talk on that subject, Elinor?” hesitatingly it was said.
+“Or will it be wrong? I _can_ talk of it now, I hope, as I ought to
+do.”
+
+Elinor tenderly invited her to be open.
+
+“As for regret,” said Marianne, “I have done with that, as far as _he_
+is concerned. I do not mean to talk to you of what my feelings have
+been for him, but what they are _now_. At present, if I could be
+satisfied on one point, if I could be allowed to think that he was not
+_always_ acting a part, not _always_ deceiving me; but above all, if I
+could be assured that he never was so _very_ wicked as my fears have
+sometimes fancied him, since the story of that unfortunate girl—”
+
+She stopt. Elinor joyfully treasured her words as she answered,
+
+“If you could be assured of that, you think you should be easy.”
+
+“Yes. My peace of mind is doubly involved in it; for not only is it
+horrible to suspect a person, who has been what _he_ has been to _me_,
+of such designs, but what must it make me appear to myself? What in a
+situation like mine, but a most shamefully unguarded affection could
+expose me to—”
+
+“How then,” asked her sister, “would you account for his behaviour?”
+
+“I would suppose him,—Oh, how gladly would I suppose him, only fickle,
+very, very fickle.”
+
+Elinor said no more. She was debating within herself on the eligibility
+of beginning her story directly, or postponing it till Marianne were in
+stronger health;—and they crept on for a few minutes in silence.
+
+“I am not wishing him too much good,” said Marianne at last with a
+sigh, “when I wish his secret reflections may be no more unpleasant
+than my own. He will suffer enough in them.”
+
+“Do you compare your conduct with his?”
+
+“No. I compare it with what it ought to have been; I compare it with
+yours.”
+
+“Our situations have borne little resemblance.”
+
+“They have borne more than our conduct. Do not, my dearest Elinor, let
+your kindness defend what I know your judgment must censure. My illness
+has made me think. It has given me leisure and calmness for serious
+recollection. Long before I was enough recovered to talk, I was
+perfectly able to reflect. I considered the past: I saw in my own
+behaviour, since the beginning of our acquaintance with him last
+autumn, nothing but a series of imprudence towards myself, and want of
+kindness to others. I saw that my own feelings had prepared my
+sufferings, and that my want of fortitude under them had almost led me
+to the grave. My illness, I well knew, had been entirely brought on by
+myself by such negligence of my own health, as I had felt even at the
+time to be wrong. Had I died, it would have been self-destruction. I
+did not know my danger till the danger was removed; but with such
+feelings as these reflections gave me, I wonder at my recovery,—wonder
+that the very eagerness of my desire to live, to have time for
+atonement to my God, and to you all, did not kill me at once. Had I
+died, in what peculiar misery should I have left you, my nurse, my
+friend, my sister! You, who had seen all the fretful selfishness of my
+latter days; who had known all the murmurings of my heart! How should I
+have lived in _your_ remembrance! My mother too! How could you have
+consoled her! I cannot express my own abhorrence of myself. Whenever I
+looked towards the past, I saw some duty neglected, or some failing
+indulged. Every body seemed injured by me. The kindness, the unceasing
+kindness of Mrs. Jennings, I had repaid with ungrateful contempt. To
+the Middletons, to the Palmers, the Steeles, to every common
+acquaintance even, I had been insolent and unjust; with a heart
+hardened against their merits, and a temper irritated by their very
+attention. To John, to Fanny, yes, even to them, little as they
+deserve, I had given less than their due. But you, you above all, above
+my mother, had been wronged by me. I, and only I, knew your heart and
+its sorrows; yet to what did it influence me?—not to any compassion
+that could benefit you or myself.—Your example was before me; but to
+what avail? Was I more considerate of you and your comfort? Did I
+imitate your forbearance, or lessen your restraints, by taking any part
+in those offices of general complaisance or particular gratitude which
+you had hitherto been left to discharge alone? No; not less when I knew
+you to be unhappy, than when I had believed you at ease, did I turn
+away from every exertion of duty or friendship; scarcely allowing
+sorrow to exist but with me, regretting only _that_ heart which had
+deserted and wronged me, and leaving you, for whom I professed an
+unbounded affection, to be miserable for my sake.”
+
+Here ceased the rapid flow of her self-reproving spirit; and Elinor,
+impatient to soothe, though too honest to flatter, gave her instantly
+that praise and support which her frankness and her contrition so well
+deserved. Marianne pressed her hand and replied,—
+
+“You are very good.—The future must be my proof. I have laid down my
+plan, and if I am capable of adhering to it—my feelings shall be
+governed and my temper improved. They shall no longer worry others, nor
+torture myself. I shall now live solely for my family. You, my mother,
+and Margaret, must henceforth be all the world to me; you will share my
+affections entirely between you. From you, from my home, I shall never
+again have the smallest incitement to move; and if I do mix in other
+society, it will be only to show that my spirit is humbled, my heart
+amended, and that I can practise the civilities, the lesser duties of
+life, with gentleness and forbearance. As for Willoughby—to say that I
+shall soon or that I shall ever forget him, would be idle. His
+remembrance can be overcome by no change of circumstances or opinions.
+But it shall be regulated, it shall be checked by religion, by reason,
+by constant employment.”
+
+She paused—and added in a low voice, “If I could but know _his_ heart,
+everything would become easy.”
+
+Elinor, who had now been for some time reflecting on the propriety or
+impropriety of speedily hazarding her narration, without feeling at all
+nearer decision than at first, heard this; and perceiving that as
+reflection did nothing, resolution must do all, soon found herself
+leading to the fact.
+
+She managed the recital, as she hoped, with address; prepared her
+anxious listener with caution; related simply and honestly the chief
+points on which Willoughby grounded his apology; did justice to his
+repentance, and softened only his protestations of present regard.
+Marianne said not a word.—She trembled, her eyes were fixed on the
+ground, and her lips became whiter than even sickness had left them. A
+thousand inquiries sprung up from her heart, but she dared not urge
+one. She caught every syllable with panting eagerness; her hand,
+unknowingly to herself, closely pressed her sister’s, and tears covered
+her cheeks.
+
+Elinor, dreading her being tired, led her towards home; and till they
+reached the door of the cottage, easily conjecturing what her curiosity
+must be though no question was suffered to speak it, talked of nothing
+but Willoughby, and their conversation together; and was carefully
+minute in every particular of speech and look, where minuteness could
+be safely indulged. As soon as they entered the house, Marianne with a
+kiss of gratitude and these two words just articulate through her
+tears, “Tell mama,” withdrew from her sister and walked slowly up
+stairs. Elinor would not attempt to disturb a solitude so reasonable as
+what she now sought; and with a mind anxiously pre-arranging its
+result, and a resolution of reviving the subject again, should Marianne
+fail to do it, she turned into the parlour to fulfill her parting
+injunction.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII.
+
+
+Mrs. Dashwood did not hear unmoved the vindication of her former
+favourite. She rejoiced in his being cleared from some part of his
+imputed guilt;—she was sorry for him;—she wished him happy. But the
+feelings of the past could not be recalled.—Nothing could restore him
+with a faith unbroken—a character unblemished, to Marianne. Nothing
+could do away the knowledge of what the latter had suffered through his
+means, nor remove the guilt of his conduct towards Eliza. Nothing could
+replace him, therefore, in her former esteem, nor injure the interests
+of Colonel Brandon.
+
+Had Mrs. Dashwood, like her daughter, heard Willoughby’s story from
+himself—had she witnessed his distress, and been under the influence of
+his countenance and his manner, it is probable that her compassion
+would have been greater. But it was neither in Elinor’s power, nor in
+her wish, to rouse such feelings in another, by her retailed
+explanation, as had at first been called forth in herself. Reflection
+had given calmness to her judgment, and sobered her own opinion of
+Willoughby’s deserts;—she wished, therefore, to declare only the simple
+truth, and lay open such facts as were really due to his character,
+without any embellishment of tenderness to lead the fancy astray.
+
+In the evening, when they were all three together, Marianne began
+voluntarily to speak of him again;—but that it was not without an
+effort, the restless, unquiet thoughtfulness in which she had been for
+some time previously sitting—her rising colour, as she spoke,—and her
+unsteady voice, plainly showed.
+
+“I wish to assure you both,” said she, “that I see every thing—as you
+can desire me to do.”
+
+Mrs. Dashwood would have interrupted her instantly with soothing
+tenderness, had not Elinor, who really wished to hear her sister’s
+unbiased opinion, by an eager sign, engaged her silence. Marianne
+slowly continued,—
+
+“It is a great relief to me—what Elinor told me this morning—I have now
+heard exactly what I wished to hear.”—For some moments her voice was
+lost; but recovering herself, she added, and with greater calmness than
+before—“I am now perfectly satisfied, I wish for no change. I never
+could have been happy with him, after knowing, as sooner or later I
+must have known, all this.—I should have had no confidence, no esteem.
+Nothing could have done it away to my feelings.”
+
+“I know it—I know it,” cried her mother. “Happy with a man of libertine
+practices!—With one who so injured the peace of the dearest of our
+friends, and the best of men!—No—my Marianne has not a heart to be made
+happy with such a man!—Her conscience, her sensitive conscience, would
+have felt all that the conscience of her husband ought to have felt.”
+
+Marianne sighed, and repeated, “I wish for no change.”
+
+“You consider the matter,” said Elinor, “exactly as a good mind and a
+sound understanding must consider it; and I dare say you perceive, as
+well as myself, not only in this, but in many other circumstances,
+reason enough to be convinced that your marriage must have involved you
+in many certain troubles and disappointments, in which you would have
+been poorly supported by an affection, on his side, much less certain.
+Had you married, you must have been always poor. His expensiveness is
+acknowledged even by himself, and his whole conduct declares that
+self-denial is a word hardly understood by him. His demands and your
+inexperience together, on a small, very small income, must have brought
+on distresses which would not be the _less_ grievous to you, from
+having been entirely unknown and unthought of before. _Your_ sense of
+honour and honesty would have led you, I know, when aware of your
+situation, to attempt all the economy that would appear to you
+possible: and, perhaps, as long as your frugality retrenched only on
+your own comfort, you might have been suffered to practice it, but
+beyond that—and how little could the utmost of your single management
+do to stop the ruin which had begun before your marriage? Beyond
+_that_, had you endeavoured, however reasonably, to abridge _his_
+enjoyments, is it not to be feared, that instead of prevailing on
+feelings so selfish to consent to it, you would have lessened your own
+influence on his heart, and made him regret the connection which had
+involved him in such difficulties?”
+
+Marianne’s lips quivered, and she repeated the word “Selfish?” in a
+tone that implied—“do you really think him selfish?”
+
+“The whole of his behaviour,” replied Elinor, “from the beginning to
+the end of the affair, has been grounded on selfishness. It was
+selfishness which first made him sport with your affections; which
+afterwards, when his own were engaged, made him delay the confession of
+it, and which finally carried him from Barton. His own enjoyment, or
+his own ease, was, in every particular, his ruling principle.”
+
+“It is very true. _My_ happiness never was his object.”
+
+“At present,” continued Elinor, “he regrets what he has done. And why
+does he regret it?—Because he finds it has not answered towards
+himself. It has not made him happy. His circumstances are now
+unembarrassed—he suffers from no evil of that kind; and he thinks only
+that he has married a woman of a less amiable temper than yourself. But
+does it follow that had he married you, he would have been happy?—The
+inconveniences would have been different. He would then have suffered
+under the pecuniary distresses which, because they are removed, he now
+reckons as nothing. He would have had a wife of whose temper he could
+make no complaint, but he would have been always necessitous—always
+poor; and probably would soon have learned to rank the innumerable
+comforts of a clear estate and good income as of far more importance,
+even to domestic happiness, than the mere temper of a wife.”
+
+“I have not a doubt of it,” said Marianne; “and I have nothing to
+regret—nothing but my own folly.”
+
+“Rather say your mother’s imprudence, my child,” said Mrs. Dashwood;
+“_she_ must be answerable.”
+
+Marianne would not let her proceed;—and Elinor, satisfied that each
+felt their own error, wished to avoid any survey of the past that might
+weaken her sister’s spirits; she, therefore, pursuing the first
+subject, immediately continued,
+
+“_One_ observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the whole of the
+story—that all Willoughby’s difficulties have arisen from the first
+offence against virtue, in his behaviour to Eliza Williams. That crime
+has been the origin of every lesser one, and of all his present
+discontents.”
+
+Marianne assented most feelingly to the remark; and her mother was led
+by it to an enumeration of Colonel Brandon’s injuries and merits, warm
+as friendship and design could unitedly dictate. Her daughter did not
+look, however, as if much of it were heard by her.
+
+Elinor, according to her expectation, saw on the two or three following
+days, that Marianne did not continue to gain strength as she had done;
+but while her resolution was unsubdued, and she still tried to appear
+cheerful and easy, her sister could safely trust to the effect of time
+upon her health.
+
+Margaret returned, and the family were again all restored to each
+other, again quietly settled at the cottage; and if not pursuing their
+usual studies with quite so much vigour as when they first came to
+Barton, at least planning a vigorous prosecution of them in future.
+
+Elinor grew impatient for some tidings of Edward. She had heard nothing
+of him since her leaving London, nothing new of his plans, nothing
+certain even of his present abode. Some letters had passed between her
+and her brother, in consequence of Marianne’s illness; and in the first
+of John’s, there had been this sentence:—“We know nothing of our
+unfortunate Edward, and can make no enquiries on so prohibited a
+subject, but conclude him to be still at Oxford;” which was all the
+intelligence of Edward afforded her by the correspondence, for his name
+was not even mentioned in any of the succeeding letters. She was not
+doomed, however, to be long in ignorance of his measures.
+
+Their man-servant had been sent one morning to Exeter on business; and
+when, as he waited at table, he had satisfied the inquiries of his
+mistress as to the event of his errand, this was his voluntary
+communication,—
+
+“I suppose you know, ma’am, that Mr. Ferrars is married.”
+
+Marianne gave a violent start, fixed her eyes upon Elinor, saw her
+turning pale, and fell back in her chair in hysterics. Mrs. Dashwood,
+whose eyes, as she answered the servant’s inquiry, had intuitively
+taken the same direction, was shocked to perceive by Elinor’s
+countenance how much she really suffered, and a moment afterwards,
+alike distressed by Marianne’s situation, knew not on which child to
+bestow her principal attention.
+
+The servant, who saw only that Miss Marianne was taken ill, had sense
+enough to call one of the maids, who, with Mrs. Dashwood’s assistance,
+supported her into the other room. By that time, Marianne was rather
+better, and her mother leaving her to the care of Margaret and the
+maid, returned to Elinor, who, though still much disordered, had so far
+recovered the use of her reason and voice as to be just beginning an
+inquiry of Thomas, as to the source of his intelligence. Mrs. Dashwood
+immediately took all that trouble on herself; and Elinor had the
+benefit of the information without the exertion of seeking it.
+
+“Who told you that Mr. Ferrars was married, Thomas?”
+
+“I see Mr. Ferrars myself, ma’am, this morning in Exeter, and his lady
+too, Miss Steele as was. They was stopping in a chaise at the door of
+the New London Inn, as I went there with a message from Sally at the
+Park to her brother, who is one of the post-boys. I happened to look up
+as I went by the chaise, and so I see directly it was the youngest Miss
+Steele; so I took off my hat, and she knew me and called to me, and
+inquired after you, ma’am, and the young ladies, especially Miss
+Marianne, and bid me I should give her compliments and Mr. Ferrars’s,
+their best compliments and service, and how sorry they was they had not
+time to come on and see you, but they was in a great hurry to go
+forwards, for they was going further down for a little while, but
+howsever, when they come back, they’d make sure to come and see you.”
+
+“But did she tell you she was married, Thomas?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am. She smiled, and said how she had changed her name since
+she was in these parts. She was always a very affable and free-spoken
+young lady, and very civil behaved. So, I made free to wish her joy.”
+
+“Was Mr. Ferrars in the carriage with her?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am, I just see him leaning back in it, but he did not look
+up;—he never was a gentleman much for talking.”
+
+Elinor’s heart could easily account for his not putting himself
+forward; and Mrs. Dashwood probably found the same explanation.
+
+“Was there no one else in the carriage?”
+
+“No, ma’am, only they two.”
+
+“Do you know where they came from?”
+
+“They come straight from town, as Miss Lucy—Mrs. Ferrars told me.”
+
+“And are they going farther westward?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am—but not to bide long. They will soon be back again, and
+then they’d be sure and call here.”
+
+Mrs. Dashwood now looked at her daughter; but Elinor knew better than
+to expect them. She recognised the whole of Lucy in the message, and
+was very confident that Edward would never come near them. She observed
+in a low voice, to her mother, that they were probably going down to
+Mr. Pratt’s, near Plymouth.
+
+Thomas’s intelligence seemed over. Elinor looked as if she wished to
+hear more.
+
+“Did you see them off, before you came away?”
+
+“No, ma’am—the horses were just coming out, but I could not bide any
+longer; I was afraid of being late.”
+
+“Did Mrs. Ferrars look well?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am, she said how she was very well; and to my mind she was
+always a very handsome young lady—and she seemed vastly contented.”
+
+Mrs. Dashwood could think of no other question, and Thomas and the
+tablecloth, now alike needless, were soon afterwards dismissed.
+Marianne had already sent to say, that she should eat nothing more.
+Mrs. Dashwood’s and Elinor’s appetites were equally lost, and Margaret
+might think herself very well off, that with so much uneasiness as both
+her sisters had lately experienced, so much reason as they had often
+had to be careless of their meals, she had never been obliged to go
+without her dinner before.
+
+When the dessert and the wine were arranged, and Mrs. Dashwood and
+Elinor were left by themselves, they remained long together in a
+similarity of thoughtfulness and silence. Mrs. Dashwood feared to
+hazard any remark, and ventured not to offer consolation. She now found
+that she had erred in relying on Elinor’s representation of herself;
+and justly concluded that every thing had been expressly softened at
+the time, to spare her from an increase of unhappiness, suffering as
+she then had suffered for Marianne. She found that she had been misled
+by the careful, the considerate attention of her daughter, to think the
+attachment, which once she had so well understood, much slighter in
+reality, than she had been wont to believe, or than it was now proved
+to be. She feared that under this persuasion she had been unjust,
+inattentive, nay, almost unkind, to her Elinor;—that Marianne’s
+affliction, because more acknowledged, more immediately before her, had
+too much engrossed her tenderness, and led her away to forget that in
+Elinor she might have a daughter suffering almost as much, certainly
+with less self-provocation, and greater fortitude.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII.
+
+
+Elinor now found the difference between the expectation of an
+unpleasant event, however certain the mind may be told to consider it,
+and certainty itself. She now found, that in spite of herself, she had
+always admitted a hope, while Edward remained single, that something
+would occur to prevent his marrying Lucy; that some resolution of his
+own, some mediation of friends, or some more eligible opportunity of
+establishment for the lady, would arise to assist the happiness of all.
+But he was now married; and she condemned her heart for the lurking
+flattery, which so much heightened the pain of the intelligence.
+
+That he should be married soon, before (as she imagined) he could be in
+orders, and consequently before he could be in possession of the
+living, surprised her a little at first. But she soon saw how likely it
+was that Lucy, in her self-provident care, in her haste to secure him,
+should overlook every thing but the risk of delay. They were married,
+married in town, and now hastening down to her uncle’s. What had Edward
+felt on being within four miles from Barton, on seeing her mother’s
+servant, on hearing Lucy’s message!
+
+They would soon, she supposed, be settled at Delaford.—Delaford,—that
+place in which so much conspired to give her an interest; which she
+wished to be acquainted with, and yet desired to avoid. She saw them in
+an instant in their parsonage-house; saw in Lucy, the active,
+contriving manager, uniting at once a desire of smart appearance with
+the utmost frugality, and ashamed to be suspected of half her
+economical practices;—pursuing her own interest in every thought,
+courting the favour of Colonel Brandon, of Mrs. Jennings, and of every
+wealthy friend. In Edward—she knew not what she saw, nor what she
+wished to see;—happy or unhappy,—nothing pleased her; she turned away
+her head from every sketch of him.
+
+Elinor flattered herself that some one of their connections in London
+would write to them to announce the event, and give farther
+particulars,—but day after day passed off, and brought no letter, no
+tidings. Though uncertain that any one were to blame, she found fault
+with every absent friend. They were all thoughtless or indolent.
+
+“When do you write to Colonel Brandon, ma’am?” was an inquiry which
+sprung from the impatience of her mind to have something going on.
+
+“I wrote to him, my love, last week, and rather expect to see, than to
+hear from him again. I earnestly pressed his coming to us, and should
+not be surprised to see him walk in today or tomorrow, or any day.”
+
+This was gaining something, something to look forward to. Colonel
+Brandon _must_ have some information to give.
+
+Scarcely had she so determined it, when the figure of a man on
+horseback drew her eyes to the window. He stopt at their gate. It was a
+gentleman, it was Colonel Brandon himself. Now she could hear more; and
+she trembled in expectation of it. But it was _not_ Colonel Brandon;
+neither his air, nor his height. Were it possible, she must say it must
+be Edward. She looked again. He had just dismounted: she could not be
+mistaken,—it _was_ Edward. She moved away and sat down. “He comes from
+Mr. Pratt’s purposely to see us. I _will_ be calm; I _will_ be mistress
+of myself.”
+
+In a moment she perceived that the others were likewise aware of the
+mistake. 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 him with a look of forced complacency, gave
+him her hand, and wished him joy.
+
+He coloured, and stammered out an unintelligible reply. Elinor’s lips
+had moved with her mother’s, and, when the moment of action was over,
+she wished that she had shaken hands with him too. But it was then too
+late, and with a countenance meaning to be open, she sat down again and
+talked of the weather.
+
+Marianne had retreated as much as possible out of sight, to conceal her
+distress; and Margaret, understanding some part, but not the whole of
+the case, thought it incumbent on her to be dignified, and therefore
+took a seat as far from him as she could, and maintained a strict
+silence.
+
+When Elinor had ceased to rejoice in the dryness of the season, a very
+awful pause took place. It was put an end to by Mrs. Dashwood, who felt
+obliged to hope that he had left Mrs. Ferrars very well. In a hurried
+manner, he replied in the affirmative.
+
+Another pause.
+
+Elinor resolving to exert herself, though fearing the sound of her own
+voice, now said,
+
+“Is Mrs. Ferrars at Longstaple?”
+
+“At Longstaple!” he replied, with an air of surprise. “No, my mother is
+in town.”
+
+“I meant,” said Elinor, taking up some work from the table, “to enquire
+for Mrs. _Edward_ Ferrars.”
+
+She dared not look up;—but her mother and Marianne both turned their
+eyes on him. He coloured, seemed perplexed, looked doubtingly, and,
+after some hesitation, said,—
+
+“Perhaps you mean—my brother—you mean Mrs.—Mrs. _Robert_ Ferrars.”
+
+“Mrs. Robert Ferrars!” was repeated by Marianne and her mother in an
+accent of the utmost amazement; and though Elinor could not speak, even
+_her_ eyes were fixed on him with the same impatient wonder. He rose
+from his seat, and walked to the window, apparently from not knowing
+what to do; took up a pair of scissors that lay there, and while
+spoiling both them and their sheath by cutting the latter to pieces as
+he spoke, said, in a hurried voice,—
+
+“Perhaps you do not know: you may not have heard that my brother is
+lately married to—to the youngest—to Miss Lucy Steele.”
+
+His words were echoed with unspeakable astonishment by all but Elinor,
+who sat with her head leaning over her work, in a state of such
+agitation as made her hardly know where she was.
+
+“Yes,” said he, “they were married last week, and are now at Dawlish.”
+
+Elinor could sit it no longer. She almost ran out of the room, and as
+soon as the door was closed, burst into tears of joy, which at first
+she thought would never cease. Edward, who had till then looked any
+where, rather than at her, saw her hurry away, and perhaps saw—or even
+heard, her emotion; for immediately afterwards he fell into a reverie,
+which no remarks, no inquiries, no affectionate address of Mrs.
+Dashwood could penetrate, and at last, without saying a word, quitted
+the room, and walked out towards the village—leaving the others in the
+greatest astonishment and perplexity on a change in his situation, so
+wonderful and so sudden;—a perplexity which they had no means of
+lessening but by their own conjectures.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIX.
+
+
+Unaccountable, however, as the circumstances of his release might
+appear to the whole family, it was certain that Edward was free; and to
+what purpose that freedom would be employed was easily pre-determined
+by all;—for after experiencing the blessings of _one_ imprudent
+engagement, contracted without his mother’s consent, as he had already
+done for more than four years, nothing less could be expected of him in
+the failure of _that_, than the immediate contraction of another.
+
+His errand at Barton, in fact, was a simple one. It was only to ask
+Elinor to marry him;—and considering that he was not altogether
+inexperienced in such a question, it might be strange that he should
+feel so uncomfortable in the present case as he really did, so much in
+need of encouragement and fresh air.
+
+How soon he had walked himself into the proper resolution, however, how
+soon an opportunity of exercising it occurred, in what manner he
+expressed himself, and how he was received, need not be particularly
+told. This only need be said;—that when they all sat down to table at
+four o’clock, about three hours after his arrival, he had secured his
+lady, engaged her mother’s consent, and was not only in the rapturous
+profession of the lover, but, in the reality of reason and truth, one
+of the happiest of men. His situation indeed was more than commonly
+joyful. He had more than the ordinary triumph of accepted love to swell
+his heart, and raise his spirits. He was released without any reproach
+to himself, from an entanglement which had long formed his misery, from
+a woman whom he had long ceased to love;—and elevated at once to that
+security with another, which he must have thought of almost with
+despair, as soon as he had learnt to consider it with desire. He was
+brought, not from doubt or suspense, but from misery to happiness;—and
+the change was openly spoken in such a genuine, flowing, grateful
+cheerfulness, as his friends had never witnessed in him before.
+
+His heart was now open to Elinor, all its weaknesses, all its errors
+confessed, and his first boyish attachment to Lucy treated with all the
+philosophic dignity of twenty-four.
+
+“It was a foolish, idle inclination on my side,” said he, “the
+consequence of ignorance of the world, and want of employment. Had my
+mother given me some active profession when I was removed at eighteen
+from the care of Mr. Pratt, I think, nay, I am sure, it would never
+have happened; for though I left Longstaple with what I thought, at the
+time, a most unconquerable preference for his niece, yet had I then had
+any pursuit, any object to engage my time and keep me at a distance
+from her for a few months, I should very soon have outgrown the fancied
+attachment, especially by mixing more with the world, as in such case I
+must have done. But instead of having any thing to do, instead of
+having any profession chosen for me, or being allowed to chuse any
+myself, I returned home to be completely idle; and for the first
+twelvemonth afterwards I had not even the nominal employment, which
+belonging to the university would have given me; for I was not entered
+at Oxford till I was nineteen. I had therefore nothing in the world to
+do, but to fancy myself in love; and as my mother did not make my home
+in every respect comfortable, as I had no friend, no companion in my
+brother, and disliked new acquaintance, it was not unnatural for me to
+be very often at Longstaple, where I always felt myself at home, and
+was always sure of a welcome; and accordingly I spent the greatest part
+of my time there from eighteen to nineteen: Lucy appeared everything
+that was amiable and obliging. She was pretty too—at least I thought so
+_then;_ and I had seen so little of other women, that I could make no
+comparisons, and see no defects. Considering everything, therefore, I
+hope, foolish as our engagement was, foolish as it has since in every
+way been proved, it was not at the time an unnatural or an inexcusable
+piece of folly.”
+
+The change which a few hours had wrought in the minds and the happiness
+of the Dashwoods, was such—so great—as promised them all, the
+satisfaction of a sleepless night. Mrs. Dashwood, too happy to be
+comfortable, knew not how to love Edward, nor praise Elinor enough, how
+to be enough thankful for his release without wounding his delicacy,
+nor how at once to give them leisure for unrestrained conversation
+together, and yet enjoy, as she wished, the sight and society of both.
+
+Marianne could speak _her_ happiness only by tears. Comparisons would
+occur—regrets would arise; and her joy, though sincere as her love for
+her sister, was of a kind to give her neither spirits nor language.
+
+But Elinor—how are _her_ feelings to be described? From the moment of
+learning that Lucy was married to another, that Edward was free, to the
+moment of his justifying the hopes which had so instantly followed, she
+was every thing by turns but tranquil. But when the second moment had
+passed, when she found every doubt, every solicitude removed, compared
+her situation with what so lately it had been,—saw him honourably
+released from his former engagement,—saw him instantly profiting by the
+release, to address herself and declare an affection as tender, as
+constant as she had ever supposed it to be,—she was oppressed, she was
+overcome by her own felicity; and happily disposed as is the human mind
+to be easily familiarized with any change for the better, it required
+several hours to give sedateness to her spirits, or any degree of
+tranquillity to her heart.
+
+Edward was now fixed at the cottage at least for a week;—for whatever
+other claims might be made on him, it was impossible that less than a
+week should be given up to the enjoyment of Elinor’s company, or
+suffice to say half that was to be said of the past, the present, and
+the future;—for though a very few hours spent in the hard labor of
+incessant talking will despatch more subjects than can really be in
+common between any two rational creatures, yet with lovers it is
+different. Between _them_ no subject is finished, no communication is
+even made, till it has been made at least twenty times over.
+
+Lucy’s marriage, the unceasing and reasonable wonder among them all,
+formed of course one of the earliest discussions of the lovers;—and
+Elinor’s particular knowledge of each party made it appear to her in
+every view, as one of the most extraordinary and unaccountable
+circumstances she had ever heard. How they could be thrown together,
+and by what attraction Robert could be drawn on to marry a girl, of
+whose beauty she had herself heard him speak without any admiration,—a
+girl too already engaged to his brother, and on whose account that
+brother had been thrown off by his family—it was beyond her
+comprehension to make out. To her own heart it was a delightful affair,
+to her imagination it was even a ridiculous one, but to her reason, her
+judgment, it was completely a puzzle.
+
+Edward could only attempt an explanation by supposing, that, perhaps,
+at first accidentally meeting, the vanity of the one had been so worked
+on by the flattery of the other, as to lead by degrees to all the rest.
+Elinor remembered what Robert had told her in Harley Street, of his
+opinion of what his own mediation in his brother’s affairs might have
+done, if applied to in time. She repeated it to Edward.
+
+“_That_ was exactly like Robert,” was his immediate observation. “And
+_that_,” he presently added, “might perhaps be in _his_ head when the
+acquaintance between them first began. And Lucy perhaps at first might
+think only of procuring his good offices in my favour. Other designs
+might afterward arise.”
+
+How long it had been carrying on between them, however, he was equally
+at a loss with herself to make out; for at Oxford, where he had
+remained for choice ever since his quitting London, he had had no means
+of hearing of her but from herself, and her letters to the very last
+were neither less frequent, nor less affectionate than usual. Not the
+smallest suspicion, therefore, had ever occurred to prepare him for
+what followed;—and when at last it burst on him in a letter from Lucy
+herself, he had been for some time, he believed, half stupified between
+the wonder, the horror, and the joy of such a deliverance. He put the
+letter into Elinor’s hands.
+
+“DEAR SIR,
+    “Being very sure I have long lost your affections, I have thought
+    myself at liberty to bestow my own on another, and have no doubt of
+    being as happy with him as I once used to think I might be with
+    you; but I scorn to accept a hand while the heart was another’s.
+    Sincerely wish you happy in your choice, and it shall not be my
+    fault if we are not always good friends, as our near relationship
+    now makes proper. I can safely say I owe you no ill-will, and am
+    sure you will be too generous to do us any ill offices. Your
+    brother has gained my affections entirely, and as we could not live
+    without one another, we are just returned from the altar, and are
+    now on our way to Dawlish for a few weeks, which place your dear
+    brother has great curiosity to see, but thought I would first
+    trouble you with these few lines, and shall always remain,
+
+
+“Your sincere well-wisher, friend, and sister,
+“LUCY FERRARS.
+
+
+“I have burnt all your letters, and will return your picture the first
+opportunity. Please to destroy my scrawls—but the ring with my hair you
+are very welcome to keep.”
+
+Elinor read and returned it without any comment.
+
+“I will not ask your opinion of it as a composition,” said Edward.—“For
+worlds would not I have had a letter of hers seen by _you_ in former
+days.—In a sister it is bad enough, but in a wife!—how I have blushed
+over the pages of her writing!—and I believe I may say that since the
+first half year of our foolish—business—this is the only letter I ever
+received from her, of which the substance made me any amends for the
+defect of the style.”
+
+“However it may have come about,” said Elinor, after a pause,—“they are
+certainly married. And your mother has brought on herself a most
+appropriate punishment. The independence she settled on Robert, through
+resentment against you, has put it in his power to make his own choice;
+and she has actually been bribing one son with a thousand a-year, to do
+the very deed which she disinherited the other for intending to do. She
+will hardly be less hurt, I suppose, by Robert’s marrying Lucy, than
+she would have been by your marrying her.”
+
+“She will be more hurt by it, for Robert always was her favourite.—She
+will be more hurt by it, and on the same principle will forgive him
+much sooner.”
+
+In what state the affair stood at present between them, Edward knew
+not, for no communication with any of his family had yet been attempted
+by him. He had quitted Oxford within four and twenty hours after Lucy’s
+letter arrived, and with only one object before him, the nearest road
+to Barton, had had no leisure to form any scheme of conduct, with which
+that road did not hold the most intimate connection. He could do
+nothing till he were assured of his fate with Miss Dashwood; and by his
+rapidity in seeking _that_ fate, it is to be supposed, in spite of the
+jealousy with which he had once thought of Colonel Brandon, in spite of
+the modesty with which he rated his own deserts, and the politeness
+with which he talked of his doubts, he did not, upon the whole, expect
+a very cruel reception. It was his business, however, to say that he
+_did_, and he said it very prettily. What he might say on the subject a
+twelvemonth after, must be referred to the imagination of husbands and
+wives.
+
+That Lucy had certainly meant to deceive, to go off with a flourish of
+malice against him in her message by Thomas, was perfectly clear to
+Elinor; and Edward himself, now thoroughly enlightened on her
+character, had no scruple in believing her capable of the utmost
+meanness of wanton ill-nature. Though his eyes had been long opened,
+even before his acquaintance with Elinor began, to her ignorance and a
+want of liberality in some of her opinions—they had been equally
+imputed, by him, to her want of education; and till her last letter
+reached him, he had always believed her to be a well-disposed,
+good-hearted girl, and thoroughly attached to himself. Nothing but such
+a persuasion could have prevented his putting an end to an engagement,
+which, long before the discovery of it laid him open to his mother’s
+anger, had been a continual source of disquiet and regret to him.
+
+“I thought it my duty,” said he, “independent of my feelings, to give
+her the option of continuing the engagement or not, when I was
+renounced by my mother, and stood to all appearance without a friend in
+the world to assist me. In such a situation as that, where there seemed
+nothing to tempt the avarice or the vanity of any living creature, how
+could I suppose, when she so earnestly, so warmly insisted on sharing
+my fate, whatever it might be, that any thing but the most
+disinterested affection was her inducement? And even now, I cannot
+comprehend on what motive she acted, or what fancied advantage it could
+be to her, to be fettered to a man for whom she had not the smallest
+regard, and who had only two thousand pounds in the world. She could
+not foresee that Colonel Brandon would give me a living.”
+
+“No; but she might suppose that something would occur in your favour;
+that your own family might in time relent. And at any rate, she lost
+nothing by continuing the engagement, for she has proved that it
+fettered neither her inclination nor her actions. The connection was
+certainly a respectable one, and probably gained her consideration
+among her friends; and, if nothing more advantageous occurred, it would
+be better for her to marry _you_ than be single.”
+
+Edward was, of course, immediately convinced that nothing could have
+been more natural than Lucy’s conduct, nor more self-evident than the
+motive of it.
+
+Elinor scolded him, harshly as ladies always scold the imprudence which
+compliments themselves, for having spent so much time with them at
+Norland, when he must have felt his own inconstancy.
+
+“Your behaviour was certainly very wrong,” said she; “because—to say
+nothing of my own conviction, our relations were all led away by it to
+fancy and expect _what_, as you were _then_ situated, could never be.”
+
+He could only plead an ignorance of his own heart, and a mistaken
+confidence in the force of his engagement.
+
+“I was simple enough to think, that because my _faith_ was plighted to
+another, there could be no danger in my being with you; and that the
+consciousness of my engagement was to keep my heart as safe and sacred
+as my honour. I felt that I admired you, but I told myself it was only
+friendship; and till I began to make comparisons between yourself and
+Lucy, I did not know how far I was got. After that, I suppose, I _was_
+wrong in remaining so much in Sussex, and the arguments with which I
+reconciled myself to the expediency of it, were no better than
+these:—The danger is my own; I am doing no injury to anybody but
+myself.”
+
+Elinor smiled, and shook her head.
+
+Edward heard with pleasure of Colonel Brandon’s being expected at the
+Cottage, as he really wished not only to be better acquainted with him,
+but to have an opportunity of convincing him that he no longer resented
+his giving him the living of Delaford—“Which, at present,” said he,
+“after thanks so ungraciously delivered as mine were on the occasion,
+he must think I have never forgiven him for offering.”
+
+_Now_ he felt astonished himself that he had never yet been to the
+place. But so little interest had he taken in the matter, that he owed
+all his knowledge of the house, garden, and glebe, extent of the
+parish, condition of the land, and rate of the tithes, to Elinor
+herself, who had heard so much of it from Colonel Brandon, and heard it
+with so much attention, as to be entirely mistress of the subject.
+
+One question after this only remained undecided, between them, one
+difficulty only was to be overcome. They were brought together by
+mutual affection, with the warmest approbation of their real friends;
+their intimate knowledge of each other seemed to make their happiness
+certain—and they only wanted something to live upon. Edward had two
+thousand pounds, and Elinor one, which, with Delaford living, was all
+that they could call their own; for it was impossible that Mrs.
+Dashwood should advance anything; and they were neither of them quite
+enough in love to think that three hundred and fifty pounds a-year
+would supply them with the comforts of life.
+
+Edward was not entirely without hopes of some favourable change in his
+mother towards him; and on _that_ he rested for the residue of their
+income. But Elinor had no such dependence; for since Edward would still
+be unable to marry Miss Morton, and his chusing herself had been spoken
+of in Mrs. Ferrars’s flattering language as only a lesser evil than his
+chusing Lucy Steele, she feared that Robert’s offence would serve no
+other purpose than to enrich Fanny.
+
+About four days after Edward’s arrival Colonel Brandon appeared, to
+complete Mrs. Dashwood’s satisfaction, and to give her the dignity of
+having, for the first time since her living at Barton, more company
+with her than her house would hold. Edward was allowed to retain the
+privilege of first comer, and Colonel Brandon therefore walked every
+night to his old quarters at the Park; from whence he usually returned
+in the morning, early enough to interrupt the lovers’ first tête-à-tête
+before breakfast.
+
+A three weeks’ residence at Delaford, where, in his evening hours at
+least, he had little to do but to calculate the disproportion between
+thirty-six and seventeen, brought him to Barton in a temper of mind
+which needed all the improvement in Marianne’s looks, all the kindness
+of her welcome, and all the encouragement of her mother’s language, to
+make it cheerful. Among such friends, however, and such flattery, he
+did revive. No rumour of Lucy’s marriage had yet reached him:—he knew
+nothing of what had passed; and the first hours of his visit were
+consequently spent in hearing and in wondering. Every thing was
+explained to him by Mrs. Dashwood, and he found fresh reason to rejoice
+in what he had done for Mr. Ferrars, since eventually it promoted the
+interest of Elinor.
+
+It would be needless to say, that the gentlemen advanced in the good
+opinion of each other, as they advanced in each other’s acquaintance,
+for it could not be otherwise. Their resemblance in good principles and
+good sense, in disposition and manner of thinking, would probably have
+been sufficient to unite them in friendship, without any other
+attraction; but their being in love with two sisters, and two sisters
+fond of each other, made that mutual regard inevitable and immediate,
+which might otherwise have waited the effect of time and judgment.
+
+The letters from town, which a few days before would have made every
+nerve in Elinor’s body thrill with transport, now arrived to be read
+with less emotion than mirth. Mrs. Jennings wrote to tell the wonderful
+tale, to vent her honest indignation against the jilting girl, and pour
+forth her compassion towards poor Mr. Edward, who, she was sure, had
+quite doted upon the worthless hussy, and was now, by all accounts,
+almost broken-hearted, at Oxford. “I do think,” she continued, “nothing
+was ever carried on so sly; for it was but two days before Lucy called
+and sat a couple of hours with me. Not a soul suspected anything of the
+matter, not even Nancy, who, poor soul! came crying to me the day
+after, in a great fright for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, as well as not
+knowing how to get to Plymouth; for Lucy it seems borrowed all her
+money before she went off to be married, on purpose we suppose to make
+a show with, and poor Nancy had not seven shillings in the world; so I
+was very glad to give her five guineas to take her down to Exeter,
+where she thinks of staying three or four weeks with Mrs. Burgess, in
+hopes, as I tell her, to fall in with the Doctor again. And I must say
+that Lucy’s crossness not to take them along with them in the chaise is
+worse than all. Poor Mr. Edward! I cannot get him out of my head, but
+you must send for him to Barton, and Miss Marianne must try to comfort
+him.”
+
+Mr. Dashwood’s strains were more solemn. Mrs. Ferrars was the most
+unfortunate of women—poor Fanny had suffered agonies of sensibility—and
+he considered the existence of each, under such a blow, with grateful
+wonder. Robert’s offence was unpardonable, but Lucy’s was infinitely
+worse. Neither of them were ever again to be mentioned to Mrs. Ferrars;
+and even, if she might hereafter be induced to forgive her son, his
+wife should never be acknowledged as her daughter, nor be permitted to
+appear in her presence. The secrecy with which everything had been
+carried on between them, was rationally treated as enormously
+heightening the crime, because, had any suspicion of it occurred to the
+others, proper measures would have been taken to prevent the marriage;
+and he called on Elinor to join with him in regretting that Lucy’s
+engagement with Edward had not rather been fulfilled, than that she
+should thus be the means of spreading misery farther in the family. He
+thus continued:—
+
+“Mrs. Ferrars has never yet mentioned Edward’s name, which does not
+surprise us; but, to our great astonishment, not a line has been
+received from him on the occasion. Perhaps, however, he is kept silent
+by his fear of offending, and I shall, therefore, give him a hint, by a
+line to Oxford, that his sister and I both think a letter of proper
+submission from him, addressed perhaps to Fanny, and by her shown to
+her mother, might not be taken amiss; for we all know the tenderness of
+Mrs. Ferrars’s heart, and that she wishes for nothing so much as to be
+on good terms with her children.”
+
+This paragraph was of some importance to the prospects and conduct of
+Edward. It determined him to attempt a reconciliation, though not
+exactly in the manner pointed out by their brother and sister.
+
+“A letter of proper submission!” repeated he; “would they have me beg
+my mother’s pardon for Robert’s ingratitude to _her_, and breach of
+honour to _me?_ I can make no submission. I am grown neither humble nor
+penitent by what has passed. I am grown very happy; but that would not
+interest. I know of no submission that _is_ proper for me to make.”
+
+“You may certainly ask to be forgiven,” said Elinor, “because you have
+offended;—and I should think you might _now_ venture so far as to
+profess some concern for having ever formed the engagement which drew
+on you your mother’s anger.”
+
+He agreed that he might.
+
+“And when she has forgiven you, perhaps a little humility may be
+convenient while acknowledging a second engagement, almost as imprudent
+in _her_ eyes as the first.”
+
+He had nothing to urge against it, but still resisted the idea of a
+letter of proper submission; and therefore, to make it easier to him,
+as he declared a much greater willingness to make mean concessions by
+word of mouth than on paper, it was resolved that, instead of writing
+to Fanny, he should go to London, and personally intreat her good
+offices in his favour. “And if they really _do_ interest themselves,”
+said Marianne, in her new character of candour, “in bringing about a
+reconciliation, I shall think that even John and Fanny are not entirely
+without merit.”
+
+After a visit on Colonel Brandon’s side of only three or four days, the
+two gentlemen quitted Barton together. They were to go immediately to
+Delaford, that Edward might have some personal knowledge of his future
+home, and assist his patron and friend in deciding on what improvements
+were needed to it; and from thence, after staying there a couple of
+nights, he was to proceed on his journey to town.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER L.
+
+
+After a proper resistance on the part of Mrs. Ferrars, just so violent
+and so steady as to preserve her from that reproach which she always
+seemed fearful of incurring, the reproach of being too amiable, Edward
+was admitted to her presence, and pronounced to be again her son.
+
+Her family had of late been exceedingly fluctuating. For many years of
+her life she had had two sons; but the crime and annihilation of Edward
+a few weeks ago, had robbed her of one; the similar annihilation of
+Robert had left her for a fortnight without any; and now, by the
+resuscitation of Edward, she had one again.
+
+In spite of his being allowed once more to live, however, he did not
+feel the continuance of his existence secure, till he had revealed his
+present engagement; for the publication of that circumstance, he
+feared, might give a sudden turn to his constitution, and carry him off
+as rapidly as before. With apprehensive caution therefore it was
+revealed, and he was listened to with unexpected calmness. Mrs. Ferrars
+at first reasonably endeavoured to dissuade him from marrying Miss
+Dashwood, by every argument in her power;—told him, that in Miss Morton
+he would have a woman of higher rank and larger fortune;—and enforced
+the assertion, by observing that Miss Morton was the daughter of a
+nobleman with thirty thousand pounds, while Miss Dashwood was only the
+daughter of a private gentleman with no more than _three;_ but when she
+found that, though perfectly admitting the truth of her representation,
+he was by no means inclined to be guided by it, she judged it wisest,
+from the experience of the past, to submit—and therefore, after such an
+ungracious delay as she owed to her own dignity, and as served to
+prevent every suspicion of good-will, she issued her decree of consent
+to the marriage of Edward and Elinor.
+
+What she would engage to do towards augmenting their income was next to
+be considered; and here it plainly appeared, that though Edward was now
+her only son, he was by no means her eldest; for while Robert was
+inevitably endowed with a thousand pounds a-year, not the smallest
+objection was made against Edward’s taking orders for the sake of two
+hundred and fifty at the utmost; nor was anything promised either for
+the present or in future, beyond the ten thousand pounds, which had
+been given with Fanny.
+
+It was as much, however, as was desired, and more than was expected, by
+Edward and Elinor; and Mrs. Ferrars herself, by her shuffling excuses,
+seemed the only person surprised at her not giving more.
+
+With an income quite sufficient to their wants thus secured to them,
+they had nothing to wait for after Edward was in possession of the
+living, but the readiness of the house, to which Colonel Brandon, with
+an eager desire for the accommodation of Elinor, was making
+considerable improvements; and after waiting some time for their
+completion, after experiencing, as usual, a thousand disappointments
+and delays from the unaccountable dilatoriness of the workmen, Elinor,
+as usual, broke through the first positive resolution of not marrying
+till every thing was ready, and the ceremony took place in Barton
+church early in the autumn.
+
+The first month after their marriage was spent with their friend at the
+Mansion-house; from whence they could superintend the progress of the
+Parsonage, and direct every thing as they liked on the spot;—could
+chuse papers, project shrubberies, and invent a sweep. Mrs. Jennings’s
+prophecies, though rather jumbled together, were chiefly fulfilled; for
+she was able to visit Edward and his wife in their Parsonage by
+Michaelmas, and she found in Elinor and her husband, as she really
+believed, one of the happiest couples in the world. They had in fact
+nothing to wish for, but the marriage of Colonel Brandon and Marianne,
+and rather better pasturage for their cows.
+
+They were visited on their first settling by almost all their relations
+and friends. Mrs. Ferrars came to inspect the happiness which she was
+almost ashamed of having authorised; and even the Dashwoods were at the
+expense of a journey from Sussex to do them honour.
+
+“I will not say that I am disappointed, my dear sister,” said John, as
+they were walking together one morning before the gates of Delaford
+House, “_that_ would be saying too much, for certainly you have been
+one of the most fortunate young women in the world, as it is. But, I
+confess, it would give me great pleasure to call Colonel Brandon
+brother. His property here, his place, his house, every thing is in
+such respectable and excellent condition! And his woods,—I have not
+seen such timber any where in Dorsetshire, as there is now standing in
+Delaford Hanger! And though, perhaps, Marianne may not seem exactly the
+person to attract him, yet I think it would altogether be advisable for
+you to have them now frequently staying with you, for as Colonel
+Brandon seems a great deal at home, nobody can tell what may happen;
+for, when people are much thrown together, and see little of anybody
+else,—and it will always be in your power to set her off to advantage,
+and so forth. In short, you may as well give her a chance: you
+understand me.”
+
+But though Mrs. Ferrars _did_ come to see them, and always treated them
+with the make-believe of decent affection, they were never insulted by
+her real favour and preference. _That_ was due to the folly of Robert,
+and the cunning of his wife; and it was earned by them before many
+months had passed away. The selfish sagacity of the latter, which had
+at first drawn Robert into the scrape, was the principal instrument of
+his deliverance from it; for her respectful humility, assiduous
+attentions, and endless flatteries, as soon as the smallest opening was
+given for their exercise, reconciled Mrs. Ferrars to his choice, and
+re-established him completely in her favour.
+
+The whole of Lucy’s behaviour in the affair, and the prosperity which
+crowned it, therefore, may be held forth as a most encouraging instance
+of what an earnest, an unceasing attention to self-interest, however
+its progress may be apparently obstructed, will do in securing every
+advantage of fortune, with no other sacrifice than that of time and
+conscience. When Robert first sought her acquaintance, and privately
+visited her in Bartlett’s Buildings, it was only with the view imputed
+to him by his brother. He merely meant to persuade her to give up the
+engagement; and as there could be nothing to overcome but the affection
+of both, he naturally expected that one or two interviews would settle
+the matter. In that point, however, and that only, he erred; for though
+Lucy soon gave him hopes that his eloquence would convince her in
+_time_, another visit, another conversation, was always wanted to
+produce this conviction. Some doubts always lingered in her mind when
+they parted, which could only be removed by another half hour’s
+discourse with himself. His attendance was by this means secured, and
+the rest followed in course. Instead of talking of Edward, they came
+gradually to talk only of Robert,—a subject on which he had always more
+to say than on any other, and in which she soon betrayed an interest
+even equal to his own; and in short, it became speedily evident to
+both, that he had entirely supplanted his brother. He was proud of his
+conquest, proud of tricking Edward, and very proud of marrying
+privately without his mother’s consent. What immediately followed is
+known. They passed some months in great happiness at Dawlish; for she
+had many relations and old acquaintances to cut—and he drew several
+plans for magnificent cottages;—and from thence returning to town,
+procured the forgiveness of Mrs. Ferrars, by the simple expedient of
+asking it, which, at Lucy’s instigation, was adopted. The forgiveness,
+at first, indeed, as was reasonable, comprehended only Robert; and
+Lucy, who had owed his mother no duty and therefore could have
+transgressed none, still remained some weeks longer unpardoned. But
+perseverance in humility of conduct and messages, in self-condemnation
+for Robert’s offence, and gratitude for the unkindness she was treated
+with, procured her in time the haughty notice which overcame her by its
+graciousness, and led soon afterwards, by rapid degrees, to the highest
+state of affection and influence. Lucy became as necessary to Mrs.
+Ferrars, as either Robert or Fanny; and while Edward was never
+cordially forgiven for having once intended to marry her, and Elinor,
+though superior to her in fortune and birth, was spoken of as an
+intruder, _she_ was in every thing considered, and always openly
+acknowledged, to be a favourite child. They settled in town, received
+very liberal assistance from Mrs. Ferrars, were on the best terms
+imaginable with the Dashwoods; and setting aside the jealousies and
+ill-will continually subsisting between Fanny and Lucy, in which their
+husbands of course took a part, as well as the frequent domestic
+disagreements between Robert and Lucy themselves, nothing could exceed
+the harmony in which they all lived together.
+
+What Edward had done to forfeit the right of eldest son, might have
+puzzled many people to find out; and what Robert had done to succeed to
+it, might have puzzled them still more. It was an arrangement, however,
+justified in its effects, if not in its cause; for nothing ever
+appeared in Robert’s style of living or of talking to give a suspicion
+of his regretting the extent of his income, as either leaving his
+brother too little, or bringing himself too much;—and if Edward might
+be judged from the ready discharge of his duties in every particular,
+from an increasing attachment to his wife and his home, and from the
+regular cheerfulness of his spirits, he might be supposed no less
+contented with his lot, no less free from every wish of an exchange.
+
+Elinor’s marriage divided her as little from her family as could well
+be contrived, without rendering the cottage at Barton entirely useless,
+for her mother and sisters spent much more than half their time with
+her. Mrs. Dashwood was acting on motives of policy as well as pleasure
+in the frequency of her visits at Delaford; for her wish of bringing
+Marianne and Colonel Brandon together was hardly less earnest, though
+rather more liberal than what John had expressed. It was now her
+darling object. Precious as was the company of her daughter to her, she
+desired nothing so much as to give up its constant enjoyment to her
+valued friend; and to see Marianne settled at the mansion-house was
+equally the wish of Edward and Elinor. They each felt his sorrows, and
+their own obligations, and Marianne, by general consent, was to be the
+reward of all.
+
+With such a confederacy against her—with a knowledge so intimate of his
+goodness—with a conviction of his fond attachment to herself, which at
+last, though long after it was observable to everybody else—burst on
+her—what could she do?
+
+Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to
+discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her
+conduct, her most favourite maxims. She was born to overcome an
+affection formed so late in life as at seventeen, and with no sentiment
+superior to strong esteem and lively friendship, voluntarily to give
+her hand to another!—and _that_ other, a man who had suffered no less
+than herself under the event of a former attachment, whom, two years
+before, she had considered too old to be married,—and who still sought
+the constitutional safeguard of a flannel waistcoat!
+
+But so it was. Instead of falling a sacrifice to an irresistible
+passion, as once she had fondly flattered herself with
+expecting,—instead of remaining even for ever with her mother, and
+finding her only pleasures in retirement and study, as afterwards in
+her more calm and sober judgment she had determined on,—she found
+herself at nineteen, submitting to new attachments, entering on new
+duties, placed in a new home, a wife, the mistress of a family, and the
+patroness of a village.
+
+Colonel Brandon was now as happy, as all those who best loved him,
+believed he deserved to be;—in Marianne he was consoled for every past
+affliction;—her regard and her society restored his mind to animation,
+and his spirits to cheerfulness; and that Marianne found her own
+happiness in forming his, was equally the persuasion and delight of
+each observing friend. Marianne could never love by halves; and her
+whole heart became, in time, as much devoted to her husband, as it had
+once been to Willoughby.
+
+Willoughby could not hear of her marriage without a pang; and his
+punishment was soon afterwards complete in the voluntary forgiveness of
+Mrs. Smith, who, by stating his marriage with a woman of character, as
+the source of her clemency, gave him reason for believing that had he
+behaved with honour towards Marianne, he might at once have been happy
+and rich. That his repentance of misconduct, which thus brought its own
+punishment, was sincere, need not be doubted;—nor that he long thought
+of Colonel Brandon with envy, and of Marianne with regret. But that he
+was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted an
+habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be
+depended on—for he did neither. He lived to exert, and frequently to
+enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home
+always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in
+sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic
+felicity.
+
+For Marianne, however, in spite of his incivility in surviving her
+loss, he always retained that decided regard which interested him in
+every thing that befell her, and made her his secret standard of
+perfection in woman; and many a rising beauty would be slighted by him
+in after-days as bearing no comparison with Mrs. Brandon.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood was prudent enough to remain at the cottage, without
+attempting a removal to Delaford; and fortunately for Sir John and Mrs.
+Jennings, when Marianne was taken from them, Margaret had reached an
+age highly suitable for dancing, and not very ineligible for being
+supposed to have a lover.
+
+Between Barton and Delaford, there was that constant communication
+which strong family affection would naturally dictate; and among the
+merits and the happiness of Elinor and Marianne, let it not be ranked
+as the least considerable, that though sisters, and living almost
+within sight of each other, they could live without disagreement
+between themselves, or producing coolness between their husbands.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
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