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diff --git a/161-h/161-h.htm b/161-h/161-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..98635ad --- /dev/null +++ b/161-h/161-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16383 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Sense and Sensibility</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Jane Austen</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September, 1994 [eBook #161]<br /> +[Most recently updated: March 16, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Special thanks are due to Sharon Partridge for extensive proofreading and correction of this etext.</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SENSE AND SENSIBILITY ***</div> + +<h1>Sense and Sensibility</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Jane Austen</h2> + +<h3>(1811)</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">CHAPTER XXXI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">CHAPTER XXXII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">CHAPTER XXXIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">CHAPTER XXXIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap35">CHAPTER XXXV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap36">CHAPTER XXXVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap37">CHAPTER XXXVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap38">CHAPTER XXXVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap39">CHAPTER XXXIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap40">CHAPTER XL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap41">CHAPTER XLI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap42">CHAPTER XLII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap43">CHAPTER XLIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap44">CHAPTER XLIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap45">CHAPTER XLV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap46">CHAPTER XLVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap47">CHAPTER XLVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap48">CHAPTER XLVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap49">CHAPTER XLIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap50">CHAPTER L</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“It was my father’s last request to me,” replied her husband, +“that I should assist his widow and daughters.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, <i>let</i> something be done for them; but <i>that</i> +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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure it would.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! beyond anything great! What brother on earth would do half so much +for his sisters, even if <i>really</i> his sisters! And as it is—only +half blood!—But you have such a generous spirit!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no knowing what <i>they</i> may expect,” said the lady, +“but we are not to think of their expectations: the question is, what you +can afford to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +His wife hesitated a little, however, in giving her consent to this plan. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fifteen years! my dear Fanny; her life cannot be worth half that +purchase.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>not</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>you</i> +something.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” returned Mrs. John Dashwood. “But, however, +<i>one</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>they</i> can ever afford to live in. But, however, so it is. Your father +thought only of <i>them</i>. 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 <i>them</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It is enough,” said she; “to say that he is unlike Fanny is +enough. It implies everything amiable. I love him already.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you will like him,” said Elinor, “when you know more +of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Like him!” replied her mother with a smile. “I feel no +sentiment of approbation inferior to love.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may esteem him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have never yet known what it was to separate esteem and love.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“In a few months, my dear Marianne,” said she, “Elinor will, +in all probability be settled for life. We shall miss her; but <i>she</i> will +be happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Mama, how shall we do without her?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” + + +</p> <p> +“He would certainly have done more justice to simple and elegant prose. I +thought so at the time; but you <i>would</i> give him Cowper.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>my</i> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p> +“What a pity it is, Elinor,” said Marianne, “that Edward +should have no taste for drawing.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>that</i> were your +opinion, I am sure you could never be civil to him.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne was rejoiced to find her sister so easily pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not attempt to deny,” said she, “that I think very +highly of him—that I greatly esteem, that I like him.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne here burst forth with indignation— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>not</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne was astonished to find how much the imagination of her mother and +herself had outstripped the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>draw him in;</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>that</i> 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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +<i>Her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p> +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 +<i>he</i> was rich, and <i>she</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>my</i> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Did not you hear him complain of the rheumatism? and is not that the +commonest infirmity of declining life?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dearest child,” said her mother, laughing, “at this rate +you must be in continual terror of <i>my</i> decay; and it must seem to you a +miracle that my life has been extended to the advanced age of forty.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>her</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Had you any idea of his coming so soon?” said Mrs. Dashwood. +“<i>I</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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have never mentioned it to her, but of course she must.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there a felicity in the world,” said Marianne, “superior +to this?—Margaret, we will walk here at least two hours.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Willoughby!” cried Sir John; “what, is <i>he</i> in the +country? That is good news however; I will ride over tomorrow, and ask him to +dinner on Thursday.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know him then,” said Mrs. Dashwood. +</p> + +<p> +“Know him! to be sure I do. Why, he is down here every year.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what sort of a young man is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And is <i>that</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +Sir John was rather puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my soul,” said he, “I do not know much about him as to +all <i>that</i>. 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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“But who is he?” said Elinor. “Where does he come from? Has +he a house at Allenham?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not believe,” said Mrs. Dashwood, with a good humoured smile, +“that Mr. Willoughby will be incommoded by the attempts of either of +<i>my</i> daughters towards what you call <i>catching him</i>. 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he indeed?” cried Marianne with sparkling eyes, “and +with elegance, with spirit?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; and he was up again at eight to ride to covert.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir John did not much understand this reproof; but he laughed as heartily as if +he did, and then replied, +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Marianne,” said Elinor, as soon as he had left them, +“for <i>one</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is exactly what I think of him,” cried Marianne. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“That he is patronised by <i>you</i>,” 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“In defence of your <i>protégé</i> you can even be saucy.” +</p> + +<p> +“My <i>protégé</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“He <i>would</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” said Willoughby, “his observations may have +extended to the existence of nabobs, gold mohrs, and palanquins.” +</p> + +<p> +“I may venture to say that <i>his</i> observations have stretched much +further than <i>your</i> candour. But why should you dislike him?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Elinor, “her opinions are all romantic.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible to exist.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +After a short pause he resumed the conversation by saying,— +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>him;</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take care, Margaret. It may be only the hair of some great uncle of +<i>his</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Remember that whatever your conjectures may be, you have no right to +repeat them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never had any conjectures about it,” replied Margaret; “it +was you who told me of it yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +This increased the mirth of the company, and Margaret was eagerly pressed to +say something more. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! pray, Miss Margaret, let us know all about it,” said Mrs. +Jennings. “What is the gentleman’s name?” +</p> + +<p> +“I must not tell, ma’am. But I know very well what it is; and I +know where he is too.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, <i>that</i> he is not. He is of no profession at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, he is lately dead, Marianne, for I am sure there was such a +man once, and his name begins with an F.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter with Brandon?” said Sir John. +</p> + +<p> +Nobody could tell. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +In about five minutes he returned. +</p> + +<p> +“No bad news, Colonel, I hope;” said Mrs. Jennings, as soon as he +entered the room. +</p> + +<p> +“None at all, ma’am, I thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it from Avignon? I hope it is not to say that your sister is +worse.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, ma’am. It came from town, and is merely a letter of +business.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear madam,” said Lady Middleton, “recollect what you are +saying.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it is to tell you that your cousin Fanny is married?” said +Mrs. Jennings, without attending to her daughter’s reproof. +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed, it is not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, I know who it is from, Colonel. And I hope she is +well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whom do you mean, ma’am?” said he, colouring a little. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! you know who I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“In town!” cried Mrs. Jennings. “What can you have to do in +town at this time of year?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +What a blow upon them all was this! +</p> + +<p> +“But if you write a note to the housekeeper, Mr. Brandon,” said +Marianne, eagerly, “will it not be sufficient?” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish it could be so easily settled. But it is not in my power to delay +my journey for one day!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would not be six hours later,” said Willoughby, “if you +were to defer your journey till our return.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot afford to lose <i>one</i> hour.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no doubt of it,” replied Marianne. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Brandon again repeated his sorrow at being the cause of disappointing +the party; but at the same time declared it to be unavoidable. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, when will you come back again?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, so do, Sir John,” cried Mrs. Jennings, “and then perhaps +you may find out what his business is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not want to pry into other men’s concerns. I suppose it is +something he is ashamed of.” +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Brandon’s horses were announced. +</p> + +<p> +“You do not go to town on horseback, do you?” added Sir John. +</p> + +<p> +“No. Only to Honiton. I shall then go post.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as you are resolved to go, I wish you a good journey. But you had +better change your mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“I assure you it is not in my power.” +</p> + +<p> +He then took leave of the whole party. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there no chance of my seeing you and your sisters in town this +winter, Miss Dashwood?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid, none at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I must bid you farewell for a longer time than I should wish to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +To Marianne, he merely bowed and said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Come Colonel,” said Mrs. Jennings, “before you go, do let us +know what you are going about.” +</p> + +<p> +He wished her a good morning, and, attended by Sir John, left the room. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I can guess what his business is, however,” said Mrs. Jennings +exultingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you, ma’am?” said almost every body. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; it is about Miss Williams, I am sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“And who is Miss Williams?” asked Marianne. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes; and as like him as she can stare. I dare say the Colonel will +leave her all his fortune.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne coloured, and replied very hastily, “Where, pray?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did not you know,” said Willoughby, “that we had been out in +my curricle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, Mr. Impudence, I know that very well, and I was determined to +find out <i>where</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Marianne, but I would not go while Mrs. Smith was there, and with +no other companion than Mr. Willoughby.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid,” replied Elinor, “that the pleasantness of an +employment does not always evince its propriety.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“If they were one day to be your own, Marianne, you would not be +justified in what you have done.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>was</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +Could Elinor have listened to her without interruption from the others, she +would have described every room in the house with equal delight. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>now</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” he exclaimed—“Improve this dear cottage! No. +<i>That</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am heartily glad of it,” he cried. “May she always be +poor, if she can employ her riches no better.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“With dark narrow stairs and a kitchen that smokes, I suppose,” +said Elinor. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dashwood looked with pleasure at Marianne, whose fine eyes were fixed so +expressively on Willoughby, as plainly denoted how well she understood him. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dashwood again assured him that no alteration of the kind should be +attempted. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The promise was readily given, and Willoughby’s behaviour during the +whole of the evening declared at once his affection and happiness. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He engaged to be with them by four o’clock. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is anything the matter with her?” cried Mrs. Dashwood as she +entered—“is she ill?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Disappointment?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“To London!—and are you going this morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“Almost this moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is very unfortunate. But Mrs. Smith must be obliged;—and her +business will not detain you from us long I hope.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +His colour increased; and with his eyes fixed on the ground he only replied, +“You are too good.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dashwood looked at Elinor with surprise. Elinor felt equal amazement. For +a few moments every one was silent. Mrs. Dashwood first spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>that</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“My engagements at present,” replied Willoughby, confusedly, +“are of such a nature—that—I dare not flatter +myself—” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +In about half an hour her mother returned, and though her eyes were red, her +countenance was not uncheerful. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. <i>You</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was not inclination that he wanted, Elinor; I could plainly see +<i>that</i>. 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you, indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>you</i>, I know; but you shall not talk <i>me</i> 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 <i>does</i> +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 <i>not</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, for you have anticipated my answer.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not entirely. It may be proper to conceal their engagement (if they +<i>are</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want no proof of their affection,” said Elinor; “but of +their engagement I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am perfectly satisfied of both.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet not a syllable has been said to you on the subject, by either of +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I confess,” replied Elinor, “that every circumstance except +<i>one</i> is in favour of their engagement; but that <i>one</i> is the total +silence of both on the subject, and with me it almost outweighs every +other.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I cannot think that. He must and does love her I am sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You speak very properly. Willoughby certainly does not deserve to be +suspected. Though <i>we</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>that</i> happens.” +</p> + +<p> +“Months!” cried Marianne, with strong surprise. “No—nor +many weeks.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>mind</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“It is he; it is indeed;—I know it is!”—and was +hastening to meet him, when Elinor cried out, +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, Marianne, I think you are mistaken. It is not Willoughby. The +person is not tall enough for him, and has not his air.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has, he has,” cried Marianne, “I am sure he has. His air, +his coat, his horse. I knew how soon he would come.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>him</i>, and in her sister’s +happiness forgot for a time her own disappointment. +</p> + +<p> +He dismounted, and giving his horse to his servant, walked back with them to +Barton, whither he was purposely coming to visit them. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“A fortnight!” she repeated, surprised at his being so long in the +same county with Elinor without seeing her before. +</p> + +<p> +He looked rather distressed as he added, that he had been staying with some +friends near Plymouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been lately in Sussex?” said Elinor. +</p> + +<p> +“I was at Norland about a month ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how does dear, dear Norland look?” cried Marianne. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not every one,” said Elinor, “who has your passion for +dead leaves.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; my feelings are not often shared, not often understood. But +<i>sometimes</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a beautiful country,” he replied; “but these bottoms +must be dirty in winter.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can you think of dirt, with such objects before you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” replied he, smiling, “among the rest of the +objects before me, I see a very dirty lane.” +</p> + +<p> +“How strange!” said Marianne to herself as she walked on. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you an agreeable neighbourhood here? Are the Middletons pleasant +people?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not all,” answered Marianne; “we could not be more +unfortunately situated.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Marianne, in a low voice, “nor how many painful +moments.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I hope my mother is now convinced that I have no more talents than +inclination for a public life!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have no ambition, I well know. Your wishes are all moderate.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Strange that it would!” cried Marianne. “What have wealth or +grandeur to do with happiness?” +</p> + +<p> +“Grandeur has but little,” said Elinor, “but wealth has much +to do with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” said Elinor, smiling, “we may come to the same +point. <i>Your</i> competence and <i>my</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“About eighteen hundred or two thousand a year; not more than +<i>that</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor laughed. “<i>two</i> thousand a year! <i>one</i> is my wealth! I +guessed how it would end.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor smiled again, to hear her sister describing so accurately their future +expenses at Combe Magna. +</p> + +<p> +“Hunters!” repeated Edward—“but why must you have +hunters? Every body does not hunt.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne coloured as she replied, “But most people do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish,” said Margaret, striking out a novel thought, “that +somebody would give us all a large fortune apiece!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh that they would!” cried Marianne, her eyes sparkling with +animation, and her cheeks glowing with the delight of such imaginary happiness. +</p> + +<p> +“We are all unanimous in that wish, I suppose,” said Elinor, +“in spite of the insufficiency of wealth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh dear!” cried Margaret, “how happy I should be! I wonder +what I should do with it!” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne looked as if she had no doubt on that point. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must begin your improvements on this house,” observed Elinor, +“and your difficulties will soon vanish.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the bulk of your fortune would be laid out in annuities on the +authors or their heirs.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Edward, I should have something else to do with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Marianne is as steadfast as ever, you see,” said Elinor, +“she is not at all altered.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is only grown a little more grave than she was.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Edward,” said Marianne, “<i>you</i> need not reproach +me. You are not very gay yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should you think so!” replied he, with a sigh. “But +gaiety never was a part of <i>my</i> character.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you are right,” he replied, “and yet I have always +set her down as a lively girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite the contrary,” replied Elinor, looking expressively at +Marianne. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Marianne has not shyness to excuse any inattention of hers,” said +Elinor. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you would still be reserved,” said Marianne, “and that +is worse.” +</p> + +<p> +Edward started—“Reserved! Am I reserved, Marianne?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, very.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not understand you,” replied he, colouring. +“Reserved!—how, in what manner? What am I to tell you? What can you +suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +Edward made no answer. His gravity and thoughtfulness returned on him in their +fullest extent—and he sat for some time silent and dull. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid it is but too true,” said Marianne; “but why +should you boast of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne looked with amazement at Edward, with compassion at her sister. Elinor +only laughed. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>must</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Jennings enforced the necessity. “And who knows but you may raise a +dance,” said she. “And that will tempt <i>you</i>, Miss +Marianne.” +</p> + +<p> +“A dance!” cried Marianne. “Impossible! Who is to +dance?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish with all my soul,” cried Sir John, “that Willoughby +were among us again.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well then; I guess that Mr. Willoughby hunts.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Edward! How can you?—But the time will come I hope...I am sure +you will like him.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” replied Edward, “that I may defy many months to +produce any good to me.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>were</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said he, “we have brought you some strangers. How do +you like them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! they will hear you.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +As Elinor was certain of seeing her in a couple of minutes, without taking that +liberty, she begged to be excused. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Marianne? Has she run away because we are come? I see her +instrument is open.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is walking, I believe.” +</p> + +<p> +They were now joined by Mrs. Jennings, who had not patience enough to wait till +the door was opened before she told <i>her</i> 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—” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Palmer made her no answer, and did not even raise his eyes from the +newspaper. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Palmer does not hear me,” said she, laughing; “he never +does sometimes. It is so ridiculous!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Palmer laughed, and said it would not do her any harm. +</p> + +<p> +“She expects to be confined in February,” continued Mrs. Jennings. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“No, none at all,” he replied, and read on. +</p> + +<p> +“Here comes Marianne,” cried Sir John. “Now, Palmer, you +shall see a monstrous pretty girl.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +When Lady Middleton rose to go away, Mr. Palmer rose also, laid down the +newspaper, stretched himself and looked at them all around. +</p> + +<p> +“My love, have you been asleep?” said his wife, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +They were obliged to put an end to such an expectation. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +They thanked her; but were obliged to resist all her entreaties. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Her love made no answer; and after slightly bowing to the ladies, began +complaining of the weather. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The rest of the company soon dropt in. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid, Miss Marianne,” said Sir John, “you have not +been able to take your usual walk to Allenham today.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne looked very grave and said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Much nearer thirty,” said her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well! there is not much difference. I never was at his house; but +they say it is a sweet pretty place.” +</p> + +<p> +“As vile a spot as I ever saw in my life,” said Mr. Palmer. +</p> + +<p> +Marianne remained perfectly silent, though her countenance betrayed her +interest in what was said. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it very ugly?” continued Mrs. Palmer—“then it must +be some other place that is so pretty I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +When they were seated in the dining room, Sir John observed with regret that +they were only eight all together. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You and I, Sir John,” said Mrs. Jennings, “should not stand +upon such ceremony.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you would be very ill-bred,” cried Mr. Palmer. +</p> + +<p> +“My love you contradict every body,” said his wife with her usual +laugh. “Do you know that you are quite rude?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not know I contradicted any body in calling your mother +ill-bred.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Palmer is so droll!” said she, in a whisper, to Elinor. +“He is always out of humour.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” he replied, with a sneer—“I came into +Devonshire with no other view.” +</p> + +<p> +“There now,”—said his lady, “you see Mr. Palmer expects +you; so you cannot refuse to come.” +</p> + +<p> +They both eagerly and resolutely declined her invitation. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor could hardly keep her countenance as she assented to the hardship of +such an obligation. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Palmer took no notice of her. +</p> + +<p> +“He cannot bear writing, you know,” she continued—“he +says it is quite shocking.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said he, “I never said any thing so irrational. +Don’t palm all your abuses of language upon me.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +She surprised Elinor very much as they returned into the drawing-room, by +asking her whether she did not like Mr. Palmer excessively. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said Elinor; “he seems very agreeable.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Mrs. Palmer!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.’” +</p> + +<p> +“And what did the Colonel say?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Brandon was very well I hope?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! yes, quite well; and so full of your praises, he did nothing but say +fine things of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am flattered by his commendation. He seems an excellent man; and I +think him uncommonly pleasing.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>he</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is Mr. Willoughby much known in your part of Somersetshire?” said +Elinor. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Palmer’s information respecting Willoughby was not very material; +but any testimony in his favour, however small, was pleasing to her. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have been long acquainted with Colonel Brandon, have not you?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. <i>You</i> are my cousins, and they are my wife’s, so +you must be related.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +And soon afterwards, on the second boy’s violently pinching one of the +same lady’s fingers, she fondly observed, “How playful William +is!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor little creatures!” said Miss Steele, as soon as they were +gone. “It might have been a very sad accident.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a sweet woman Lady Middleton is!” said Lucy Steele. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“And Sir John too,” cried the elder sister, “what a charming +man he is!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should guess so,” said Elinor, with a smile, “from what I +have witnessed this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I confess,” replied Elinor, “that while I am at Barton Park, +I never think of tame and quiet children with any abhorrence.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Norland is a prodigious beautiful place, is not it?” added Miss +Steele. +</p> + +<p> +“We have heard Sir John admire it excessively,” said Lucy, who +seemed to think some apology necessary for the freedom of her sister. +</p> + +<p> +“I think every one <i>must</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! dear! one never thinks of married men’s being beaux—they +have something else to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“His name is Ferrars,” said he, in a very audible whisper; +“but pray do not tell it, for it’s a great secret.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor <i>did</i> think the question a very odd one, and her countenance +expressed it, as she answered that she had never seen Mrs. Ferrars. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>you;</i> 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 <i>you</i>. I am sorry you do not happen to +know Mrs. Ferrars.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry I do <i>not</i>,” 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>may</i> come—how +soon it will come must depend upon herself—when we may be very intimately +connected.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked down as she said this, amiably bashful, with only one side glance at +her companion to observe its effect on her. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Lucy, “not to Mr. <i>Robert</i> Ferrars—I +never saw him in my life; but,” fixing her eyes upon Elinor, “to +his eldest brother.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“We have been engaged these four years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Four years!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor, though greatly shocked, still felt unable to believe it. +</p> + +<p> +“I did not know,” said she, “that you were even acquainted +till the other day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Our acquaintance, however, is of many years date. He was under my +uncle’s care, you know, a considerable while.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your uncle!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; Mr. Pratt. Did you never hear him talk of Mr. Pratt?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I have,” replied Elinor, with an exertion of spirits, +which increased with her increase of emotion. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is strange,” replied Elinor, in a most painful perplexity, +“that I should never have heard him even mention your name.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>occasion</i> for ever mentioning my name to +you; and, as he was always particularly afraid of his sister’s suspecting +any thing, <i>that</i> was reason enough for his not mentioning it.” +</p> + +<p> +She was silent.—Elinor’s security sunk; but her self-command did +not sink with it. +</p> + +<p> +“Four years you have been engaged,” said she with a firm voice. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are quite in the right,” replied Elinor calmly. They then +proceeded a few paces in silence. Lucy spoke first. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Here she took out her handkerchief; but Elinor did not feel very compassionate. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me,” replied Elinor, startled by the question; “but I +can give you no advice under such circumstances. Your own judgment must direct +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he come from your uncle’s, then, when he visited us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes; he had been staying a fortnight with us. Did you think he came +directly from town?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Did not you think him sadly out of spirits?” repeated Lucy. +</p> + +<p> +“We did, indeed, particularly so when he first arrived.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor saw that it <i>was</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“Writing to each other,” said Lucy, returning the letter into her +pocket, “is the only comfort we have in such long separations. Yes, +<i>I</i> have one other comfort in his picture, but poor Edward has not even +<i>that</i>. 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +END OF THE FIRST VOLUME +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<p> +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 <i>he</i>, 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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>me</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Middleton looked as if she thanked heaven that <i>she</i> had never made +so rude a speech. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The remaining five were now to draw their cards. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! that would be terrible, indeed,” said Miss Steele. “Dear +little soul, how I do love her!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<p> +In a firm, though cautious tone, Elinor thus began. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Lucy here looked up; but Elinor was careful in guarding her countenance from +every expression that could give her words a suspicious tendency. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor hardly knew whether to smile or sigh at this assertion. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“All this,” thought Elinor, “is very pretty; but it can +impose upon neither of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And for your own sake too, or you are carrying your disinterestedness +beyond reason.” +</p> + +<p> +Lucy looked at Elinor again, and was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know Mr. Robert Ferrars?” asked Elinor. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all—I never saw him; but I fancy he is very unlike his +brother—silly and a great coxcomb.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No sister,” cried Lucy, “you are mistaken there, our +favourite beaux are <i>not</i> great coxcombs.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>she</i> likes.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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,— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—<i>that</i> must be recommendation enough to her +husband.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Mrs. John Dashwood would not much approve of Edward’s going +into orders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I rather suspect that my interest would do very little.” +</p> + +<p> +They were again silent for many minutes. At length Lucy exclaimed with a deep +sigh, +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall you be in town this winter, Miss Dashwood?” said she with +all her accustomary complacency. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will not be in my power to accept their invitation if they do.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lord! I am sure your mother can spare you very well, and I <i>do</i> +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 <i>that</i>. 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>should</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne’s countenance sunk. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I will have you <i>both</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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>I</i> am +writing home, Marianne,” said Elinor; “had not you better defer +your letter for a day or two?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am <i>not</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is your sister ill?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I had the pleasure of hearing it at Mr. Palmer’s, where I have +been dining.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Palmer appeared quite well, and I am commissioned to tell you, that +you will certainly see her to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +The man replied that none had. +</p> + +<p> +“How very odd!” said she, in a low and disappointed voice, as she +turned away to the window. +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</i> long to inquire; and how will <i>my</i> interference be +borne.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>that</i>. This weather will keep many sportsmen in the country.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a lucky recollection, all her good spirits were restored by it. +“It is charming weather for <i>them</i> 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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, my dear, I’ll warrant you we do. Mary always has her own +way.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” silently conjectured Elinor, “she will write to +Combe by this day’s post.” +</p> + +<p> +But if she <i>did</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“For me!” cried Marianne, stepping hastily forward. +</p> + +<p> +“No, ma’am, for my mistress.” +</p> + +<p> +But Marianne, not convinced, took it instantly up. +</p> + +<p> +“It is indeed for Mrs. Jennings; how provoking!” +</p> + +<p> +“You are expecting a letter, then?” said Elinor, unable to be +longer silent. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, a little—not much.” +</p> + +<p> +After a short pause. “You have no confidence in me, Marianne.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Elinor, this reproach from <i>you</i>—you who have confidence +in no one!” +</p> + +<p> +“Me!” returned Elinor in some confusion; “indeed, Marianne, I +have nothing to tell.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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—<i>he</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you were both in Devonshire,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you?” replied Elinor. +</p> + +<p> +“When do you go back again?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know.” And thus ended their discourse. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Invited!” cried Marianne. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It cannot be generally known,” returned Elinor, “for her own +family do not know it.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can that be? By whom can you have heard it mentioned?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens!” she exclaimed, “he is there—he is +there—Oh! why does he not look at me? why cannot I speak to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray, pray be composed,” cried Elinor, “and do not betray +what you feel to every body present. Perhaps he has not observed you +yet.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can that be done? No, my dearest Marianne, you must wait. This is +not the place for explanations. Wait only till tomorrow.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>she</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>esteem</i> 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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Marianne, may I ask—?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Elinor,” she replied, “ask nothing; you will soon know +all.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, I never saw a young woman so desperately in love in my +life! <i>My</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“Bond Street, January. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +M<small>Y</small> D<small>EAR</small> M<small>ADAM</small>,<br /> + “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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“I am, dear Madam, <br /> +“Your most obedient <br /> +“humble servant, <br /> +“J<small>OHN</small> W<small>ILLOUGHBY</small>.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Elinor! how unhappy I make you!” +</p> + +<p> +“I only wish,” replied her sister, “there were any thing I +<i>could</i> do, which might be of comfort to you.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Elinor could no longer witness this torrent of unresisted grief in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>you</i> suffer: for her sake you must exert yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“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, <i>you</i> cannot have an idea of what I suffer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you call <i>me</i> happy, Marianne? Ah! if you knew!—And can +you believe me to be so, while I see you so wretched!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Many, many circumstances,” said Elinor, solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, no,” cried Marianne wildly, “he loves you, and only +you. You <i>can</i> have no grief.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can have no pleasure while I see you in this state.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you will never see me otherwise. Mine is a misery which nothing can +do away.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Engagement!” cried Marianne, “there has been no +engagement.” +</p> + +<p> +“No engagement!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, he is not so unworthy as you believe him. He has broken no faith +with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he told you that he loved you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—no—never absolutely. It was every day implied, but never +professedly declared. Sometimes I thought it had been, but it never was.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet you wrote to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes: could that be wrong after all that had passed? But I cannot +talk.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Berkeley Street, January. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“M.D.” +</p> + +<p> +Her second note, which had been written on the morning after the dance at the +Middletons’, was in these words:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“M.D.” +</p> + +<p> +The contents of her last note to him were these:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“M.D.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I felt myself,” she added, “to be as solemnly engaged to +him, as if the strictest legal covenant had bound us to each other.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can believe it,” said Elinor; “but unfortunately he did +not feel the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“He <i>did</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment or two she could say no more; but when this emotion had passed +away, she added, in a firmer tone, +</p> + +<p> +“Elinor, I have been cruelly used; but not by Willoughby.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dearest Marianne, who but himself? By whom can he have been +instigated?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But for my mother’s sake and mine—” +</p> + +<p> +“I would do more than for my own. But to appear happy when I am so +miserable—Oh! who can require it?” +</p> + +<p> +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,— +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Marianne, in no possible way.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Another pause ensued; Marianne was greatly agitated, and it ended thus. +</p> + +<p> +“Elinor, I must go home. I must go and comfort mama. Can not we be gone +to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow, Marianne!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, why should I stay here? I came only for Willoughby’s +sake—and now who cares for me? Who regards me?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>he</i> say to that!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!—” +</p> + +<p> +“The lady then—Miss Grey I think you called her—is very +rich?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know what kind of a girl Miss Grey is? Is she said to be +amiable?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And who are the Ellisons?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>this</i> justice to Mr. Willoughby—he has +broken no positive engagement with my sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>can</i> but put Willoughby out of her +head!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, if we can do <i>that</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +“You had better leave me,” was all the notice that her sister +received from her. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Marianne is not well,” said she. “She has been indisposed +all day, and we have persuaded her to go to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you hear?” +</p> + +<p> +“That a gentleman, whom I had reason to think—in short, that a man, +whom I <i>knew</i> to be engaged—but how shall I tell you? If you know it +already, as surely you must, I may be spared.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean,” answered Elinor, with forced calmness, “Mr. +Willoughby’s marriage with Miss Grey. Yes, we <i>do</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know her disposition, and may believe how eagerly she would still +justify him if she could.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +With a letter in her outstretched hand, and countenance gaily smiling, from the +persuasion of bringing comfort, she entered their room, saying, +</p> + +<p> +“Now, my dear, I bring you something that I am sure will do you +good.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Who can this be?” cried Elinor. “So early too! I thought we +<i>had</i> been safe.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne moved to the window. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Colonel Brandon!” said she, with vexation. “We are +never safe from <i>him</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“He will not come in, as Mrs. Jennings is from home.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will not trust to <i>that</i>,” 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.” +</p> + +<p> +The event proved her conjecture right, though it was founded on injustice and +error; for Colonel Brandon <i>did</i> come in; and Elinor, who was convinced +that solicitude for Marianne brought him thither, and who saw <i>that</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>very</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. <i>My</i> +gratitude will be insured immediately by any information tending to that end, +and <i>hers</i> must be gained by it in time. Pray, pray let me hear it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>shall</i> be a short one. On such a subject,” sighing heavily, +“can I have little temptation to be diffuse.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopt a moment for recollection, and then, with another sigh, went on. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed,” answered Elinor, “I have <i>not</i> forgotten +it.” He looked pleased by this remembrance, and added, +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>that</i> which +threw this gloom,—even now the recollection of what I +suffered—” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It was nearly three years after this unhappy period before I returned to +England. My first care, when I <i>did</i> 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 <i>did</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +Again he stopped to recover himself; and Elinor spoke her feelings in an +exclamation of tender concern, at the fate of his unfortunate friend. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>will</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens!” cried Elinor, “could it be—could +Willoughby!”— +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>had</i> 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 +<i>can</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is beyond every thing!” exclaimed Elinor. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>was</i> 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 <i>will</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he replied gravely, “once I have. One meeting was +unavoidable.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor, startled by his manner, looked at him anxiously, saying, +</p> + +<p> +“What? have you met him to—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor sighed over the fancied necessity of this; but to a man and a soldier +she presumed not to censure it. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she still in town?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap32"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<p> +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 +<i>was</i> 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 <i>once</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>she</i> could wish her not to indulge! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>one</i> person at least among their circle of friends: a great +comfort to know that there was <i>one</i> who would meet her without feeling +any curiosity after particulars, or any anxiety for her sister’s health. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>These</i> +assured him that his exertion had produced an increase of good-will towards +himself, and <i>these</i> 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 <i>her;</i> and Mrs. Jennings had, for some +time ceased to think at all of Mrs. Ferrars. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>still</i> in town. +</p> + +<p> +“I should have been quite disappointed if I had not found you here +<i>still</i>,” said she repeatedly, with a strong emphasis on the word. +“But I always thought I <i>should</i>. I was almost sure you would not +leave London yet awhile; though you <i>told</i> me, you know, at Barton, that +you should not stay above a <i>month</i>. 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 <i>hurry</i> to be gone. I am amazingly +glad you did not keep to <i>your word</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor perfectly understood her, and was forced to use all her self-command to +make it appear that she did <i>not</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Jennings, “and how did you +travel?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, oh!” cried Mrs. Jennings; “very pretty, indeed! and the +Doctor is a single man, I warrant you.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, aye, that is very pretty talking—but it won’t +do—the Doctor is the man, I see.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed!” replied her cousin, with affected earnestness, +“and I beg you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Jennings directly gave her the gratifying assurance that she certainly +would <i>not</i>, and Miss Steele was made completely happy. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I do not think we shall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, I dare say you will.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor would not humour her by farther opposition. +</p> + +<p> +“What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can spare you both for so +long a time together!” +</p> + +<p> +“Long a time, indeed!” interposed Mrs. Jennings. “Why, their +visit is but just begun!” +</p> + +<p> +Lucy was silenced. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear, that is a great pity! but such old friends as Lucy and +me!—I think she might see <i>us;</i> and I am sure we would not speak a +word.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, if that’s all,” cried Miss Steele, “we can just as +well go and see <i>her</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Elinor found that he and Fanny had been in town two days. +</p> + +<p> +“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. <i>This</i> 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 <i>them</i>. 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent indeed. Their attention to our comfort, their friendliness in +every particular, is more than I can express.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>them</i>, 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 <i>him</i>. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is Colonel Brandon? Is he a man of fortune?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; he has very good property in Dorsetshire.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me, brother! what do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“He likes you. I observed him narrowly, and am convinced of it. What is +the amount of his fortune?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe about two thousand a year.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>twice</i> as much, for your sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I believe you,” replied Elinor; “but I am very sure +that Colonel Brandon has not the smallest wish of marrying <i>me</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>all parties</i>.” 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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor would not vouchsafe any answer. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is Mr. Edward Ferrars,” said Elinor, with resolution, “going +to be married?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused for her assent and compassion; and she forced herself to say, +</p> + +<p> +“Your expenses both in town and country must certainly be considerable; +but your income is a large one.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>has</i> cost me a vast deal of money.” +</p> + +<p> +“More than you think it really and intrinsically worth.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor could only smile. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said Elinor; “and assisted by her liberality, I +hope you may yet live to be in easy circumstances.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the green-house to be?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor kept her concern and her censure to herself; and was very thankful that +Marianne was not present, to share the provocation. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing at all, I should rather suppose; for she has only her jointure, +which will descend to her children.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it is not to be imagined that she lives up to her income. Few people +of common prudence will do <i>that</i> and whatever she saves, she will be able +to dispose of.” +</p> + +<p> +“And do you not think it more likely that she should leave it to her +daughters, than to us?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she raises none in those most concerned. Indeed, brother, your +anxiety for our welfare and prosperity carries you too far.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is not well, she has had a nervous complaint on her for several +weeks.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>you</i>, but so it happened to +strike her. She will be mistaken, however. I question whether Marianne +<i>now</i>, will marry a man worth more than five or six hundred a-year, at the +utmost, and I am very much deceived if <i>you</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>her</i>, 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.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap34"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>she</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>her</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The important Tuesday came that was to introduce the two young ladies to this +formidable mother-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Elinor could not <i>now</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +Lucy was all exultation on being so honorably distinguished; and Miss Steele +wanted only to be teazed about Dr. Davies to be perfectly happy. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +When the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room after dinner, this poverty was +particularly evident, for the gentlemen <i>had</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The parties stood thus: +</p> + +<p> +The two mothers, though each really convinced that her own son was the tallest, +politely decided in favour of the other. +</p> + +<p> +The two grandmothers, with not less partiality, but more sincerity, were +equally earnest in support of their own descendant. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hum”—said Mrs. Ferrars—“very +pretty,”—and without regarding them at all, returned them to her +daughter. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps Fanny thought for a moment that her mother had been quite rude +enough,—for, colouring a little, she immediately said, +</p> + +<p> +“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, +</p> + +<p> +“Do you not think they are something in Miss Morton’s style of +painting, Ma’am?—<i>She does</i> paint most delightfully!—How +beautifully her last landscape is done!” +</p> + +<p> +“Beautifully indeed! But <i>she</i> does every thing well.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>we</i> think and speak.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Dear, dear Elinor, don’t mind them. Don’t let them make +<i>you</i> unhappy.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>has been</i> a beauty in the loss of her +personal attractions. You would not think it perhaps, but Marianne <i>was</i> +remarkably handsome a few months ago; quite as handsome as Elinor. Now you see +it is all gone.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap35"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + +<p> +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 <i>own</i> 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 +<i>ought</i> to have rejoiced. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>not Elinor</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +The chance proved a lucky one, for a message from Mrs. Palmer soon after she +arrived, carried Mrs. Jennings away. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“She was certainly very civil to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +To this Elinor had no answer to make, and did not attempt any. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you ill, Miss Dashwood?—you seem low—you don’t +speak;—sure you an’t well.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never was in better health.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad of it with all my heart; but really you did not look it. I +should be sorry to have <i>you</i> ill; you, that have been the greatest +comfort to me in the world!—Heaven knows what I should have done without +your friendship.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor tried to make a civil answer, though doubting her own success. But it +seemed to satisfy Lucy, for she directly replied, +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +But Elinor would not give her any encouragement to hope that she <i>should</i> +tell her sister. Lucy continued. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>does</i> dislike, I know it is most +violent.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>look</i> her tenderness, and after slightly addressing him, +said no more. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>was</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>that</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Edward!” she cried, “this is a moment of great +happiness!—This would almost make amends for every thing!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>my</i> health. Elinor is well, you see. That +must be enough for us both.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you like London?” said Edward, willing to say any thing that +might introduce another subject. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +She paused—no one spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“But why were you not there, Edward?—Why did you not come?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was engaged elsewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Engaged! But what was that, when such friends were to be met?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor was very angry, but Marianne seemed entirely insensible of the sting; +for she calmly replied, +</p> + +<p> +“Not so, indeed; for, seriously speaking, I am very sure that conscience +only kept Edward from Harley Street. And I really believe he <i>has</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Going so soon!” said Marianne; “my dear Edward, this must +not be.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap36"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>their</i> +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 <i>that</i> did not +signify. It was censure in common use, and easily given. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>did</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>her</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>were</i> 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 +<i>gaucherie</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You reside in Devonshire, I think,”—was his next +observation, “in a cottage near Dawlish.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the compliment of +rational opposition. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Fanny paused a moment, and then, with fresh vigor, said, +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>do</i> like them, you +know, very much already, and so does my mother; and they are such favourites +with Harry!” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>their</i> visitor. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +END OF THE SECOND VOLUME +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap37"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Lord! my dear Miss Dashwood! have you heard the news?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, ma’am. What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.’” +</p> + +<p> +“What! is Fanny ill?” +</p> + +<p> +“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! +<i>That</i> 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 <i>her</i>. 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 <i>his</i> knees too, to persuade her to let them stay till they had +packed up their clothes. <i>Then</i> 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 <i>she</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>him</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>That</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +But Marianne for some time would give credit to neither. Edward seemed a second +Willoughby; and acknowledging as Elinor did, that she <i>had</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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,— +</p> + +<p> +“How long has this been known to you, Elinor? has he written to +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have known it these four months. When Lucy first came to Barton Park +last November, she told me in confidence of her engagement.” +</p> + +<p> +At these words, Marianne’s eyes expressed the astonishment which her lips +could not utter. After a pause of wonder, she exclaimed— +</p> + +<p> +“Four months!—Have you known of this four months?” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor confirmed it. +</p> + +<p> +“What! while attending me in all my misery, has this been on your heart? +And I have reproached you for being happy!” +</p> + +<p> +“It was not fit that you should then know how much I was the +reverse!” +</p> + +<p> +“Four months!” cried Marianne again. “So calm! so cheerful! +How have you been supported?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne seemed much struck. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Four months! and yet you loved him!” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>her</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>now</i>. 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. <i>Then</i>, 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 <i>very</i> +unhappy.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne was quite subdued. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +They all looked their assent; it seemed too awful a moment for speech. +</p> + +<p> +“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.’” +</p> + +<p> +Here he stopped to be thanked; which being done, he went on. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>any</i> prepossession elsewhere, it +could not be in <i>that</i> quarter. ‘<i>There</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +Here Marianne, in an ecstasy of indignation, clapped her hands together, and +cried, “Gracious God! can this be possible!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well may you wonder, Marianne,” replied her brother, “at the +obstinacy which could resist such arguments as these. Your exclamation is very +natural.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne was going to retort, but she remembered her promises, and forbore. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” said Mrs. Jennings, “and how did it end?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>we</i> of course can make no inquiry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor young man!—and what is to become of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor’s heart thanked her for such kindness towards Edward, though she +could not forbear smiling at the form of it. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>that</i> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” said Mrs. Jennings, “that is <i>her</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne got up and walked about the room. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap38"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + +<p> +Mrs. Jennings was very warm in her praise of Edward’s conduct, but only +Elinor and Marianne understood its true merit. <i>They</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Get it all out of her, my dear. She will tell you any thing if you ask. +You see I cannot leave Mrs. Clarke.” +</p> + +<p> +It was lucky, however, for Mrs. Jennings’s curiosity and Elinor’s +too, that she would tell any thing <i>without</i> being asked; for nothing +would otherwise have been learnt. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all, I believe, with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is a good thing. And Lady Middleton, is <i>she</i> angry?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot suppose it possible that she should be.” +</p> + +<p> +“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, +<i>you</i> are going to laugh at me too. But why should not I wear pink +ribbons? I do not care if it <i>is</i> the Doctor’s favourite colour. I +am sure, for my part, I should never have known he <i>did</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never heard any thing of the kind hinted at before, I assure +you,” said Elinor. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, did not you? But it <i>was</i> 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 <i>her</i> sake, and upon <i>her</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not understand what you mean by interrupting them,” said +Elinor; “you were all in the same room together, were not you?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, la! there is nothing in <i>that</i>. 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>you;</i> 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 <i>that</i>, 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>I</i> write to the Doctor, indeed!’” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Elinor, “it is a comfort to be prepared against +the worst. You have got your answer ready.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Steele was going to reply on the same subject, but the approach of her own +party made another more necessary. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait for his having a living!—ay, we all know how <i>that</i> 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 +<i>now</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +The next morning brought Elinor a letter by the two-penny post from Lucy +herself. It was as follows: +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“Bartlett’s Building, March. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“I am, &c.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>could</i> 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.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap39"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +When she told Marianne what she had done, however, her first reply was not very +auspicious. +</p> + +<p> +“Cleveland!”—she cried, with great agitation. “No, I +cannot go to Cleveland.” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget,” said Elinor gently, “that its situation is +not—that it is not in the neighbourhood of—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>not</i> 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 +<i>that</i> 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,— +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“This is very strange!—sure he need not wait to be older.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“I shall always think myself very much obliged to you.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>sang-froid</i>, and go away without +making her any reply! She had not thought her old friend could have made so +indifferent a suitor. +</p> + +<p> +What had really passed between them was to this effect. +</p> + +<p> +“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?;” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor told him that it was. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>that</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>she</i>, 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 <i>her</i>, 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 <i>then</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +By which the Colonel was surprised to find that <i>she</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“This little rectory <i>can</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap40"></a>CHAPTER XL.</h2> + +<p> +“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 <i>tried</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, ma’am,” said Elinor. “It <i>is</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean to go to Delaford after them I suppose,” said Elinor, +with a faint smile. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“He spoke of its being out of repair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, and whose fault is that? why don’t he repair it?—who +should do it but himself?” +</p> + +<p> +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,— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne had left the room before the conversation began. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, ma’am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall not +mention it at present to any body else.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>that</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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;— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather wished any one to +announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so <i>you</i> are forced to do it. Well <i>that</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +And away she went; but returning again in a moment, +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +What Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it cannot be expected that +any one else should say for him. He <i>looked</i> all the astonishment which +such unexpected, such unthought-of information could not fail of exciting; but +he said only these two words,— +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel Brandon!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel Brandon give <i>me</i> a living!—Can it be +possible?” +</p> + +<p> +“The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find +friendship any where.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied he, with sudden consciousness, “not to find it +in <i>you;</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>has</i>, still greater +pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my word, you owe nothing to my +solicitation.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>should</i> be all +this.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street,” said he, +soon afterwards, rising from his chair. +</p> + +<p> +Elinor told him the number of the house. +</p> + +<p> +“I must hurry away then, to give him those thanks which you will not +allow me to give <i>you;</i> to assure him that he has made me a very—an +exceedingly happy man.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor did not offer to detain him; and they parted, with a very earnest +assurance on <i>her</i> side of her unceasing good wishes for his happiness in +every change of situation that might befall him; on <i>his</i>, with rather an +attempt to return the same good will, than the power of expressing it. +</p> + +<p> +“When I see him again,” said Elinor to herself, as the door shut +him out, “I shall see him the husband of Lucy.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, ma’am; <i>that</i> was not very likely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, and how soon will he be ready?—For it seems all to depend +upon that.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>me</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, aye, the parsonage is but a small one,” said she, after the +first ebullition of surprise and satisfaction was over, “and very likely +<i>may</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of the living’s +being enough to allow them to marry.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor was quite of her opinion, as to the probability of their not waiting for +any thing more. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap41"></a>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>would</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +They walked up stairs in to the drawing-room.—Nobody was there. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>you</i>. Very far from it, indeed. <i>Now</i> especially there +cannot be—but however, you and Marianne were always great favourites. Why +would not Marianne come?” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor made what excuse she could for her. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is perfectly true.—Colonel Brandon has given the living of +Delaford to Edward.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“About two hundred a year.” +</p> + +<p> +“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? <i>Now</i>, 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 <i>this</i>. +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It is truly astonishing!”—he cried, after hearing what she +said—“what could be the Colonel’s motive?” +</p> + +<p> +“A very simple one—to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>that</i> 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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You surprise me; I should think it must nearly have escaped her memory +by <i>this</i> time.” +</p> + +<p> +“You wrong her exceedingly. Mrs. Ferrars is one of the most affectionate +mothers in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“We think <i>now</i>,”—said Mr. Dashwood, after a short +pause, “of <i>Robert’s</i> marrying Miss Morton.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor, smiling at the grave and decisive importance of her brother’s +tone, calmly replied,— +</p> + +<p> +“The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Choice!—how do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor said no more, and John was also for a short time silent.—His +reflections ended thus. +</p> + +<p> +“Of <i>one</i> thing, my dear sister,” kindly taking her hand, and +speaking in an awful whisper, “I may assure you;—and I <i>will</i> +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 <i>did</i>, 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 +<i>this</i> 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 <i>now</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>him</i>. 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>your</i> 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>I</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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever seen the lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>then</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +He had just settled this point with great composure, when the entrance of Mrs. +John Dashwood put an end to the subject. But though <i>she</i> 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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap42"></a>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>she</i> could have no share, without +shedding many tears. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>she</i> could not fancy dry or pleasant weather for walking. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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;—<i>she</i> could discover in them the quick feelings, and +needless alarm of a lover. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap43"></a>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>then</i> really believed herself, that it would be a very short one. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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,— +</p> + +<p> +“Is mama coming?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>could</i> be +lessened to her, his presence, his manners, his assistance, would lessen it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>He</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +She was on the point of sending again for Mr. Harris, or if <i>he</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>her</i> what +Charlotte was to herself, her sympathy in <i>her</i> sufferings was very +sincere. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>did</i>, in spite of the <i>almost</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>she</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap44"></a>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Dashwood, for half an hour—for ten minutes—I entreat +you to stay.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” she replied with firmness, “I shall <i>not</i> +stay. Your business cannot be with <i>me</i>. The servants, I suppose, forgot +to tell you that Mr. Palmer was not in the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“With me!”—in the utmost amazement—“well, +sir,—be quick—and if you can—less violent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down, and I will be both.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Pray be quick, sir,”—said Elinor, +impatiently;—“I have no time to spare.” +</p> + +<p> +He was sitting in an attitude of deep meditation, and seemed not to hear her. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor would not speak. He repeated the inquiry with yet greater eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake tell me, is she out of danger, or is she +not?” +</p> + +<p> +“We hope she is.” +</p> + +<p> +He rose up, and walked across the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Had I known as much half an hour ago;—but since I <i>am</i> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“At Marlborough!”—cried Elinor, more and more at a loss to +understand what he would be at. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Willoughby, you <i>ought</i> to feel, and I certainly <i>do</i>, +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean,” said he, with serious energy, “if I can, to make +you hate me one degree less than you do <i>now</i>. 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this the real reason of your coming?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“If that is all, you may be satisfied already; for Marianne <i>does</i>, +she has <i>long</i> forgiven you.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. <i>Now</i> will you listen to me?” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor bowed her assent. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know,” said he, after a pause of expectation on her side, +and thoughtfulness on his own, “how <i>you</i> 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 <i>she</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Dashwood, at this point, turning her eyes on him with the most angry +contempt, stopped him, by saying, +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>then</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You did then,” said Elinor, a little softened, “believe +yourself at one time attached to her?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>then</i>, 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 <i>you</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</i> was a libertine, <i>she</i> 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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, upon my soul, I did <i>not</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, and what said Mrs. Smith?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you call, Mr. Willoughby?” said Elinor, reproachfully; +“a note would have answered every purpose. Why was it necessary to +call?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +They were both silent for a few moments. Elinor first spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you tell her that you should soon return?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>did</i> 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!” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” said Elinor, who, though pitying him, grew impatient +for his departure, “and this is all?” +</p> + +<p> +“All!—no:—have you forgot what passed in town? That +infamous letter? Did she show it you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I saw every note that passed.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“This is not right, Mr. Willoughby.—Remember that you are married. +Relate only what in your conscience you think necessary for me to hear.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Watched us out of the house!” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>not</i> 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 <i>my</i> 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 <i>can</i> pity me, +Miss Dashwood, pity my situation as it was <i>then</i>. 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. <i>That</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +A short pause of mutual thoughtfulness succeeded. Willoughby first rousing +himself, broke it thus: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, let me make haste and be gone. Your sister is certainly better, +certainly out of danger?” +</p> + +<p> +“We are assured of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your poor mother, too!—doting on Marianne.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the letter, Mr. Willoughby, your own letter; have you any thing to +say about that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, <i>that</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your wife!—The letter was in your own hand-writing.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>would</i>, 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? <i>One</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“There is no use in staying here; I must be off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going back to town?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—to Combe Magna. I have business there; from thence to town in a +day or two. Good bye.” +</p> + +<p> +He held out his hand. She could not refuse to give him hers;—he pressed +it with affection. +</p> + +<p> +“And you <i>do</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor stopped him with a reproof. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,”—he replied—“once more good bye. I shall +now go away and live in dread of one event.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your sister’s marriage.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are very wrong. She can never be more lost to you than she is +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +And with these words, he almost ran out of the room. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap45"></a>CHAPTER XLV.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>she</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>would</i> 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 <i>his</i> +sufferings and <i>his</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Her daughter, feeling by turns both pleased and pained, surprised and not +surprised, was all silent attention. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>him</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel Brandon’s character,” said Elinor, “as an +excellent man, is well established.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it is,”—replied her mother seriously, “or after +such a warning, <i>I</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.” +</p> + +<p> +“His character, however,” answered Elinor, “does not rest on +<i>one</i> 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>I</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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>did</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“To judge from the Colonel’s spirits, however, you have not yet +made him equally sanguine.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor could <i>not</i> remember it; but her mother, without waiting for her +assent, continued, +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>him</i> as she will be with Colonel +Brandon.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused.—Her daughter could not quite agree with her, but her dissent +was not heard, and therefore gave no offence. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>must</i> be some small house or cottage close by, that would suit +us quite as well as our present situation.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor Elinor!—here was a new scheme for getting her to Delaford!—but +her spirit was stubborn. +</p> + +<p> +“His fortune too!—for at my time of life you know, everybody cares +about <i>that;</i>—and though I neither know nor desire to know, what it +really is, I am sure it must be a good one.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap46"></a>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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,— +</p> + +<p> +“There, exactly there,”—pointing with one hand, “on +that projecting mound,—there I fell; and there I first saw +Willoughby.” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice sunk with the word, but presently reviving she added, +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>can</i> talk of it now, I hope, as I ought to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor tenderly invited her to be open. +</p> + +<p> +“As for regret,” said Marianne, “I have done with that, as +far as <i>he</i> is concerned. I do not mean to talk to you of what my feelings +have been for him, but what they are <i>now</i>. At present, if I could be +satisfied on one point, if I could be allowed to think that he was not +<i>always</i> acting a part, not <i>always</i> deceiving me; but above all, if +I could be assured that he never was so <i>very</i> wicked as my fears have +sometimes fancied him, since the story of that unfortunate girl—” +</p> + +<p> +She stopt. Elinor joyfully treasured her words as she answered, +</p> + +<p> +“If you could be assured of that, you think you should be easy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. My peace of mind is doubly involved in it; for not only is it +horrible to suspect a person, who has been what <i>he</i> has been to +<i>me</i>, 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—” +</p> + +<p> +“How then,” asked her sister, “would you account for his +behaviour?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would suppose him,—Oh, how gladly would I suppose him, only +fickle, very, very fickle.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you compare your conduct with his?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I compare it with what it ought to have been; I compare it with +yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Our situations have borne little resemblance.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>your</i> 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 <i>that</i> heart which had deserted and +wronged me, and leaving you, for whom I professed an unbounded affection, to be +miserable for my sake.” +</p> + +<p> +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,— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused—and added in a low voice, “If I could but know +<i>his</i> heart, everything would become easy.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap47"></a>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to assure you both,” said she, “that I see every +thing—as you can desire me to do.” +</p> + +<p> +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,— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne sighed, and repeated, “I wish for no change.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>less</i> grievous to +you, from having been entirely unknown and unthought of before. <i>Your</i> +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 <i>that</i>, had you endeavoured, however +reasonably, to abridge <i>his</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +Marianne’s lips quivered, and she repeated the word +“Selfish?” in a tone that implied—“do you really think +him selfish?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is very true. <i>My</i> happiness never was his object.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not a doubt of it,” said Marianne; “and I have +nothing to regret—nothing but my own folly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather say your mother’s imprudence, my child,” said Mrs. +Dashwood; “<i>she</i> must be answerable.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“<i>One</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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,— +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you know, ma’am, that Mr. Ferrars is married.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Who told you that Mr. Ferrars was married, Thomas?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But did she tell you she was married, Thomas?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was Mr. Ferrars in the carriage with her?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor’s heart could easily account for his not putting himself forward; +and Mrs. Dashwood probably found the same explanation. +</p> + +<p> +“Was there no one else in the carriage?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, ma’am, only they two.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know where they came from?” +</p> + +<p> +“They come straight from town, as Miss Lucy—Mrs. Ferrars told +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And are they going farther westward?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, ma’am—but not to bide long. They will soon be back +again, and then they’d be sure and call here.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Thomas’s intelligence seemed over. Elinor looked as if she wished to hear +more. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see them off, before you came away?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, ma’am—the horses were just coming out, but I could not +bide any longer; I was afraid of being late.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did Mrs. Ferrars look well?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap48"></a>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +This was gaining something, something to look forward to. Colonel Brandon +<i>must</i> have some information to give. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>not</i> 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 <i>was</i> Edward. +She moved away and sat down. “He comes from Mr. Pratt’s purposely +to see us. I <i>will</i> be calm; I <i>will</i> be mistress of myself.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Another pause. +</p> + +<p> +Elinor resolving to exert herself, though fearing the sound of her own voice, +now said, +</p> + +<p> +“Is Mrs. Ferrars at Longstaple?” +</p> + +<p> +“At Longstaple!” he replied, with an air of surprise. “No, my +mother is in town.” +</p> + +<p> +“I meant,” said Elinor, taking up some work from the table, +“to enquire for Mrs. <i>Edward</i> Ferrars.” +</p> + +<p> +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,— +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you mean—my brother—you mean Mrs.—Mrs. +<i>Robert</i> Ferrars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Robert Ferrars!” was repeated by Marianne and her mother in +an accent of the utmost amazement; and though Elinor could not speak, even +<i>her</i> 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,— +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you do not know: you may not have heard that my brother is +lately married to—to the youngest—to Miss Lucy Steele.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said he, “they were married last week, and are now at +Dawlish.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap49"></a>CHAPTER XLIX.</h2> + +<p> +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 <i>one</i> 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 <i>that</i>, +than the immediate contraction of another. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>then;</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Marianne could speak <i>her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +But Elinor—how are <i>her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>them</i> no +subject is finished, no communication is even made, till it has been made at +least twenty times over. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>That</i> was exactly like Robert,” was his immediate +observation. “And <i>that</i>,” he presently added, “might +perhaps be in <i>his</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“D<small>EAR</small> S<small>IR</small>,<br /> + “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, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“Your sincere well-wisher, friend, and sister, <br /> +“L<small>UCY</small> F<small>ERRARS</small>. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor read and returned it without any comment. +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>you</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>that</i> 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 +<i>did</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>you</i> than be +single.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>what</i>, as you were <i>then</i> +situated, could never be.” +</p> + +<p> +He could only plead an ignorance of his own heart, and a mistaken confidence in +the force of his engagement. +</p> + +<p> +“I was simple enough to think, that because my <i>faith</i> 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 <i>was</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +Elinor smiled, and shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Now</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Edward was not entirely without hopes of some favourable change in his mother +towards him; and on <i>that</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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:— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“A letter of proper submission!” repeated he; “would they +have me beg my mother’s pardon for Robert’s ingratitude to +<i>her</i>, and breach of honour to <i>me?</i> 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 <i>is</i> proper for +me to make.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may certainly ask to be forgiven,” said Elinor, “because +you have offended;—and I should think you might <i>now</i> venture so far +as to profess some concern for having ever formed the engagement which drew on +you your mother’s anger.” +</p> + +<p> +He agreed that he might. +</p> + +<p> +“And when she has forgiven you, perhaps a little humility may be +convenient while acknowledging a second engagement, almost as imprudent in +<i>her</i> eyes as the first.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>do</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap50"></a>CHAPTER L.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>three;</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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, +“<i>that</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +But though Mrs. Ferrars <i>did</i> 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. <i>That</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>time</i>, 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, <i>she</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>that</i> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<h5>THE END</h5> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SENSE AND SENSIBILITY ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 161-h.htm or 161-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/161/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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