# LongBench v2 / 66ecfdbd821e116aacb1e3f7

task_id: 054ecce3-2086-546e-9bc1-5c0a3fd1141b
task_key: train--66ecfdbd821e116aacb1e3f7
task_revision_id: 1

{"choice_A":"His niece","choice_B":"His daughter","choice_C":"A distant cousin","choice_D":"No relation","context":"Sense and Sensibility\n\nChapter 1\nT\nhe family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex. \nTheir estate was large, and their residence was at Nor-\nland Park, in the centre of their property, where, for many \ngenerations, they had lived in so respectable a manner as to \nengage the general good opinion of their surrounding ac-\nquaintance. The late owner of this estate was a single man, \nwho lived to a very advanced age, and who for many years of \nhis life, had a constant companion and housekeeper in his \nsister. But her death, which happened ten years before his \nown, produced a great alteration in his home; for to supply \nher loss, he invited and received into his house the family of \nhis nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal inheritor of the \nNorland estate, and the person to whom he intended to be-\nqueath it. In the society of his nephew and niece, and their \nchildren, the old Gentleman’s days were comfortably spent. \nHis attachment to them all increased. The constant atten-\ntion of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dashwood to his wishes, which \nproceeded not merely from interest, but from goodness of \nheart, gave him every degree of solid comfort which his age \ncould receive; and the cheerfulness of the children added a \nrelish to his existence.\nBy a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had one \nson: by his present lady, three daughters. The son, a steady \nrespectable young man, was amply provided for by the for-\n\n\n\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ntune of his mother, which had been large, and half of which \ndevolved on him on his coming of age. By his own marriage, \nlikewise, which happened soon afterwards, he added to his \nwealth. To him therefore the succession to the Norland es-\ntate was not so really important as to his sisters; for their \nfortune, independent of what might arise to them from their \nfather’s inheriting that property, could be but small. Their \nmother had nothing, and their father only seven thousand \npounds in his own disposal; for the remaining moiety of his \nfirst wife’s fortune was also secured to her child, and he had \nonly a life-interest in it.\nThe old gentleman died: his will was read, and like al-\nmost every other will, gave as much disappointment as \npleasure. He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful, as to \nleave his estate from his nephew;—but he left it to him on \nsuch terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest. Mr. \nDashwood had wished for it more for the sake of his wife \nand daughters than for himself or his son;—but to his son, \nand his son’s son, a child of four years old, it was secured, \nin such a way, as to leave to himself no power of providing \nfor those who were most dear to him, and who most needed \na provision by any charge on the estate, or by any sale of its \nvaluable woods. The whole was tied up for the benefit of this \nchild, who, in occasional visits with his father and mother at \nNorland, had so far gained on the affections of his uncle, by \nsuch attractions as are by no means unusual in children of \ntwo or three years old; an imperfect articulation, an earnest \ndesire of having his own way, many cunning tricks, and a \ngreat deal of noise, as to outweigh all the value of all the at-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n\ntention which, for years, he had received from his niece and \nher daughters. He meant not to be unkind, however, and, \nas a mark of his affection for the three girls, he left them a \nthousand pounds a-piece.\nMr. Dashwood’s disappointment was, at first, severe; but \nhis temper was cheerful and sanguine; and he might reason-\nably hope to live many years, and by living economically, lay \nby a considerable sum from the produce of an estate already \nlarge, and capable of almost immediate improvement. But \nthe fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was his \nonly one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer; \nand ten thousand pounds, including the late legacies, was \nall that remained for his widow and daughters.\nHis son was sent for as soon as his danger was known, \nand to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the \nstrength and urgency which illness could command, the \ninterest of his mother-in-law and sisters.\nMr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of the \nrest of the family; but he was affected by a recommenda-\ntion of such a nature at such a time, and he promised to do \nevery thing in his power to make them comfortable. His fa-\nther was rendered easy by such an assurance, and Mr. John \nDashwood had then leisure to consider how much there \nmight prudently be in his power to do for them.\nHe was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rath-\ner cold hearted and rather selfish is to be ill-disposed: but \nhe was, in general, well respected; for he conducted himself \nwith propriety in the discharge of his ordinary duties. Had \nhe married a more amiable woman, he might have been \n\n\n\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nmade still more respectable than he was:—he might even \nhave been made amiable himself; for he was very young \nwhen he married, and very fond of his wife. But Mrs. John \nDashwood was a strong caricature of himself;— more nar-\nrow-minded and selfish.\nWhen he gave his promise to his father, he meditated \nwithin himself to increase the fortunes of his sisters by the \npresent of a thousand pounds a-piece. He then really thought \nhimself equal to it. The prospect of four thousand a-year, in \naddition to his present income, besides the remaining half \nof his own mother’s fortune, warmed his heart, and made \nhim feel capable of generosity.— ‘Yes, he would give them \nthree thousand pounds: it would be liberal and handsome! \nIt would be enough to make them completely easy. Three \nthousand pounds! he could spare so considerable a sum \nwith little inconvenience.’— He thought of it all day long, \nand for many days successively, and he did not repent.\nNo sooner was his father’s funeral over, than Mrs. John \nDashwood, without sending any notice of her intention to \nher mother-in-law, arrived with her child and their atten-\ndants. No one could dispute her right to come; the house \nwas her husband’s from the moment of his father’s decease; \nbut the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the greater, \nand to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood’s situation, with only \ncommon feelings, must have been highly unpleasing;— but \nin HER mind there was a sense of honor so keen, a generosi-\nty so romantic, that any offence of the kind, by whomsoever \ngiven or received, was to her a source of immoveable dis-\ngust. Mrs. John Dashwood had never been a favourite with \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n\nany of her husband’s family; but she had had no opportuni-\nty, till the present, of shewing them with how little attention \nto the comfort of other people she could act when occasion \nrequired it.\nSo acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungracious \nbehaviour, and so earnestly did she despise her daughter-\nin-law for it, that, on the arrival of the latter, she would have \nquitted the house for ever, had not the entreaty of her eldest \ngirl induced her first to reflect on the propriety of going, \nand her own tender love for all her three children deter-\nmined her afterwards to stay, and for their sakes avoid a \nbreach with their brother.\nElinor, this eldest daughter, whose advice was so effec-\ntual, possessed a strength of understanding, and coolness \nof judgment, which qualified her, though only nineteen, to \nbe the counsellor of her mother, and enabled her frequently \nto counteract, to the advantage of them all, that eagerness \nof mind in Mrs. Dashwood which must generally have led \nto imprudence. She had an excellent heart;—her disposition \nwas affectionate, and her feelings were strong; but she knew \nhow to govern them: it was a knowledge which her mother \nhad yet to learn; and which one of her sisters had resolved \nnever to be taught.\nMarianne’s abilities were, in many respects, quite equal \nto Elinor’s. She was sensible and clever; but eager in every-\nthing: her sorrows, her joys, could have no moderation. She \nwas generous, amiable, interesting: she was everything but \nprudent. The resemblance between her and her mother was \nstrikingly great.\n\n\n\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nElinor saw, with concern, the excess of her sister’s sensi-\nbility; but by Mrs. Dashwood it was valued and cherished. \nThey encouraged each other now in the violence of their af-\nfliction. The agony of grief which overpowered them at first, \nwas voluntarily renewed, was sought for, was created again \nand again. They gave themselves up wholly to their sorrow, \nseeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that \ncould afford it, and resolved against ever admitting conso-\nlation in future. Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but still she \ncould struggle, she could exert herself. She could consult \nwith her brother, could receive her sister-in-law on her ar-\nrival, and treat her with proper attention; and could strive \nto rouse her mother to similar exertion, and encourage her \nto similar forbearance.\nMargaret, the other sister, was a good-humored, well-\ndisposed girl; but as she had already imbibed a good deal \nof Marianne’s romance, without having much of her sense, \nshe did not, at thirteen, bid fair to equal her sisters at a more \nadvanced period of life.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n\nChapter 2\nM\nrs. John Dashwood now installed herself mistress of \nNorland; and her mother and sisters-in-law were de-\ngraded to the condition of visitors. As such, however, they \nwere treated by her with quiet civility; and by her husband \nwith as much kindness as he could feel towards anybody \nbeyond himself, his wife, and their child. He really pressed \nthem, with some earnestness, to consider Norland as their \nhome; and, as no plan appeared so eligible to Mrs. Dash-\nwood as remaining there till she could accommodate herself \nwith a house in the neighbourhood, his invitation was ac-\ncepted.\nA continuance in a place where everything reminded \nher of former delight, was exactly what suited her mind. In \nseasons of cheerfulness, no temper could be more cheer-\nful than hers, or possess, in a greater degree, that sanguine \nexpectation of happiness which is happiness itself. But in \nsorrow she must be equally carried away by her fancy, and \nas far beyond consolation as in pleasure she was beyond al-\nloy.\nMrs. John Dashwood did not at all approve of what her \nhusband intended to do for his sisters. To take three thou-\nsand pounds from the fortune of their dear little boy would \nbe impoverishing him to the most dreadful degree. She \nbegged him to think again on the subject. How could he \n\n\n\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nanswer it to himself to rob his child, and his only child too, \nof so large a sum? And what possible claim could the Miss \nDashwoods, who were related to him only by half blood, \nwhich she considered as no relationship at all, have on his \ngenerosity to so large an amount. It was very well known \nthat no affection was ever supposed to exist between the \nchildren of any man by different marriages; and why was he \nto ruin himself, and their poor little Harry, by giving away \nall his money to his half sisters?\n‘It was my father’s last request to me,’ replied her hus-\nband, ‘that I should assist his widow and daughters.’\n‘He did not know what he was talking of, I dare say; ten \nto one but he was light-headed at the time. Had he been in \nhis right senses, he could not have thought of such a thing \nas begging you to give away half your fortune from your \nown child.’\n‘He did not stipulate for any particular sum, my dear \nFanny; he only requested me, in general terms, to assist \nthem, and make their situation more comfortable than it \nwas in his power to do. Perhaps it would have been as well \nif he had left it wholly to myself. He could hardly suppose \nI should neglect them. But as he required the promise, I \ncould not do less than give it; at least I thought so at the \ntime. The promise, therefore, was given, and must be per-\nformed. Something must be done for them whenever they \nleave Norland and settle in a new home.’\n‘Well, then, LET something be done for them; but THAT \nsomething need not be three thousand pounds. Consider,’ \nshe added, ‘that when the money is once parted with, it nev-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n10\ner can return. Your sisters will marry, and it will be gone \nfor ever. If, indeed, it could be restored to our poor little \nboy—‘\n‘Why, to be sure,’ said her husband, very gravely, ‘that \nwould make great difference. The time may come when \nHarry will regret that so large a sum was parted with. If he \nshould have a numerous family, for instance, it would be a \nvery convenient addition.’\n‘To be sure it would.’\n‘Perhaps, then, it would be better for all parties, if the \nsum were diminished one half.—Five hundred pounds \nwould be a prodigious increase to their fortunes!’\n‘Oh! beyond anything great! What brother on earth \nwould do half so much for his sisters, even if REALLY his \nsisters! And as it is—only half blood!—But you have such a \ngenerous spirit!’\n‘I would not wish to do any thing mean,’ he replied. ‘One \nhad rather, on such occasions, do too much than too little. \nNo one, at least, can think I have not done enough for them: \neven themselves, they can hardly expect more.’\n‘There is no knowing what THEY may expect,’ said the \nlady, ‘but we are not to think of their expectations: the ques-\ntion is, what you can afford to do.’\n‘Certainly—and I think I may afford to give them five \nhundred pounds a-piece. As it is, without any addition of \nmine, they will each have about three thousand pounds on \ntheir mother’s death—a very comfortable fortune for any \nyoung woman.’\n‘To be sure it is; and, indeed, it strikes me that they can \n\n\n11\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nwant no addition at all. They will have ten thousand pounds \ndivided amongst them. If they marry, they will be sure of \ndoing well, and if they do not, they may all live very com-\nfortably together on the interest of ten thousand pounds.’\n‘That is very true, and, therefore, I do not know wheth-\ner, upon the whole, it would not be more advisable to do \nsomething for their mother while she lives, rather than for \nthem—something of the annuity kind I mean.—My sisters \nwould feel the good effects of it as well as herself. A hundred \na year would make them all perfectly comfortable.’\nHis wife hesitated a little, however, in giving her consent \nto this plan.\n‘To be sure,’ said she, ‘it is better than parting with fif-\nteen hundred pounds at once. But, then, if Mrs. Dashwood \nshould live fifteen years we shall be completely taken in.’\n‘Fifteen years! my dear Fanny; her life cannot be worth \nhalf that purchase.’\n‘Certainly not; but if you observe, people always live for \never when there is an annuity to be paid them; and she is \nvery stout and healthy, and hardly forty. An annuity is a \nvery serious business; it comes over and over every year, \nand there is no getting rid of it. You are not aware of what \nyou are doing. I have known a great deal of the trouble of \nannuities; for my mother was clogged with the payment \nof three to old superannuated servants by my father’s will, \nand it is amazing how disagreeable she found it. Twice ev-\nery year these annuities were to be paid; and then there was \nthe trouble of getting it to them; and then one of them was \nsaid to have died, and afterwards it turned out to be no such \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n12\nthing. My mother was quite sick of it. Her income was not \nher own, she said, with such perpetual claims on it; and it \nwas the more unkind in my father, because, otherwise, the \nmoney would have been entirely at my mother’s disposal, \nwithout any restriction whatever. It has given me such an \nabhorrence of annuities, that I am sure I would not pin my-\nself down to the payment of one for all the world.’\n‘It is certainly an unpleasant thing,’ replied Mr. Dash-\nwood, ‘to have those kind of yearly drains on one’s income. \nOne’s fortune, as your mother justly says, is NOT one’s own. \nTo be tied down to the regular payment of such a sum, on \nevery rent day, is by no means desirable: it takes away one’s \nindependence.’\n‘Undoubtedly; and after all you have no thanks for it. \nThey think themselves secure, you do no more than what \nis expected, and it raises no gratitude at all. If I were you, \nwhatever I did should be done at my own discretion entire-\nly. I would not bind myself to allow them any thing yearly. \nIt may be very inconvenient some years to spare a hundred, \nor even fifty pounds from our own expenses.’\n‘I believe you are right, my love; it will be better that there \nshould by no annuity in the case; whatever I may give them \noccasionally will be of far greater assistance than a yearly \nallowance, because they would only enlarge their style of \nliving if they felt sure of a larger income, and would not be \nsixpence the richer for it at the end of the year. It will cer-\ntainly be much the best way. A present of fifty pounds, now \nand then, will prevent their ever being distressed for money, \nand will, I think, be amply discharging my promise to my \n\n\n13\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nfather.’\n‘To be sure it will. Indeed, to say the truth, I am con-\nvinced within myself that your father had no idea of your \ngiving them any money at all. The assistance he thought of, \nI dare say, was only such as might be reasonably expected \nof you; for instance, such as looking out for a comfortable \nsmall house for them, helping them to move their things, \nand sending them presents of fish and game, and so forth, \nwhenever they are in season. I’ll lay my life that he meant \nnothing farther; indeed, it would be very strange and \nunreasonable if he did. Do but consider, my dear Mr. Dash-\nwood, how excessively comfortable your mother-in-law and \nher daughters may live on the interest of seven thousand \npounds, besides the thousand pounds belonging to each of \nthe girls, which brings them in fifty pounds a year a-piece, \nand, of course, they will pay their mother for their board out \nof it. Altogether, they will have five hundred a-year amongst \nthem, and what on earth can four women want for more \nthan that?—They will live so cheap! Their housekeeping will \nbe nothing at all. They will have no carriage, no horses, and \nhardly any servants; they will keep no company, and can \nhave no expenses of any kind! Only conceive how comfort-\nable they will be! Five hundred a year! I am sure I cannot \nimagine how they will spend half of it; and as to your giv-\ning them more, it is quite absurd to think of it. They will be \nmuch more able to give YOU something.’\n‘Upon my word,’ said Mr. Dashwood, ‘I believe you are \nperfectly right. My father certainly could mean nothing \nmore by his request to me than what you say. I clearly un-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n14\nderstand it now, and I will strictly fulfil my engagement by \nsuch acts of assistance and kindness to them as you have \ndescribed. When my mother removes into another house \nmy services shall be readily given to accommodate her as \nfar as I can. Some little present of furniture too may be ac-\nceptable then.’\n‘Certainly,’ returned Mrs. John Dashwood. ‘But, howev-\ner, ONE thing must be considered. When your father and \nmother moved to Norland, though the furniture of Stanhill \nwas sold, all the china, plate, and linen was saved, and is \nnow left to your mother. Her house will therefore be almost \ncompletely fitted up as soon as she takes it.’\n‘That is a material consideration undoubtedly. A valu-\nable legacy indeed! And yet some of the plate would have \nbeen a very pleasant addition to our own stock here.’\n‘Yes; and the set of breakfast china is twice as handsome \nas what belongs to this house. A great deal too handsome, in \nmy opinion, for any place THEY can ever afford to live in. \nBut, however, so it is. Your father thought only of THEM. \nAnd I must say this: that you owe no particular gratitude \nto him, nor attention to his wishes; for we very well know \nthat if he could, he would have left almost everything in the \nworld to THEM.’\nThis argument was irresistible. It gave to his intentions \nwhatever of decision was wanting before; and he finally re-\nsolved, that it would be absolutely unnecessary, if not highly \nindecorous, to do more for the widow and children of his \nfather, than such kind of neighbourly acts as his own wife \npointed out.\n\n\n15\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 3\nM\nrs. Dashwood remained at Norland several months; \nnot from any disinclination to move when the sight \nof every well known spot ceased to raise the violent emotion \nwhich it produced for a while; for when her spirits began to \nrevive, and her mind became capable of some other exertion \nthan that of heightening its affliction by melancholy remem-\nbrances, she was impatient to be gone, and indefatigable in \nher inquiries for a suitable dwelling in the neighbourhood \nof Norland; for to remove far from that beloved spot was \nimpossible. But she could hear of no situation that at once \nanswered her notions of comfort and ease, and suited the \nprudence of her eldest daughter, whose steadier judgment \nrejected several houses as too large for their income, which \nher mother would have approved.\nMrs. Dashwood had been informed by her husband \nof the solemn promise on the part of his son in their fa-\nvour, which gave comfort to his last earthly reflections. She \ndoubted the sincerity of this assurance no more than he had \ndoubted it himself, and she thought of it for her daughters’ \nsake with satisfaction, though as for herself she was per-\nsuaded that a much smaller provision than 7000L would \nsupport her in affluence. For their brother’s sake, too, for \nthe sake of his own heart, she rejoiced; and she reproached \nherself for being unjust to his merit before, in believing him \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n16\nincapable of generosity. His attentive behaviour to herself \nand his sisters convinced her that their welfare was dear to \nhim, and, for a long time, she firmly relied on the liberality \nof his intentions.\nThe contempt which she had, very early in their acquain-\ntance, felt for her daughter-in-law, was very much increased \nby the farther knowledge of her character, which half a \nyear’s residence in her family afforded; and perhaps in spite \nof every consideration of politeness or maternal affection \non the side of the former, the two ladies might have found it \nimpossible to have lived together so long, had not a partic-\nular circumstance occurred to give still greater eligibility, \naccording to the opinions of Mrs. Dashwood, to her daugh-\nters’ continuance at Norland.\nThis circumstance was a growing attachment between her \neldest girl and the brother of Mrs. John Dashwood, a gentle-\nman-like and pleasing young man, who was introduced to \ntheir acquaintance soon after his sister’s establishment at \nNorland, and who had since spent the greatest part of his \ntime there.\nSome mothers might have encouraged the intimacy \nfrom motives of interest, for Edward Ferrars was the eldest \nson of a man who had died very rich; and some might have \nrepressed it from motives of prudence, for, except a trifling \nsum, the whole of his fortune depended on the will of his \nmother. But Mrs. Dashwood was alike uninfluenced by ei-\nther consideration. It was enough for her that he appeared \nto be amiable, that he loved her daughter, and that Elinor \nreturned the partiality. It was contrary to every doctrine of \n\n\n17\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nher’s that difference of fortune should keep any couple asun-\nder who were attracted by resemblance of disposition; and \nthat Elinor’s merit should not be acknowledged by every \none who knew her, was to her comprehension impossible.\nEdward Ferrars was not recommended to their good \nopinion by any peculiar graces of person or address. He \nwas not handsome, and his manners required intimacy \nto make them pleasing. He was too diffident to do justice \nto himself; but when his natural shyness was overcome, \nhis behaviour gave every indication of an open, affection-\nate heart. His understanding was good, and his education \nhad given it solid improvement. But he was neither fitted by \nabilities nor disposition to answer the wishes of his mother \nand sister, who longed to see him distinguished—as—they \nhardly knew what. They wanted him to make a fine figure \nin the world in some manner or other. His mother wished \nto interest him in political concerns, to get him into parlia-\nment, or to see him connected with some of the great men \nof the day. Mrs. John Dashwood wished it likewise; but in \nthe mean while, till one of these superior blessings could \nbe attained, it would have quieted her ambition to see him \ndriving a barouche. But Edward had no turn for great men \nor barouches. All his wishes centered in domestic comfort \nand the quiet of private life. Fortunately he had a younger \nbrother who was more promising.\nEdward had been staying several weeks in the house be-\nfore he engaged much of Mrs. Dashwood’s attention; for she \nwas, at that time, in such affliction as rendered her careless \nof surrounding objects. She saw only that he was quiet and \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n18\nunobtrusive, and she liked him for it. He did not disturb \nthe wretchedness of her mind by ill-timed conversation. \nShe was first called to observe and approve him farther, by a \nreflection which Elinor chanced one day to make on the dif-\nference between him and his sister. It was a contrast which \nrecommended him most forcibly to her mother.\n‘It is enough,’ said she; ‘to say that he is unlike Fanny is \nenough. It implies everything amiable. I love him already.’\n‘I think you will like him,’ said Elinor, ‘when you know \nmore of him.’\n‘Like him!’ replied her mother with a smile. ‘I feel no sen-\ntiment of approbation inferior to love.’\n‘You may esteem him.’\n‘I have never yet known what it was to separate esteem \nand love.’\nMrs. Dashwood now took pains to get acquainted with \nhim. Her manners were attaching, and soon banished his \nreserve. She speedily comprehended all his merits; the \npersuasion of his regard for Elinor perhaps assisted her pen-\netration; but she really felt assured of his worth: and even \nthat quietness of manner, which militated against all her \nestablished ideas of what a young man’s address ought to be, \nwas no longer uninteresting when she knew his heart to be \nwarm and his temper affectionate.\nNo sooner did she perceive any symptom of love in his \nbehaviour to Elinor, than she considered their serious at-\ntachment as certain, and looked forward to their marriage \nas rapidly approaching.\n‘In a few months, my dear Marianne.’ said she, ‘Elinor \n\n\n19\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nwill, in all probability be settled for life. We shall miss her; \nbut SHE will be happy.’\n‘Oh! Mamma, how shall we do without her?’\n‘My love, it will be scarcely a separation. We shall live \nwithin a few miles of each other, and shall meet every day of \nour lives. You will gain a brother, a real, affectionate brother. \nI have the highest opinion in the world of Edward’s heart. \nBut you look grave, Marianne; do you disapprove your sis-\nter’s choice?’\n‘Perhaps,’ said Marianne, ‘I may consider it with some \nsurprise. Edward is very amiable, and I love him tenderly. \nBut yet—he is not the kind of young man—there is some-\nthing wanting—his figure is not striking; it has none of that \ngrace which I should expect in the man who could seriously \nattach my sister. His eyes want all that spirit, that fire, which \nat once announce virtue and intelligence. And besides all \nthis, I am afraid, Mamma, he has no real taste. Music seems \nscarcely to attract him, and though he admires Elinor’s \ndrawings very much, it is not the admiration of a person \nwho can understand their worth. It is evident, in spite of \nhis frequent attention to her while she draws, that in fact \nhe knows nothing of the matter. He admires as a lover, not \nas a connoisseur. To satisfy me, those characters must be \nunited. I could not be happy with a man whose taste did \nnot in every point coincide with my own. He must enter \ninto all my feelings; the same books, the same music must \ncharm us both. Oh! mama, how spiritless, how tame was \nEdward’s manner in reading to us last night! I felt for my \nsister most severely. Yet she bore it with so much compo-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n20\nsure, she seemed scarcely to notice it. I could hardly keep \nmy seat. To hear those beautiful lines which have frequently \nalmost driven me wild, pronounced with such impenetrable \ncalmness, such dreadful indifference!’—\n‘He would certainly have done more justice to simple and \nelegant prose. I thought so at the time; but you WOULD \ngive him Cowper.’\n‘Nay, Mamma, if he is not to be animated by Cowper!— \nbut we must allow for difference of taste. Elinor has not my \nfeelings, and therefore she may overlook it, and be happy \nwith him. But it would have broke MY heart, had I loved \nhim, to hear him read with so little sensibility. Mama, the \nmore I know of the world, the more am I convinced that I \nshall never see a man whom I can really love. I require so \nmuch! He must have all Edward’s virtues, and his person \nand manners must ornament his goodness with every pos-\nsible charm.’\n‘Remember, my love, that you are not seventeen. It is yet \ntoo early in life to despair of such a happiness. Why should \nyou be less fortunate than your mother? In one circum-\nstance only, my Marianne, may your destiny be different \nfrom her’s!’\n\n\n21\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 4\n‘W\nhat a pity it is, Elinor,’ said Marianne, ‘that Edward \nshould have no taste for drawing.’\n‘No taste for drawing!’ replied Elinor, ‘why should you \nthink so? He does not draw himself, indeed, but he has great \npleasure in seeing the performances of other people, and \nI assure you he is by no means deficient in natural taste, \nthough he has not had opportunities of improving it. Had \nhe ever been in the way of learning, I think he would have \ndrawn very well. He distrusts his own judgment in such \nmatters so much, that he is always unwilling to give his \nopinion on any picture; but he has an innate propriety and \nsimplicity of taste, which in general direct him perfectly \nright.’\nMarianne was afraid of offending, and said no more on \nthe subject; but the kind of approbation which Elinor de-\nscribed as excited in him by the drawings of other people, \nwas very far from that rapturous delight, which, in her opin-\nion, could alone be called taste. Yet, though smiling within \nherself at the mistake, she honoured her sister for that blind \npartiality to Edward which produced it.\n‘I hope, Marianne,’ continued Elinor, ‘you do not consid-\ner him as deficient in general taste. Indeed, I think I may say \nthat you cannot, for your behaviour to him is perfectly cor-\ndial, and if THAT were your opinion, I am sure you could \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n22\nnever be civil to him.’\nMarianne hardly knew what to say. She would not wound \nthe feelings of her sister on any account, and yet to say what \nshe did not believe was impossible. At length she replied:\n‘Do not be offended, Elinor, if my praise of him is not in \nevery thing equal to your sense of his merits. I have not had \nso many opportunities of estimating the minuter propensi-\nties of his mind, his inclinations and tastes, as you have; but \nI have the highest opinion in the world of his goodness and \nsense. I think him every thing that is worthy and amiable.’\n‘I am sure,’ replied Elinor, with a smile, ‘that his dearest \nfriends could not be dissatisfied with such commendation \nas that. I do not perceive how you could express yourself \nmore warmly.’\nMarianne was rejoiced to find her sister so easily \npleased.\n‘Of his sense and his goodness,’ continued Elinor, ‘no one \ncan, I think, be in doubt, who has seen him often enough to \nengage him in unreserved conversation. The excellence of \nhis understanding and his principles can be concealed only \nby that shyness which too often keeps him silent. You know \nenough of him to do justice to his solid worth. But of his mi-\nnuter propensities, as you call them you have from peculiar \ncircumstances been kept more ignorant than myself. He \nand I have been at times thrown a good deal together, while \nyou have been wholly engrossed on the most affectionate \nprinciple by my mother. I have seen a great deal of him, \nhave studied his sentiments and heard his opinion on sub-\njects of literature and taste; and, upon the whole, I venture \n\n\n23\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nto pronounce that his mind is well-informed, enjoyment of \nbooks exceedingly great, his imagination lively, his obser-\nvation just and correct, and his taste delicate and pure. His \nabilities in every respect improve as much upon acquain-\ntance as his manners and person. At first sight, his address \nis certainly not striking; and his person can hardly be called \nhandsome, till the expression of his eyes, which are uncom-\nmonly good, and the general sweetness of his countenance, \nis perceived. At present, I know him so well, that I think \nhim really handsome; or at least, almost so. What say you, \nMarianne?’\n‘I shall very soon think him handsome, Elinor, if I do \nnot now. When you tell me to love him as a brother, I shall \nno more see imperfection in his face, than I now do in his \nheart.’\nElinor started at this declaration, and was sorry for the \nwarmth she had been betrayed into, in speaking of him. \nShe felt that Edward stood very high in her opinion. She \nbelieved the regard to be mutual; but she required greater \ncertainty of it to make Marianne’s conviction of their at-\ntachment agreeable to her. She knew that what Marianne \nand her mother conjectured one moment, they believed the \nnext—that with them, to wish was to hope, and to hope was \nto expect. She tried to explain the real state of the case to \nher sister.\n‘I do not attempt to deny,’ said she, ‘that I think very \nhighly of him—that I greatly esteem, that I like him.’\nMarianne here burst forth with indignation—\n‘Esteem him! Like him! Cold-hearted Elinor! Oh! worse \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n24\nthan cold-hearted! Ashamed of being otherwise. Use those \nwords again, and I will leave the room this moment.’\nElinor could not help laughing. ‘Excuse me,’ said she; \n‘and be assured that I meant no offence to you, by speaking, \nin so quiet a way, of my own feelings. Believe them to be \nstronger than I have declared; believe them, in short, to be \nsuch as his merit, and the suspicion—the hope of his affec-\ntion for me may warrant, without imprudence or folly. But \nfarther than this you must not believe. I am by no means \nassured of his regard for me. There are moments when the \nextent of it seems doubtful; and till his sentiments are fully \nknown, you cannot wonder at my wishing to avoid any en-\ncouragement of my own partiality, by believing or calling it \nmore than it is. In my heart I feel little—scarcely any doubt \nof his preference. But there are other points to be considered \nbesides his inclination. He is very far from being indepen-\ndent. What his mother really is we cannot know; but, from \nFanny’s occasional mention of her conduct and opinions, \nwe have never been disposed to think her amiable; and I \nam very much mistaken if Edward is not himself aware that \nthere would be many difficulties in his way, if he were to \nwish to marry a woman who had not either a great fortune \nor high rank.’\nMarianne was astonished to find how much the imagi-\nnation of her mother and herself had outstripped the truth.\n‘And you really are not engaged to him!’ said she. ‘Yet it \ncertainly soon will happen. But two advantages will proceed \nfrom this delay. I shall not lose you so soon, and Edward \nwill have greater opportunity of improving that natural \n\n\n25\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ntaste for your favourite pursuit which must be so indispens-\nably necessary to your future felicity. Oh! if he should be so \nfar stimulated by your genius as to learn to draw himself, \nhow delightful it would be!’\nElinor had given her real opinion to her sister. She could \nnot consider her partiality for Edward in so prosperous a \nstate as Marianne had believed it. There was, at times, a \nwant of spirits about him which, if it did not denote indif-\nference, spoke a something almost as unpromising. A doubt \nof her regard, supposing him to feel it, need not give him \nmore than inquietude. It would not be likely to produce that \ndejection of mind which frequently attended him. A more \nreasonable cause might be found in the dependent situa-\ntion which forbad the indulgence of his affection. She knew \nthat his mother neither behaved to him so as to make his \nhome comfortable at present, nor to give him any assurance \nthat he might form a home for himself, without strictly at-\ntending to her views for his aggrandizement. With such a \nknowledge as this, it was impossible for Elinor to feel easy \non the subject. She was far from depending on that result of \nhis preference of her, which her mother and sister still con-\nsidered as certain. Nay, the longer they were together the \nmore doubtful seemed the nature of his regard; and some-\ntimes, for a few painful minutes, she believed it to be no \nmore than friendship.\nBut, whatever might really be its limits, it was enough, \nwhen perceived by his sister, to make her uneasy, and at the \nsame time, (which was still more common,) to make her \nuncivil. She took the first opportunity of affronting her \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n26\nmother-in-law on the occasion, talking to her so expres-\nsively of her brother’s great expectations, of Mrs. Ferrars’s \nresolution that both her sons should marry well, and of \nthe danger attending any young woman who attempted to \nDRAW HIM IN; that Mrs. Dashwood could neither pre-\ntend to be unconscious, nor endeavor to be calm. She gave \nher an answer which marked her contempt, and instantly \nleft the room, resolving that, whatever might be the incon-\nvenience or expense of so sudden a removal, her beloved \nElinor should not be exposed another week to such insinu-\nations.\nIn this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered to her \nfrom the post, which contained a proposal particularly \nwell timed. It was the offer of a small house, on very easy \nterms, belonging to a relation of her own, a gentleman of \nconsequence and property in Devonshire. The letter was \nfrom this gentleman himself, and written in the true spirit \nof friendly accommodation. He understood that she was in \nneed of a dwelling; and though the house he now offered \nher was merely a cottage, he assured her that everything \nshould be done to it which she might think necessary, if the \nsituation pleased her. He earnestly pressed her, after giving \nthe particulars of the house and garden, to come with her \ndaughters to Barton Park, the place of his own residence, \nfrom whence she might judge, herself, whether Barton Cot-\ntage, for the houses were in the same parish, could, by any \nalteration, be made comfortable to her. He seemed really \nanxious to accommodate them and the whole of his letter \nwas written in so friendly a style as could not fail of giving \n\n\n27\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\npleasure to his cousin; more especially at a moment when \nshe was suffering under the cold and unfeeling behaviour \nof her nearer connections. She needed no time for delibera-\ntion or inquiry. Her resolution was formed as she read. The \nsituation of Barton, in a county so far distant from Sussex as \nDevonshire, which, but a few hours before, would have been \na sufficient objection to outweigh every possible advantage \nbelonging to the place, was now its first recommendation. \nTo quit the neighbourhood of Norland was no longer an \nevil; it was an object of desire; it was a blessing, in com-\nparison of the misery of continuing her daughter-in-law’s \nguest; and to remove for ever from that beloved place would \nbe less painful than to inhabit or visit it while such a wom-\nan was its mistress. She instantly wrote Sir John Middleton \nher acknowledgment of his kindness, and her acceptance of \nhis proposal; and then hastened to shew both letters to her \ndaughters, that she might be secure of their approbation be-\nfore her answer were sent.\nElinor had always thought it would be more prudent for \nthem to settle at some distance from Norland, than im-\nmediately amongst their present acquaintance. On THAT \nhead, therefore, it was not for her to oppose her mother’s \nintention of removing into Devonshire. The house, too, as \ndescribed by Sir John, was on so simple a scale, and the rent \nso uncommonly moderate, as to leave her no right of ob-\njection on either point; and, therefore, though it was not a \nplan which brought any charm to her fancy, though it was \na removal from the vicinity of Norland beyond her wishes, \nshe made no attempt to dissuade her mother from sending \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n28\na letter of acquiescence.\n\n\n29\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 5\nN\no sooner was her answer dispatched, than Mrs. Dash-\nwood indulged herself in the pleasure of announcing \nto her son-in-law and his wife that she was provided with \na house, and should incommode them no longer than till \nevery thing were ready for her inhabiting it. They heard her \nwith surprise. Mrs. John Dashwood said nothing; but her \nhusband civilly hoped that she would not be settled far from \nNorland. She had great satisfaction in replying that she was \ngoing into Devonshire.—Edward turned hastily towards \nher, on hearing this, and, in a voice of surprise and concern, \nwhich required no explanation to her, repeated, ‘Devon-\nshire! Are you, indeed, going there? So far from hence! And \nto what part of it?’ She explained the situation. It was within \nfour miles northward of Exeter.\n‘It is but a cottage,’ she continued, ‘but I hope to see many \nof my friends in it. A room or two can easily be added; and \nif my friends find no difficulty in travelling so far to see me, \nI am sure I will find none in accommodating them.’\nShe concluded with a very kind invitation to Mr. and \nMrs. John Dashwood to visit her at Barton; and to Edward \nshe gave one with still greater affection. Though her late con-\nversation with her daughter-in-law had made her resolve on \nremaining at Norland no longer than was unavoidable, it \nhad not produced the smallest effect on her in that point to \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n30\nwhich it principally tended. To separate Edward and Elinor \nwas as far from being her object as ever; and she wished to \nshow Mrs. John Dashwood, by this pointed invitation to her \nbrother, how totally she disregarded her disapprobation of \nthe match.\nMr. John Dashwood told his mother again and again \nhow exceedingly sorry he was that she had taken a house \nat such a distance from Norland as to prevent his being of \nany service to her in removing her furniture. He really felt \nconscientiously vexed on the occasion; for the very exertion \nto which he had limited the performance of his promise to \nhis father was by this arrangement rendered impractica-\nble.— The furniture was all sent around by water. It chiefly \nconsisted of household linen, plate, china, and books, with \na handsome pianoforte of Marianne’s. Mrs. John Dashwood \nsaw the packages depart with a sigh: she could not help feel-\ning it hard that as Mrs. Dashwood’s income would be so \ntrifling in comparison with their own, she should have any \nhandsome article of furniture.\nMrs. Dashwood took the house for a twelvemonth; it \nwas ready furnished, and she might have immediate pos-\nsession. No difficulty arose on either side in the agreement; \nand she waited only for the disposal of her effects at Nor-\nland, and to determine her future household, before she set \noff for the west; and this, as she was exceedingly rapid in \nthe performance of everything that interested her, was soon \ndone.—The horses which were left her by her husband had \nbeen sold soon after his death, and an opportunity now of-\nfering of disposing of her carriage, she agreed to sell that \n\n\n31\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nlikewise at the earnest advice of her eldest daughter. For \nthe comfort of her children, had she consulted only her \nown wishes, she would have kept it; but the discretion of \nElinor prevailed. HER wisdom too limited the number of \ntheir servants to three; two maids and a man, with whom \nthey were speedily provided from amongst those who had \nformed their establishment at Norland.\nThe man and one of the maids were sent off immediately \ninto Devonshire, to prepare the house for their mistress’s \narrival; for as Lady Middleton was entirely unknown to \nMrs. Dashwood, she preferred going directly to the cottage \nto being a visitor at Barton Park; and she relied so undoubt-\ningly on Sir John’s description of the house, as to feel no \ncuriosity to examine it herself till she entered it as her own. \nHer eagerness to be gone from Norland was preserved from \ndiminution by the evident satisfaction of her daughter-in-\nlaw in the prospect of her removal; a satisfaction which was \nbut feebly attempted to be concealed under a cold invita-\ntion to her to defer her departure. Now was the time when \nher son-in-law’s promise to his father might with particu-\nlar propriety be fulfilled. Since he had neglected to do it on \nfirst coming to the estate, their quitting his house might be \nlooked on as the most suitable period for its accomplish-\nment. But Mrs. Dashwood began shortly to give over every \nhope of the kind, and to be convinced, from the general \ndrift of his discourse, that his assistance extended no far-\nther than their maintenance for six months at Norland. He \nso frequently talked of the increasing expenses of house-\nkeeping, and of the perpetual demands upon his purse, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n32\nwhich a man of any consequence in the world was beyond \ncalculation exposed to, that he seemed rather to stand in \nneed of more money himself than to have any design of giv-\ning money away.\nIn a very few weeks from the day which brought Sir John \nMiddleton’s first letter to Norland, every thing was so far \nsettled in their future abode as to enable Mrs. Dashwood \nand her daughters to begin their journey.\nMany were the tears shed by them in their last adieus to a \nplace so much beloved. ‘Dear, dear Norland!’ said Marianne, \nas she wandered alone before the house, on the last evening \nof their being there; ‘when shall I cease to regret you!—when \nlearn to feel a home elsewhere!—Oh! happy house, could \nyou know what I suffer in now viewing you from this spot, \nfrom whence perhaps I may view you no more!—And you, \nye well-known trees!—but you will continue the same.—\nNo leaf will decay because we are removed, nor any branch \nbecome motionless although we can observe you no lon-\nger!—No; you will continue the same; unconscious of the \npleasure or the regret you occasion, and insensible of any \nchange in those who walk under your shade!—But who will \nremain to enjoy you?’\n\n\n33\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 6\nT\nhe first part of their journey was performed in too mel-\nancholy a disposition to be otherwise than tedious and \nunpleasant. But as they drew towards the end of it, their \ninterest in the appearance of a country which they were \nto inhabit overcame their dejection, and a view of Barton \nValley as they entered it gave them cheerfulness. It was a \npleasant fertile spot, well wooded, and rich in pasture. Af-\nter winding along it for more than a mile, they reached their \nown house. A small green court was the whole of its de-\nmesne in front; and a neat wicket gate admitted them into \nit.\nAs a house, Barton Cottage, though small, was comfort-\nable and compact; but as a cottage it was defective, for the \nbuilding was regular, the roof was tiled, the window shut-\nters were not painted green, nor were the walls covered with \nhoneysuckles. A narrow passage led directly through the \nhouse into the garden behind. On each side of the entrance \nwas a sitting room, about sixteen feet square; and beyond \nthem were the offices and the stairs. Four bed-rooms and \ntwo garrets formed the rest of the house. It had not been \nbuilt many years and was in good repair. In comparison \nof Norland, it was poor and small indeed!—but the tears \nwhich recollection called forth as they entered the house \nwere soon dried away. They were cheered by the joy of the \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n34\nservants on their arrival, and each for the sake of the others \nresolved to appear happy. It was very early in September; \nthe season was fine, and from first seeing the place under \nthe advantage of good weather, they received an impression \nin its favour which was of material service in recommend-\ning it to their lasting approbation.\nThe situation of the house was good. High hills rose im-\nmediately behind, and at no great distance on each side; \nsome of which were open downs, the others cultivated and \nwoody. The village of Barton was chiefly on one of these \nhills, and formed a pleasant view from the cottage windows. \nThe prospect in front was more extensive; it commanded \nthe whole of the valley, and reached into the country be-\nyond. The hills which surrounded the cottage terminated \nthe valley in that direction; under another name, and in \nanother course, it branched out again between two of the \nsteepest of them.\nWith the size and furniture of the house Mrs. Dashwood \nwas upon the whole well satisfied; for though her former \nstyle of life rendered many additions to the latter indispens-\nable, yet to add and improve was a delight to her; and she \nhad at this time ready money enough to supply all that was \nwanted of greater elegance to the apartments. ‘As for the \nhouse itself, to be sure,’ said she, ‘it is too small for our fam-\nily, but we will make ourselves tolerably comfortable for the \npresent, as it is too late in the year for improvements. Per-\nhaps in the spring, if I have plenty of money, as I dare say I \nshall, we may think about building. These parlors are both \ntoo small for such parties of our friends as I hope to see of-\n\n\n35\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nten collected here; and I have some thoughts of throwing \nthe passage into one of them with perhaps a part of the oth-\ner, and so leave the remainder of that other for an entrance; \nthis, with a new drawing room which may be easily added, \nand a bed-chamber and garret above, will make it a very \nsnug little cottage. I could wish the stairs were handsome. \nBut one must not expect every thing; though I suppose it \nwould be no difficult matter to widen them. I shall see how \nmuch I am before-hand with the world in the spring, and \nwe will plan our improvements accordingly.’\nIn the mean time, till all these alterations could be made \nfrom the savings of an income of five hundred a-year by a \nwoman who never saved in her life, they were wise enough \nto be contented with the house as it was; and each of them \nwas busy in arranging their particular concerns, and \nendeavoring, by placing around them books and other pos-\nsessions, to form themselves a home. Marianne’s pianoforte \nwas unpacked and properly disposed of; and Elinor’s draw-\nings were affixed to the walls of their sitting room.\nIn such employments as these they were interrupted soon \nafter breakfast the next day by the entrance of their landlord, \nwho called to welcome them to Barton, and to offer them \nevery accommodation from his own house and garden in \nwhich theirs might at present be deficient. Sir John Middle-\nton was a good looking man about forty. He had formerly \nvisited at Stanhill, but it was too long for his young cousins \nto remember him. His countenance was thoroughly good-\nhumoured; and his manners were as friendly as the style of \nhis letter. Their arrival seemed to afford him real satisfac-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n36\ntion, and their comfort to be an object of real solicitude to \nhim. He said much of his earnest desire of their living in \nthe most sociable terms with his family, and pressed them \nso cordially to dine at Barton Park every day till they were \nbetter settled at home, that, though his entreaties were car-\nried to a point of perseverance beyond civility, they could \nnot give offence. His kindness was not confined to words; \nfor within an hour after he left them, a large basket full of \ngarden stuff and fruit arrived from the park, which was fol-\nlowed before the end of the day by a present of game. He \ninsisted, moreover, on conveying all their letters to and \nfrom the post for them, and would not be denied the satis-\nfaction of sending them his newspaper every day.\nLady Middleton had sent a very civil message by him, de-\nnoting her intention of waiting on Mrs. Dashwood as soon \nas she could be assured that her visit would be no inconve-\nnience; and as this message was answered by an invitation \nequally polite, her ladyship was introduced to them the next \nday.\nThey were, of course, very anxious to see a person on \nwhom so much of their comfort at Barton must depend; \nand the elegance of her appearance was favourable to their \nwishes. Lady Middleton was not more than six or seven and \ntwenty; her face was handsome, her figure tall and striking, \nand her address graceful. Her manners had all the elegance \nwhich her husband’s wanted. But they would have been im-\nproved by some share of his frankness and warmth; and her \nvisit was long enough to detract something from their first \nadmiration, by shewing that, though perfectly well-bred, \n\n\n37\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nshe was reserved, cold, and had nothing to say for herself \nbeyond the most common-place inquiry or remark.\nConversation however was not wanted, for Sir John was \nvery chatty, and Lady Middleton had taken the wise precau-\ntion of bringing with her their eldest child, a fine little boy \nabout six years old, by which means there was one subject \nalways to be recurred to by the ladies in case of extremity, \nfor they had to enquire his name and age, admire his beau-\nty, and ask him questions which his mother answered for \nhim, while he hung about her and held down his head, to \nthe great surprise of her ladyship, who wondered at his be-\ning so shy before company, as he could make noise enough \nat home. On every formal visit a child ought to be of the \nparty, by way of provision for discourse. In the present case \nit took up ten minutes to determine whether the boy were \nmost like his father or mother, and in what particular he re-\nsembled either, for of course every body differed, and every \nbody was astonished at the opinion of the others.\nAn opportunity was soon to be given to the Dashwoods \nof debating on the rest of the children, as Sir John would not \nleave the house without securing their promise of dining at \nthe park the next day.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n38\nChapter 7\nB\narton Park was about half a mile from the cottage. The \nladies had passed near it in their way along the valley, \nbut it was screened from their view at home by the pro-\njection of a hill. The house was large and handsome; and \nthe Middletons lived in a style of equal hospitality and el-\negance. The former was for Sir John’s gratification, the latter \nfor that of his lady. They were scarcely ever without some \nfriends staying with them in the house, and they kept more \ncompany of every kind than any other family in the neigh-\nbourhood. It was necessary to the happiness of both; for \nhowever dissimilar in temper and outward behaviour, they \nstrongly resembled each other in that total want of talent \nand taste which confined their employments, unconnected \nwith such as society produced, within a very narrow com-\npass. Sir John was a sportsman, Lady Middleton a mother. \nHe hunted and shot, and she humoured her children; and \nthese were their only resources. Lady Middleton had the \nadvantage of being able to spoil her children all the year \nround, while Sir John’s independent employments were \nin existence only half the time. Continual engagements at \nhome and abroad, however, supplied all the deficiencies \nof nature and education; supported the good spirits of Sir \nJohn, and gave exercise to the good breeding of his wife.\nLady Middleton piqued herself upon the elegance of her \n\n\n39\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ntable, and of all her domestic arrangements; and from this \nkind of vanity was her greatest enjoyment in any of their \nparties. But Sir John’s satisfaction in society was much more \nreal; he delighted in collecting about him more young peo-\nple than his house would hold, and the noisier they were the \nbetter was he pleased. He was a blessing to all the juvenile \npart of the neighbourhood, for in summer he was for ever \nforming parties to eat cold ham and chicken out of doors, \nand in winter his private balls were numerous enough for \nany young lady who was not suffering under the unsatiable \nappetite of fifteen.\nThe arrival of a new family in the country was always \na matter of joy to him, and in every point of view he was \ncharmed with the inhabitants he had now procured for his \ncottage at Barton. The Miss Dashwoods were young, pretty, \nand unaffected. It was enough to secure his good opinion; \nfor to be unaffected was all that a pretty girl could want to \nmake her mind as captivating as her person. The friendli-\nness of his disposition made him happy in accommodating \nthose, whose situation might be considered, in compari-\nson with the past, as unfortunate. In showing kindness to \nhis cousins therefore he had the real satisfaction of a good \nheart; and in settling a family of females only in his cottage, \nhe had all the satisfaction of a sportsman; for a sportsman, \nthough he esteems only those of his sex who are sportsmen \nlikewise, is not often desirous of encouraging their taste by \nadmitting them to a residence within his own manor.\nMrs. Dashwood and her daughters were met at the door \nof the house by Sir John, who welcomed them to Barton \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n40\nPark with unaffected sincerity; and as he attended them to \nthe drawing room repeated to the young ladies the concern \nwhich the same subject had drawn from him the day before, \nat being unable to get any smart young men to meet them. \nThey would see, he said, only one gentleman there besides \nhimself; a particular friend who was staying at the park, but \nwho was neither very young nor very gay. He hoped they \nwould all excuse the smallness of the party, and could as-\nsure them it should never happen so again. He had been to \nseveral families that morning in hopes of procuring some \naddition to their number, but it was moonlight and every \nbody was full of engagements. Luckily Lady Middleton’s \nmother had arrived at Barton within the last hour, and as \nshe was a very cheerful agreeable woman, he hoped the \nyoung ladies would not find it so very dull as they might \nimagine. The young ladies, as well as their mother, were \nperfectly satisfied with having two entire strangers of the \nparty, and wished for no more.\nMrs. Jennings, Lady Middleton’s mother, was a good-hu-\nmoured, merry, fat, elderly woman, who talked a great deal, \nseemed very happy, and rather vulgar. She was full of jokes \nand laughter, and before dinner was over had said many \nwitty things on the subject of lovers and husbands; hoped \nthey had not left their hearts behind them in Sussex, and \npretended to see them blush whether they did or not. Mari-\nanne was vexed at it for her sister’s sake, and turned her \neyes towards Elinor to see how she bore these attacks, with \nan earnestness which gave Elinor far more pain than could \narise from such common-place raillery as Mrs. Jennings’s.\n\n\n41\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nColonel Brandon, the friend of Sir John, seemed no more \nadapted by resemblance of manner to be his friend, than \nLady Middleton was to be his wife, or Mrs. Jennings to be \nLady Middleton’s mother. He was silent and grave. His ap-\npearance however was not unpleasing, in spite of his being \nin the opinion of Marianne and Margaret an absolute old \nbachelor, for he was on the wrong side of five and thirty; \nbut though his face was not handsome, his countenance was \nsensible, and his address was particularly gentlemanlike.\nThere was nothing in any of the party which could rec-\nommend them as companions to the Dashwoods; but the \ncold insipidity of Lady Middleton was so particularly re-\npulsive, that in comparison of it the gravity of Colonel \nBrandon, and even the boisterous mirth of Sir John and \nhis mother-in-law was interesting. Lady Middleton seemed \nto be roused to enjoyment only by the entrance of her four \nnoisy children after dinner, who pulled her about, tore her \nclothes, and put an end to every kind of discourse except \nwhat related to themselves.\nIn the evening, as Marianne was discovered to be musi-\ncal, she was invited to play. The instrument was unlocked, \nevery body prepared to be charmed, and Marianne, who \nsang very well, at their request went through the chief of \nthe songs which Lady Middleton had brought into the fam-\nily on her marriage, and which perhaps had lain ever since \nin the same position on the pianoforte, for her ladyship had \ncelebrated that event by giving up music, although by her \nmother’s account, she had played extremely well, and by her \nown was very fond of it.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n42\nMarianne’s performance was highly applauded. Sir John \nwas loud in his admiration at the end of every song, and as \nloud in his conversation with the others while every song \nlasted. Lady Middleton frequently called him to order, won-\ndered how any one’s attention could be diverted from music \nfor a moment, and asked Marianne to sing a particular \nsong which Marianne had just finished. Colonel Brandon \nalone, of all the party, heard her without being in raptures. \nHe paid her only the compliment of attention; and she felt \na respect for him on the occasion, which the others had \nreasonably forfeited by their shameless want of taste. His \npleasure in music, though it amounted not to that ecstatic \ndelight which alone could sympathize with her own, was \nestimable when contrasted against the horrible insensibility \nof the others; and she was reasonable enough to allow that a \nman of five and thirty might well have outlived all acuteness \nof feeling and every exquisite power of enjoyment. She was \nperfectly disposed to make every allowance for the colonel’s \nadvanced state of life which humanity required.\n\n\n43\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 8\nM\nrs. Jennings was a widow with an ample jointure. \nShe had only two daughters, both of whom she had \nlived to see respectably married, and she had now there-\nfore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the world. \nIn the promotion of this object she was zealously active, \nas far as her ability reached; and missed no opportunity of \nprojecting weddings among all the young people of her ac-\nquaintance. She was remarkably quick in the discovery of \nattachments, and had enjoyed the advantage of raising the \nblushes and the vanity of many a young lady by insinua-\ntions of her power over such a young man; and this kind of \ndiscernment enabled her soon after her arrival at Barton de-\ncisively to pronounce that Colonel Brandon was very much \nin love with Marianne Dashwood. She rather suspected it \nto be so, on the very first evening of their being together, \nfrom his listening so attentively while she sang to them; and \nwhen the visit was returned by the Middletons’ dining at \nthe cottage, the fact was ascertained by his listening to her \nagain. It must be so. She was perfectly convinced of it. It \nwould be an excellent match, for HE was rich, and SHE was \nhandsome. Mrs. Jennings had been anxious to see Colonel \nBrandon well married, ever since her connection with Sir \nJohn first brought him to her knowledge; and she was al-\nways anxious to get a good husband for every pretty girl.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n44\nThe immediate advantage to herself was by no means in-\nconsiderable, for it supplied her with endless jokes against \nthem both. At the park she laughed at the colonel, and in \nthe cottage at Marianne. To the former her raillery was \nprobably, as far as it regarded only himself, perfectly indif-\nferent; but to the latter it was at first incomprehensible; and \nwhen its object was understood, she hardly knew whether \nmost to laugh at its absurdity, or censure its impertinence, \nfor she considered it as an unfeeling reflection on the colo-\nnel’s advanced years, and on his forlorn condition as an old \nbachelor.\nMrs. Dashwood, who could not think a man five years \nyounger than herself, so exceedingly ancient as he appeared \nto the youthful fancy of her daughter, ventured to clear Mrs. \nJennings from the probability of wishing to throw ridicule \non his age.\n‘But at least, Mamma, you cannot deny the absurdity \nof the accusation, though you may not think it intention-\nally ill-natured. Colonel Brandon is certainly younger than \nMrs. Jennings, but he is old enough to be MY father; and if \nhe were ever animated enough to be in love, must have long \noutlived every sensation of the kind. It is too ridiculous! \nWhen is a man to be safe from such wit, if age and infirmity \nwill not protect him?’\n‘Infirmity!’ said Elinor, ‘do you call Colonel Brandon in-\nfirm? I can easily suppose that his age may appear much \ngreater to you than to my mother; but you can hardly de-\nceive yourself as to his having the use of his limbs!’\n‘Did not you hear him complain of the rheumatism? and \n\n\n45\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nis not that the commonest infirmity of declining life?’\n‘My dearest child,’ said her mother, laughing, ‘at this rate \nyou must be in continual terror of MY decay; and it must \nseem to you a miracle that my life has been extended to the \nadvanced age of forty.’\n‘Mamma, you are not doing me justice. I know very well \nthat Colonel Brandon is not old enough to make his friends \nyet apprehensive of losing him in the course of nature. He \nmay live twenty years longer. But thirty-five has nothing to \ndo with matrimony.’\n‘Perhaps,’ said Elinor, ‘thirty-five and seventeen had bet-\nter not have any thing to do with matrimony together. But \nif there should by any chance happen to be a woman who is \nsingle at seven and twenty, I should not think Colonel Bran-\ndon’s being thirty-five any objection to his marrying HER.’\n‘A woman of seven and twenty,’ said Marianne, after \npausing a moment, ‘can never hope to feel or inspire affec-\ntion again, and if her home be uncomfortable, or her fortune \nsmall, I can suppose that she might bring herself to submit \nto the offices of a nurse, for the sake of the provision and \nsecurity of a wife. In his marrying such a woman therefore \nthere would be nothing unsuitable. It would be a compact \nof convenience, and the world would be satisfied. In my eyes \nit would be no marriage at all, but that would be nothing. \nTo me it would seem only a commercial exchange, in which \neach wished to be benefited at the expense of the other.’\n‘It would be impossible, I know,’ replied Elinor, ‘to con-\nvince you that a woman of seven and twenty could feel for \na man of thirty-five anything near enough to love, to make \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n46\nhim a desirable companion to her. But I must object to your \ndooming Colonel Brandon and his wife to the constant con-\nfinement of a sick chamber, merely because he chanced to \ncomplain yesterday (a very cold damp day) of a slight rheu-\nmatic feel in one of his shoulders.’\n‘But he talked of flannel waistcoats,’ said Marianne; ‘and \nwith me a flannel waistcoat is invariably connected with \naches, cramps, rheumatisms, and every species of ailment \nthat can afflict the old and the feeble.’\n‘Had he been only in a violent fever, you would not have \ndespised him half so much. Confess, Marianne, is not there \nsomething interesting to you in the flushed cheek, hollow \neye, and quick pulse of a fever?’\nSoon after this, upon Elinor’s leaving the room, ‘Mam-\nma,’ said Marianne, ‘I have an alarm on the subject of illness \nwhich I cannot conceal from you. I am sure Edward Ferrars \nis not well. We have now been here almost a fortnight, and \nyet he does not come. Nothing but real indisposition could \noccasion this extraordinary delay. What else can detain \nhim at Norland?’\n‘Had you any idea of his coming so soon?’ said Mrs. \nDashwood. ‘I had none. On the contrary, if I have felt any \nanxiety at all on the subject, it has been in recollecting that \nhe sometimes showed a want of pleasure and readiness in \naccepting my invitation, when I talked of his coming to \nBarton. Does Elinor expect him already?’\n‘I have never mentioned it to her, but of course she \nmust.’\n‘I rather think you are mistaken, for when I was talking \n\n\n47\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nto her yesterday of getting a new grate for the spare bed-\nchamber, she observed that there was no immediate hurry \nfor it, as it was not likely that the room would be wanted for \nsome time.’\n‘How strange this is! what can be the meaning of it! But \nthe whole of their behaviour to each other has been unac-\ncountable! How cold, how composed were their last adieus! \nHow languid their conversation the last evening of their be-\ning together! In Edward’s farewell there was no distinction \nbetween Elinor and me: it was the good wishes of an affec-\ntionate brother to both. Twice did I leave them purposely \ntogether in the course of the last morning, and each time \ndid he most unaccountably follow me out of the room. And \nElinor, in quitting Norland and Edward, cried not as I did. \nEven now her self-command is invariable. When is she de-\njected or melancholy? When does she try to avoid society, or \nappear restless and dissatisfied in it?’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n48\nChapter 9\nT\nhe Dashwoods were now settled at Barton with toler-\nable comfort to themselves. The house and the garden, \nwith all the objects surrounding them, were now become \nfamiliar, and the ordinary pursuits which had given to Nor-\nland half its charms were engaged in again with far greater \nenjoyment than Norland had been able to afford, since the \nloss of their father. Sir John Middleton, who called on them \nevery day for the first fortnight, and who was not in the hab-\nit of seeing much occupation at home, could not conceal his \namazement on finding them always employed.\nTheir visitors, except those from Barton Park, were not \nmany; for, in spite of Sir John’s urgent entreaties that they \nwould mix more in the neighbourhood, and repeated as-\nsurances of his carriage being always at their service, the \nindependence of Mrs. Dashwood’s spirit overcame the wish \nof society for her children; and she was resolute in declin-\ning to visit any family beyond the distance of a walk. There \nwere but few who could be so classed; and it was not all \nof them that were attainable. About a mile and a half from \nthe cottage, along the narrow winding valley of Allenham, \nwhich issued from that of Barton, as formerly described, \nthe girls had, in one of their earliest walks, discovered an \nancient respectable looking mansion which, by reminding \nthem a little of Norland, interested their imagination and \n\n\n49\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nmade them wish to be better acquainted with it. But they \nlearnt, on enquiry, that its possessor, an elderly lady of very \ngood character, was unfortunately too infirm to mix with \nthe world, and never stirred from home.\nThe whole country about them abounded in beautiful \nwalks. The high downs which invited them from almost ev-\nery window of the cottage to seek the exquisite enjoyment \nof air on their summits, were a happy alternative when the \ndirt of the valleys beneath shut up their superior beauties; \nand towards one of these hills did Marianne and Margaret \none memorable morning direct their steps, attracted by the \npartial sunshine of a showery sky, and unable longer to bear \nthe confinement which the settled rain of the two preceding \ndays had occasioned. The weather was not tempting enough \nto draw the two others from their pencil and their book, in \nspite of Marianne’s declaration that the day would be last-\ningly fair, and that every threatening cloud would be drawn \noff from their hills; and the two girls set off together.\nThey gaily ascended the downs, rejoicing in their own \npenetration at every glimpse of blue sky; and when they \ncaught in their faces the animating gales of a high south-\nwesterly wind, they pitied the fears which had prevented \ntheir mother and Elinor from sharing such delightful sen-\nsations.\n‘Is there a felicity in the world,’ said Marianne, ‘superior \nto this?—Margaret, we will walk here at least two hours.’\nMargaret agreed, and they pursued their way against the \nwind, resisting it with laughing delight for about twenty \nminutes longer, when suddenly the clouds united over their \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n50\nheads, and a driving rain set full in their face.— Chagrined \nand surprised, they were obliged, though unwillingly, to \nturn back, for no shelter was nearer than their own house. \nOne consolation however remained for them, to which the \nexigence of the moment gave more than usual propriety; it \nwas that of running with all possible speed down the steep \nside of the hill which led immediately to their garden gate.\nThey set off. Marianne had at first the advantage, but a \nfalse step brought her suddenly to the ground; and Mar-\ngaret, unable to stop herself to assist her, was involuntarily \nhurried along, and reached the bottom in safety.\nA gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointers playing \nround him, was passing up the hill and within a few yards \nof Marianne, when her accident happened. He put down his \ngun and ran to her assistance. She had raised herself from \nthe ground, but her foot had been twisted in her fall, and \nshe was scarcely able to stand. The gentleman offered his \nservices; and perceiving that her modesty declined what \nher situation rendered necessary, took her up in his arms \nwithout farther delay, and carried her down the hill. Then \npassing through the garden, the gate of which had been \nleft open by Margaret, he bore her directly into the house, \nwhither Margaret was just arrived, and quitted not his hold \ntill he had seated her in a chair in the parlour.\nElinor and her mother rose up in amazement at their en-\ntrance, and while the eyes of both were fixed on him with \nan evident wonder and a secret admiration which equally \nsprung from his appearance, he apologized for his intrusion \nby relating its cause, in a manner so frank and so grace-\n\n\n51\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nful that his person, which was uncommonly handsome, \nreceived additional charms from his voice and expression. \nHad he been even old, ugly, and vulgar, the gratitude and \nkindness of Mrs. Dashwood would have been secured by \nany act of attention to her child; but the influence of youth, \nbeauty, and elegance, gave an interest to the action which \ncame home to her feelings.\nShe thanked him again and again; and, with a sweetness \nof address which always attended her, invited him to be \nseated. But this he declined, as he was dirty and wet. Mrs. \nDashwood then begged to know to whom she was obliged. \nHis name, he replied, was Willoughby, and his present \nhome was at Allenham, from whence he hoped she would \nallow him the honour of calling tomorrow to enquire after \nMiss Dashwood. The honour was readily granted, and he \nthen departed, to make himself still more interesting, in the \nmidst of an heavy rain.\nHis manly beauty and more than common gracefulness \nwere instantly the theme of general admiration, and the \nlaugh which his gallantry raised against Marianne received \nparticular spirit from his exterior attractions.— Marianne \nherself had seen less of his person that the rest, for the con-\nfusion which crimsoned over her face, on his lifting her up, \nhad robbed her of the power of regarding him after their en-\ntering the house. But she had seen enough of him to join in \nall the admiration of the others, and with an energy which \nalways adorned her praise. His person and air were equal to \nwhat her fancy had ever drawn for the hero of a favourite \nstory; and in his carrying her into the house with so little \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n52\nprevious formality, there was a rapidity of thought which \nparticularly recommended the action to her. Every circum-\nstance belonging to him was interesting. His name was \ngood, his residence was in their favourite village, and she \nsoon found out that of all manly dresses a shooting-jack-\net was the most becoming. Her imagination was busy, her \nreflections were pleasant, and the pain of a sprained ankle \nwas disregarded.\nSir John called on them as soon as the next interval of \nfair weather that morning allowed him to get out of doors; \nand Marianne’s accident being related to him, he was ea-\ngerly asked whether he knew any gentleman of the name of \nWilloughby at Allenham.\n‘Willoughby!’ cried Sir John; ‘what, is HE in the country? \nThat is good news however; I will ride over tomorrow, and \nask him to dinner on Thursday.’\n‘You know him then,’ said Mrs. Dashwood.\n‘Know him! to be sure I do. Why, he is down here every \nyear.’\n‘And what sort of a young man is he?’\n‘As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you. A very \ndecent shot, and there is not a bolder rider in England.’\n‘And is that all you can say for him?’ cried Marianne, \nindignantly. ‘But what are his manners on more intimate \nacquaintance? What his pursuits, his talents, and genius?’\nSir John was rather puzzled.\n‘Upon my soul,’ said he, ‘I do not know much about him \nas to all THAT. But he is a pleasant, good humoured fellow, \nand has got the nicest little black bitch of a pointer I ever \n\n\n53\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nsaw. Was she out with him today?’\nBut Marianne could no more satisfy him as to the colour \nof Mr. Willoughby’s pointer, than he could describe to her \nthe shades of his mind.\n‘But who is he?’ said Elinor. ‘Where does he come from? \nHas he a house at Allenham?’\nOn this point Sir John could give more certain intel-\nligence; and he told them that Mr. Willoughby had no \nproperty of his own in the country; that he resided there \nonly while he was visiting the old lady at Allenham Court, \nto whom he was related, and whose possessions he was to \ninherit; adding, ‘Yes, yes, he is very well worth catching I \ncan tell you, Miss Dashwood; he has a pretty little estate of \nhis own in Somersetshire besides; and if I were you, I would \nnot give him up to my younger sister, in spite of all this tum-\nbling down hills. Miss Marianne must not expect to have all \nthe men to herself. Brandon will be jealous, if she does not \ntake care.’\n‘I do not believe,’ said Mrs. Dashwood, with a good hu-\nmoured smile, ‘that Mr. Willoughby will be incommoded \nby the attempts of either of MY daughters towards what you \ncall CATCHING him. It is not an employment to which \nthey have been brought up. Men are very safe with us, let \nthem be ever so rich. I am glad to find, however, from what \nyou say, that he is a respectable young man, and one whose \nacquaintance will not be ineligible.’\n‘He is as good a sort of fellow, I believe, as ever lived,’ re-\npeated Sir John. ‘I remember last Christmas at a little hop \nat the park, he danced from eight o’clock till four, without \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n54\nonce sitting down.’\n‘Did he indeed?’ cried Marianne with sparkling eyes, \n‘and with elegance, with spirit?’\n‘Yes; and he was up again at eight to ride to covert.’\n‘That is what I like; that is what a young man ought to \nbe. Whatever be his pursuits, his eagerness in them should \nknow no moderation, and leave him no sense of fatigue.’\n‘Aye, aye, I see how it will be,’ said Sir John, ‘I see how it \nwill be. You will be setting your cap at him now, and never \nthink of poor Brandon.’\n‘That is an expression, Sir John,’ said Marianne, warmly, \n‘which I particularly dislike. I abhor every common-place \nphrase by which wit is intended; and ‘setting one’s cap \nat a man,’ or ‘making a conquest,’ are the most odious of \nall. Their tendency is gross and illiberal; and if their con-\nstruction could ever be deemed clever, time has long ago \ndestroyed all its ingenuity.’\nSir John did not much understand this reproof; but he \nlaughed as heartily as if he did, and then replied,\n‘Ay, you will make conquests enough, I dare say, one way \nor other. Poor Brandon! he is quite smitten already, and he \nis very well worth setting your cap at, I can tell you, in spite \nof all this tumbling about and spraining of ankles.’\n\n\n55\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 10\nM\narianne’s preserver, as Margaret, with more elegance \nthan precision, styled Willoughby, called at the cot-\ntage early the next morning to make his personal enquiries. \nHe was received by Mrs. Dashwood with more than polite-\nness; with a kindness which Sir John’s account of him and \nher own gratitude prompted; and every thing that passed \nduring the visit tended to assure him of the sense, elegance, \nmutual affection, and domestic comfort of the family to \nwhom accident had now introduced him. Of their personal \ncharms he had not required a second interview to be con-\nvinced.\nMiss Dashwood had a delicate complexion, regular fea-\ntures, and a remarkably pretty figure. Marianne was still \nhandsomer. Her form, though not so correct as her sister’s, \nin having the advantage of height, was more striking; and \nher face was so lovely, that when in the common cant of \npraise, she was called a beautiful girl, truth was less vio-\nlently outraged than usually happens. Her skin was very \nbrown, but, from its transparency, her complexion was un-\ncommonly brilliant; her features were all good; her smile \nwas sweet and attractive; and in her eyes, which were very \ndark, there was a life, a spirit, an eagerness, which could \nhardily be seen without delight. From Willoughby their ex-\npression was at first held back, by the embarrassment which \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n56\nthe remembrance of his assistance created. But when this \npassed away, when her spirits became collected, when she \nsaw that to the perfect good-breeding of the gentleman, \nhe united frankness and vivacity, and above all, when she \nheard him declare, that of music and dancing he was pas-\nsionately fond, she gave him such a look of approbation as \nsecured the largest share of his discourse to herself for the \nrest of his stay.\nIt was only necessary to mention any favourite amuse-\nment to engage her to talk. She could not be silent when \nsuch points were introduced, and she had neither shyness \nnor reserve in their discussion. They speedily discovered \nthat their enjoyment of dancing and music was mutual, and \nthat it arose from a general conformity of judgment in all \nthat related to either. Encouraged by this to a further ex-\namination of his opinions, she proceeded to question him \non the subject of books; her favourite authors were brought \nforward and dwelt upon with so rapturous a delight, that \nany young man of five and twenty must have been insen-\nsible indeed, not to become an immediate convert to the \nexcellence of such works, however disregarded before. Their \ntaste was strikingly alike. The same books, the same pas-\nsages were idolized by each— or if any difference appeared, \nany objection arose, it lasted no longer than till the force \nof her arguments and the brightness of her eyes could be \ndisplayed. He acquiesced in all her decisions, caught all \nher enthusiasm; and long before his visit concluded, they \nconversed with the familiarity of a long-established ac-\nquaintance.\n\n\n57\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘Well, Marianne,’ said Elinor, as soon as he had left them, \n‘for ONE morning I think you have done pretty well. You \nhave already ascertained Mr. Willoughby’s opinion in al-\nmost every matter of importance. You know what he thinks \nof Cowper and Scott; you are certain of his estimating their \nbeauties as he ought, and you have received every assur-\nance of his admiring Pope no more than is proper. But how \nis your acquaintance to be long supported, under such ex-\ntraordinary despatch of every subject for discourse? You \nwill soon have exhausted each favourite topic. Another \nmeeting will suffice to explain his sentiments on pictur-\nesque beauty, and second marriages, and then you can have \nnothing farther to ask.’—\n‘Elinor,’ cried Marianne, ‘is this fair? is this just? are my \nideas so scanty? But I see what you mean. I have been too \nmuch at my ease, too happy, too frank. I have erred against \nevery common-place notion of decorum; I have been open \nand sincere where I ought to have been reserved, spiritless, \ndull, and deceitful—had I talked only of the weather and \nthe roads, and had I spoken only once in ten minutes, this \nreproach would have been spared.’\n‘My love,’ said her mother, ‘you must not be offended \nwith Elinor—she was only in jest. I should scold her myself, \nif she were capable of wishing to check the delight of your \nconversation with our new friend.’— Marianne was soft-\nened in a moment.\nWilloughby, on his side, gave every proof of his pleasure \nin their acquaintance, which an evident wish of improv-\ning it could offer. He came to them every day. To enquire \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n58\nafter Marianne was at first his excuse; but the encourage-\nment of his reception, to which every day gave greater \nkindness, made such an excuse unnecessary before it had \nceased to be possible, by Marianne’s perfect recovery. She \nwas confined for some days to the house; but never had any \nconfinement been less irksome. Willoughby was a young \nman of good abilities, quick imagination, lively spirits, and \nopen, affectionate manners. He was exactly formed to en-\ngage Marianne’s heart, for with all this, he joined not only \na captivating person, but a natural ardour of mind which \nwas now roused and increased by the example of her own, \nand which recommended him to her affection beyond every \nthing else.\nHis society became gradually her most exquisite enjoy-\nment. They read, they talked, they sang together; his musical \ntalents were considerable; and he read with all the sensibil-\nity and spirit which Edward had unfortunately wanted.\nIn Mrs. Dashwood’s estimation he was as faultless as in \nMarianne’s; and Elinor saw nothing to censure in him but \na propensity, in which he strongly resembled and peculiar-\nly delighted her sister, of saying too much what he thought \non every occasion, without attention to persons or circum-\nstances. In hastily forming and giving his opinion of other \npeople, in sacrificing general politeness to the enjoyment of \nundivided attention where his heart was engaged, and in \nslighting too easily the forms of worldly propriety, he dis-\nplayed a want of caution which Elinor could not approve, in \nspite of all that he and Marianne could say in its support.\nMarianne began now to perceive that the desperation \n\n\n59\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nwhich had seized her at sixteen and a half, of ever seeing \na man who could satisfy her ideas of perfection, had been \nrash and unjustifiable. Willoughby was all that her fancy \nhad delineated in that unhappy hour and in every bright-\ner period, as capable of attaching her; and his behaviour \ndeclared his wishes to be in that respect as earnest, as his \nabilities were strong.\nHer mother too, in whose mind not one speculative \nthought of their marriage had been raised, by his prospect \nof riches, was led before the end of a week to hope and ex-\npect it; and secretly to congratulate herself on having gained \ntwo such sons-in-law as Edward and Willoughby.\nColonel Brandon’s partiality for Marianne, which had \nso early been discovered by his friends, now first became \nperceptible to Elinor, when it ceased to be noticed by them. \nTheir attention and wit were drawn off to his more fortunate \nrival; and the raillery which the other had incurred before \nany partiality arose, was removed when his feelings began \nreally to call for the ridicule so justly annexed to sensibil-\nity. Elinor was obliged, though unwillingly, to believe that \nthe sentiments which Mrs. Jennings had assigned him for \nher own satisfaction, were now actually excited by her sis-\nter; and that however a general resemblance of disposition \nbetween the parties might forward the affection of Mr. Wil-\nloughby, an equally striking opposition of character was no \nhindrance to the regard of Colonel Brandon. She saw it with \nconcern; for what could a silent man of five and thirty hope, \nwhen opposed to a very lively one of five and twenty? and as \nshe could not even wish him successful, she heartily wished \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n60\nhim indifferent. She liked him—in spite of his gravity and \nreserve, she beheld in him an object of interest. His man-\nners, though serious, were mild; and his reserve appeared \nrather the result of some oppression of spirits than of any \nnatural gloominess of temper. Sir John had dropped hints \nof past injuries and disappointments, which justified her \nbelief of his being an unfortunate man, and she regarded \nhim with respect and compassion.\nPerhaps she pitied and esteemed him the more because \nhe was slighted by Willoughby and Marianne, who, preju-\ndiced against him for being neither lively nor young, seemed \nresolved to undervalue his merits.\n‘Brandon is just the kind of man,’ said Willoughby one \nday, when they were talking of him together, ‘whom every \nbody speaks well of, and nobody cares about; whom all are \ndelighted to see, and nobody remembers to talk to.’\n‘That is exactly what I think of him,’ cried Marianne.\n‘Do not boast of it, however,’ said Elinor, ‘for it is injus-\ntice in both of you. He is highly esteemed by all the family \nat the park, and I never see him myself without taking pains \nto converse with him.’\n‘That he is patronised by YOU,’ replied Willoughby, ‘is \ncertainly in his favour; but as for the esteem of the others, \nit is a reproach in itself. Who would submit to the indignity \nof being approved by such a woman as Lady Middleton and \nMrs. Jennings, that could command the indifference of any \nbody else?’\n‘But perhaps the abuse of such people as yourself and \nMarianne will make amends for the regard of Lady Middle-\n\n\n61\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nton and her mother. If their praise is censure, your censure \nmay be praise, for they are not more undiscerning, than you \nare prejudiced and unjust.’\n‘In defence of your protege you can even be saucy.’\n‘My protege, as you call him, is a sensible man; and sense \nwill always have attractions for me. Yes, Marianne, even in \na man between thirty and forty. He has seen a great deal of \nthe world; has been abroad, has read, and has a thinking \nmind. I have found him capable of giving me much infor-\nmation on various subjects; and he has always answered my \ninquiries with readiness of good-breeding and good na-\nture.’\n‘That is to say,’ cried Marianne contemptuously, ‘he has \ntold you, that in the East Indies the climate is hot, and the \nmosquitoes are troublesome.’\n‘He WOULD have told me so, I doubt not, had I made \nany such inquiries, but they happened to be points on which \nI had been previously informed.’\n‘Perhaps,’ said Willoughby, ‘his observations may have \nextended to the existence of nabobs, gold mohrs, and pa-\nlanquins.’\n‘I may venture to say that HIS observations have stretched \nmuch further than your candour. But why should you dis-\nlike him?’\n‘I do not dislike him. I consider him, on the contrary, as a \nvery respectable man, who has every body’s good word, and \nnobody’s notice; who, has more money than he can spend, \nmore time than he knows how to employ, and two new coats \nevery year.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n62\n‘Add to which,’ cried Marianne, ‘that he has neither \ngenius, taste, nor spirit. That his understanding has no bril-\nliancy, his feelings no ardour, and his voice no expression.’\n‘You decide on his imperfections so much in the mass,’ \nreplied Elinor, ‘and so much on the strength of your own \nimagination, that the commendation I am able to give of \nhim is comparatively cold and insipid. I can only pronounce \nhim to be a sensible man, well-bred, well-informed, of gen-\ntle address, and, I believe, possessing an amiable heart.’\n‘Miss Dashwood,’ cried Willoughby, ‘you are now using \nme unkindly. You are endeavouring to disarm me by rea-\nson, and to convince me against my will. But it will not do. \nYou shall find me as stubborn as you can be artful. I have \nthree unanswerable reasons for disliking Colonel Brandon; \nhe threatened me with rain when I wanted it to be fine; he \nhas found fault with the hanging of my curricle, and I can-\nnot persuade him to buy my brown mare. If it will be any \nsatisfaction to you, however, to be told, that I believe his \ncharacter to be in other respects irreproachable, I am ready \nto confess it. And in return for an acknowledgment, which \nmust give me some pain, you cannot deny me the privilege \nof disliking him as much as ever.’\n\n\n63\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 11\nL\nittle had Mrs. Dashwood or her daughters imagined \nwhen they first came into Devonshire, that so many \nengagements would arise to occupy their time as shortly \npresented themselves, or that they should have such fre-\nquent invitations and such constant visitors as to leave them \nlittle leisure for serious employment. Yet such was the case. \nWhen Marianne was recovered, the schemes of amusement \nat home and abroad, which Sir John had been previously \nforming, were put into execution. The private balls at the \npark then began; and parties on the water were made and \naccomplished as often as a showery October would allow. \nIn every meeting of the kind Willoughby was included; \nand the ease and familiarity which naturally attended these \nparties were exactly calculated to give increasing intima-\ncy to his acquaintance with the Dashwoods, to afford him \nopportunity of witnessing the excellencies of Marianne, of \nmarking his animated admiration of her, and of receiving, \nin her behaviour to himself, the most pointed assurance of \nher affection.\nElinor could not be surprised at their attachment. She \nonly wished that it were less openly shewn; and once or \ntwice did venture to suggest the propriety of some self-com-\nmand to Marianne. But Marianne abhorred all concealment \nwhere no real disgrace could attend unreserve; and to aim \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n64\nat the restraint of sentiments which were not in themselves \nillaudable, appeared to her not merely an unnecessary \neffort, but a disgraceful subjection of reason to common-\nplace and mistaken notions. Willoughby thought the same; \nand their behaviour at all times, was an illustration of their \nopinions.\nWhen he was present she had no eyes for any one else. \nEvery thing he did, was right. Every thing he said, was clev-\ner. If their evenings at the park were concluded with cards, \nhe cheated himself and all the rest of the party to get her a \ngood hand. If dancing formed the amusement of the night, \nthey were partners for half the time; and when obliged to \nseparate for a couple of dances, were careful to stand to-\ngether and scarcely spoke a word to any body else. Such \nconduct made them of course most exceedingly laughed at; \nbut ridicule could not shame, and seemed hardly to pro-\nvoke them.\nMrs. Dashwood entered into all their feelings with a \nwarmth which left her no inclination for checking this \nexcessive display of them. To her it was but the natural con-\nsequence of a strong affection in a young and ardent mind.\nThis was the season of happiness to Marianne. Her \nheart was devoted to Willoughby, and the fond attachment \nto Norland, which she brought with her from Sussex, was \nmore likely to be softened than she had thought it possible \nbefore, by the charms which his society bestowed on her \npresent home.\nElinor’s happiness was not so great. Her heart was not \nso much at ease, nor her satisfaction in their amusements \n\n\n65\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nso pure. They afforded her no companion that could make \namends for what she had left behind, nor that could teach \nher to think of Norland with less regret than ever. Neither \nLady Middleton nor Mrs. Jennings could supply to her the \nconversation she missed; although the latter was an ever-\nlasting talker, and from the first had regarded her with a \nkindness which ensured her a large share of her discourse. \nShe had already repeated her own history to Elinor three \nor four times; and had Elinor’s memory been equal to her \nmeans of improvement, she might have known very early \nin their acquaintance all the particulars of Mr. Jenning’s \nlast illness, and what he said to his wife a few minutes be-\nfore he died. Lady Middleton was more agreeable than her \nmother only in being more silent. Elinor needed little ob-\nservation to perceive that her reserve was a mere calmness \nof manner with which sense had nothing to do. Towards her \nhusband and mother she was the same as to them; and inti-\nmacy was therefore neither to be looked for nor desired. She \nhad nothing to say one day that she had not said the day be-\nfore. Her insipidity was invariable, for even her spirits were \nalways the same; and though she did not oppose the parties \narranged by her husband, provided every thing were con-\nducted in style and her two eldest children attended her, she \nnever appeared to receive more enjoyment from them than \nshe might have experienced in sitting at home;— and so lit-\ntle did her presence add to the pleasure of the others, by \nany share in their conversation, that they were sometimes \nonly reminded of her being amongst them by her solicitude \nabout her troublesome boys.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n66\nIn Colonel Brandon alone, of all her new acquaintance, \ndid Elinor find a person who could in any degree claim the \nrespect of abilities, excite the interest of friendship, or give \npleasure as a companion. Willoughby was out of the ques-\ntion. Her admiration and regard, even her sisterly regard, \nwas all his own; but he was a lover; his attentions were whol-\nly Marianne’s, and a far less agreeable man might have been \nmore generally pleasing. Colonel Brandon, unfortunate-\nly for himself, had no such encouragement to think only \nof Marianne, and in conversing with Elinor he found the \ngreatest consolation for the indifference of her sister.\nElinor’s compassion for him increased, as she had reason \nto suspect that the misery of disappointed love had already \nbeen known to him. This suspicion was given by some \nwords which accidently dropped from him one evening at \nthe park, when they were sitting down together by mutual \nconsent, while the others were dancing. His eyes were fixed \non Marianne, and, after a silence of some minutes, he said, \nwith a faint smile, ‘Your sister, I understand, does not ap-\nprove of second attachments.’\n‘No,’ replied Elinor, ‘her opinions are all romantic.’\n‘Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible \nto exist.’\n‘I believe she does. But how she contrives it without re-\nflecting on the character of her own father, who had himself \ntwo wives, I know not. A few years however will settle her \nopinions on the reasonable basis of common sense and ob-\nservation; and then they may be more easy to define and to \njustify than they now are, by any body but herself.’\n\n\n67\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘This will probably be the case,’ he replied; ‘and yet there \nis something so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, \nthat one is sorry to see them give way to the reception of \nmore general opinions.’\n‘I cannot agree with you there,’ said Elinor. ‘There are \ninconveniences attending such feelings as Marianne’s, \nwhich all the charms of enthusiasm and ignorance of the \nworld cannot atone for. Her systems have all the unfortu-\nnate tendency of setting propriety at nought; and a better \nacquaintance with the world is what I look forward to as her \ngreatest possible advantage.’\nAfter a short pause he resumed the conversation by \nsaying,—\n‘Does your sister make no distinction in her objections \nagainst a second attachment? or is it equally criminal in ev-\nery body? Are those who have been disappointed in their \nfirst choice, whether from the inconstancy of its object, or \nthe perverseness of circumstances, to be equally indifferent \nduring the rest of their lives?’\n‘Upon my word, I am not acquainted with the minuti-\nae of her principles. I only know that I never yet heard her \nadmit any instance of a second attachment’s being pardon-\nable.’\n‘This,’ said he, ‘cannot hold; but a change, a total change \nof sentiments—No, no, do not desire it; for when the ro-\nmantic refinements of a young mind are obliged to give way, \nhow frequently are they succeeded by such opinions as are \nbut too common, and too dangerous! I speak from experi-\nence. I once knew a lady who in temper and mind greatly \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n68\nresembled your sister, who thought and judged like her, but \nwho from an inforced change—from a series of unfortunate \ncircumstances’— Here he stopt suddenly; appeared to think \nthat he had said too much, and by his countenance gave rise \nto conjectures, which might not otherwise have entered Eli-\nnor’s head. The lady would probably have passed without \nsuspicion, had he not convinced Miss Dashwood that what \nconcerned her ought not to escape his lips. As it was, it re-\nquired but a slight effort of fancy to connect his emotion \nwith the tender recollection of past regard. Elinor attempted \nno more. But Marianne, in her place, would not have done \nso little. The whole story would have been speedily formed \nunder her active imagination; and every thing established \nin the most melancholy order of disastrous love.\n\n\n69\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 12\nA\ns Elinor and Marianne were walking together the next \nmorning the latter communicated a piece of news to \nher sister, which in spite of all that she knew before of Mar-\nianne’s imprudence and want of thought, surprised her by \nits extravagant testimony of both. Marianne told her, with \nthe greatest delight, that Willoughby had given her a horse, \none that he had bred himself on his estate in Somersetshire, \nand which was exactly calculated to carry a woman. With-\nout considering that it was not in her mother’s plan to keep \nany horse, that if she were to alter her resolution in favour \nof this gift, she must buy another for the servant, and keep a \nservant to ride it, and after all, build a stable to receive them, \nshe had accepted the present without hesitation, and told \nher sister of it in raptures.\n‘He intends to send his groom into Somersetshire im-\nmediately for it,’ she added, ‘and when it arrives we will ride \nevery day. You shall share its use with me. Imagine to your-\nself, my dear Elinor, the delight of a gallop on some of these \ndowns.’\nMost unwilling was she to awaken from such a dream \nof felicity to comprehend all the unhappy truths which at-\ntended the affair; and for some time she refused to submit \nto them. As to an additional servant, the expense would be \na trifle; Mamma she was sure would never object to it; and \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n70\nany horse would do for HIM; he might always get one at \nthe park; as to a stable, the merest shed would be sufficient. \nElinor then ventured to doubt the propriety of her receiv-\ning such a present from a man so little, or at least so lately \nknown to her. This was too much.\n‘You are mistaken, Elinor,’ said she warmly, ‘in suppos-\ning I know very little of Willoughby. I have not known him \nlong indeed, but I am much better acquainted with him, \nthan I am with any other creature in the world, except \nyourself and mama. It is not time or opportunity that is to \ndetermine intimacy;— it is disposition alone. Seven years \nwould be insufficient to make some people acquainted with \neach other, and seven days are more than enough for oth-\ners. I should hold myself guilty of greater impropriety in \naccepting a horse from my brother, than from Willoughby. \nOf John I know very little, though we have lived together \nfor years; but of Willoughby my judgment has long been \nformed.’\nElinor thought it wisest to touch that point no more. She \nknew her sister’s temper. Opposition on so tender a sub-\nject would only attach her the more to her own opinion. \nBut by an appeal to her affection for her mother, by rep-\nresenting the inconveniences which that indulgent mother \nmust draw on herself, if (as would probably be the case) she \nconsented to this increase of establishment, Marianne was \nshortly subdued; and she promised not to tempt her mother \nto such imprudent kindness by mentioning the offer, and \nto tell Willoughby when she saw him next, that it must be \ndeclined.\n\n\n71\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nShe was faithful to her word; and when Willoughby \ncalled at the cottage, the same day, Elinor heard her express \nher disappointment to him in a low voice, on being obliged \nto forego the acceptance of his present. The reasons for this \nalteration were at the same time related, and they were such \nas to make further entreaty on his side impossible. His con-\ncern however was very apparent; and after expressing it \nwith earnestness, he added, in the same low voice,—‘But, \nMarianne, the horse is still yours, though you cannot use \nit now. I shall keep it only till you can claim it. When you \nleave Barton to form your own establishment in a more last-\ning home, Queen Mab shall receive you.’\nThis was all overheard by Miss Dashwood; and in the \nwhole of the sentence, in his manner of pronouncing it, and \nin his addressing her sister by her christian name alone, she \ninstantly saw an intimacy so decided, a meaning so direct, \nas marked a perfect agreement between them. >From that \nmoment she doubted not of their being engaged to each \nother; and the belief of it created no other surprise than \nthat she, or any of their friends, should be left by tempers so \nfrank, to discover it by accident.\nMargaret related something to her the next day, which \nplaced this matter in a still clearer light. Willoughby had \nspent the preceding evening with them, and Margaret, by \nbeing left some time in the parlour with only him and Mari-\nanne, had had opportunity for observations, which, with a \nmost important face, she communicated to her eldest sister, \nwhen they were next by themselves.\n‘Oh, Elinor!’ she cried, ‘I have such a secret to tell you \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n72\nabout Marianne. I am sure she will be married to Mr. Wil-\nloughby very soon.’\n‘You have said so,’ replied Elinor, ‘almost every day since \nthey first met on High-church Down; and they had not \nknown each other a week, I believe, before you were cer-\ntain that Marianne wore his picture round her neck; but it \nturned out to be only the miniature of our great uncle.’\n‘But indeed this is quite another thing. I am sure they \nwill be married very soon, for he has got a lock of her hair.’\n‘Take care, Margaret. It may be only the hair of some \ngreat uncle of HIS.’\n‘But, indeed, Elinor, it is Marianne’s. I am almost sure it \nis, for I saw him cut it off. Last night after tea, when you and \nmama went out of the room, they were whispering and talk-\ning together as fast as could be, and he seemed to be begging \nsomething of her, and presently he took up her scissors and \ncut off a long lock of her hair, for it was all tumbled down \nher back; and he kissed it, and folded it up in a piece of white \npaper; and put it into his pocket-book.’\nFor such particulars, stated on such authority, Elinor \ncould not withhold her credit; nor was she disposed to it, \nfor the circumstance was in perfect unison with what she \nhad heard and seen herself.\nMargaret’s sagacity was not always displayed in a way \nso satisfactory to her sister. When Mrs. Jennings attacked \nher one evening at the park, to give the name of the young \nman who was Elinor’s particular favourite, which had been \nlong a matter of great curiosity to her, Margaret answered \nby looking at her sister, and saying, ‘I must not tell, may I, \n\n\n73\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nElinor?’\nThis of course made every body laugh; and Elinor tried \nto laugh too. But the effort was painful. She was convinced \nthat Margaret had fixed on a person whose name she could \nnot bear with composure to become a standing joke with \nMrs. Jennings.\nMarianne felt for her most sincerely; but she did more \nharm than good to the cause, by turning very red and say-\ning in an angry manner to Margaret,\n‘Remember that whatever your conjectures may be, you \nhave no right to repeat them.’\n‘I never had any conjectures about it,’ replied Margaret; \n‘it was you who told me of it yourself.’\nThis increased the mirth of the company, and Margaret \nwas eagerly pressed to say something more.\n‘Oh! pray, Miss Margaret, let us know all about it,’ said \nMrs. Jennings. ‘What is the gentleman’s name?’\n‘I must not tell, ma’am. But I know very well what it is; \nand I know where he is too.’\n‘Yes, yes, we can guess where he is; at his own house at \nNorland to be sure. He is the curate of the parish I dare \nsay.’\n‘No, THAT he is not. He is of no profession at all.’\n‘Margaret,’ said Marianne with great warmth, ‘you know \nthat all this is an invention of your own, and that there is no \nsuch person in existence.’\n‘Well, then, he is lately dead, Marianne, for I am sure \nthere was such a man once, and his name begins with an \nF.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n74\nMost grateful did Elinor feel to Lady Middleton for ob-\nserving, at this moment, ‘that it rained very hard,’ though \nshe believed the interruption to proceed less from any atten-\ntion to her, than from her ladyship’s great dislike of all such \ninelegant subjects of raillery as delighted her husband and \nmother. The idea however started by her, was immediately \npursued by Colonel Brandon, who was on every occasion \nmindful of the feelings of others; and much was said on the \nsubject of rain by both of them. Willoughby opened the pi-\nano-forte, and asked Marianne to sit down to it; and thus \namidst the various endeavours of different people to quit \nthe topic, it fell to the ground. But not so easily did Elinor \nrecover from the alarm into which it had thrown her.\nA party was formed this evening for going on the fol-\nlowing day to see a very fine place about twelve miles from \nBarton, belonging to a brother-in-law of Colonel Brandon, \nwithout whose interest it could not be seen, as the propri-\netor, who was then abroad, had left strict orders on that \nhead. The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful, and \nSir John, who was particularly warm in their praise, might \nbe allowed to be a tolerable judge, for he had formed parties \nto visit them, at least, twice every summer for the last ten \nyears. They contained a noble piece of water; a sail on which \nwas to a form a great part of the morning’s amusement; cold \nprovisions were to be taken, open carriages only to be em-\nployed, and every thing conducted in the usual style of a \ncomplete party of pleasure.\nTo some few of the company it appeared rather a bold \nundertaking, considering the time of year, and that it had \n\n\n75\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nrained every day for the last fortnight;— and Mrs. Dash-\nwood, who had already a cold, was persuaded by Elinor to \nstay at home.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n76\nChapter 13\nT\nheir intended excursion to Whitwell turned out very \ndifferent from what Elinor had expected. She was pre-\npared to be wet through, fatigued, and frightened; but the \nevent was still more unfortunate, for they did not go at all.\nBy ten o’clock the whole party was assembled at the park, \nwhere they were to breakfast. The morning was rather fa-\nvourable, though it had rained all night, as the clouds were \nthen dispersing across the sky, and the sun frequently ap-\npeared. They were all in high spirits and good humour, \neager to be happy, and determined to submit to the greatest \ninconveniences and hardships rather than be otherwise.\nWhile they were at breakfast the letters were brought in. \nAmong the rest there was one for Colonel Brandon;—he \ntook it, looked at the direction, changed colour, and imme-\ndiately left the room.\n‘What is the matter with Brandon?’ said Sir John.\nNobody could tell.\n‘I hope he has had no bad news,’ said Lady Middleton. ‘It \nmust be something extraordinary that could make Colonel \nBrandon leave my breakfast table so suddenly.’\nIn about five minutes he returned.\n‘No bad news, Colonel, I hope;’ said Mrs. Jennings, as \nsoon as he entered the room.\n‘None at all, ma’am, I thank you.’\n\n\n77\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘Was it from Avignon? I hope it is not to say that your \nsister is worse.’\n‘No, ma’am. It came from town, and is merely a letter of \nbusiness.’\n‘But how came the hand to discompose you so much, if \nit was only a letter of business? Come, come, this won’t do, \nColonel; so let us hear the truth of it.’\n‘My dear madam,’ said Lady Middleton, ‘recollect what \nyou are saying.’\n‘Perhaps it is to tell you that your cousin Fanny is \nmarried?’ said Mrs. Jennings, without attending to her \ndaughter’s reproof.\n‘No, indeed, it is not.’\n‘Well, then, I know who it is from, Colonel. And I hope \nshe is well.’\n‘Whom do you mean, ma’am?’ said he, colouring a little.\n‘Oh! you know who I mean.’\n‘I am particularly sorry, ma’am,’ said he, addressing Lady \nMiddleton, ‘that I should receive this letter today, for it is \non business which requires my immediate attendance in \ntown.’\n‘In town!’ cried Mrs. Jennings. ‘What can you have to do \nin town at this time of year?’\n‘My own loss is great,’ be continued, ‘in being obliged to \nleave so agreeable a party; but I am the more concerned, as \nI fear my presence is necessary to gain your admittance at \nWhitwell.’\nWhat a blow upon them all was this!\n‘But if you write a note to the housekeeper, Mr. Brandon,’ \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n78\nsaid Marianne, eagerly, ‘will it not be sufficient?’\nHe shook his head.\n‘We must go,’ said Sir John.—‘It shall not be put off when \nwe are so near it. You cannot go to town till tomorrow, \nBrandon, that is all.’\n‘I wish it could be so easily settled. But it is not in my \npower to delay my journey for one day!’\n‘If you would but let us know what your business is,’ said \nMrs. Jennings, ‘we might see whether it could be put off or \nnot.’\n‘You would not be six hours later,’ said Willoughby, ‘if \nyou were to defer your journey till our return.’\n‘I cannot afford to lose ONE hour.’—\nElinor then heard Willoughby say, in a low voice to Mar-\nianne, ‘There are some people who cannot bear a party of \npleasure. Brandon is one of them. He was afraid of catching \ncold I dare say, and invented this trick for getting out of it. I \nwould lay fifty guineas the letter was of his own writing.’\n‘I have no doubt of it,’ replied Marianne.\n‘There is no persuading you to change your mind, Bran-\ndon, I know of old,’ said Sir John, ‘when once you are \ndetermined on anything. But, however, I hope you will \nthink better of it. Consider, here are the two Miss Careys \ncome over from Newton, the three Miss Dashwoods walked \nup from the cottage, and Mr. Willoughby got up two hours \nbefore his usual time, on purpose to go to Whitwell.’\nColonel Brandon again repeated his sorrow at being the \ncause of disappointing the party; but at the same time de-\nclared it to be unavoidable.\n\n\n79\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘Well, then, when will you come back again?’\n‘I hope we shall see you at Barton,’ added her ladyship, ‘as \nsoon as you can conveniently leave town; and we must put \noff the party to Whitwell till you return.’\n‘You are very obliging. But it is so uncertain, when I may \nhave it in my power to return, that I dare not engage for it \nat all.’\n‘Oh! he must and shall come back,’ cried Sir John. ‘If he is \nnot here by the end of the week, I shall go after him.’\n‘Ay, so do, Sir John,’ cried Mrs. Jennings, ‘and then per-\nhaps you may find out what his business is.’\n‘I do not want to pry into other men’s concerns. I sup-\npose it is something he is ashamed of.’\nColonel Brandon’s horses were announced.\n‘You do not go to town on horseback, do you?’ added Sir \nJohn.\n‘No. Only to Honiton. I shall then go post.’\n‘Well, as you are resolved to go, I wish you a good jour-\nney. But you had better change your mind.’\n‘I assure you it is not in my power.’\nHe then took leave of the whole party.\n‘Is there no chance of my seeing you and your sisters in \ntown this winter, Miss Dashwood?’\n‘I am afraid, none at all.’\n‘Then I must bid you farewell for a longer time than I \nshould wish to do.’\nTo Marianne, he merely bowed and said nothing.\n‘Come Colonel,’ said Mrs. Jennings, ‘before you go, do let \nus know what you are going about.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n80\nHe wished her a good morning, and, attended by Sir \nJohn, left the room.\nThe complaints and lamentations which politeness had \nhitherto restrained, now burst forth universally; and they \nall agreed again and again how provoking it was to be so \ndisappointed.\n‘I can guess what his business is, however,’ said Mrs. Jen-\nnings exultingly.\n‘Can you, ma’am?’ said almost every body.\n‘Yes; it is about Miss Williams, I am sure.’\n‘And who is Miss Williams?’ asked Marianne.\n‘What! do not you know who Miss Williams is? I am \nsure you must have heard of her before. She is a relation of \nthe Colonel’s, my dear; a very near relation. We will not say \nhow near, for fear of shocking the young ladies.’ Then, low-\nering her voice a little, she said to Elinor, ‘She is his natural \ndaughter.’\n‘Indeed!’\n‘Oh, yes; and as like him as she can stare. I dare say the \nColonel will leave her all his fortune.’\nWhen Sir John returned, he joined most heartily in the \ngeneral regret on so unfortunate an event; concluding how-\never by observing, that as they were all got together, they \nmust do something by way of being happy; and after some \nconsultation it was agreed, that although happiness could \nonly be enjoyed at Whitwell, they might procure a toler-\nable composure of mind by driving about the country. The \ncarriages were then ordered; Willoughby’s was first, and \nMarianne never looked happier than when she got into it. \n\n\n81\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nHe drove through the park very fast, and they were soon \nout of sight; and nothing more of them was seen till their \nreturn, which did not happen till after the return of all the \nrest. They both seemed delighted with their drive; but said \nonly in general terms that they had kept in the lanes, while \nthe others went on the downs.\nIt was settled that there should be a dance in the evening, \nand that every body should be extremely merry all day long. \nSome more of the Careys came to dinner, and they had the \npleasure of sitting down nearly twenty to table, which Sir \nJohn observed with great contentment. Willoughby took his \nusual place between the two elder Miss Dashwoods. Mrs. \nJennings sat on Elinor’s right hand; and they had not been \nlong seated, before she leant behind her and Willoughby, \nand said to Marianne, loud enough for them both to hear, ‘I \nhave found you out in spite of all your tricks. I know where \nyou spent the morning.’\nMarianne coloured, and replied very hastily, ‘Where, \npray?’—\n‘Did not you know,’ said Willoughby, ‘that we had been \nout in my curricle?’\n‘Yes, yes, Mr. Impudence, I know that very well, and I \nwas determined to find out WHERE you had been to.— I \nhope you like your house, Miss Marianne. It is a very large \none, I know; and when I come to see you, I hope you will \nhave new-furnished it, for it wanted it very much when I \nwas there six years ago.’\nMarianne turned away in great confusion. Mrs. Jennings \nlaughed heartily; and Elinor found that in her resolution to \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n82\nknow where they had been, she had actually made her own \nwoman enquire of Mr. Willoughby’s groom; and that she \nhad by that method been informed that they had gone to \nAllenham, and spent a considerable time there in walking \nabout the garden and going all over the house.\nElinor could hardly believe this to be true, as it seemed \nvery unlikely that Willoughby should propose, or Marianne \nconsent, to enter the house while Mrs. Smith was in it, with \nwhom Marianne had not the smallest acquaintance.\nAs soon as they left the dining-room, Elinor enquired of \nher about it; and great was her surprise when she found that \nevery circumstance related by Mrs. Jennings was perfectly \ntrue. Marianne was quite angry with her for doubting it.\n‘Why should you imagine, Elinor, that we did not go \nthere, or that we did not see the house? Is not it what you \nhave often wished to do yourself?’\n‘Yes, Marianne, but I would not go while Mrs. Smith was \nthere, and with no other companion than Mr. Willoughby.’\n‘Mr. Willoughby however is the only person who can \nhave a right to shew that house; and as he went in an open \ncarriage, it was impossible to have any other companion. I \nnever spent a pleasanter morning in my life.’\n‘I am afraid,’ replied Elinor, ‘that the pleasantness of an \nemployment does not always evince its propriety.’\n‘On the contrary, nothing can be a stronger proof of it, \nElinor; for if there had been any real impropriety in what \nI did, I should have been sensible of it at the time, for we \nalways know when we are acting wrong, and with such a \nconviction I could have had no pleasure.’\n\n\n83\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘But, my dear Marianne, as it has already exposed you to \nsome very impertinent remarks, do you not now begin to \ndoubt the discretion of your own conduct?’\n‘If the impertinent remarks of Mrs. Jennings are to be \nthe proof of impropriety in conduct, we are all offending \nevery moment of our lives. I value not her censure any more \nthan I should do her commendation. I am not sensible of \nhaving done anything wrong in walking over Mrs. Smith’s \ngrounds, or in seeing her house. They will one day be Mr. \nWilloughby’s, and—‘\n‘If they were one day to be your own, Marianne, you \nwould not be justified in what you have done.’\nShe blushed at this hint; but it was even visibly gratifying \nto her; and after a ten minutes’ interval of earnest thought, \nshe came to her sister again, and said with great good hu-\nmour, ‘Perhaps, Elinor, it WAS rather ill-judged in me to \ngo to Allenham; but Mr. Willoughby wanted particularly \nto shew me the place; and it is a charming house, I assure \nyou.—There is one remarkably pretty sitting room up stairs; \nof a nice comfortable size for constant use, and with mod-\nern furniture it would be delightful. It is a corner room, \nand has windows on two sides. On one side you look across \nthe bowling-green, behind the house, to a beautiful hang-\ning wood, and on the other you have a view of the church \nand village, and, beyond them, of those fine bold hills that \nwe have so often admired. I did not see it to advantage, for \nnothing could be more forlorn than the furniture,—but \nif it were newly fitted up—a couple of hundred pounds, \nWilloughby says, would make it one of the pleasantest sum-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n84\nmer-rooms in England.’\nCould Elinor have listened to her without interruption \nfrom the others, she would have described every room in \nthe house with equal delight.\n\n\n85\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 14\nT\nhe sudden termination of Colonel Brandon’s visit at the \npark, with his steadiness in concealing its cause, filled \nthe mind, and raised the wonder of Mrs. Jennings for two \nor three days; she was a great wonderer, as every one must \nbe who takes a very lively interest in all the comings and \ngoings of all their acquaintance. She wondered, with little \nintermission what could be the reason of it; was sure there \nmust be some bad news, and thought over every kind of \ndistress that could have befallen him, with a fixed determi-\nnation that he should not escape them all.\n‘Something very melancholy must be the matter, I am \nsure,’ said she. ‘I could see it in his face. Poor man! I am \nafraid his circumstances may be bad. The estate at Delaford \nwas never reckoned more than two thousand a year, and his \nbrother left everything sadly involved. I do think he must \nhave been sent for about money matters, for what else can it \nbe? I wonder whether it is so. I would give anything to know \nthe truth of it. Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by the \nbye, I dare say it is, because he looked so conscious when \nI mentioned her. May be she is ill in town; nothing in the \nworld more likely, for I have a notion she is always rather \nsickly. I would lay any wager it is about Miss Williams. It \nis not so very likely he should be distressed in his circum-\nstances NOW, for he is a very prudent man, and to be sure \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n86\nmust have cleared the estate by this time. I wonder what it \ncan be! May be his sister is worse at Avignon, and has sent \nfor him over. His setting off in such a hurry seems very like \nit. Well, I wish him out of all his trouble with all my heart, \nand a good wife into the bargain.’\nSo wondered, so talked Mrs. Jennings. Her opinion \nvarying with every fresh conjecture, and all seeming equal-\nly probable as they arose. Elinor, though she felt really \ninterested in the welfare of Colonel Brandon, could not be-\nstow all the wonder on his going so suddenly away, which \nMrs. Jennings was desirous of her feeling; for besides that \nthe circumstance did not in her opinion justify such last-\ning amazement or variety of speculation, her wonder was \notherwise disposed of. It was engossed by the extraordi-\nnary silence of her sister and Willoughby on the subject, \nwhich they must know to be peculiarly interesting to them \nall. As this silence continued, every day made it appear \nmore strange and more incompatible with the disposition \nof both. Why they should not openly acknowledge to her \nmother and herself, what their constant behaviour to each \nother declared to have taken place, Elinor could not imag-\nine.\nShe could easily conceive that marriage might not be \nimmediately in their power; for though Willoughby was \nindependent, there was no reason to believe him rich. His \nestate had been rated by Sir John at about six or seven hun-\ndred a year; but he lived at an expense to which that income \ncould hardly be equal, and he had himself often complained \nof his poverty. But for this strange kind of secrecy main-\n\n\n87\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ntained by them relative to their engagement, which in fact \nconcealed nothing at all, she could not account; and it was \nso wholly contradictory to their general opinions and prac-\ntice, that a doubt sometimes entered her mind of their being \nreally engaged, and this doubt was enough to prevent her \nmaking any inquiry of Marianne.\nNothing could be more expressive of attachment to them \nall, than Willoughby’s behaviour. To Marianne it had all the \ndistinguishing tenderness which a lover’s heart could give, \nand to the rest of the family it was the affectionate attention \nof a son and a brother. The cottage seemed to be considered \nand loved by him as his home; many more of his hours were \nspent there than at Allenham; and if no general engage-\nment collected them at the park, the exercise which called \nhim out in the morning was almost certain of ending there, \nwhere the rest of the day was spent by himself at the side of \nMarianne, and by his favourite pointer at her feet.\nOne evening in particular, about a week after Colo-\nnel Brandon left the country, his heart seemed more than \nusually open to every feeling of attachment to the objects \naround him; and on Mrs. Dashwood’s happening to men-\ntion her design of improving the cottage in the spring, he \nwarmly opposed every alteration of a place which affection \nhad established as perfect with him.\n‘What!’ he exclaimed—‘Improve this dear cottage! No. \nTHAT I will never consent to. Not a stone must be added to \nits walls, not an inch to its size, if my feelings are regarded.’\n‘Do not be alarmed,’ said Miss Dashwood, ‘nothing of \nthe kind will be done; for my mother will never have money \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n88\nenough to attempt it.’\n‘I am heartily glad of it’, he cried. ‘May she always be \npoor, if she can employ her riches no better.’\n‘Thank you, Willoughby. But you may be assured that \nI would not sacrifice one sentiment of local attachment of \nyours, or of any one whom I loved, for all the improvements \nin the world. Depend upon it that whatever unemployed \nsum may remain, when I make up my accounts in the \nspring, I would even rather lay it uselessly by than dispose \nof it in a manner so painful to you. But are you really so at-\ntached to this place as to see no defect in it?’\n‘I am,’ said he. ‘To me it is faultless. Nay, more, I consider \nit as the only form of building in which happiness is attain-\nable, and were I rich enough I would instantly pull Combe \ndown, and build it up again in the exact plan of this cot-\ntage.’\n‘With dark narrow stairs and a kitchen that smokes, I \nsuppose,’ said Elinor.\n‘Yes,’ cried he in the same eager tone, ‘with all and every \nthing belonging to it;—in no one convenience or INconve-\nnience about it, should the least variation be perceptible. \nThen, and then only, under such a roof, I might perhaps be \nas happy at Combe as I have been at Barton.’\n‘I flatter myself,’ replied Elinor, ‘that even under the dis-\nadvantage of better rooms and a broader staircase, you will \nhereafter find your own house as faultless as you now do \nthis.’\n‘There certainly are circumstances,’ said Willoughby, \n‘which might greatly endear it to me; but this place will al-\n\n\n89\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nways have one claim of my affection, which no other can \npossibly share.’\nMrs. Dashwood looked with pleasure at Marianne, \nwhose fine eyes were fixed so expressively on Willoughby, \nas plainly denoted how well she understood him.\n‘How often did I wish,’ added he, ‘when I was at Allenham \nthis time twelvemonth, that Barton cottage were inhabited! \nI never passed within view of it without admiring its situ-\nation, and grieving that no one should live in it. How little \ndid I then think that the very first news I should hear from \nMrs. Smith, when I next came into the country, would be \nthat Barton cottage was taken: and I felt an immediate sat-\nisfaction and interest in the event, which nothing but a kind \nof prescience of what happiness I should experience from \nit, can account for. Must it not have been so, Marianne?’ \nspeaking to her in a lowered voice. Then continuing his for-\nmer tone, he said, ‘And yet this house you would spoil, Mrs. \nDashwood? You would rob it of its simplicity by imaginary \nimprovement! and this dear parlour in which our acquain-\ntance first began, and in which so many happy hours have \nbeen since spent by us together, you would degrade to the \ncondition of a common entrance, and every body would \nbe eager to pass through the room which has hitherto con-\ntained within itself more real accommodation and comfort \nthan any other apartment of the handsomest dimensions in \nthe world could possibly afford.’\nMrs. Dashwood again assured him that no alteration of \nthe kind should be attempted.\n‘You are a good woman,’ he warmly replied. ‘Your prom-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n90\nise makes me easy. Extend it a little farther, and it will make \nme happy. Tell me that not only your house will remain the \nsame, but that I shall ever find you and yours as unchanged \nas your dwelling; and that you will always consider me with \nthe kindness which has made everything belonging to you \nso dear to me.’\nThe promise was readily given, and Willoughby’s behav-\niour during the whole of the evening declared at once his \naffection and happiness.\n‘Shall we see you tomorrow to dinner?’ said Mrs. Dash-\nwood, when he was leaving them. ‘I do not ask you to come \nin the morning, for we must walk to the park, to call on \nLady Middleton.’\nHe engaged to be with them by four o’clock.\n\n\n91\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 15\nM\nrs. Dashwood’s visit to Lady Middleton took place the \nnext day, and two of her daughters went with her; but \nMarianne excused herself from being of the party, under \nsome trifling pretext of employment; and her mother, who \nconcluded that a promise had been made by Willoughby the \nnight before of calling on her while they were absent, was \nperfectly satisfied with her remaining at home.\nOn their return from the park they found Willoughby’s \ncurricle and servant in waiting at the cottage, and Mrs. \nDashwood was convinced that her conjecture had been just. \nSo far it was all as she had foreseen; but on entering the house \nshe beheld what no foresight had taught her to expect. They \nwere no sooner in the passage than Marianne came hastily \nout of the parlour apparently in violent affliction, with her \nhandkerchief at her eyes; and without noticing them ran up \nstairs. Surprised and alarmed they proceeded directly into \nthe room she had just quitted, where they found only Wil-\nloughby, who was leaning against the mantel-piece with his \nback towards them. He turned round on their coming in, \nand his countenance shewed that he strongly partook of the \nemotion which over-powered Marianne.\n‘Is anything the matter with her?’ cried Mrs. Dashwood \nas she entered—‘is she ill?’\n‘I hope not,’ he replied, trying to look cheerful; and with \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n92\na forced smile presently added, ‘It is I who may rather ex-\npect to be ill—for I am now suffering under a very heavy \ndisappointment!’\n‘Disappointment?’\n‘Yes, for I am unable to keep my engagement with you. \nMrs. Smith has this morning exercised the privilege of \nriches upon a poor dependent cousin, by sending me on \nbusiness to London. I have just received my dispatches, and \ntaken my farewell of Allenham; and by way of exhilaration \nI am now come to take my farewell of you.’\n‘To London!—and are you going this morning?’\n‘Almost this moment.’\n‘This is very unfortunate. But Mrs. Smith must be \nobliged;—and her business will not detain you from us long \nI hope.’\nHe coloured as he replied, ‘You are very kind, but I have \nno idea of returning into Devonshire immediately. My visits \nto Mrs. Smith are never repeated within the twelvemonth.’\n‘And is Mrs. Smith your only friend? Is Allenham the \nonly house in the neighbourhood to which you will be \nwelcome? For shame, Willoughby, can you wait for an in-\nvitation here?’\nHis colour increased; and with his eyes fixed on the \nground he only replied, ‘You are too good.’\nMrs. Dashwood looked at Elinor with surprise. Elinor \nfelt equal amazement. For a few moments every one was si-\nlent. Mrs. Dashwood first spoke.\n‘I have only to add, my dear Willoughby, that at Barton \ncottage you will always be welcome; for I will not press you \n\n\n93\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nto return here immediately, because you only can judge \nhow far THAT might be pleasing to Mrs. Smith; and on this \nhead I shall be no more disposed to question your judgment \nthan to doubt your inclination.’\n‘My engagements at present,’ replied Willoughby, con-\nfusedly, ‘are of such a nature—that—I dare not flatter \nmyself’—\nHe stopt. Mrs. Dashwood was too much astonished to \nspeak, and another pause succeeded. This was broken by \nWilloughby, who said with a faint smile, ‘It is folly to lin-\nger in this manner. I will not torment myself any longer by \nremaining among friends whose society it is impossible for \nme now to enjoy.’\nHe then hastily took leave of them all and left the room. \nThey saw him step into his carriage, and in a minute it was \nout of sight.\nMrs. Dashwood felt too much for speech, and instantly \nquitted the parlour to give way in solitude to the concern \nand alarm which this sudden departure occasioned.\nElinor’s uneasiness was at least equal to her mother’s. \nShe thought of what had just passed with anxiety and dis-\ntrust. Willoughby’s behaviour in taking leave of them, his \nembarrassment, and affectation of cheerfulness, and, above \nall, his unwillingness to accept her mother’s invitation, a \nbackwardness so unlike a lover, so unlike himself, greatly \ndisturbed her. One moment she feared that no serious de-\nsign had ever been formed on his side; and the next that \nsome unfortunate quarrel had taken place between him and \nher sister;—the distress in which Marianne had quitted the \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n94\nroom was such as a serious quarrel could most reasonably \naccount for, though when she considered what Marianne’s \nlove for him was, a quarrel seemed almost impossible.\nBut whatever might be the particulars of their separa-\ntion, her sister’s affliction was indubitable; and she thought \nwith the tenderest compassion of that violent sorrow which \nMarianne was in all probability not merely giving way to as \na relief, but feeding and encouraging as a duty.\nIn about half an hour her mother returned, and though \nher eyes were red, her countenance was not uncheerful.\n‘Our dear Willoughby is now some miles from Barton, \nElinor,’ said she, as she sat down to work, ‘and with how \nheavy a heart does he travel?’\n‘It is all very strange. So suddenly to be gone! It seems \nbut the work of a moment. And last night he was with us \nso happy, so cheerful, so affectionate? And now, after only \nten minutes notice—Gone too without intending to re-\nturn!—Something more than what be owned to us must \nhave happened. He did not speak, he did not behave like \nhimself. YOU must have seen the difference as well as I. \nWhat can it be? Can they have quarrelled? Why else should \nhe have shewn such unwillingness to accept your invitation \nhere?’—\n‘It was not inclination that he wanted, Elinor; I could \nplainly see THAT. He had not the power of accepting it. I \nhave thought it all over I assure you, and I can perfectly ac-\ncount for every thing that at first seemed strange to me as \nwell as to you.’\n‘Can you, indeed!’\n\n\n95\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘Yes. I have explained it to myself in the most satisfactory \nway;—but you, Elinor, who love to doubt where you can—it \nwill not satisfy YOU, I know; but you shall not talk ME out \nof my trust in it. I am persuaded that Mrs. Smith suspects \nhis regard for Marianne, disapproves of it, (perhaps because \nshe has other views for him,) and on that account is eager \nto get him away;— and that the business which she sends \nhim off to transact is invented as an excuse to dismiss him. \nThis is what I believe to have happened. He is, moreover, \naware that she DOES disapprove the connection, he dares \nnot therefore at present confess to her his engagement with \nMarianne, and he feels himself obliged, from his depen-\ndent situation, to give into her schemes, and absent himself \nfrom Devonshire for a while. You will tell me, I know, that \nthis may or may NOT have happened; but I will listen to no \ncavil, unless you can point out any other method of under-\nstanding the affair as satisfactory at this. And now, Elinor, \nwhat have you to say?’\n‘Nothing, for you have anticipated my answer.’\n‘Then you would have told me, that it might or might not \nhave happened. Oh, Elinor, how incomprehensible are your \nfeelings! You had rather take evil upon credit than good. \nYou had rather look out for misery for Marianne, and guilt \nfor poor Willoughby, than an apology for the latter. You are \nresolved to think him blameable, because he took leave of us \nwith less affection than his usual behaviour has shewn. And \nis no allowance to be made for inadvertence, or for spirits \ndepressed by recent disappointment? Are no probabilities \nto be accepted, merely because they are not certainties? \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n96\nIs nothing due to the man whom we have all such reason \nto love, and no reason in the world to think ill of? To the \npossibility of motives unanswerable in themselves, though \nunavoidably secret for a while? And, after all, what is it you \nsuspect him of?’\n‘I can hardly tell myself. But suspicion of something un-\npleasant is the inevitable consequence of such an alteration \nas we just witnessed in him. There is great truth, however, in \nwhat you have now urged of the allowances which ought to \nbe made for him, and it is my wish to be candid in my judg-\nment of every body. Willoughby may undoubtedly have \nvery sufficient reasons for his conduct, and I will hope that \nhe has. But it would have been more like Willoughby to ac-\nknowledge them at once. Secrecy may be advisable; but still \nI cannot help wondering at its being practiced by him.’\n‘Do not blame him, however, for departing from his \ncharacter, where the deviation is necessary. But you really \ndo admit the justice of what I have said in his defence?—I \nam happy—and he is acquitted.’\n‘Not entirely. It may be proper to conceal their engage-\nment (if they ARE engaged) from Mrs. Smith— and if that \nis the case, it must be highly expedient for Willoughby to be \nbut little in Devonshire at present. But this is no excuse for \ntheir concealing it from us.’\n‘Concealing it from us! my dear child, do you accuse \nWilloughby and Marianne of concealment? This is strange \nindeed, when your eyes have been reproaching them every \nday for incautiousness.’\n‘I want no proof of their affection,’ said Elinor; ‘but of \n\n\n97\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ntheir engagement I do.’\n‘I am perfectly satisfied of both.’\n‘Yet not a syllable has been said to you on the subject, by \neither of them.’\n‘I have not wanted syllables where actions have spoken \nso plainly. Has not his behaviour to Marianne and to all \nof us, for at least the last fortnight, declared that he loved \nand considered her as his future wife, and that he felt for us \nthe attachment of the nearest relation? Have we not perfect-\nly understood each other? Has not my consent been daily \nasked by his looks, his manner, his attentive and affectionate \nrespect? My Elinor, is it possible to doubt their engage-\nment? How could such a thought occur to you? How is it \nto be supposed that Willoughby, persuaded as he must be \nof your sister’s love, should leave her, and leave her perhaps \nfor months, without telling her of his affection;—that they \nshould part without a mutual exchange of confidence?’\n‘I confess,’ replied Elinor, ‘that every circumstance ex-\ncept ONE is in favour of their engagement; but that ONE is \nthe total silence of both on the subject, and with me it al-\nmost outweighs every other.’\n‘How strange this is! You must think wretchedly indeed \nof Willoughby, if, after all that has openly passed between \nthem, you can doubt the nature of the terms on which they \nare together. Has he been acting a part in his behaviour to \nyour sister all this time? Do you suppose him really indif-\nferent to her?’\n‘No, I cannot think that. He must and does love her I am \nsure.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n98\n‘But with a strange kind of tenderness, if he can leave her \nwith such indifference, such carelessness of the future, as \nyou attribute to him.’\n‘You must remember, my dear mother, that I have never \nconsidered this matter as certain. I have had my doubts, I \nconfess; but they are fainter than they were, and they may \nsoon be entirely done away. If we find they correspond, ev-\nery fear of mine will be removed.’\n‘A mighty concession indeed! If you were to see them at \nthe altar, you would suppose they were going to be mar-\nried. Ungracious girl! But I require no such proof. Nothing \nin my opinion has ever passed to justify doubt; no secrecy \nhas been attempted; all has been uniformly open and un-\nreserved. You cannot doubt your sister’s wishes. It must be \nWilloughby therefore whom you suspect. But why? Is he not \na man of honour and feeling? Has there been any inconsis-\ntency on his side to create alarm? can he be deceitful?’\n‘I hope not, I believe not,’ cried Elinor. ‘I love Willough-\nby, sincerely love him; and suspicion of his integrity cannot \nbe more painful to yourself than to me. It has been invol-\nuntary, and I will not encourage it. I was startled, I confess, \nby the alteration in his manners this morning;—he did not \nspeak like himself, and did not return your kindness with \nany cordiality. But all this may be explained by such a situ-\nation of his affairs as you have supposed. He had just parted \nfrom my sister, had seen her leave him in the greatest af-\nfliction; and if he felt obliged, from a fear of offending Mrs. \nSmith, to resist the temptation of returning here soon, and \nyet aware that by declining your invitation, by saying that \n\n\n99\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nhe was going away for some time, he should seem to act an \nungenerous, a suspicious part by our family, be might well \nbe embarrassed and disturbed. In such a case, a plain and \nopen avowal of his difficulties would have been more to his \nhonour I think, as well as more consistent with his general \ncharacter;—but I will not raise objections against any one’s \nconduct on so illiberal a foundation, as a difference in judg-\nment from myself, or a deviation from what I may think \nright and consistent.’\n‘You speak very properly. Willoughby certainly does not \ndeserve to be suspected. Though WE have not known him \nlong, he is no stranger in this part of the world; and who has \never spoken to his disadvantage? Had he been in a situation \nto act independently and marry immediately, it might have \nbeen odd that he should leave us without acknowledging \neverything to me at once: but this is not the case. It is an \nengagement in some respects not prosperously begun, for \ntheir marriage must be at a very uncertain distance; and \neven secrecy, as far as it can be observed, may now be very \nadvisable.’\nThey were interrupted by the entrance of Margaret; and \nElinor was then at liberty to think over the representations \nof her mother, to acknowledge the probability of many, and \nhope for the justice of all.\nThey saw nothing of Marianne till dinner time, when she \nentered the room and took her place at the table without \nsaying a word. Her eyes were red and swollen; and it seemed \nas if her tears were even then restrained with difficulty. She \navoided the looks of them all, could neither eat nor speak, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n100\nand after some time, on her mother’s silently pressing her \nhand with tender compassion, her small degree of fortitude \nwas quite overcome, she burst into tears and left the room.\nThis violent oppression of spirits continued the whole \nevening. She was without any power, because she was \nwithout any desire of command over herself. The slightest \nmention of anything relative to Willoughby overpowered \nher in an instant; and though her family were most anx-\niously attentive to her comfort, it was impossible for them, \nif they spoke at all, to keep clear of every subject which her \nfeelings connected with him.\n\n\n101\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 16\nM\narianne would have thought herself very inexcusable \nhad she been able to sleep at all the first night after \nparting from Willoughby. She would have been ashamed \nto look her family in the face the next morning, had she not \nrisen from her bed in more need of repose than when she \nlay down in it. But the feelings which made such compo-\nsure a disgrace, left her in no danger of incurring it. She was \nawake the whole night, and she wept the greatest part of it. \nShe got up with a headache, was unable to talk, and unwill-\ning to take any nourishment; giving pain every moment to \nher mother and sisters, and forbidding all attempt at conso-\nlation from either. Her sensibility was potent enough!\nWhen breakfast was over she walked out by herself, and \nwandered about the village of Allenham, indulging the rec-\nollection of past enjoyment and crying over the present \nreverse for the chief of the morning.\nThe evening passed off in the equal indulgence of feel-\ning. She played over every favourite song that she had been \nused to play to Willoughby, every air in which their voices \nhad been oftenest joined, and sat at the instrument gazing \non every line of music that he had written out for her, till her \nheart was so heavy that no farther sadness could be gained; \nand this nourishment of grief was every day applied. She \nspent whole hours at the pianoforte alternately singing and \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n102\ncrying; her voice often totally suspended by her tears. In \nbooks too, as well as in music, she courted the misery which \na contrast between the past and present was certain of giv-\ning. She read nothing but what they had been used to read \ntogether.\nSuch violence of affliction indeed could not be supported \nfor ever; it sunk within a few days into a calmer melancholy; \nbut these employments, to which she daily recurred, her \nsolitary walks and silent meditations, still produced occa-\nsional effusions of sorrow as lively as ever.\nNo letter from Willoughby came; and none seemed ex-\npected by Marianne. Her mother was surprised, and Elinor \nagain became uneasy. But Mrs. Dashwood could find expla-\nnations whenever she wanted them, which at least satisfied \nherself.\n‘Remember, Elinor,’ said she, ‘how very often Sir John \nfetches our letters himself from the post, and carries them \nto it. We have already agreed that secrecy may be necessary, \nand we must acknowledge that it could not be maintained \nif their correspondence were to pass through Sir John’s \nhands.’\nElinor could not deny the truth of this, and she tried to \nfind in it a motive sufficient for their silence. But there was \none method so direct, so simple, and in her opinion so eli-\ngible of knowing the real state of the affair, and of instantly \nremoving all mystery, that she could not help suggesting it \nto her mother.\n‘Why do you not ask Marianne at once,’ said she, ‘wheth-\ner she is or she is not engaged to Willoughby? From you, her \n\n\n103\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nmother, and so kind, so indulgent a mother, the question \ncould not give offence. It would be the natural result of your \naffection for her. She used to be all unreserve, and to you \nmore especially.’\n‘I would not ask such a question for the world. Supposing \nit possible that they are not engaged, what distress would \nnot such an enquiry inflict! At any rate it would be most \nungenerous. I should never deserve her confidence again, \nafter forcing from her a confession of what is meant at pres-\nent to be unacknowledged to any one. I know Marianne’s \nheart: I know that she dearly loves me, and that I shall not \nbe the last to whom the affair is made known, when cir-\ncumstances make the revealment of it eligible. I would not \nattempt to force the confidence of any one; of a child much \nless; because a sense of duty would prevent the denial which \nher wishes might direct.’\nElinor thought this generosity overstrained, considering \nher sister’s youth, and urged the matter farther, but in vain; \ncommon sense, common care, common prudence, were all \nsunk in Mrs. Dashwood’s romantic delicacy.\nIt was several days before Willoughby’s name was men-\ntioned before Marianne by any of her family; Sir John and \nMrs. Jennings, indeed, were not so nice; their witticisms \nadded pain to many a painful hour;— but one evening, Mrs. \nDashwood, accidentally taking up a volume of Shakespeare, \nexclaimed,\n‘We have never finished Hamlet, Marianne; our dear \nWilloughby went away before we could get through it. We \nwill put it by, that when he comes again...But it may be \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n104\nmonths, perhaps, before THAT happens.’\n‘Months!’ cried Marianne, with strong surprise. ‘No—\nnor many weeks.’\nMrs. Dashwood was sorry for what she had said; but it \ngave Elinor pleasure, as it produced a reply from Marianne \nso expressive of confidence in Willoughby and knowledge \nof his intentions.\nOne morning, about a week after his leaving the country, \nMarianne was prevailed on to join her sisters in their usual \nwalk, instead of wandering away by herself. Hitherto she \nhad carefully avoided every companion in her rambles. If \nher sisters intended to walk on the downs, she directly stole \naway towards the lanes; if they talked of the valley, she was \nas speedy in climbing the hills, and could never be found \nwhen the others set off. But at length she was secured by the \nexertions of Elinor, who greatly disapproved such continual \nseclusion. They walked along the road through the valley, \nand chiefly in silence, for Marianne’s MIND could not be \ncontrolled, and Elinor, satisfied with gaining one point, \nwould not then attempt more. Beyond the entrance of the \nvalley, where the country, though still rich, was less wild \nand more open, a long stretch of the road which they had \ntravelled on first coming to Barton, lay before them; and on \nreaching that point, they stopped to look around them, and \nexamine a prospect which formed the distance of their view \nfrom the cottage, from a spot which they had never hap-\npened to reach in any of their walks before.\nAmongst the objects in the scene, they soon discovered \nan animated one; it was a man on horseback riding towards \n\n\n105\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nthem. In a few minutes they could distinguish him to be a \ngentleman; and in a moment afterwards Marianne raptur-\nously exclaimed,\n‘It is he; it is indeed;—I know it is!’—and was hastening \nto meet him, when Elinor cried out,\n‘Indeed, Marianne, I think you are mistaken. It is not \nWilloughby. The person is not tall enough for him, and has \nnot his air.’\n‘He has, he has,’ cried Marianne, ‘I am sure he has. His \nair, his coat, his horse. I knew how soon he would come.’\nShe walked eagerly on as she spoke; and Elinor, to screen \nMarianne from particularity, as she felt almost certain of \nits not being Willoughby, quickened her pace and kept up \nwith her. They were soon within thirty yards of the gentle-\nman. Marianne looked again; her heart sunk within her; \nand abruptly turning round, she was hurrying back, when \nthe voices of both her sisters were raised to detain her; a \nthird, almost as well known as Willoughby’s, joined them \nin begging her to stop, and she turned round with surprise \nto see and welcome Edward Ferrars.\nHe was the only person in the world who could at that \nmoment be forgiven for not being Willoughby; the only one \nwho could have gained a smile from her; but she dispersed \nher tears to smile on HIM, and in her sister’s happiness for-\ngot for a time her own disappointment.\nHe dismounted, and giving his horse to his servant, \nwalked back with them to Barton, whither he was purpose-\nly coming to visit them.\nHe was welcomed by them all with great cordiality, but \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n106\nespecially by Marianne, who showed more warmth of re-\ngard in her reception of him than even Elinor herself. To \nMarianne, indeed, the meeting between Edward and her \nsister was but a continuation of that unaccountable coldness \nwhich she had often observed at Norland in their mutual \nbehaviour. On Edward’s side, more particularly, there was \na deficiency of all that a lover ought to look and say on such \nan occasion. He was confused, seemed scarcely sensible of \npleasure in seeing them, looked neither rapturous nor gay, \nsaid little but what was forced from him by questions, and \ndistinguished Elinor by no mark of affection. Marianne saw \nand listened with increasing surprise. She began almost to \nfeel a dislike of Edward; and it ended, as every feeling must \nend with her, by carrying back her thoughts to Willoughby, \nwhose manners formed a contrast sufficiently striking to \nthose of his brother elect.\nAfter a short silence which succeeded the first surprise \nand enquiries of meeting, Marianne asked Edward if he \ncame directly from London. No, he had been in Devonshire \na fortnight.\n‘A fortnight!’ she repeated, surprised at his being so long \nin the same county with Elinor without seeing her before.\nHe looked rather distressed as he added, that he had been \nstaying with some friends near Plymouth.\n‘Have you been lately in Sussex?’ said Elinor.\n‘I was at Norland about a month ago.’\n‘And how does dear, dear Norland look?’ cried Mari-\nanne.\n‘Dear, dear Norland,’ said Elinor, ‘probably looks much \n\n\n107\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nas it always does at this time of the year. The woods and \nwalks thickly covered with dead leaves.’\n‘Oh,’ cried Marianne, ‘with what transporting sensa-\ntion have I formerly seen them fall! How have I delighted, \nas I walked, to see them driven in showers about me by the \nwind! What feelings have they, the season, the air altogether \ninspired! Now there is no one to regard them. They are seen \nonly as a nuisance, swept hastily off, and driven as much as \npossible from the sight.’\n‘It is not every one,’ said Elinor, ‘who has your passion \nfor dead leaves.’\n‘No; my feelings are not often shared, not often under-\nstood. But SOMETIMES they are.’—As she said this, she \nsunk into a reverie for a few moments;—but rousing herself \nagain, ‘Now, Edward,’ said she, calling his attention to the \nprospect, ‘here is Barton valley. Look up to it, and be tran-\nquil if you can. Look at those hills! Did you ever see their \nequals? To the left is Barton park, amongst those woods and \nplantations. You may see the end of the house. And there, \nbeneath that farthest hill, which rises with such grandeur, \nis our cottage.’\n‘It is a beautiful country,’ he replied; ‘but these bottoms \nmust be dirty in winter.’\n‘How can you think of dirt, with such objects before \nyou?’\n‘Because,’ replied he, smiling, ‘among the rest of the ob-\njects before me, I see a very dirty lane.’\n‘How strange!’ said Marianne to herself as she walked \non.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n108\n‘Have you an agreeable neighbourhood here? Are the \nMiddletons pleasant people?’\n‘No, not all,’ answered Marianne; ‘we could not be more \nunfortunately situated.’\n‘Marianne,’ cried her sister, ‘how can you say so? How \ncan you be so unjust? They are a very respectable family, \nMr. Ferrars; and towards us have behaved in the friendli-\nest manner. Have you forgot, Marianne, how many pleasant \ndays we have owed to them?’\n‘No,’ said Marianne, in a low voice, ‘nor how many pain-\nful moments.’\nElinor took no notice of this; and directing her attention \nto their visitor, endeavoured to support something like dis-\ncourse with him, by talking of their present residence, its \nconveniences, &c. extorting from him occasional questions \nand remarks. His coldness and reserve mortified her severe-\nly; she was vexed and half angry; but resolving to regulate \nher behaviour to him by the past rather than the present, \nshe avoided every appearance of resentment or displeasure, \nand treated him as she thought he ought to be treated from \nthe family connection.\n\n\n109\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 17\nM\nrs. Dashwood was surprised only for a moment at \nseeing him; for his coming to Barton was, in her opin-\nion, of all things the most natural. Her joy and expression \nof regard long outlived her wonder. He received the kindest \nwelcome from her; and shyness, coldness, reserve could not \nstand against such a reception. They had begun to fail him \nbefore he entered the house, and they were quite overcome \nby the captivating manners of Mrs. Dashwood. Indeed a \nman could not very well be in love with either of her daugh-\nters, without extending the passion to her; and Elinor had \nthe satisfaction of seeing him soon become more like him-\nself. His affections seemed to reanimate towards them all, \nand his interest in their welfare again became perceptible. \nHe was not in spirits, however; he praised their house, ad-\nmired its prospect, was attentive, and kind; but still he was \nnot in spirits. The whole family perceived it, and Mrs. Dash-\nwood, attributing it to some want of liberality in his mother, \nsat down to table indignant against all selfish parents.\n‘What are Mrs. Ferrars’s views for you at present, Ed-\nward?’ said she, when dinner was over and they had drawn \nround the fire; ‘are you still to be a great orator in spite of \nyourself?’\n‘No. I hope my mother is now convinced that I have no \nmore talents than inclination for a public life!’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n110\n‘But how is your fame to be established? for famous you \nmust be to satisfy all your family; and with no inclination \nfor expense, no affection for strangers, no profession, and \nno assurance, you may find it a difficult matter.’\n‘I shall not attempt it. I have no wish to be distinguished; \nand have every reason to hope I never shall. Thank Heaven! \nI cannot be forced into genius and eloquence.’\n‘You have no ambition, I well know. Your wishes are all \nmoderate.’\n‘As moderate as those of the rest of the world, I believe. \nI wish as well as every body else to be perfectly happy; but, \nlike every body else it must be in my own way. Greatness \nwill not make me so.’\n‘Strange that it would!’ cried Marianne. ‘What have \nwealth or grandeur to do with happiness?’\n‘Grandeur has but little,’ said Elinor, ‘but wealth has \nmuch to do with it.’\n‘Elinor, for shame!’ said Marianne, ‘money can only give \nhappiness where there is nothing else to give it. Beyond a \ncompetence, it can afford no real satisfaction, as far as mere \nself is concerned.’\n‘Perhaps,’ said Elinor, smiling, ‘we may come to the \nsame point. YOUR competence and MY wealth are very \nmuch alike, I dare say; and without them, as the world goes \nnow, we shall both agree that every kind of external com-\nfort must be wanting. Your ideas are only more noble than \nmine. Come, what is your competence?’\n‘About eighteen hundred or two thousand a year; not \nmore than THAT.’\n\n\n111\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nElinor laughed. ‘TWO thousand a year! ONE is my \nwealth! I guessed how it would end.’\n‘And yet two thousand a-year is a very moderate income,’ \nsaid Marianne. ‘A family cannot well be maintained on a \nsmaller. I am sure I am not extravagant in my demands. A \nproper establishment of servants, a carriage, perhaps two, \nand hunters, cannot be supported on less.’\nElinor smiled again, to hear her sister describing so ac-\ncurately their future expenses at Combe Magna.\n‘Hunters!’ repeated Edward—‘but why must you have \nhunters? Every body does not hunt.’\nMarianne coloured as she replied, ‘But most people do.’\n‘I wish,’ said Margaret, striking out a novel thought, ‘that \nsomebody would give us all a large fortune apiece!’\n‘Oh that they would!’ cried Marianne, her eyes sparkling \nwith animation, and her cheeks glowing with the delight of \nsuch imaginary happiness.\n‘We are all unanimous in that wish, I suppose,’ said Eli-\nnor, ‘in spite of the insufficiency of wealth.’\n‘Oh dear!’ cried Margaret, ‘how happy I should be! I \nwonder what I should do with it!’\nMarianne looked as if she had no doubt on that point.\n‘I should be puzzled to spend so large a fortune myself,’ \nsaid Mrs. Dashwood, ‘if my children were all to be rich my \nhelp.’\n‘You must begin your improvements on this house,’ ob-\nserved Elinor, ‘and your difficulties will soon vanish.’\n‘What magnificent orders would travel from this family \nto London,’ said Edward, ‘in such an event! What a hap-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n112\npy day for booksellers, music-sellers, and print-shops! You, \nMiss Dashwood, would give a general commission for every \nnew print of merit to be sent you—and as for Marianne, I \nknow her greatness of soul, there would not be music enough \nin London to content her. And books!—Thomson, Cowp-\ner, Scott—she would buy them all over and over again: she \nwould buy up every copy, I believe, to prevent their falling \ninto unworthy hands; and she would have every book that \ntells her how to admire an old twisted tree. Should not you, \nMarianne? Forgive me, if I am very saucy. But I was willing \nto shew you that I had not forgot our old disputes.’\n‘I love to be reminded of the past, Edward—whether it \nbe melancholy or gay, I love to recall it—and you will never \noffend me by talking of former times. You are very right in \nsupposing how my money would be spent—some of it, at \nleast—my loose cash would certainly be employed in im-\nproving my collection of music and books.’\n‘And the bulk of your fortune would be laid out in annui-\nties on the authors or their heirs.’\n‘No, Edward, I should have something else to do with \nit.’\n‘Perhaps, then, you would bestow it as a reward on that \nperson who wrote the ablest defence of your favourite max-\nim, that no one can ever be in love more than once in their \nlife—your opinion on that point is unchanged, I presume?’\n‘Undoubtedly. At my time of life opinions are tolerably \nfixed. It is not likely that I should now see or hear any thing \nto change them.’\n‘Marianne is as steadfast as ever, you see,’ said Elinor, \n\n\n113\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘she is not at all altered.’\n‘She is only grown a little more grave than she was.’\n‘Nay, Edward,’ said Marianne, ‘you need not reproach \nme. You are not very gay yourself.’\n‘Why should you think so!’ replied he, with a sigh. ‘But \ngaiety never was a part of MY character.’\n‘Nor do I think it a part of Marianne’s,’ said Elinor; ‘I \nshould hardly call her a lively girl—she is very earnest, very \neager in all she does—sometimes talks a great deal and al-\nways with animation—but she is not often really merry.’\n‘I believe you are right,’ he replied, ‘and yet I have always \nset her down as a lively girl.’\n‘I have frequently detected myself in such kind of mis-\ntakes,’ said Elinor, ‘in a total misapprehension of character \nin some point or other: fancying people so much more gay \nor grave, or ingenious or stupid than they really are, and \nI can hardly tell why or in what the deception originated. \nSometimes one is guided by what they say of themselves, \nand very frequently by what other people say of them, with-\nout giving oneself time to deliberate and judge.’\n‘But I thought it was right, Elinor,’ said Marianne, ‘to \nbe guided wholly by the opinion of other people. I thought \nour judgments were given us merely to be subservient to \nthose of neighbours. This has always been your doctrine, I \nam sure.’\n‘No, Marianne, never. My doctrine has never aimed \nat the subjection of the understanding. All I have ever at-\ntempted to influence has been the behaviour. You must not \nconfound my meaning. I am guilty, I confess, of having of-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n114\nten wished you to treat our acquaintance in general with \ngreater attention; but when have I advised you to adopt \ntheir sentiments or to conform to their judgment in seri-\nous matters?’\n‘You have not been able to bring your sister over to your \nplan of general civility,’ said Edward to Elinor, ‘Do you gain \nno ground?’\n‘Quite the contrary,’ replied Elinor, looking expressively \nat Marianne.\n‘My judgment,’ he returned, ‘is all on your side of the \nquestion; but I am afraid my practice is much more on your \nsister’s. I never wish to offend, but I am so foolishly shy, that \nI often seem negligent, when I am only kept back by my \nnatural awkwardness. I have frequently thought that I must \nhave been intended by nature to be fond of low company, I \nam so little at my ease among strangers of gentility!’\n‘Marianne has not shyness to excuse any inattention of \nhers,’ said Elinor.\n‘She knows her own worth too well for false shame,’ \nreplied Edward. ‘Shyness is only the effect of a sense of in-\nferiority in some way or other. If I could persuade myself \nthat my manners were perfectly easy and graceful, I should \nnot be shy.’\n‘But you would still be reserved,’ said Marianne, ‘and \nthat is worse.’\nEdward started—‘Reserved! Am I reserved, Marianne?’\n‘Yes, very.’\n‘I do not understand you,’ replied he, colouring. ‘Re-\nserved!—how, in what manner? What am I to tell you? \n\n\n115\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nWhat can you suppose?’\nElinor looked surprised at his emotion; but trying to \nlaugh off the subject, she said to him, ‘Do not you know \nmy sister well enough to understand what she means? Do \nnot you know she calls every one reserved who does not \ntalk as fast, and admire what she admires as rapturously as \nherself?’\nEdward made no answer. His gravity and thoughtful-\nness returned on him in their fullest extent—and he sat for \nsome time silent and dull.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n116\nChapter 18\nE\nlinor saw, with great uneasiness the low spirits of her \nfriend. His visit afforded her but a very partial satisfac-\ntion, while his own enjoyment in it appeared so imperfect. It \nwas evident that he was unhappy; she wished it were equally \nevident that he still distinguished her by the same affection \nwhich once she had felt no doubt of inspiring; but hitherto \nthe continuance of his preference seemed very uncertain; \nand the reservedness of his manner towards her contradict-\ned one moment what a more animated look had intimated \nthe preceding one.\nHe joined her and Marianne in the breakfast-room the \nnext morning before the others were down; and Marianne, \nwho was always eager to promote their happiness as far as \nshe could, soon left them to themselves. But before she was \nhalf way upstairs she heard the parlour door open, and, \nturning round, was astonished to see Edward himself come \nout.\n‘I am going into the village to see my horses,’ said be, \n‘as you are not yet ready for breakfast; I shall be back again \npresently.’\n***\nEdward returned to them with fresh admiration of the \nsurrounding country; in his walk to the village, he had seen \nmany parts of the valley to advantage; and the village itself, \n\n\n117\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nin a much higher situation than the cottage, afforded a gen-\neral view of the whole, which had exceedingly pleased him. \nThis was a subject which ensured Marianne’s attention, and \nshe was beginning to describe her own admiration of these \nscenes, and to question him more minutely on the objects \nthat had particularly struck him, when Edward interrupted \nher by saying, ‘You must not enquire too far, Marianne—re-\nmember I have no knowledge in the picturesque, and I shall \noffend you by my ignorance and want of taste if we come to \nparticulars. I shall call hills steep, which ought to be bold; \nsurfaces strange and uncouth, which ought to be irregular \nand rugged; and distant objects out of sight, which ought \nonly to be indistinct through the soft medium of a hazy at-\nmosphere. You must be satisfied with such admiration as \nI can honestly give. I call it a very fine country—the hills \nare steep, the woods seem full of fine timber, and the valley \nlooks comfortable and snug—with rich meadows and sev-\neral neat farm houses scattered here and there. It exactly \nanswers my idea of a fine country, because it unites beauty \nwith utility—and I dare say it is a picturesque one too, be-\ncause you admire it; I can easily believe it to be full of rocks \nand promontories, grey moss and brush wood, but these are \nall lost on me. I know nothing of the picturesque.’\n‘I am afraid it is but too true,’ said Marianne; ‘but why \nshould you boast of it?’\n‘I suspect,’ said Elinor, ‘that to avoid one kind of affec-\ntation, Edward here falls into another. Because he believes \nmany people pretend to more admiration of the beauties \nof nature than they really feel, and is disgusted with such \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n118\npretensions, he affects greater indifference and less discrim-\nination in viewing them himself than he possesses. He is \nfastidious and will have an affectation of his own.’\n‘It is very true,’ said Marianne, ‘that admiration of land-\nscape scenery is become a mere jargon. Every body pretends \nto feel and tries to describe with the taste and elegance of \nhim who first defined what picturesque beauty was. I detest \njargon of every kind, and sometimes I have kept my feel-\nings to myself, because I could find no language to describe \nthem in but what was worn and hackneyed out of all sense \nand meaning.’\n‘I am convinced,’ said Edward, ‘that you really feel all \nthe delight in a fine prospect which you profess to feel. But, \nin return, your sister must allow me to feel no more than I \nprofess. I like a fine prospect, but not on picturesque prin-\nciples. I do not like crooked, twisted, blasted trees. I admire \nthem much more if they are tall, straight, and flourishing. I \ndo not like ruined, tattered cottages. I am not fond of net-\ntles or thistles, or heath blossoms. I have more pleasure in a \nsnug farm-house than a watch-tower—and a troop of tidy, \nhappy villages please me better than the finest banditti in \nthe world.’\nMarianne looked with amazement at Edward, with com-\npassion at her sister. Elinor only laughed.\nThe subject was continued no farther; and Marianne \nremained thoughtfully silent, till a new object suddenly \nengaged her attention. She was sitting by Edward, and in \ntaking his tea from Mrs. Dashwood, his hand passed so di-\nrectly before her, as to make a ring, with a plait of hair in the \n\n\n119\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ncentre, very conspicuous on one of his fingers.\n‘I never saw you wear a ring before, Edward,’ she cried. \n‘Is that Fanny’s hair? I remember her promising to give you \nsome. But I should have thought her hair had been darker.’\nMarianne spoke inconsiderately what she really felt— \nbut when she saw how much she had pained Edward, her \nown vexation at her want of thought could not be surpassed \nby his. He coloured very deeply, and giving a momentary \nglance at Elinor, replied, ‘Yes; it is my sister’s hair. The set-\nting always casts a different shade on it, you know.’\nElinor had met his eye, and looked conscious likewise. \nThat the hair was her own, she instantaneously felt as well \nsatisfied as Marianne; the only difference in their conclu-\nsions was, that what Marianne considered as a free gift from \nher sister, Elinor was conscious must have been procured by \nsome theft or contrivance unknown to herself. She was not \nin a humour, however, to regard it as an affront, and affect-\ning to take no notice of what passed, by instantly talking \nof something else, she internally resolved henceforward to \ncatch every opportunity of eyeing the hair and of satisfy-\ning herself, beyond all doubt, that it was exactly the shade \nof her own.\nEdward’s embarrassment lasted some time, and it ended \nin an absence of mind still more settled. He was particu-\nlarly grave the whole morning. Marianne severely censured \nherself for what she had said; but her own forgiveness might \nhave been more speedy, had she known how little offence it \nhad given her sister.\nBefore the middle of the day, they were visited by Sir \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n120\nJohn and Mrs. Jennings, who, having heard of the arrival \nof a gentleman at the cottage, came to take a survey of the \nguest. With the assistance of his mother-in-law, Sir John \nwas not long in discovering that the name of Ferrars began \nwith an F. and this prepared a future mine of raillery against \nthe devoted Elinor, which nothing but the newness of their \nacquaintance with Edward could have prevented from be-\ning immediately sprung. But, as it was, she only learned, \nfrom some very significant looks, how far their penetration, \nfounded on Margaret’s instructions, extended.\nSir John never came to the Dashwoods without either \ninviting them to dine at the park the next day, or to drink \ntea with them that evening. On the present occasion, for \nthe better entertainment of their visitor, towards whose \namusement he felt himself bound to contribute, he wished \nto engage them for both.\n‘You MUST drink tea with us to night,’ said he, ‘for we \nshall be quite alone—and tomorrow you must absolutely \ndine with us, for we shall be a large party.’\nMrs. Jennings enforced the necessity. ‘And who knows \nbut you may raise a dance,’ said she. ‘And that will tempt \nYOU, Miss Marianne.’\n‘A dance!’ cried Marianne. ‘Impossible! Who is to \ndance?’\n‘Who! why yourselves, and the Careys, and Whitakers to \nbe sure.—What! you thought nobody could dance because a \ncertain person that shall be nameless is gone!’\n‘I wish with all my soul,’ cried Sir John, ‘that Willoughby \nwere among us again.’\n\n\n121\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nThis, and Marianne’s blushing, gave new suspicions to \nEdward. ‘And who is Willoughby?’ said he, in a low voice, \nto Miss Dashwood, by whom he was sitting.\nShe gave him a brief reply. Marianne’s countenance was \nmore communicative. Edward saw enough to comprehend, \nnot only the meaning of others, but such of Marianne’s \nexpressions as had puzzled him before; and when their visi-\ntors left them, he went immediately round her, and said, in a \nwhisper, ‘I have been guessing. Shall I tell you my guess?’\n‘What do you mean?’\n‘Shall I tell you.’\n‘Certainly.’\n‘Well then; I guess that Mr. Willoughby hunts.’\nMarianne was surprised and confused, yet she could not \nhelp smiling at the quiet archness of his manner, and after a \nmoment’s silence, said,\n‘Oh, Edward! How can you?—But the time will come I \nhope...I am sure you will like him.’\n‘I do not doubt it,’ replied he, rather astonished at her \nearnestness and warmth; for had he not imagined it to be \na joke for the good of her acquaintance in general, founded \nonly on a something or a nothing between Mr. Willoughby \nand herself, he would not have ventured to mention it.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n122\nChapter 19\nE\ndward remained a week at the cottage; he was earnestly \npressed by Mrs. Dashwood to stay longer; but, as if he \nwere bent only on self-mortification, he seemed resolved to \nbe gone when his enjoyment among his friends was at the \nheight. His spirits, during the last two or three days, though \nstill very unequal, were greatly improved—he grew more \nand more partial to the house and environs—never spoke of \ngoing away without a sigh—declared his time to be wholly \ndisengaged—even doubted to what place he should go when \nhe left them—but still, go he must. Never had any week \npassed so quickly—he could hardly believe it to be gone. He \nsaid so repeatedly; other things he said too, which marked \nthe turn of his feelings and gave the lie to his actions. He \nhad no pleasure at Norland; he detested being in town; but \neither to Norland or London, he must go. He valued their \nkindness beyond any thing, and his greatest happiness was \nin being with them. Yet, he must leave them at the end of a \nweek, in spite of their wishes and his own, and without any \nrestraint on his time.\nElinor placed all that was astonishing in this way of act-\ning to his mother’s account; and it was happy for her that he \nhad a mother whose character was so imperfectly known to \nher, as to be the general excuse for every thing strange on \nthe part of her son. Disappointed, however, and vexed as \n\n\n123\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nshe was, and sometimes displeased with his uncertain be-\nhaviour to herself, she was very well disposed on the whole \nto regard his actions with all the candid allowances and \ngenerous qualifications, which had been rather more pain-\nfully extorted from her, for Willoughby’s service, by her \nmother. His want of spirits, of openness, and of consistency, \nwere most usually attributed to his want of independence, \nand his better knowledge of Mrs. Ferrars’s disposition and \ndesigns. The shortness of his visit, the steadiness of his \npurpose in leaving them, originated in the same fettered \ninclination, the same inevitable necessity of temporizing \nwith his mother. The old well-established grievance of duty \nagainst will, parent against child, was the cause of all. She \nwould have been glad to know when these difficulties were \nto cease, this opposition was to yield,—when Mrs. Ferrars \nwould be reformed, and her son be at liberty to be happy. \nBut from such vain wishes she was forced to turn for com-\nfort to the renewal of her confidence in Edward’s affection, \nto the remembrance of every mark of regard in look or word \nwhich fell from him while at Barton, and above all to that \nflattering proof of it which he constantly wore round his \nfinger.\n‘I think, Edward,’ said Mrs. Dashwood, as they were at \nbreakfast the last morning, ‘you would be a happier man \nif you had any profession to engage your time and give an \ninterest to your plans and actions. Some inconvenience \nto your friends, indeed, might result from it—you would \nnot be able to give them so much of your time. But (with a \nsmile) you would be materially benefited in one particular \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n124\nat least—you would know where to go when you left them.’\n‘I do assure you,’ he replied, ‘that I have long thought on \nthis point, as you think now. It has been, and is, and prob-\nably will always be a heavy misfortune to me, that I have \nhad no necessary business to engage me, no profession to \ngive me employment, or afford me any thing like indepen-\ndence. But unfortunately my own nicety, and the nicety of \nmy friends, have made me what I am, an idle, helpless be-\ning. We never could agree in our choice of a profession. I \nalways preferred the church, as I still do. But that was not \nsmart enough for my family. They recommended the army. \nThat was a great deal too smart for me. The law was allowed \nto be genteel enough; many young men, who had chambers \nin the Temple, made a very good appearance in the first cir-\ncles, and drove about town in very knowing gigs. But I had \nno inclination for the law, even in this less abstruse study of \nit, which my family approved. As for the navy, it had fash-\nion on its side, but I was too old when the subject was first \nstarted to enter it—and, at length, as there was no necessity \nfor my having any profession at all, as I might be as dashing \nand expensive without a red coat on my back as with one, \nidleness was pronounced on the whole to be most advanta-\ngeous and honourable, and a young man of eighteen is not \nin general so earnestly bent on being busy as to resist the \nsolicitations of his friends to do nothing. I was therefore en-\ntered at Oxford and have been properly idle ever since.’\n‘The consequence of which, I suppose, will be,’ said Mrs. \nDashwood, ‘since leisure has not promoted your own happi-\nness, that your sons will be brought up to as many pursuits, \n\n\n125\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nemployments, professions, and trades as Columella’s.’\n‘They will be brought up,’ said he, in a serious accent, ‘to \nbe as unlike myself as is possible. In feeling, in action, in \ncondition, in every thing.’\n‘Come, come; this is all an effusion of immediate want \nof spirits, Edward. You are in a melancholy humour, and \nfancy that any one unlike yourself must be happy. But re-\nmember that the pain of parting from friends will be felt \nby every body at times, whatever be their education or \nstate. Know your own happiness. You want nothing but \npatience—or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope. \nYour mother will secure to you, in time, that independence \nyou are so anxious for; it is her duty, and it will, it must \nere long become her happiness to prevent your whole youth \nfrom being wasted in discontent. How much may not a few \nmonths do?’\n‘I think,’ replied Edward, ‘that I may defy many months \nto produce any good to me.’\nThis desponding turn of mind, though it could not be \ncommunicated to Mrs. Dashwood, gave additional pain to \nthem all in the parting, which shortly took place, and left\n \nan uncomfortable impression on Elinor’s feelings especial-\nly, which required some trouble and time to subdue. But as \nit was her determination to subdue it, and to prevent herself \nfrom appearing to suffer more than what all her family suf-\nfered on his going away, she did not adopt the method so \njudiciously employed by Marianne, on a similar occasion, \nto augment and fix her sorrow, by seeking silence, solitude \nand idleness. Their means were as different as their objects, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n126\nand equally suited to the advancement of each.\nElinor sat down to her drawing-table as soon as he was \nout of the house, busily employed herself the whole day, nei-\nther sought nor avoided the mention of his name, appeared \nto interest herself almost as much as ever in the general \nconcerns of the family, and if, by this conduct, she did not \nlessen her own grief, it was at least prevented from unneces-\nsary increase, and her mother and sisters were spared much \nsolicitude on her account.\nSuch behaviour as this, so exactly the reverse of her own, \nappeared no more meritorious to Marianne, than her own \nhad seemed faulty to her. The business of self-command she \nsettled very easily;—with strong affections it was impossi-\nble, with calm ones it could have no merit. That her sister’s \naffections WERE calm, she dared not deny, though she \nblushed to acknowledge it; and of the strength of her own, \nshe gave a very striking proof, by still loving and respecting \nthat sister, in spite of this mortifying conviction.\nWithout shutting herself up from her family, or leaving \nthe house in determined solitude to avoid them, or lying \nawake the whole night to indulge meditation, Elinor found \nevery day afforded her leisure enough to think of Edward, \nand of Edward’s behaviour, in every possible variety which \nthe different state of her spirits at different times could pro-\nduce,—with tenderness, pity, approbation, censure, and \ndoubt. There were moments in abundance, when, if not by \nthe absence of her mother and sisters, at least by the nature \nof their employments, conversation was forbidden among \nthem, and every effect of solitude was produced. Her mind \n\n\n127\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nwas inevitably at liberty; her thoughts could not be chained \nelsewhere; and the past and the future, on a subject so in-\nteresting, must be before her, must force her attention, and \nengross her memory, her reflection, and her fancy.\nFrom a reverie of this kind, as she sat at her drawing-\ntable, she was roused one morning, soon after Edward’s \nleaving them, by the arrival of company. She happened to \nbe quite alone. The closing of the little gate, at the entrance \nof the green court in front of the house, drew her eyes to \nthe window, and she saw a large party walking up to the \ndoor. Amongst them were Sir John and Lady Middleton \nand Mrs. Jennings, but there were two others, a gentleman \nand lady, who were quite unknown to her. She was sitting \nnear the window, and as soon as Sir John perceived her, he \nleft the rest of the party to the ceremony of knocking at the \ndoor, and stepping across the turf, obliged her to open the \ncasement to speak to him, though the space was so short \nbetween the door and the window, as to make it hardly pos-\nsible to speak at one without being heard at the other.\n‘Well,’ said he, ‘we have brought you some strangers. \nHow do you like them?’\n‘Hush! they will hear you.’\n‘Never mind if they do. It is only the Palmers. Charlotte \nis very pretty, I can tell you. You may see her if you look \nthis way.’\nAs Elinor was certain of seeing her in a couple of min-\nutes, without taking that liberty, she begged to be excused.\n‘Where is Marianne? Has she run away because we are \ncome? I see her instrument is open.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n128\n‘She is walking, I believe.’\nThey were now joined by Mrs. Jennings, who had not pa-\ntience enough to wait till the door was opened before she \ntold HER story. She came hallooing to the window, ‘How \ndo you do, my dear? How does Mrs. Dashwood do? And \nwhere are your sisters? What! all alone! you will be glad of a \nlittle company to sit with you. I have brought my other son \nand daughter to see you. Only think of their coming so sud-\ndenly! I thought I heard a carriage last night, while we were \ndrinking our tea, but it never entered my head that it could \nbe them. I thought of nothing but whether it might not be \nColonel Brandon come back again; so I said to Sir John, I do \nthink I hear a carriage; perhaps it is Colonel Brandon come \nback again’—\nElinor was obliged to turn from her, in the middle of her \nstory, to receive the rest of the party; Lady Middleton in-\ntroduced the two strangers; Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret \ncame down stairs at the same time, and they all sat down \nto look at one another, while Mrs. Jennings continued her \nstory as she walked through the passage into the parlour, \nattended by Sir John.\nMrs. Palmer was several years younger than Lady Mid-\ndleton, and totally unlike her in every respect. She was short \nand plump, had a very pretty face, and the finest expression \nof good humour in it that could possibly be. Her man-\nners were by no means so elegant as her sister’s, but they \nwere much more prepossessing. She came in with a smile, \nsmiled all the time of her visit, except when she laughed, \nand smiled when she went away. Her husband was a grave \n\n\n129\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nlooking young man of five or six and twenty, with an air of \nmore fashion and sense than his wife, but of less willing-\nness to please or be pleased. He entered the room with a \nlook of self-consequence, slightly bowed to the ladies, with-\nout speaking a word, and, after briefly surveying them and \ntheir apartments, took up a newspaper from the table, and \ncontinued to read it as long as he staid.\nMrs. Palmer, on the contrary, who was strongly endowed \nby nature with a turn for being uniformly civil and happy, \nwas hardly seated before her admiration of the parlour and \nevery thing in it burst forth.\n‘Well! what a delightful room this is! I never saw any-\nthing so charming! Only think, Mamma, how it is improved \nsince I was here last! I always thought it such a sweet place, \nma’am! (turning to Mrs. Dashwood) but you have made it \nso charming! Only look, sister, how delightful every thing \nis! How I should like such a house for myself! Should not \nyou, Mr. Palmer?’\nMr. Palmer made her no answer, and did not even raise \nhis eyes from the newspaper.\n‘Mr. Palmer does not hear me,’ said she, laughing; ‘he \nnever does sometimes. It is so ridiculous!’\nThis was quite a new idea to Mrs. Dashwood; she had \nnever been used to find wit in the inattention of any one, \nand could not help looking with surprise at them both.\nMrs. Jennings, in the meantime, talked on as loud as \nshe could, and continued her account of their surprise, the \nevening before, on seeing their friends, without ceasing till \nevery thing was told. Mrs. Palmer laughed heartily at the \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n130\nrecollection of their astonishment, and every body agreed, \ntwo or three times over, that it had been quite an agreeable \nsurprise.\n‘You may believe how glad we all were to see them,’ added \nMrs. Jennings, leaning forward towards Elinor, and speak-\ning in a low voice as if she meant to be heard by no one else, \nthough they were seated on different sides of the room; ‘but, \nhowever, I can’t help wishing they had not travelled quite \nso fast, nor made such a long journey of it, for they came all \nround by London upon account of some business, for you \nknow (nodding significantly and pointing to her daughter) \nit was wrong in her situation. I wanted her to stay at home \nand rest this morning, but she would come with us; she \nlonged so much to see you all!’\nMrs. Palmer laughed, and said it would not do her any \nharm.\n‘She expects to be confined in February,’ continued Mrs. \nJennings.\nLady Middleton could no longer endure such a conversa-\ntion, and therefore exerted herself to ask Mr. Palmer if there \nwas any news in the paper.\n‘No, none at all,’ he replied, and read on.\n‘Here comes Marianne,’ cried Sir John. ‘Now, Palmer, \nyou shall see a monstrous pretty girl.’\nHe immediately went into the passage, opened the front \ndoor, and ushered her in himself. Mrs. Jennings asked her, \nas soon as she appeared, if she had not been to Allenham; \nand Mrs. Palmer laughed so heartily at the question, as to \nshow she understood it. Mr. Palmer looked up on her enter-\n\n\n131\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ning the room, stared at her some minutes, and then returned \nto his newspaper. Mrs. Palmer’s eye was now caught by the \ndrawings which hung round the room. She got up to exam-\nine them.\n‘Oh! dear, how beautiful these are! Well! how delight-\nful! Do but look, mama, how sweet! I declare they are quite \ncharming; I could look at them for ever.’ And then sitting \ndown again, she very soon forgot that there were any such \nthings in the room.\nWhen Lady Middleton rose to go away, Mr. Palmer rose \nalso, laid down the newspaper, stretched himself and looked \nat them all around.\n‘My love, have you been asleep?’ said his wife, laughing.\nHe made her no answer; and only observed, after again \nexamining the room, that it was very low pitched, and that \nthe ceiling was crooked. He then made his bow, and depart-\ned with the rest.\nSir John had been very urgent with them all to spend the \nnext day at the park. Mrs. Dashwood, who did not chuse to \ndine with them oftener than they dined at the cottage, ab-\nsolutely refused on her own account; her daughters might \ndo as they pleased. But they had no curiosity to see how \nMr. and Mrs. Palmer ate their dinner, and no expectation \nof pleasure from them in any other way. They attempted, \ntherefore, likewise, to excuse themselves; the weather was \nuncertain, and not likely to be good. But Sir John would not \nbe satisfied—the carriage should be sent for them and they \nmust come. Lady Middleton too, though she did not press \ntheir mother, pressed them. Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Palmer \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n132\njoined their entreaties, all seemed equally anxious to avoid \na family party; and the young ladies were obliged to yield.\n‘Why should they ask us?’ said Marianne, as soon as they \nwere gone. ‘The rent of this cottage is said to be low; but \nwe have it on very hard terms, if we are to dine at the park \nwhenever any one is staying either with them, or with us.’\n‘They mean no less to be civil and kind to us now,’ said \nElinor, ‘by these frequent invitations, than by those which \nwe received from them a few weeks ago. The alteration is \nnot in them, if their parties are grown tedious and dull. We \nmust look for the change elsewhere.’\n\n\n133\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 20\nA\ns the Miss Dashwoods entered the drawing-room of the \npark the next day, at one door, Mrs. Palmer came run-\nning in at the other, looking as good humoured and merry \nas before. She took them all most affectionately by the hand, \nand expressed great delight in seeing them again.\n‘I am so glad to see you!’ said she, seating herself between \nElinor and Marianne, ‘for it is so bad a day I was afraid you \nmight not come, which would be a shocking thing, as we go \naway again tomorrow. We must go, for the Westons come \nto us next week you know. It was quite a sudden thing our \ncoming at all, and I knew nothing of it till the carriage was \ncoming to the door, and then Mr. Palmer asked me if I \nwould go with him to Barton. He is so droll! He never tells \nme any thing! I am so sorry we cannot stay longer; however \nwe shall meet again in town very soon, I hope.’\nThey were obliged to put an end to such an expectation.\n‘Not go to town!’ cried Mrs. Palmer, with a laugh, ‘I shall \nbe quite disappointed if you do not. I could get the nicest \nhouse in world for you, next door to ours, in Hanover-\nsquare. You must come, indeed. I am sure I shall be very \nhappy to chaperon you at any time till I am confined, if Mrs. \nDashwood should not like to go into public.’\nThey thanked her; but were obliged to resist all her en-\ntreaties.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n134\n‘Oh, my love,’ cried Mrs. Palmer to her husband, who \njust then entered the room—‘you must help me to persuade \nthe Miss Dashwoods to go to town this winter.’\nHer love made no answer; and after slightly bowing to \nthe ladies, began complaining of the weather.\n‘How horrid all this is!’ said he. ‘Such weather makes ev-\nery thing and every body disgusting. Dullness is as much \nproduced within doors as without, by rain. It makes one \ndetest all one’s acquaintance. What the devil does Sir John \nmean by not having a billiard room in his house? How few \npeople know what comfort is! Sir John is as stupid as the \nweather.’\nThe rest of the company soon dropt in.\n‘I am afraid, Miss Marianne,’ said Sir John, ‘you have not \nbeen able to take your usual walk to Allenham today.’\nMarianne looked very grave and said nothing.\n‘Oh, don’t be so sly before us,’ said Mrs. Palmer; ‘for we \nknow all about it, I assure you; and I admire your taste very \nmuch, for I think he is extremely handsome. We do not live \na great way from him in the country, you know. Not above \nten miles, I dare say.’\n‘Much nearer thirty,’ said her husband.\n‘Ah, well! there is not much difference. I never was at his \nhouse; but they say it is a sweet pretty place.’\n‘As vile a spot as I ever saw in my life,’ said Mr. Palmer.\nMarianne remained perfectly silent, though her counte-\nnance betrayed her interest in what was said.\n‘Is it very ugly?’ continued Mrs. Palmer—‘then it must be \nsome other place that is so pretty I suppose.’\n\n\n135\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nWhen they were seated in the dining room, Sir John ob-\nserved with regret that they were only eight all together.\n‘My dear,’ said he to his lady, ‘it is very provoking that we \nshould be so few. Why did not you ask the Gilberts to come \nto us today?’\n‘Did not I tell you, Sir John, when you spoke to me about \nit before, that it could not be done? They dined with us \nlast.’\n‘You and I, Sir John,’ said Mrs. Jennings, ‘should not \nstand upon such ceremony.’\n‘Then you would be very ill-bred,’ cried Mr. Palmer.\n‘My love you contradict every body,’ said his wife with \nher usual laugh. ‘Do you know that you are quite rude?’\n‘I did not know I contradicted any body in calling your \nmother ill-bred.’\n‘Ay, you may abuse me as you please,’ said the good-na-\ntured old lady, ‘you have taken Charlotte off my hands, and \ncannot give her back again. So there I have the whip hand \nof you.’\nCharlotte laughed heartily to think that her husband \ncould not get rid of her; and exultingly said, she did not \ncare how cross he was to her, as they must live together. It \nwas impossible for any one to be more thoroughly good-na-\ntured, or more determined to be happy than Mrs. Palmer. \nThe studied indifference, insolence, and discontent of her \nhusband gave her no pain; and when he scolded or abused \nher, she was highly diverted.\n‘Mr. Palmer is so droll!’ said she, in a whisper, to Elinor. \n‘He is always out of humour.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n136\nElinor was not inclined, after a little observation, to give \nhim credit for being so genuinely and unaffectedly ill-na-\ntured or ill-bred as he wished to appear. His temper might \nperhaps be a little soured by finding, like many others of \nhis sex, that through some unaccountable bias in favour of \nbeauty, he was the husband of a very silly woman,—but she \nknew that this kind of blunder was too common for any \nsensible man to be lastingly hurt by it.— It was rather a wish \nof distinction, she believed, which produced his contemptu-\nous treatment of every body, and his general abuse of every \nthing before him. It was the desire of appearing superior to \nother people. The motive was too common to be wondered \nat; but the means, however they might succeed by establish-\ning his superiority in ill-breeding, were not likely to attach \nany one to him except his wife.\n‘Oh, my dear Miss Dashwood,’ said Mrs. Palmer soon \nafterwards, ‘I have got such a favour to ask of you and your \nsister. Will you come and spend some time at Cleveland \nthis Christmas? Now, pray do,—and come while the We-\nstons are with us. You cannot think how happy I shall be! \nIt will be quite delightful!—My love,’ applying to her hus-\nband, ‘don’t you long to have the Miss Dashwoods come to \nCleveland?’\n‘Certainly,’ he replied, with a sneer—‘I came into Devon-\nshire with no other view.’\n‘There now,’—said his lady, ‘you see Mr. Palmer expects \nyou; so you cannot refuse to come.’\nThey both eagerly and resolutely declined her invita-\ntion.\n\n\n137\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘But indeed you must and shall come. I am sure you \nwill like it of all things. The Westons will be with us, and \nit will be quite delightful. You cannot think what a sweet \nplace Cleveland is; and we are so gay now, for Mr. Palmer is \nalways going about the country canvassing against the elec-\ntion; and so many people came to dine with us that I never \nsaw before, it is quite charming! But, poor fellow! it is very \nfatiguing to him! for he is forced to make every body like \nhim.’\nElinor could hardly keep her countenance as she assent-\ned to the hardship of such an obligation.\n‘How charming it will be,’ said Charlotte, ‘when he is in \nParliament!—won’t it? How I shall laugh! It will be so ridic-\nulous to see all his letters directed to him with an M.P.—But \ndo you know, he says, he will never frank for me? He de-\nclares he won’t. Don’t you, Mr. Palmer?’\nMr. Palmer took no notice of her.\n‘He cannot bear writing, you know,’ she continued— ‘he \nsays it is quite shocking.’\n‘No,’ said he, ‘I never said any thing so irrational. Don’t \npalm all your abuses of languages upon me.’\n‘There now; you see how droll he is. This is always the \nway with him! Sometimes he won’t speak to me for half \na day together, and then he comes out with something so \ndroll—all about any thing in the world.’\nShe surprised Elinor very much as they returned into the \ndrawing-room, by asking her whether she did not like Mr. \nPalmer excessively.\n‘Certainly,’ said Elinor; ‘he seems very agreeable.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n138\n‘Well—I am so glad you do. I thought you would, he is \nso pleasant; and Mr. Palmer is excessively pleased with you \nand your sisters I can tell you, and you can’t think how dis-\nappointed he will be if you don’t come to Cleveland.—I can’t \nimagine why you should object to it.’\nElinor was again obliged to decline her invitation; and \nby changing the subject, put a stop to her entreaties. She \nthought it probable that as they lived in the same county, \nMrs. Palmer might be able to give some more particular \naccount of Willoughby’s general character, than could be \ngathered from the Middletons’ partial acquaintance with \nhim; and she was eager to gain from any one, such a confir-\nmation of his merits as might remove the possibility of fear \nfrom Marianne. She began by inquiring if they saw much of \nMr. Willoughby at Cleveland, and whether they were inti-\nmately acquainted with him.\n‘Oh dear, yes; I know him extremely well,’ replied Mrs. \nPalmer;—‘Not that I ever spoke to him, indeed; but I have \nseen him for ever in town. Somehow or other I never hap-\npened to be staying at Barton while he was at Allenham. \nMama saw him here once before;— but I was with my uncle \nat Weymouth. However, I dare say we should have seen a \ngreat deal of him in Somersetshire, if it had not happened \nvery unluckily that we should never have been in the coun-\ntry together. He is very little at Combe, I believe; but if he \nwere ever so much there, I do not think Mr. Palmer would \nvisit him, for he is in the opposition, you know, and besides \nit is such a way off. I know why you inquire about him, very \nwell; your sister is to marry him. I am monstrous glad of it, \n\n\n139\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nfor then I shall have her for a neighbour you know.’\n‘Upon my word,’ replied Elinor, ‘you know much more of \nthe matter than I do, if you have any reason to expect such \na match.’\n‘Don’t pretend to deny it, because you know it is what \nevery body talks of. I assure you I heard of it in my way \nthrough town.’\n‘My dear Mrs. Palmer!’\n‘Upon my honour I did.—I met Colonel Brandon Mon-\nday morning in Bond-street, just before we left town, and he \ntold me of it directly.’\n‘You surprise me very much. Colonel Brandon tell you \nof it! Surely you must be mistaken. To give such intelligence \nto a person who could not be interested in it, even if it were \ntrue, is not what I should expect Colonel Brandon to do.’\n‘But I do assure you it was so, for all that, and I will tell \nyou how it happened. When we met him, he turned back \nand walked with us; and so we began talking of my brother \nand sister, and one thing and another, and I said to him, \n‘So, Colonel, there is a new family come to Barton cottage, \nI hear, and mama sends me word they are very pretty, and \nthat one of them is going to be married to Mr. Willoughby \nof Combe Magna. Is it true, pray? for of course you must \nknow, as you have been in Devonshire so lately.’’\n‘And what did the Colonel say?’\n‘Oh—he did not say much; but he looked as if he knew it \nto be true, so from that moment I set it down as certain. It \nwill be quite delightful, I declare! When is it to take place?’\n‘Mr. Brandon was very well I hope?’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n140\n‘Oh! yes, quite well; and so full of your praises, he did \nnothing but say fine things of you.’\n‘I am flattered by his commendation. He seems an excel-\nlent man; and I think him uncommonly pleasing.’\n‘So do I.—He is such a charming man, that it is quite a \npity he should be so grave and so dull. Mamma says HE \nwas in love with your sister too.— I assure you it was a great \ncompliment if he was, for he hardly ever falls in love with \nany body.’\n‘Is Mr. Willoughby much known in your part of Somer-\nsetshire?’ said Elinor.\n‘Oh! yes, extremely well; that is, I do not believe many \npeople are acquainted with him, because Combe Magna is \nso far off; but they all think him extremely agreeable I assure \nyou. Nobody is more liked than Mr. Willoughby wherever \nhe goes, and so you may tell your sister. She is a monstrous \nlucky girl to get him, upon my honour; not but that he is \nmuch more lucky in getting her, because she is so very \nhandsome and agreeable, that nothing can be good enough \nfor her. However, I don’t think her hardly at all handsomer \nthan you, I assure you; for I think you both excessively pret-\nty, and so does Mr. Palmer too I am sure, though we could \nnot get him to own it last night.’\nMrs. Palmer’s information respecting Willoughby was \nnot very material; but any testimony in his favour, however \nsmall, was pleasing to her.\n‘I am so glad we are got acquainted at last,’ contin-\nued Charlotte.—‘And now I hope we shall always be great \nfriends. You can’t think how much I longed to see you! It \n\n\n141\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nis so delightful that you should live at the cottage! Noth-\ning can be like it, to be sure! And I am so glad your sister is \ngoing to be well married! I hope you will be a great deal at \nCombe Magna. It is a sweet place, by all accounts.’\n‘You have been long acquainted with Colonel Brandon, \nhave not you?’\n‘Yes, a great while; ever since my sister married.— He \nwas a particular friend of Sir John’s. I believe,’ she added in \na low voice, ‘he would have been very glad to have had me, if \nhe could. Sir John and Lady Middleton wished it very much. \nBut mama did not think the match good enough for me, \notherwise Sir John would have mentioned it to the Colonel, \nand we should have been married immediately.’\n‘Did not Colonel Brandon know of Sir John’s proposal to \nyour mother before it was made? Had he never owned his \naffection to yourself?’\n‘Oh, no; but if mama had not objected to it, I dare say \nhe would have liked it of all things. He had not seen me \nthen above twice, for it was before I left school. However, I \nam much happier as I am. Mr. Palmer is the kind of man I \nlike.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n142\nChapter 21\nT\nhe Palmers returned to Cleveland the next day, and the \ntwo families at Barton were again left to entertain each \nother. But this did not last long; Elinor had hardly got their \nlast visitors out of her head, had hardly done wondering at \nCharlotte’s being so happy without a cause, at Mr. Palmer’s \nacting so simply, with good abilities, and at the strange un-\nsuitableness which often existed between husband and wife, \nbefore Sir John’s and Mrs. Jennings’s active zeal in the cause \nof society, procured her some other new acquaintance to see \nand observe.\nIn a morning’s excursion to Exeter, they had met with \ntwo young ladies, whom Mrs. Jennings had the satisfaction \nof discovering to be her relations, and this was enough for \nSir John to invite them directly to the park, as soon as their \npresent engagements at Exeter were over. Their engagements \nat Exeter instantly gave way before such an invitation, and \nLady Middleton was thrown into no little alarm on the re-\nturn of Sir John, by hearing that she was very soon to receive \na visit from two girls whom she had never seen in her life, \nand of whose elegance,— whose tolerable gentility even, she \ncould have no proof; for the assurances of her husband and \nmother on that subject went for nothing at all. Their be-\ning her relations too made it so much the worse; and Mrs. \nJennings’s attempts at consolation were therefore unfortu-\n\n\n143\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nnately founded, when she advised her daughter not to care \nabout their being so fashionable; because they were all cous-\nins and must put up with one another. As it was impossible, \nhowever, now to prevent their coming, Lady Middleton re-\nsigned herself to the idea of it, with all the philosophy of a \nwell-bred woman, contenting herself with merely giving her \nhusband a gentle reprimand on the subject five or six times \nevery day.\nThe young ladies arrived: their appearance was by no \nmeans ungenteel or unfashionable. Their dress was very \nsmart, their manners very civil, they were delighted with \nthe house, and in raptures with the furniture, and they \nhappened to be so doatingly fond of children that Lady \nMiddleton’s good opinion was engaged in their favour be-\nfore they had been an hour at the Park. She declared them \nto be very agreeable girls indeed, which for her ladyship \nwas enthusiastic admiration. Sir John’s confidence in his \nown judgment rose with this animated praise, and he set \noff directly for the cottage to tell the Miss Dashwoods of \nthe Miss Steeles’ arrival, and to assure them of their being \nthe sweetest girls in the world. From such commendation \nas this, however, there was not much to be learned; Elinor \nwell knew that the sweetest girls in the world were to be \nmet with in every part of England, under every possible \nvariation of form, face, temper and understanding. Sir John \nwanted the whole family to walk to the Park directly and \nlook at his guests. Benevolent, philanthropic man! It was \npainful to him even to keep a third cousin to himself.\n‘Do come now,’ said he—‘pray come—you must come—I \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n144\ndeclare you shall come—You can’t think how you will like \nthem. Lucy is monstrous pretty, and so good humoured and \nagreeable! The children are all hanging about her already, as \nif she was an old acquaintance. And they both long to see \nyou of all things, for they have heard at Exeter that you are \nthe most beautiful creatures in the world; and I have told \nthem it is all very true, and a great deal more. You will be \ndelighted with them I am sure. They have brought the whole \ncoach full of playthings for the children. How can you be so \ncross as not to come? Why they are your cousins, you know, \nafter a fashion. YOU are my cousins, and they are my wife’s, \nso you must be related.’\nBut Sir John could not prevail. He could only obtain a \npromise of their calling at the Park within a day or two, \nand then left them in amazement at their indifference, to \nwalk home and boast anew of their attractions to the Miss \nSteeles, as he had been already boasting of the Miss Steeles \nto them.\nWhen their promised visit to the Park and consequent \nintroduction to these young ladies took place, they found in \nthe appearance of the eldest, who was nearly thirty, with a \nvery plain and not a sensible face, nothing to admire; but in \nthe other, who was not more than two or three and twenty, \nthey acknowledged considerable beauty; her features were \npretty, and she had a sharp quick eye, and a smartness of air, \nwhich though it did not give actual elegance or grace, gave \ndistinction to her person.— Their manners were particu-\nlarly civil, and Elinor soon allowed them credit for some \nkind of sense, when she saw with what constant and judi-\n\n\n145\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ncious attention they were making themselves agreeable to \nLady Middleton. With her children they were in continual \nraptures, extolling their beauty, courting their notice, and \nhumouring their whims; and such of their time as could be \nspared from the importunate demands which this polite-\nness made on it, was spent in admiration of whatever her \nladyship was doing, if she happened to be doing any thing, \nor in taking patterns of some elegant new dress, in which her \nappearance the day before had thrown them into unceasing \ndelight. Fortunately for those who pay their court through \nsuch foibles, a fond mother, though, in pursuit of praise for \nher children, the most rapacious of human beings, is like-\nwise the most credulous; her demands are exorbitant; but \nshe will swallow any thing; and the excessive affection and \nendurance of the Miss Steeles towards her offspring were \nviewed therefore by Lady Middleton without the smallest \nsurprise or distrust. She saw with maternal complacency all \nthe impertinent encroachments and mischievous tricks to \nwhich her cousins submitted. She saw their sashes untied, \ntheir hair pulled about their ears, their work-bags searched, \nand their knives and scissors stolen away, and felt no doubt \nof its being a reciprocal enjoyment. It suggested no other \nsurprise than that Elinor and Marianne should sit so com-\nposedly by, without claiming a share in what was passing.\n‘John is in such spirits today!’ said she, on his taking \nMiss Steeles’s pocket handkerchief, and throwing it out of \nwindow—‘He is full of monkey tricks.’\nAnd soon afterwards, on the second boy’s violently \npinching one of the same lady’s fingers, she fondly observed, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n146\n‘How playful William is!’\n‘And here is my sweet little Annamaria,’ she added, ten-\nderly caressing a little girl of three years old, who had not \nmade a noise for the last two minutes; ‘And she is always so \ngentle and quiet—Never was there such a quiet little thing!’\nBut unfortunately in bestowing these embraces, a pin \nin her ladyship’s head dress slightly scratching the child’s \nneck, produced from this pattern of gentleness such violent \nscreams, as could hardly be outdone by any creature pro-\nfessedly noisy. The mother’s consternation was excessive; \nbut it could not surpass the alarm of the Miss Steeles, and \nevery thing was done by all three, in so critical an emer-\ngency, which affection could suggest as likely to assuage the \nagonies of the little sufferer. She was seated in her mother’s \nlap, covered with kisses, her wound bathed with lavender-\nwater, by one of the Miss Steeles, who was on her knees to \nattend her, and her mouth stuffed with sugar plums by the \nother. With such a reward for her tears, the child was too \nwise to cease crying. She still screamed and sobbed lust-\nily, kicked her two brothers for offering to touch her, and \nall their united soothings were ineffectual till Lady Middle-\nton luckily remembering that in a scene of similar distress \nlast week, some apricot marmalade had been successfully \napplied for a bruised temple, the same remedy was eagerly \nproposed for this unfortunate scratch, and a slight inter-\nmission of screams in the young lady on hearing it, gave \nthem reason to hope that it would not be rejected.— She was \ncarried out of the room therefore in her mother’s arms, in \nquest of this medicine, and as the two boys chose to follow, \n\n\n147\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nthough earnestly entreated by their mother to stay behind, \nthe four young ladies were left in a quietness which the \nroom had not known for many hours.\n‘Poor little creatures!’ said Miss Steele, as soon as they \nwere gone. ‘It might have been a very sad accident.’\n‘Yet I hardly know how,’ cried Marianne, ‘unless it had \nbeen under totally different circumstances. But this is the \nusual way of heightening alarm, where there is nothing to \nbe alarmed at in reality.’\n‘What a sweet woman Lady Middleton is!’ said Lucy \nSteele.\nMarianne was silent; it was impossible for her to say what \nshe did not feel, however trivial the occasion; and upon Eli-\nnor therefore the whole task of telling lies when politeness \nrequired it, always fell. She did her best when thus called on, \nby speaking of Lady Middleton with more warmth than she \nfelt, though with far less than Miss Lucy.\n‘And Sir John too,’ cried the elder sister, ‘what a charm-\ning man he is!’\nHere too, Miss Dashwood’s commendation, being only \nsimple and just, came in without any eclat. She merely ob-\nserved that he was perfectly good humoured and friendly.\n‘And what a charming little family they have! I never saw \nsuch fine children in my life.—I declare I quite doat upon \nthem already, and indeed I am always distractedly fond of \nchildren.’\n‘I should guess so,’ said Elinor, with a smile, ‘from what I \nhave witnessed this morning.’\n‘I have a notion,’ said Lucy, ‘you think the little Middle-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n148\ntons rather too much indulged; perhaps they may be the \noutside of enough; but it is so natural in Lady Middleton; \nand for my part, I love to see children full of life and spirits; \nI cannot bear them if they are tame and quiet.’\n‘I confess,’ replied Elinor, ‘that while I am at Barton Park, \nI never think of tame and quiet children with any abhor-\nrence.’\nA short pause succeeded this speech, which was first \nbroken by Miss Steele, who seemed very much disposed for \nconversation, and who now said rather abruptly, ‘And how \ndo you like Devonshire, Miss Dashwood? I suppose you \nwere very sorry to leave Sussex.’\nIn some surprise at the familiarity of this question, or at \nleast of the manner in which it was spoken, Elinor replied \nthat she was.\n‘Norland is a prodigious beautiful place, is not it?’ added \nMiss Steele.\n‘We have heard Sir John admire it excessively,’ said Lucy, \nwho seemed to think some apology necessary for the free-\ndom of her sister.\n‘I think every one MUST admire it,’ replied Elinor, ‘who \never saw the place; though it is not to be supposed that any \none can estimate its beauties as we do.’\n‘And had you a great many smart beaux there? I suppose \nyou have not so many in this part of the world; for my part, \nI think they are a vast addition always.’\n‘But why should you think,’ said Lucy, looking ashamed \nof her sister, ‘that there are not as many genteel young men \nin Devonshire as Sussex?’\n\n\n149\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘Nay, my dear, I’m sure I don’t pretend to say that there \nan’t. I’m sure there’s a vast many smart beaux in Exeter; but \nyou know, how could I tell what smart beaux there might be \nabout Norland; and I was only afraid the Miss Dashwoods \nmight find it dull at Barton, if they had not so many as they \nused to have. But perhaps you young ladies may not care \nabout the beaux, and had as lief be without them as with \nthem. For my part, I think they are vastly agreeable, pro-\nvided they dress smart and behave civil. But I can’t bear to \nsee them dirty and nasty. Now there’s Mr. Rose at Exeter, \na prodigious smart young man, quite a beau, clerk to Mr. \nSimpson, you know, and yet if you do but meet him of a \nmorning, he is not fit to be seen.— I suppose your brother \nwas quite a beau, Miss Dashwood, before he married, as he \nwas so rich?’\n‘Upon my word,’ replied Elinor, ‘I cannot tell you, for I do \nnot perfectly comprehend the meaning of the word. But this \nI can say, that if he ever was a beau before he married, he is \none still for there is not the smallest alteration in him.’\n‘Oh! dear! one never thinks of married men’s being \nbeaux—they have something else to do.’\n‘Lord! Anne,’ cried her sister, ‘you can talk of nothing but \nbeaux;—you will make Miss Dashwood believe you think of \nnothing else.’ And then to turn the discourse, she began ad-\nmiring the house and the furniture.\nThis specimen of the Miss Steeles was enough. The vulgar \nfreedom and folly of the eldest left her no recommendation, \nand as Elinor was not blinded by the beauty, or the shrewd \nlook of the youngest, to her want of real elegance and art-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n150\nlessness, she left the house without any wish of knowing \nthem better.\nNot so the Miss Steeles.—They came from Exeter, well \nprovided with admiration for the use of Sir John Middleton, \nhis family, and all his relations, and no niggardly proportion \nwas now dealt out to his fair cousins, whom they declared \nto be the most beautiful, elegant, accomplished, and agree-\nable girls they had ever beheld, and with whom they were \nparticularly anxious to be better acquainted.— And to be \nbetter acquainted therefore, Elinor soon found was their in-\nevitable lot, for as Sir John was entirely on the side of the \nMiss Steeles, their party would be too strong for opposition, \nand that kind of intimacy must be submitted to, which con-\nsists of sitting an hour or two together in the same room \nalmost every day. Sir John could do no more; but he did not \nknow that any more was required: to be together was, in his \nopinion, to be intimate, and while his continual schemes for \ntheir meeting were effectual, he had not a doubt of their be-\ning established friends.\nTo do him justice, he did every thing in his power to \npromote their unreserve, by making the Miss Steeles ac-\nquainted with whatever he knew or supposed of his cousins’ \nsituations in the most delicate particulars,—and Elinor had \nnot seen them more than twice, before the eldest of them \nwished her joy on her sister’s having been so lucky as to \nmake a conquest of a very smart beau since she came to \nBarton.\n‘Twill be a fine thing to have her married so young to be \nsure,’ said she, ‘and I hear he is quite a beau, and prodigious \n\n\n151\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nhandsome. And I hope you may have as good luck yourself \nsoon,—but perhaps you may have a friend in the corner al-\nready.’\nElinor could not suppose that Sir John would be more \nnice in proclaiming his suspicions of her regard for Edward, \nthan he had been with respect to Marianne; indeed it was \nrather his favourite joke of the two, as being somewhat new-\ner and more conjectural; and since Edward’s visit, they had \nnever dined together without his drinking to her best af-\nfections with so much significancy and so many nods and \nwinks, as to excite general attention. The letter F— had been \nlikewise invariably brought forward, and found productive \nof such countless jokes, that its character as the wittiest let-\nter in the alphabet had been long established with Elinor.\nThe Miss Steeles, as she expected, had now all the benefit \nof these jokes, and in the eldest of them they raised a curi-\nosity to know the name of the gentleman alluded to, which, \nthough often impertinently expressed, was perfectly of a \npiece with her general inquisitiveness into the concerns of \ntheir family. But Sir John did not sport long with the curi-\nosity which he delighted to raise, for he had at least as much \npleasure in telling the name, as Miss Steele had in hearing \nit.\n‘His name is Ferrars,’ said he, in a very audible whisper; \n‘but pray do not tell it, for it’s a great secret.’\n‘Ferrars!’ repeated Miss Steele; ‘Mr. Ferrars is the happy \nman, is he? What! your sister-in-law’s brother, Miss Dash-\nwood? a very agreeable young man to be sure; I know him \nvery well.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n152\n‘How can you say so, Anne?’ cried Lucy, who generally \nmade an amendment to all her sister’s assertions. ‘Though \nwe have seen him once or twice at my uncle’s, it is rather too \nmuch to pretend to know him very well.’\nElinor heard all this with attention and surprise. ‘And \nwho was this uncle? Where did he live? How came they \nacquainted?’ She wished very much to have the subject con-\ntinued, though she did not chuse to join in it herself; but \nnothing more of it was said, and for the first time in her \nlife, she thought Mrs. Jennings deficient either in curiosity \nafter petty information, or in a disposition to communicate \nit. The manner in which Miss Steele had spoken of Edward, \nincreased her curiosity; for it struck her as being rath-\ner ill-natured, and suggested the suspicion of that lady’s \nknowing, or fancying herself to know something to his dis-\nadvantage.—But her curiosity was unavailing, for no farther \nnotice was taken of Mr. Ferrars’s name by Miss Steele when \nalluded to, or even openly mentioned by Sir John.\n\n\n153\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 22\nM\narianne, who had never much toleration for any thing \nlike impertinence, vulgarity, inferiority of parts, or \neven difference of taste from herself, was at this time par-\nticularly ill-disposed, from the state of her spirits, to be \npleased with the Miss Steeles, or to encourage their advanc-\nes; and to the invariable coldness of her behaviour towards \nthem, which checked every endeavour at intimacy on their \nside, Elinor principally attributed that preference of her-\nself which soon became evident in the manners of both, \nbut especially of Lucy, who missed no opportunity of en-\ngaging her in conversation, or of striving to improve their \nacquaintance by an easy and frank communication of her \nsentiments.\nLucy was naturally clever; her remarks were often just \nand amusing; and as a companion for half an hour Elinor \nfrequently found her agreeable; but her powers had received \nno aid from education: she was ignorant and illiterate; and \nher deficiency of all mental improvement, her want of in-\nformation in the most common particulars, could not be \nconcealed from Miss Dashwood, in spite of her constant \nendeavour to appear to advantage. Elinor saw, and pitied \nher for, the neglect of abilities which education might have \nrendered so respectable; but she saw, with less tenderness \nof feeling, the thorough want of delicacy, of rectitude, and \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n154\nintegrity of mind, which her attentions, her assiduities, her \nflatteries at the Park betrayed; and she could have no lasting \nsatisfaction in the company of a person who joined insin-\ncerity with ignorance; whose want of instruction prevented \ntheir meeting in conversation on terms of equality, and \nwhose conduct toward others made every shew of attention \nand deference towards herself perfectly valueless.\n‘You will think my question an odd one, I dare say,’ said \nLucy to her one day, as they were walking together from the \npark to the cottage—‘but pray, are you personally acquaint-\ned with your sister-in-law’s mother, Mrs. Ferrars?’\nElinor DID think the question a very odd one, and her \ncountenance expressed it, as she answered that she had nev-\ner seen Mrs. Ferrars.\n‘Indeed!’ replied Lucy; ‘I wonder at that, for I thought \nyou must have seen her at Norland sometimes. Then, per-\nhaps, you cannot tell me what sort of a woman she is?’\n‘No,’ returned Elinor, cautious of giving her real opin-\nion of Edward’s mother, and not very desirous of satisfying \nwhat seemed impertinent curiosity— ‘I know nothing of \nher.’\n‘I am sure you think me very strange, for enquiring about \nher in such a way,’ said Lucy, eyeing Elinor attentively as she \nspoke; ‘but perhaps there may be reasons—I wish I might \nventure; but however I hope you will do me the justice of \nbelieving that I do not mean to be impertinent.’\nElinor made her a civil reply, and they walked on for a \nfew minutes in silence. It was broken by Lucy, who renewed \nthe subject again by saying, with some hesitation,\n\n\n155\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘I cannot bear to have you think me impertinently cu-\nrious. I am sure I would rather do any thing in the world \nthan be thought so by a person whose good opinion is so \nwell worth having as yours. And I am sure I should not have \nthe smallest fear of trusting YOU; indeed, I should be very \nglad of your advice how to manage in such and uncomfort-\nable situation as I am; but, however, there is no occasion to \ntrouble YOU. I am sorry you do not happen to know Mrs. \nFerrars.’\n‘I am sorry I do NOT,’ said Elinor, in great astonishment, \n‘if it could be of any use to YOU to know my opinion of her. \nBut really I never understood that you were at all connected \nwith that family, and therefore I am a little surprised, I con-\nfess, at so serious an inquiry into her character.’\n‘I dare say you are, and I am sure I do not at all wonder \nat it. But if I dared tell you all, you would not be so much \nsurprised. Mrs. Ferrars is certainly nothing to me at pres-\nent—but the time MAY come—how soon it will come must \ndepend upon herself—when we may be very intimately con-\nnected.’\nShe looked down as she said this, amiably bashful, with \nonly one side glance at her companion to observe its effect \non her.\n‘Good heavens!’ cried Elinor, ‘what do you mean? Are \nyou acquainted with Mr. Robert Ferrars? Can you be?’ And \nshe did not feel much delighted with the idea of such a sis-\nter-in-law.\n‘No,’ replied Lucy, ‘not to Mr. ROBERT Ferrars—I never \nsaw him in my life; but,’ fixing her eyes upon Elinor, ‘to his \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n156\neldest brother.’\nWhat felt Elinor at that moment? Astonishment, that \nwould have been as painful as it was strong, had not an im-\nmediate disbelief of the assertion attended it. She turned \ntowards Lucy in silent amazement, unable to divine the \nreason or object of such a declaration; and though her com-\nplexion varied, she stood firm in incredulity, and felt in no \ndanger of an hysterical fit, or a swoon.\n‘You may well be surprised,’ continued Lucy; ‘for to be \nsure you could have had no idea of it before; for I dare say \nhe never dropped the smallest hint of it to you or any of \nyour family; because it was always meant to be a great se-\ncret, and I am sure has been faithfully kept so by me to this \nhour. Not a soul of all my relations know of it but Anne, and \nI never should have mentioned it to you, if I had not felt the \ngreatest dependence in the world upon your secrecy; and I \nreally thought my behaviour in asking so many questions \nabout Mrs. Ferrars must seem so odd, that it ought to be ex-\nplained. And I do not think Mr. Ferrars can be displeased, \nwhen he knows I have trusted you, because I know he has \nthe highest opinion in the world of all your family, and \nlooks upon yourself and the other Miss Dashwoods quite as \nhis own sisters.’—She paused.\nElinor for a few moments remained silent. Her astonish-\nment at what she heard was at first too great for words; but \nat length forcing herself to speak, and to speak cautious-\nly, she said, with calmness of manner, which tolerably well \nconcealed her surprise and solicitude— ‘May I ask if your \nengagement is of long standing?’\n\n\n157\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘We have been engaged these four years.’\n‘Four years!’\n‘Yes.’\nElinor, though greatly shocked, still felt unable to believe \nit.\n‘I did not know,’ said she, ‘that you were even acquainted \ntill the other day.’\n‘Our acquaintance, however, is of many years date. \nHe was under my uncle’s care, you know, a considerable \nwhile.’\n‘Your uncle!’\n‘Yes; Mr. Pratt. Did you never hear him talk of Mr. \nPratt?’\n‘I think I have,’ replied Elinor, with an exertion of spirits, \nwhich increased with her increase of emotion.\n‘He was four years with my uncle, who lives at Longsta-\nple, near Plymouth. It was there our acquaintance begun, \nfor my sister and me was often staying with my uncle, and \nit was there our engagement was formed, though not till a \nyear after he had quitted as a pupil; but he was almost al-\nways with us afterwards. I was very unwilling to enter into \nit, as you may imagine, without the knowledge and appro-\nbation of his mother; but I was too young, and loved him \ntoo well, to be so prudent as I ought to have been.— Though \nyou do not know him so well as me, Miss Dashwood, you \nmust have seen enough of him to be sensible he is very ca-\npable of making a woman sincerely attached to him.’\n‘Certainly,’ answered Elinor, without knowing what she \nsaid; but after a moment’s reflection, she added, with revived \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n158\nsecurity of Edward’s honour and love, and her companion’s \nfalsehood—‘Engaged to Mr. Edward Ferrars!—I confess \nmyself so totally surprised at what you tell me, that really—\nI beg your pardon; but surely there must be some mistake of \nperson or name. We cannot mean the same Mr. Ferrars.’\n‘We can mean no other,’ cried Lucy, smiling. ‘Mr. Ed-\nward Ferrars, the eldest son of Mrs. Ferrars, of Park Street, \nand brother of your sister-in-law, Mrs. John Dashwood, is \nthe person I mean; you must allow that I am not likely to \nbe deceived as to the name of the man on who all my hap-\npiness depends.’\n‘It is strange,’ replied Elinor, in a most painful perplex-\nity, ‘that I should never have heard him even mention your \nname.’\n‘No; considering our situation, it was not strange. Our \nfirst care has been to keep the matter secret.— You knew \nnothing of me, or my family, and, therefore, there could be \nno OCCASION for ever mentioning my name to you; and, \nas he was always particularly afraid of his sister’s suspecting \nany thing, THAT was reason enough for his not mention-\ning it.’\nShe was silent.—Elinor’s security sunk; but her self-com-\nmand did not sink with it.\n‘Four years you have been engaged,’ said she with a firm \nvoice.\n‘Yes; and heaven knows how much longer we may have \nto wait. Poor Edward! It puts him quite out of heart.’ Then \ntaking a small miniature from her pocket, she added, ‘To \nprevent the possibility of mistake, be so good as to look at \n\n\n159\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nthis face. It does not do him justice, to be sure, but yet I \nthink you cannot be deceived as to the person it was drew \nfor.—I have had it above these three years.’\nShe put it into her hands as she spoke; and when Eli-\nnor saw the painting, whatever other doubts her fear of a \ntoo hasty decision, or her wish of detecting falsehood might \nsuffer to linger in her mind, she could have none of its being \nEdward’s face. She returned it almost instantly, acknowl-\nedging the likeness.\n‘I have never been able,’ continued Lucy, ‘to give him my \npicture in return, which I am very much vexed at, for he has \nbeen always so anxious to get it! But I am determined to set \nfor it the very first opportunity.’\n‘You are quite in the right,’ replied Elinor calmly. They \nthen proceeded a few paces in silence. Lucy spoke first.\n‘I am sure,’ said she, ‘I have no doubt in the world of your \nfaithfully keeping this secret, because you must know of \nwhat importance it is to us, not to have it reach his mother; \nfor she would never approve of it, I dare say. I shall have no \nfortune, and I fancy she is an exceeding proud woman.’\n‘I certainly did not seek your confidence,’ said Elinor; \n‘but you do me no more than justice in imagining that I may \nbe depended on. Your secret is safe with me; but pardon me \nif I express some surprise at so unnecessary a communica-\ntion. You must at least have felt that my being acquainted \nwith it could not add to its safety.’\nAs she said this, she looked earnestly at Lucy, hoping to \ndiscover something in her countenance; perhaps the false-\nhood of the greatest part of what she had been saying; but \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n160\nLucy’s countenance suffered no change.\n‘I was afraid you would think I was taking a great lib-\nerty with you,’ said she, ‘in telling you all this. I have not \nknown you long to be sure, personally at least, but I have \nknown you and all your family by description a great while; \nand as soon as I saw you, I felt almost as if you was an old \nacquaintance. Besides in the present case, I really thought \nsome explanation was due to you after my making such \nparticular inquiries about Edward’s mother; and I am so \nunfortunate, that I have not a creature whose advice I can \nask. Anne is the only person that knows of it, and she has \nno judgment at all; indeed, she does me a great deal more \nharm than good, for I am in constant fear of her betray-\ning me. She does not know how to hold her tongue, as you \nmust perceive, and I am sure I was in the greatest fright in \nthe world t’other day, when Edward’s name was mentioned \nby Sir John, lest she should out with it all. You can’t think \nhow much I go through in my mind from it altogether. I \nonly wonder that I am alive after what I have suffered for \nEdward’s sake these last four years. Every thing in such \nsuspense and uncertainty; and seeing him so seldom—we \ncan hardly meet above twice a-year. I am sure I wonder my \nheart is not quite broke.’\nHere she took out her handkerchief; but Elinor did not \nfeel very compassionate.\n‘Sometimes.’ continued Lucy, after wiping her eyes, ‘I \nthink whether it would not be better for us both to break off \nthe matter entirely.’ As she said this, she looked directly at \nher companion. ‘But then at other times I have not resolu-\n\n\n161\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ntion enough for it.— I cannot bear the thoughts of making \nhim so miserable, as I know the very mention of such a \nthing would do. And on my own account too—so dear as \nhe is to me—I don’t think I could be equal to it. What would \nyou advise me to do in such a case, Miss Dashwood? What \nwould you do yourself?’\n‘Pardon me,’ replied Elinor, startled by the question; ‘but \nI can give you no advice under such circumstances. Your \nown judgment must direct you.’\n‘To be sure,’ continued Lucy, after a few minutes silence \non both sides, ‘his mother must provide for him sometime \nor other; but poor Edward is so cast down by it! Did you not \nthink him dreadful low-spirited when he was at Barton? He \nwas so miserable when he left us at Longstaple, to go to you, \nthat I was afraid you would think him quite ill.’\n‘Did he come from your uncle’s, then, when he visited \nus?’\n‘Oh, yes; he had been staying a fortnight with us. Did you \nthink he came directly from town?’\n‘No,’ replied Elinor, most feelingly sensible of every fresh \ncircumstance in favour of Lucy’s veracity; ‘I remember he \ntold us, that he had been staying a fortnight with some \nfriends near Plymouth.’ She remembered too, her own \nsurprise at the time, at his mentioning nothing farther of \nthose friends, at his total silence with respect even to their \nnames.\n‘Did not you think him sadly out of spirits?’ repeated \nLucy.\n‘We did, indeed, particularly so when he first arrived.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n162\n‘I begged him to exert himself for fear you should suspect \nwhat was the matter; but it made him so melancholy, not be-\ning able to stay more than a fortnight with us, and seeing \nme so much affected.— Poor fellow!—I am afraid it is just \nthe same with him now; for he writes in wretched spirits. I \nheard from him just before I left Exeter;’ taking a letter from \nher pocket and carelessly showing the direction to Elinor. \n‘You know his hand, I dare say, a charming one it is; but that \nis not written so well as usual.—He was tired, I dare say, for \nhe had just filled the sheet to me as full as possible.’\nElinor saw that it WAS his hand, and she could doubt \nno longer. This picture, she had allowed herself to believe, \nmight have been accidentally obtained; it might not have \nbeen Edward’s gift; but a correspondence between them \nby letter, could subsist only under a positive engagement, \ncould be authorised by nothing else; for a few moments, she \nwas almost overcome—her heart sunk within her, and she \ncould hardly stand; but exertion was indispensably neces-\nsary; and she struggled so resolutely against the oppression \nof her feelings, that her success was speedy, and for the time \ncomplete.\n‘Writing to each other,’ said Lucy, returning the letter \ninto her pocket, ‘is the only comfort we have in such long \nseparations. Yes, I have one other comfort in his picture, but \npoor Edward has not even THAT. If he had but my picture, \nhe says he should be easy. I gave him a lock of my hair set \nin a ring when he was at Longstaple last, and that was some \ncomfort to him, he said, but not equal to a picture. Perhaps \nyou might notice the ring when you saw him?’\n\n\n163\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘I did,’ said Elinor, with a composure of voice, under \nwhich was concealed an emotion and distress beyond any \nthing she had ever felt before. She was mortified, shocked, \nconfounded.\nFortunately for her, they had now reached the cottage, \nand the conversation could be continued no farther. After \nsitting with them a few minutes, the Miss Steeles returned \nto the Park, and Elinor was then at liberty to think and be \nwretched.\n[At this point in the first and second editions, Volume \n1 ends.]\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n164\nChapter 23\nH\nowever small Elinor’s general dependence on Lucy’s \nveracity might be, it was impossible for her on seri-\nous reflection to suspect it in the present case, where no \ntemptation could be answerable to the folly of inventing a \nfalsehood of such a description. What Lucy had asserted to \nbe true, therefore, Elinor could not, dared not longer doubt; \nsupported as it was too on every side by such probabilities \nand proofs, and contradicted by nothing but her own wish-\nes. Their opportunity of acquaintance in the house of Mr. \nPratt was a foundation for the rest, at once indisputable and \nalarming; and Edward’s visit near Plymouth, his melan-\ncholy state of mind, his dissatisfaction at his own prospects, \nhis uncertain behaviour towards herself, the intimate \nknowledge of the Miss Steeles as to Norland and their fam-\nily connections, which had often surprised her, the picture, \nthe letter, the ring, formed altogether such a body of evi-\ndence, as overcame every fear of condemning him unfairly, \nand established as a fact, which no partiality could set aside, \nhis ill-treatment of herself.—Her resentment of such behav-\niour, her indignation at having been its dupe, for a short \ntime made her feel only for herself; but other ideas, other \nconsiderations, soon arose. Had Edward been intentionally \ndeceiving her? Had he feigned a regard for her which he did \nnot feel? Was his engagement to Lucy an engagement of the \n\n\n165\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nheart? No; whatever it might once have been, she could not \nbelieve it such at present. His affection was all her own. She \ncould not be deceived in that. Her mother, sisters, Fanny, \nall had been conscious of his regard for her at Norland; it \nwas not an illusion of her own vanity. He certainly loved \nher. What a softener of the heart was this persuasion! How \nmuch could it not tempt her to forgive! He had been blam-\nable, highly blamable, in remaining at Norland after he first \nfelt her influence over him to be more than it ought to be. \nIn that, he could not be defended; but if he had injured her, \nhow much more had he injured himself; if her case were \npitiable, his was hopeless. His imprudence had made her \nmiserable for a while; but it seemed to have deprived him-\nself of all chance of ever being otherwise. She might in time \nregain tranquillity; but HE, what had he to look forward to? \nCould he ever be tolerably happy with Lucy Steele; could he, \nwere his affection for herself out of the question, with his \nintegrity, his delicacy, and well-informed mind, be satisfied \nwith a wife like her—illiterate, artful, and selfish?\nThe youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally \nblind him to every thing but her beauty and good nature; \nbut the four succeeding years—years, which if rationally \nspent, give such improvement to the understanding, must \nhave opened his eyes to her defects of education, while the \nsame period of time, spent on her side in inferior society \nand more frivolous pursuits, had perhaps robbed her of that \nsimplicity which might once have given an interesting char-\nacter to her beauty.\nIf in the supposition of his seeking to marry herself, his \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n166\ndifficulties from his mother had seemed great, how much \ngreater were they now likely to be, when the object of his \nengagement was undoubtedly inferior in connections, and \nprobably inferior in fortune to herself. These difficulties, in-\ndeed, with a heart so alienated from Lucy, might not press \nvery hard upon his patience; but melancholy was the state \nof the person by whom the expectation of family opposition \nand unkindness, could be felt as a relief!\nAs these considerations occurred to her in painful suc-\ncession, she wept for him, more than for herself. Supported \nby the conviction of having done nothing to merit her pres-\nent unhappiness, and consoled by the belief that Edward had \ndone nothing to forfeit her esteem, she thought she could \neven now, under the first smart of the heavy blow, command \nherself enough to guard every suspicion of the truth from \nher mother and sisters. And so well was she able to answer \nher own expectations, that when she joined them at dinner \nonly two hours after she had first suffered the extinction of \nall her dearest hopes, no one would have supposed from the \nappearance of the sisters, that Elinor was mourning in se-\ncret over obstacles which must divide her for ever from the \nobject of her love, and that Marianne was internally dwell-\ning on the perfections of a man, of whose whole heart she \nfelt thoroughly possessed, and whom she expected to see in \nevery carriage which drove near their house.\nThe necessity of concealing from her mother and Mar-\nianne, what had been entrusted in confidence to herself, \nthough it obliged her to unceasing exertion, was no aggra-\nvation of Elinor’s distress. On the contrary it was a relief to \n\n\n167\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nher, to be spared the communication of what would give \nsuch affliction to them, and to be saved likewise from hear-\ning that condemnation of Edward, which would probably \nflow from the excess of their partial affection for herself, \nand which was more than she felt equal to support.\nFrom their counsel, or their conversation, she knew \nshe could receive no assistance, their tenderness and sor-\nrow must add to her distress, while her self-command \nwould neither receive encouragement from their example \nnor from their praise. She was stronger alone, and her own \ngood sense so well supported her, that her firmness was as \nunshaken, her appearance of cheerfulness as invariable, as \nwith regrets so poignant and so fresh, it was possible for \nthem to be.\nMuch as she had suffered from her first conversation \nwith Lucy on the subject, she soon felt an earnest wish of \nrenewing it; and this for more reasons than one. She want-\ned to hear many particulars of their engagement repeated \nagain, she wanted more clearly to understand what Lucy re-\nally felt for Edward, whether there were any sincerity in her \ndeclaration of tender regard for him, and she particularly \nwanted to convince Lucy, by her readiness to enter on the \nmatter again, and her calmness in conversing on it, that she \nwas no otherwise interested in it than as a friend, which she \nvery much feared her involuntary agitation, in their morn-\ning discourse, must have left at least doubtful. That Lucy was \ndisposed to be jealous of her appeared very probable: it was \nplain that Edward had always spoken highly in her praise, \nnot merely from Lucy’s assertion, but from her venturing \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n168\nto trust her on so short a personal acquaintance, with a se-\ncret so confessedly and evidently important. And even Sir \nJohn’s joking intelligence must have had some weight. But \nindeed, while Elinor remained so well assured within her-\nself of being really beloved by Edward, it required no other \nconsideration of probabilities to make it natural that Lucy \nshould be jealous; and that she was so, her very confidence \nwas a proof. What other reason for the disclosure of the af-\nfair could there be, but that Elinor might be informed by it \nof Lucy’s superior claims on Edward, and be taught to avoid \nhim in future? She had little difficulty in understanding \nthus much of her rival’s intentions, and while she was firm-\nly resolved to act by her as every principle of honour and \nhonesty directed, to combat her own affection for Edward \nand to see him as little as possible; she could not deny her-\nself the comfort of endeavouring to convince Lucy that her \nheart was unwounded. And as she could now have nothing \nmore painful to hear on the subject than had already been \ntold, she did not mistrust her own ability of going through \na repetition of particulars with composure.\nBut it was not immediately that an opportunity of doing \nso could be commanded, though Lucy was as well disposed \nas herself to take advantage of any that occurred; for the \nweather was not often fine enough to allow of their joining \nin a walk, where they might most easily separate themselves \nfrom the others; and though they met at least every oth-\ner evening either at the park or cottage, and chiefly at the \nformer, they could not be supposed to meet for the sake \nof conversation. Such a thought would never enter either \n\n\n169\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nSir John or Lady Middleton’s head; and therefore very lit-\ntle leisure was ever given for a general chat, and none at all \nfor particular discourse. They met for the sake of eating, \ndrinking, and laughing together, playing at cards, or conse-\nquences, or any other game that was sufficiently noisy.\nOne or two meetings of this kind had taken place, with-\nout affording Elinor any chance of engaging Lucy in private, \nwhen Sir John called at the cottage one morning, to beg, \nin the name of charity, that they would all dine with Lady \nMiddleton that day, as he was obliged to attend the club at \nExeter, and she would otherwise be quite alone, except her \nmother and the two Miss Steeles. Elinor, who foresaw a fair-\ner opening for the point she had in view, in such a party \nas this was likely to be, more at liberty among themselves \nunder the tranquil and well-bred direction of Lady Middle-\nton than when her husband united them together in one \nnoisy purpose, immediately accepted the invitation; Mar-\ngaret, with her mother’s permission, was equally compliant, \nand Marianne, though always unwilling to join any of their \nparties, was persuaded by her mother, who could not bear \nto have her seclude herself from any chance of amusement, \nto go likewise.\nThe young ladies went, and Lady Middleton was happily \npreserved from the frightful solitude which had threatened \nher. The insipidity of the meeting was exactly such as Eli-\nnor had expected; it produced not one novelty of thought \nor expression, and nothing could be less interesting than \nthe whole of their discourse both in the dining parlour \nand drawing room: to the latter, the children accompanied \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n170\nthem, and while they remained there, she was too well con-\nvinced of the impossibility of engaging Lucy’s attention to \nattempt it. They quitted it only with the removal of the tea-\nthings. The card-table was then placed, and Elinor began \nto wonder at herself for having ever entertained a hope of \nfinding time for conversation at the park. They all rose up \nin preparation for a round game.\n‘I am glad,’ said Lady Middleton to Lucy, ‘you are not go-\ning to finish poor little Annamaria’s basket this evening; for \nI am sure it must hurt your eyes to work filigree by candle-\nlight. And we will make the dear little love some amends \nfor her disappointment to-morrow, and then I hope she will \nnot much mind it.’\nThis hint was enough, Lucy recollected herself instant-\nly and replied, ‘Indeed you are very much mistaken, Lady \nMiddleton; I am only waiting to know whether you can \nmake your party without me, or I should have been at my \nfiligree already. I would not disappoint the little angel for all \nthe world: and if you want me at the card-table now, I am \nresolved to finish the basket after supper.’\n‘You are very good, I hope it won’t hurt your eyes— will \nyou ring the bell for some working candles? My poor lit-\ntle girl would be sadly disappointed, I know, if the basket \nwas not finished tomorrow, for though I told her it certainly \nwould not, I am sure she depends upon having it done.’\nLucy directly drew her work table near her and reseated \nherself with an alacrity and cheerfulness which seemed to \ninfer that she could taste no greater delight than in making \na filigree basket for a spoilt child.\n\n\n171\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nLady Middleton proposed a rubber of Casino to the oth-\ners. No one made any objection but Marianne, who with her \nusual inattention to the forms of general civility, exclaimed, \n‘Your Ladyship will have the goodness to excuse ME—you \nknow I detest cards. I shall go to the piano-forte; I have not \ntouched it since it was tuned.’ And without farther ceremo-\nny, she turned away and walked to the instrument.\nLady Middleton looked as if she thanked heaven that \nSHE had never made so rude a speech.\n‘Marianne can never keep long from that instrument you \nknow, ma’am,’ said Elinor, endeavouring to smooth away \nthe offence; ‘and I do not much wonder at it; for it is the very \nbest toned piano-forte I ever heard.’\nThe remaining five were now to draw their cards.\n‘Perhaps,’ continued Elinor, ‘if I should happen to cut \nout, I may be of some use to Miss Lucy Steele, in rolling \nher papers for her; and there is so much still to be done to \nthe basket, that it must be impossible I think for her labour \nsingly, to finish it this evening. I should like the work ex-\nceedingly, if she would allow me a share in it.’\n‘Indeed I shall be very much obliged to you for your help,’ \ncried Lucy, ‘for I find there is more to be done to it than I \nthought there was; and it would be a shocking thing to dis-\nappoint dear Annamaria after all.’\n‘Oh! that would be terrible, indeed,’ said Miss Steele— \n‘Dear little soul, how I do love her!’\n‘You are very kind,’ said Lady Middleton to Elinor; ‘and \nas you really like the work, perhaps you will be as well \npleased not to cut in till another rubber, or will you take \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n172\nyour chance now?’\nElinor joyfully profited by the first of these proposals, \nand thus by a little of that address which Marianne could \nnever condescend to practise, gained her own end, and \npleased Lady Middleton at the same time. Lucy made room \nfor her with ready attention, and the two fair rivals were \nthus seated side by side at the same table, and, with the ut-\nmost harmony, engaged in forwarding the same work. The \npianoforte at which Marianne, wrapped up in her own mu-\nsic and her own thoughts, had by this time forgotten that \nany body was in the room besides herself, was luckily so \nnear them that Miss Dashwood now judged she might safe-\nly, under the shelter of its noise, introduce the interesting \nsubject, without any risk of being heard at the card-table.\n\n\n173\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 24\nI\nn a firm, though cautious tone, Elinor thus began.\n‘I should be undeserving of the confidence you have \nhonoured me with, if I felt no desire for its continuance, \nor no farther curiosity on its subject. I will not apologize \ntherefore for bringing it forward again.’\n‘Thank you,’ cried Lucy warmly, ‘for breaking the ice; \nyou have set my heart at ease by it; for I was somehow or \nother afraid I had offended you by what I told you that Mon-\nday.’\n‘Offended me! How could you suppose so? Believe me,’ \nand Elinor spoke it with the truest sincerity, ‘nothing could \nbe farther from my intention than to give you such an idea. \nCould you have a motive for the trust, that was not honour-\nable and flattering to me?’\n‘And yet I do assure you,’ replied Lucy, her little sharp \neyes full of meaning, ‘there seemed to me to be a coldness \nand displeasure in your manner that made me quite un-\ncomfortable. I felt sure that you was angry with me; and \nhave been quarrelling with myself ever since, for having \ntook such a liberty as to trouble you with my affairs. But I \nam very glad to find it was only my own fancy, and that you \nreally do not blame me. If you knew what a consolation it \nwas to me to relieve my heart speaking to you of what I am \nalways thinking of every moment of my life, your compas-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n174\nsion would make you overlook every thing else I am sure.’\n‘Indeed, I can easily believe that it was a very great relief \nto you, to acknowledge your situation to me, and be assured \nthat you shall never have reason to repent it. Your case is \na very unfortunate one; you seem to me to be surrounded \nwith difficulties, and you will have need of all your mutual \naffection to support you under them. Mr. Ferrars, I believe, \nis entirely dependent on his mother.’\n‘He has only two thousand pounds of his own; it would \nbe madness to marry upon that, though for my own part, I \ncould give up every prospect of more without a sigh. I have \nbeen always used to a very small income, and could struggle \nwith any poverty for him; but I love him too well to be the \nselfish means of robbing him, perhaps, of all that his mother \nmight give him if he married to please her. We must wait, it \nmay be for many years. With almost every other man in the \nworld, it would be an alarming prospect; but Edward’s af-\nfection and constancy nothing can deprive me of I know.’\n‘That conviction must be every thing to you; and he is \nundoubtedly supported by the same trust in your’s. If the \nstrength of your reciprocal attachment had failed, as be-\ntween many people, and under many circumstances it \nnaturally would during a four years’ engagement, your situ-\nation would have been pitiable, indeed.’\nLucy here looked up; but Elinor was careful in guarding \nher countenance from every expression that could give her \nwords a suspicious tendency.\n‘Edward’s love for me,’ said Lucy, ‘has been pretty well \nput to the test, by our long, very long absence since we were \n\n\n175\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nfirst engaged, and it has stood the trial so well, that I should \nbe unpardonable to doubt it now. I can safely say that he has \nnever gave me one moment’s alarm on that account from \nthe first.’\nElinor hardly knew whether to smile or sigh at this as-\nsertion.\nLucy went on. ‘I am rather of a jealous temper too by \nnature, and from our different situations in life, from his \nbeing so much more in the world than me, and our con-\ntinual separation, I was enough inclined for suspicion, to \nhave found out the truth in an instant, if there had been the \nslightest alteration in his behaviour to me when we met, or \nany lowness of spirits that I could not account for, or if he \nhad talked more of one lady than another, or seemed in any \nrespect less happy at Longstaple than he used to be. I do \nnot mean to say that I am particularly observant or quick-\nsighted in general, but in such a case I am sure I could not \nbe deceived.’\n‘All this,’ thought Elinor, ‘is very pretty; but it can im-\npose upon neither of us.’\n‘But what,’ said she after a short silence, ‘are your views? \nor have you none but that of waiting for Mrs. Ferrars’s \ndeath, which is a melancholy and shocking extremity?—Is \nher son determined to submit to this, and to all the tedious-\nness of the many years of suspense in which it may involve \nyou, rather than run the risk of her displeasure for a while \nby owning the truth?’\n‘If we could be certain that it would be only for a while! \nBut Mrs. Ferrars is a very headstrong proud woman, and in \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n176\nher first fit of anger upon hearing it, would very likely secure \nevery thing to Robert, and the idea of that, for Edward’s \nsake, frightens away all my inclination for hasty measures.’\n‘And for your own sake too, or you are carrying your dis-\ninterestedness beyond reason.’\nLucy looked at Elinor again, and was silent.\n‘Do you know Mr. Robert Ferrars?’ asked Elinor.\n‘Not at all—I never saw him; but I fancy he is very unlike \nhis brother—silly and a great coxcomb.’\n‘A great coxcomb!’ repeated Miss Steele, whose ear had \ncaught those words by a sudden pause in Marianne’s mu-\nsic.— ‘Oh, they are talking of their favourite beaux, I dare \nsay.’\n‘No sister,’ cried Lucy, ‘you are mistaken there, our fa-\nvourite beaux are NOT great coxcombs.’\n‘I can answer for it that Miss Dashwood’s is not,’ said \nMrs. Jennings, laughing heartily; ‘for he is one of the \nmodestest, prettiest behaved young men I ever saw; but as \nfor Lucy, she is such a sly little creature, there is no finding \nout who SHE likes.’\n‘Oh,’ cried Miss Steele, looking significantly round at \nthem, ‘I dare say Lucy’s beau is quite as modest and pretty \nbehaved as Miss Dashwood’s.’\nElinor blushed in spite of herself. Lucy bit her lip, and \nlooked angrily at her sister. A mutual silence took place for \nsome time. Lucy first put an end to it by saying in a lower \ntone, though Marianne was then giving them the powerful \nprotection of a very magnificent concerto—\n‘I will honestly tell you of one scheme which has lately \n\n\n177\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ncome into my head, for bringing matters to bear; indeed I \nam bound to let you into the secret, for you are a party con-\ncerned. I dare say you have seen enough of Edward to know \nthat he would prefer the church to every other profession; \nnow my plan is that he should take orders as soon as he \ncan, and then through your interest, which I am sure you \nwould be kind enough to use out of friendship for him, and \nI hope out of some regard to me, your brother might be per-\nsuaded to give him Norland living; which I understand is a \nvery good one, and the present incumbent not likely to live \na great while. That would be enough for us to marry upon, \nand we might trust to time and chance for the rest.’\n‘I should always be happy,’ replied Elinor, ‘to show any \nmark of my esteem and friendship for Mr. Ferrars; but do \nyou not perceive that my interest on such an occasion would \nbe perfectly unnecessary? He is brother to Mrs. John Dash-\nwood—THAT must be recommendation enough to her \nhusband.’\n‘But Mrs. John Dashwood would not much approve of \nEdward’s going into orders.’\n‘Then I rather suspect that my interest would do very lit-\ntle.’\nThey were again silent for many minutes. At length Lucy \nexclaimed with a deep sigh,\n‘I believe it would be the wisest way to put an end to the \nbusiness at once by dissolving the engagement. We seem so \nbeset with difficulties on every side, that though it would \nmake us miserable for a time, we should be happier per-\nhaps in the end. But you will not give me your advice, Miss \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n178\nDashwood?’\n‘No,’ answered Elinor, with a smile, which concealed \nvery agitated feelings, ‘on such a subject I certainly will not. \nYou know very well that my opinion would have no weight \nwith you, unless it were on the side of your wishes.’\n‘Indeed you wrong me,’ replied Lucy, with great solem-\nnity; ‘I know nobody of whose judgment I think so highly \nas I do of yours; and I do really believe, that if you was to \nsay to me, ‘I advise you by all means to put an end to your \nengagement with Edward Ferrars, it will be more for the \nhappiness of both of you,’ I should resolve upon doing it \nimmediately.’\nElinor blushed for the insincerity of Edward’s future \nwife, and replied, ‘This compliment would effectually \nfrighten me from giving any opinion on the subject had I \nformed one. It raises my influence much too high; the pow-\ner of dividing two people so tenderly attached is too much \nfor an indifferent person.’\n‘Tis because you are an indifferent person,’ said Lucy, \nwith some pique, and laying a particular stress on those \nwords, ‘that your judgment might justly have such weight \nwith me. If you could be supposed to be biased in any re-\nspect by your own feelings, your opinion would not be \nworth having.’\nElinor thought it wisest to make no answer to this, lest \nthey might provoke each other to an unsuitable increase of \nease and unreserve; and was even partly determined never \nto mention the subject again. Another pause therefore of \nmany minutes’ duration, succeeded this speech, and Lucy \n\n\n179\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nwas still the first to end it.\n‘Shall you be in town this winter, Miss Dashwood?’ said \nshe with all her accustomary complacency.\n‘Certainly not.’\n‘I am sorry for that,’ returned the other, while her eyes \nbrightened at the information, ‘it would have gave me such \npleasure to meet you there! But I dare say you will go for \nall that. To be sure, your brother and sister will ask you to \ncome to them.’\n‘It will not be in my power to accept their invitation if \nthey do.’\n‘How unlucky that is! I had quite depended upon meet-\ning you there. Anne and me are to go the latter end of \nJanuary to some relations who have been wanting us to visit \nthem these several years! But I only go for the sake of seeing \nEdward. He will be there in February, otherwise London \nwould have no charms for me; I have not spirits for it.’\nElinor was soon called to the card-table by the conclu-\nsion of the first rubber, and the confidential discourse of the \ntwo ladies was therefore at an end, to which both of them \nsubmitted without any reluctance, for nothing had been \nsaid on either side to make them dislike each other less than \nthey had done before; and Elinor sat down to the card table \nwith the melancholy persuasion that Edward was not only \nwithout affection for the person who was to be his wife; but \nthat he had not even the chance of being tolerably happy in \nmarriage, which sincere affection on HER side would have \ngiven, for self-interest alone could induce a woman to keep \na man to an engagement, of which she seemed so thorough-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n180\nly aware that he was weary.\nFrom this time the subject was never revived by Elinor, \nand when entered on by Lucy, who seldom missed an op-\nportunity of introducing it, and was particularly careful to \ninform her confidante, of her happiness whenever she re-\nceived a letter from Edward, it was treated by the former \nwith calmness and caution, and dismissed as soon as ci-\nvility would allow; for she felt such conversations to be an \nindulgence which Lucy did not deserve, and which were \ndangerous to herself.\nThe visit of the Miss Steeles at Barton Park was length-\nened far beyond what the first invitation implied. Their \nfavour increased; they could not be spared; Sir John would \nnot hear of their going; and in spite of their numerous and \nlong arranged engagements in Exeter, in spite of the ab-\nsolute necessity of returning to fulfill them immediately, \nwhich was in full force at the end of every week, they were \nprevailed on to stay nearly two months at the park, and to \nassist in the due celebration of that festival which requires a \nmore than ordinary share of private balls and large dinners \nto proclaim its importance.\n\n\n181\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 25\nT\nhough Mrs. Jennings was in the habit of spending a large \nportion of the year at the houses of her children and \nfriends, she was not without a settled habitation of her own. \nSince the death of her husband, who had traded with suc-\ncess in a less elegant part of the town, she had resided every \nwinter in a house in one of the streets near Portman Square. \nTowards this home, she began on the approach of January \nto turn her thoughts, and thither she one day abruptly, and \nvery unexpectedly by them, asked the elder Misses Dash-\nwood to accompany her. Elinor, without observing the \nvarying complexion of her sister, and the animated look \nwhich spoke no indifference to the plan, immediately gave a \ngrateful but absolute denial for both, in which she believed \nherself to be speaking their united inclinations. The reason \nalleged was their determined resolution of not leaving their \nmother at that time of the year. Mrs. Jennings received the \nrefusal with some surprise, and repeated her invitation im-\nmediately.\n‘Oh, Lord! I am sure your mother can spare you very \nwell, and I DO beg you will favour me with your company, \nfor I’ve quite set my heart upon it. Don’t fancy that you will \nbe any inconvenience to me, for I shan’t put myself at all \nout of my way for you. It will only be sending Betty by the \ncoach, and I hope I can afford THAT. We three shall be able \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n182\nto go very well in my chaise; and when we are in town, if \nyou do not like to go wherever I do, well and good, you may \nalways go with one of my daughters. I am sure your mother \nwill not object to it; for I have had such good luck in getting \nmy own children off my hands that she will think me a very \nfit person to have the charge of you; and if I don’t get one \nof you at least well married before I have done with you, it \nshall not be my fault. I shall speak a good word for you to all \nthe young men, you may depend upon it.’\n‘I have a notion,’ said Sir John, ‘that Miss Marianne \nwould not object to such a scheme, if her elder sister would \ncome into it. It is very hard indeed that she should not have \na little pleasure, because Miss Dashwood does not wish it. \nSo I would advise you two, to set off for town, when you are \ntired of Barton, without saying a word to Miss Dashwood \nabout it.’\n‘Nay,’ cried Mrs. Jennings, ‘I am sure I shall be mon-\nstrous glad of Miss Marianne’s company, whether Miss \nDashwood will go or not, only the more the merrier say I, \nand I thought it would be more comfortable for them to be \ntogether; because, if they got tired of me, they might talk \nto one another, and laugh at my old ways behind my back. \nBut one or the other, if not both of them, I must have. Lord \nbless me! how do you think I can live poking by myself, I \nwho have been always used till this winter to have Charlotte \nwith me. Come, Miss Marianne, let us strike hands upon \nthe bargain, and if Miss Dashwood will change her mind by \nand bye, why so much the better.’\n‘I thank you, ma’am, sincerely thank you,’ said Marianne, \n\n\n183\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nwith warmth: ‘your invitation has insured my gratitude for \never, and it would give me such happiness, yes, almost the \ngreatest happiness I am capable of, to be able to accept it. \nBut my mother, my dearest, kindest mother,—I feel the jus-\ntice of what Elinor has urged, and if she were to be made \nless happy, less comfortable by our absence—Oh! no, noth-\ning should tempt me to leave her. It should not, must not be \na struggle.’\nMrs. Jennings repeated her assurance that Mrs. Dash-\nwood could spare them perfectly well; and Elinor, who now \nunderstood her sister, and saw to what indifference to al-\nmost every thing else she was carried by her eagerness to be \nwith Willoughby again, made no farther direct opposition \nto the plan, and merely referred it to her mother’s decision, \nfrom whom however she scarcely expected to receive any \nsupport in her endeavour to prevent a visit, which she could \nnot approve of for Marianne, and which on her own account \nshe had particular reasons to avoid. Whatever Marianne \nwas desirous of, her mother would be eager to promote—\nshe could not expect to influence the latter to cautiousness \nof conduct in an affair respecting which she had never been \nable to inspire her with distrust; and she dared not explain \nthe motive of her own disinclination for going to London. \nThat Marianne, fastidious as she was, thoroughly acquaint-\ned with Mrs. Jennings’ manners, and invariably disgusted \nby them, should overlook every inconvenience of that kind, \nshould disregard whatever must be most wounding to her \nirritable feelings, in her pursuit of one object, was such a \nproof, so strong, so full, of the importance of that object to \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n184\nher, as Elinor, in spite of all that had passed, was not pre-\npared to witness.\nOn being informed of the invitation, Mrs. Dashwood, \npersuaded that such an excursion would be productive of \nmuch amusement to both her daughters, and perceiving \nthrough all her affectionate attention to herself, how much \nthe heart of Marianne was in it, would not hear of their de-\nclining the offer upon HER account; insisted on their both \naccepting it directly; and then began to foresee, with her \nusual cheerfulness, a variety of advantages that would ac-\ncrue to them all, from this separation.\n‘I am delighted with the plan,’ she cried, ‘it is exactly what \nI could wish. Margaret and I shall be as much benefited by \nit as yourselves. When you and the Middletons are gone, \nwe shall go on so quietly and happily together with our \nbooks and our music! You will find Margaret so improved \nwhen you come back again! I have a little plan of altera-\ntion for your bedrooms too, which may now be performed \nwithout any inconvenience to any one. It is very right that \nyou SHOULD go to town; I would have every young wom-\nan of your condition in life acquainted with the manners \nand amusements of London. You will be under the care of \na motherly good sort of woman, of whose kindness to you I \ncan have no doubt. And in all probability you will see your \nbrother, and whatever may be his faults, or the faults of his \nwife, when I consider whose son he is, I cannot bear to have \nyou so wholly estranged from each other.’\n‘Though with your usual anxiety for our happiness,’ said \nElinor, ‘you have been obviating every impediment to the \n\n\n185\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\npresent scheme which occurred to you, there is still one ob-\njection which, in my opinion, cannot be so easily removed.’\nMarianne’s countenance sunk.\n‘And what,’ said Mrs. Dashwood, ‘is my dear prudent \nElinor going to suggest? What formidable obstacle is she \nnow to bring forward? Do let me hear a word about the ex-\npense of it.’\n‘My objection is this; though I think very well of Mrs. \nJennings’s heart, she is not a woman whose society can \nafford us pleasure, or whose protection will give us conse-\nquence.’\n‘That is very true,’ replied her mother, ‘but of her society, \nseparately from that of other people, you will scarcely have \nany thing at all, and you will almost always appear in public \nwith Lady Middleton.’\n‘If Elinor is frightened away by her dislike of Mrs. Jen-\nnings,’ said Marianne, ‘at least it need not prevent MY \naccepting her invitation. I have no such scruples, and I am \nsure I could put up with every unpleasantness of that kind \nwith very little effort.’\nElinor could not help smiling at this display of indiffer-\nence towards the manners of a person, to whom she had \noften had difficulty in persuading Marianne to behave with \ntolerable politeness; and resolved within herself, that if her \nsister persisted in going, she would go likewise, as she did \nnot think it proper that Marianne should be left to the sole \nguidance of her own judgment, or that Mrs. Jennings should \nbe abandoned to the mercy of Marianne for all the comfort \nof her domestic hours. To this determination she was the \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n186\nmore easily reconciled, by recollecting that Edward Ferrars, \nby Lucy’s account, was not to be in town before February; \nand that their visit, without any unreasonable abridgement, \nmight be previously finished.\n‘I will have you BOTH go,’ said Mrs. Dashwood; ‘these \nobjections are nonsensical. You will have much pleasure in \nbeing in London, and especially in being together; and if \nElinor would ever condescend to anticipate enjoyment, she \nwould foresee it there from a variety of sources; she would, \nperhaps, expect some from improving her acquaintance \nwith her sister-in-law’s family.’\nElinor had often wished for an opportunity of attempt-\ning to weaken her mother’s dependence on the attachment \nof Edward and herself, that the shock might be less when the \nwhole truth were revealed, and now on this attack, though \nalmost hopeless of success, she forced herself to begin her \ndesign by saying, as calmly as she could, ‘I like Edward Fer-\nrars very much, and shall always be glad to see him; but as \nto the rest of the family, it is a matter of perfect indifference \nto me, whether I am ever known to them or not.’\nMrs. Dashwood smiled, and said nothing. Marianne lift-\ned up her eyes in astonishment, and Elinor conjectured that \nshe might as well have held her tongue.\nAfter very little farther discourse, it was finally settled \nthat the invitation should be fully accepted. Mrs. Jennings \nreceived the information with a great deal of joy, and many \nassurances of kindness and care; nor was it a matter of plea-\nsure merely to her. Sir John was delighted; for to a man, \nwhose prevailing anxiety was the dread of being alone, the \n\n\n187\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nacquisition of two, to the number of inhabitants in London, \nwas something. Even Lady Middleton took the trouble of \nbeing delighted, which was putting herself rather out of her \nway; and as for the Miss Steeles, especially Lucy, they had \nnever been so happy in their lives as this intelligence made \nthem.\nElinor submitted to the arrangement which counteract-\ned her wishes with less reluctance than she had expected to \nfeel. With regard to herself, it was now a matter of uncon-\ncern whether she went to town or not, and when she saw her \nmother so thoroughly pleased with the plan, and her sister \nexhilarated by it in look, voice, and manner, restored to all \nher usual animation, and elevated to more than her usu-\nal gaiety, she could not be dissatisfied with the cause, and \nwould hardly allow herself to distrust the consequence.\nMarianne’s joy was almost a degree beyond happiness, \nso great was the perturbation of her spirits and her impa-\ntience to be gone. Her unwillingness to quit her mother \nwas her only restorative to calmness; and at the moment of \nparting her grief on that score was excessive. Her mother’s \naffliction was hardly less, and Elinor was the only one of the \nthree, who seemed to consider the separation as any thing \nshort of eternal.\nTheir departure took place in the first week in January. \nThe Middletons were to follow in about a week. The Miss \nSteeles kept their station at the park, and were to quit it only \nwith the rest of the family.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n188\nChapter 26\nE\nlinor could not find herself in the carriage with Mrs. \nJennings, and beginning a journey to London under \nher protection, and as her guest, without wondering at her \nown situation, so short had their acquaintance with that \nlady been, so wholly unsuited were they in age and dispo-\nsition, and so many had been her objections against such a \nmeasure only a few days before! But these objections had \nall, with that happy ardour of youth which Marianne and \nher mother equally shared, been overcome or overlooked; \nand Elinor, in spite of every occasional doubt of Willough-\nby’s constancy, could not witness the rapture of delightful \nexpectation which filled the whole soul and beamed in the \neyes of Marianne, without feeling how blank was her own \nprospect, how cheerless her own state of mind in the com-\nparison, and how gladly she would engage in the solicitude \nof Marianne’s situation to have the same animating object in \nview, the same possibility of hope. A short, a very short time \nhowever must now decide what Willoughby’s intentions \nwere; in all probability he was already in town. Marianne’s \neagerness to be gone declared her dependence on finding \nhim there; and Elinor was resolved not only upon gaining \nevery new light as to his character which her own observa-\ntion or the intelligence of others could give her, but likewise \nupon watching his behaviour to her sister with such zealous \n\n\n189\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nattention, as to ascertain what he was and what he meant, \nbefore many meetings had taken place. Should the result of \nher observations be unfavourable, she was determined at all \nevents to open the eyes of her sister; should it be otherwise, \nher exertions would be of a different nature—she must then \nlearn to avoid every selfish comparison, and banish every \nregret which might lessen her satisfaction in the happiness \nof Marianne.\nThey were three days on their journey, and Marianne’s \nbehaviour as they travelled was a happy specimen of what \nfuture complaisance and companionableness to Mrs. Jen-\nnings might be expected to be. She sat in silence almost all \nthe way, wrapt in her own meditations, and scarcely ever \nvoluntarily speaking, except when any object of picturesque \nbeauty within their view drew from her an exclamation of \ndelight exclusively addressed to her sister. To atone for this \nconduct therefore, Elinor took immediate possession of the \npost of civility which she had assigned herself, behaved with \nthe greatest attention to Mrs. Jennings, talked with her, \nlaughed with her, and listened to her whenever she could; \nand Mrs. Jennings on her side treated them both with all \npossible kindness, was solicitous on every occasion for their \nease and enjoyment, and only disturbed that she could not \nmake them choose their own dinners at the inn, nor ex-\ntort a confession of their preferring salmon to cod, or boiled \nfowls to veal cutlets. They reached town by three o’clock the \nthird day, glad to be released, after such a journey, from the \nconfinement of a carriage, and ready to enjoy all the luxury \nof a good fire.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n190\nThe house was handsome, and handsomely fitted up, and \nthe young ladies were immediately put in possession of a \nvery comfortable apartment. It had formerly been Char-\nlotte’s, and over the mantelpiece still hung a landscape in \ncoloured silks of her performance, in proof of her having \nspent seven years at a great school in town to some effect.\nAs dinner was not to be ready in less than two hours \nfrom their arrival, Elinor determined to employ the interval \nin writing to her mother, and sat down for that purpose. In \na few moments Marianne did the same. ‘I am writing home, \nMarianne,’ said Elinor; ‘had not you better defer your letter \nfor a day or two?’\n‘I am NOT going to write to my mother,’ replied Mari-\nanne, hastily, and as if wishing to avoid any farther inquiry. \nElinor said no more; it immediately struck her that she must \nthen be writing to Willoughby; and the conclusion which \nas instantly followed was, that, however mysteriously they \nmight wish to conduct the affair, they must be engaged. \nThis conviction, though not entirely satisfactory, gave her \npleasure, and she continued her letter with greater alacrity. \nMarianne’s was finished in a very few minutes; in length it \ncould be no more than a note; it was then folded up, sealed, \nand directed with eager rapidity. Elinor thought she could \ndistinguish a large W in the direction; and no sooner was \nit complete than Marianne, ringing the bell, requested the \nfootman who answered it to get that letter conveyed for her \nto the two-penny post. This decided the matter at once.\nHer spirits still continued very high; but there was a flut-\nter in them which prevented their giving much pleasure to \n\n\n191\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nher sister, and this agitation increased as the evening drew \non. She could scarcely eat any dinner, and when they af-\nterwards returned to the drawing room, seemed anxiously \nlistening to the sound of every carriage.\nIt was a great satisfaction to Elinor that Mrs. Jennings, \nby being much engaged in her own room, could see little of \nwhat was passing. The tea things were brought in, and al-\nready had Marianne been disappointed more than once by \na rap at a neighbouring door, when a loud one was sudden-\nly heard which could not be mistaken for one at any other \nhouse, Elinor felt secure of its announcing Willoughby’s \napproach, and Marianne, starting up, moved towards the \ndoor. Every thing was silent; this could not be borne many \nseconds; she opened the door, advanced a few steps towards \nthe stairs, and after listening half a minute, returned into \nthe room in all the agitation which a conviction of having \nheard him would naturally produce; in the ecstasy of her \nfeelings at that instant she could not help exclaiming, ‘Oh, \nElinor, it is Willoughby, indeed it is!’ and seemed almost \nready to throw herself into his arms, when Colonel Bran-\ndon appeared.\nIt was too great a shock to be borne with calmness, and \nshe immediately left the room. Elinor was disappointed too; \nbut at the same time her regard for Colonel Brandon en-\nsured his welcome with her; and she felt particularly hurt \nthat a man so partial to her sister should perceive that she \nexperienced nothing but grief and disappointment in see-\ning him. She instantly saw that it was not unnoticed by him, \nthat he even observed Marianne as she quitted the room, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n192\nwith such astonishment and concern, as hardly left him the \nrecollection of what civility demanded towards herself.\n‘Is your sister ill?’ said he.\nElinor answered in some distress that she was, and then \ntalked of head-aches, low spirits, and over fatigues; and of \nevery thing to which she could decently attribute her sister’s \nbehaviour.\nHe heard her with the most earnest attention, but seem-\ning to recollect himself, said no more on the subject, and \nbegan directly to speak of his pleasure at seeing them in \nLondon, making the usual inquiries about their journey, \nand the friends they had left behind.\nIn this calm kind of way, with very little interest on either \nside, they continued to talk, both of them out of spirits, and \nthe thoughts of both engaged elsewhere. Elinor wished very \nmuch to ask whether Willoughby were then in town, but she \nwas afraid of giving him pain by any enquiry after his rival; \nand at length, by way of saying something, she asked if he \nhad been in London ever since she had seen him last. ‘Yes,’ \nhe replied, with some embarrassment, ‘almost ever since; I \nhave been once or twice at Delaford for a few days, but it has \nnever been in my power to return to Barton.’\nThis, and the manner in which it was said, immediately \nbrought back to her remembrance all the circumstances of \nhis quitting that place, with the uneasiness and suspicions \nthey had caused to Mrs. Jennings, and she was fearful that \nher question had implied much more curiosity on the sub-\nject than she had ever felt.\nMrs. Jennings soon came in. ‘Oh! Colonel,’ said she, with \n\n\n193\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nher usual noisy cheerfulness, ‘I am monstrous glad to see \nyou—sorry I could not come before—beg your pardon, but \nI have been forced to look about me a little, and settle my \nmatters; for it is a long while since I have been at home, and \nyou know one has always a world of little odd things to do \nafter one has been away for any time; and then I have had \nCartwright to settle with— Lord, I have been as busy as a \nbee ever since dinner! But pray, Colonel, how came you to \nconjure out that I should be in town today?’\n‘I had the pleasure of hearing it at Mr. Palmer’s, where I \nhave been dining.’\n‘Oh, you did; well, and how do they all do at their house? \nHow does Charlotte do? I warrant you she is a fine size by \nthis time.’\n‘Mrs. Palmer appeared quite well, and I am commissioned \nto tell you, that you will certainly see her to-morrow.’\n‘Ay, to be sure, I thought as much. Well, Colonel, I have \nbrought two young ladies with me, you see—that is, you see \nbut one of them now, but there is another somewhere. Your \nfriend, Miss Marianne, too—which you will not be sorry to \nhear. I do not know what you and Mr. Willoughby will do \nbetween you about her. Ay, it is a fine thing to be young and \nhandsome. Well! I was young once, but I never was very \nhandsome—worse luck for me. However, I got a very good \nhusband, and I don’t know what the greatest beauty can do \nmore. Ah! poor man! he has been dead these eight years and \nbetter. But Colonel, where have you been to since we part-\ned? And how does your business go on? Come, come, let’s \nhave no secrets among friends.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n194\nHe replied with his accustomary mildness to all her \ninquiries, but without satisfying her in any. Elinor now be-\ngan to make the tea, and Marianne was obliged to appear \nagain.\nAfter her entrance, Colonel Brandon became more \nthoughtful and silent than he had been before, and Mrs. \nJennings could not prevail on him to stay long. No other \nvisitor appeared that evening, and the ladies were unani-\nmous in agreeing to go early to bed.\nMarianne rose the next morning with recovered spirits \nand happy looks. The disappointment of the evening before \nseemed forgotten in the expectation of what was to happen \nthat day. They had not long finished their breakfast before \nMrs. Palmer’s barouche stopped at the door, and in a few \nminutes she came laughing into the room: so delighted to \nsee them all, that it was hard to say whether she received \nmost pleasure from meeting her mother or the Miss Dash-\nwoods again. So surprised at their coming to town, though \nit was what she had rather expected all along; so angry at \ntheir accepting her mother’s invitation after having de-\nclined her own, though at the same time she would never \nhave forgiven them if they had not come!\n‘Mr. Palmer will be so happy to see you,’ said she; ‘What \ndo you think he said when he heard of your coming with \nMamma? I forget what it was now, but it was something so \ndroll!’\nAfter an hour or two spent in what her mother called \ncomfortable chat, or in other words, in every variety of in-\nquiry concerning all their acquaintance on Mrs. Jennings’s \n\n\n195\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nside, and in laughter without cause on Mrs. Palmer’s, it was \nproposed by the latter that they should all accompany her to \nsome shops where she had business that morning, to which \nMrs. Jennings and Elinor readily consented, as having like-\nwise some purchases to make themselves; and Marianne, \nthough declining it at first was induced to go likewise.\nWherever they went, she was evidently always on the \nwatch. In Bond Street especially, where much of their busi-\nness lay, her eyes were in constant inquiry; and in whatever \nshop the party were engaged, her mind was equally ab-\nstracted from every thing actually before them, from all \nthat interested and occupied the others. Restless and dissat-\nisfied every where, her sister could never obtain her opinion \nof any article of purchase, however it might equally concern \nthem both: she received no pleasure from anything; was \nonly impatient to be at home again, and could with diffi-\nculty govern her vexation at the tediousness of Mrs. Palmer, \nwhose eye was caught by every thing pretty, expensive, or \nnew; who was wild to buy all, could determine on none, and \ndawdled away her time in rapture and indecision.\nIt was late in the morning before they returned home; \nand no sooner had they entered the house than Marianne \nflew eagerly up stairs, and when Elinor followed, she found \nher turning from the table with a sorrowful countenance, \nwhich declared that no Willoughby had been there.\n‘Has no letter been left here for me since we went out?’ \nsaid she to the footman who then entered with the parcels. \nShe was answered in the negative. ‘Are you quite sure of it?’ \nshe replied. ‘Are you certain that no servant, no porter has \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n196\nleft any letter or note?’\nThe man replied that none had.\n‘How very odd!’ said she, in a low and disappointed \nvoice, as she turned away to the window.\n‘How odd, indeed!’ repeated Elinor within herself, re-\ngarding her sister with uneasiness. ‘If she had not known \nhim to be in town she would not have written to him, as she \ndid; she would have written to Combe Magna; and if he is \nin town, how odd that he should neither come nor write! \nOh! my dear mother, you must be wrong in permitting an \nengagement between a daughter so young, a man so little \nknown, to be carried on in so doubtful, so mysterious a \nmanner! I long to inquire; and how will MY interference \nbe borne.’\nShe determined, after some consideration, that if ap-\npearances continued many days longer as unpleasant as \nthey now were, she would represent in the strongest man-\nner to her mother the necessity of some serious enquiry into \nthe affair.\nMrs. Palmer and two elderly ladies of Mrs. Jennings’s in-\ntimate acquaintance, whom she had met and invited in the \nmorning, dined with them. The former left them soon af-\nter tea to fulfill her evening engagements; and Elinor was \nobliged to assist in making a whist table for the others. Mar-\nianne was of no use on these occasions, as she would never \nlearn the game; but though her time was therefore at her \nown disposal, the evening was by no means more produc-\ntive of pleasure to her than to Elinor, for it was spent in all \nthe anxiety of expectation and the pain of disappointment. \n\n\n197\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nShe sometimes endeavoured for a few minutes to read; but \nthe book was soon thrown aside, and she returned to the \nmore interesting employment of walking backwards and \nforwards across the room, pausing for a moment whenev-\ner she came to the window, in hopes of distinguishing the \nlong-expected rap.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n198\nChapter 27\n‘I\nf this open weather holds much longer,’ said Mrs. \nJennings, when they met at breakfast the following \nmorning, ‘Sir John will not like leaving Barton next week; \n‘tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a day’s pleasure. Poor \nsouls! I always pity them when they do; they seem to take it \nso much to heart.’\n‘That is true,’ cried Marianne, in a cheerful voice, and \nwalking to the window as she spoke, to examine the day. \n‘I had not thought of that. This weather will keep many \nsportsmen in the country.’\nIt was a lucky recollection, all her good spirits were re-\nstored by it. ‘It is charming weather for THEM indeed,’ she \ncontinued, as she sat down to the breakfast table with a hap-\npy countenance. ‘How much they must enjoy it! But’ (with \na little return of anxiety) ‘it cannot be expected to last long. \nAt this time of the year, and after such a series of rain, we \nshall certainly have very little more of it. Frosts will soon \nset in, and in all probability with severity. In another day \nor two perhaps; this extreme mildness can hardly last lon-\nger—nay, perhaps it may freeze tonight!’\n‘At any rate,’ said Elinor, wishing to prevent Mrs. Jen-\nnings from seeing her sister’s thoughts as clearly as she did, \n‘I dare say we shall have Sir John and Lady Middleton in \ntown by the end of next week.’\n\n\n199\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘Ay, my dear, I’ll warrant you we do. Mary always has her \nown way.’\n‘And now,’ silently conjectured Elinor, ‘she will write to \nCombe by this day’s post.’\nBut if she DID, the letter was written and sent away with \na privacy which eluded all her watchfulness to ascertain the \nfact. Whatever the truth of it might be, and far as Elinor \nwas from feeling thorough contentment about it, yet while \nshe saw Marianne in spirits, she could not be very uncom-\nfortable herself. And Marianne was in spirits; happy in the \nmildness of the weather, and still happier in her expectation \nof a frost.\nThe morning was chiefly spent in leaving cards at the \nhouses of Mrs. Jennings’s acquaintance to inform them of \nher being in town; and Marianne was all the time busy in \nobserving the direction of the wind, watching the varia-\ntions of the sky and imagining an alteration in the air.\n‘Don’t you find it colder than it was in the morning, Eli-\nnor? There seems to me a very decided difference. I can \nhardly keep my hands warm even in my muff. It was not so \nyesterday, I think. The clouds seem parting too, the sun will \nbe out in a moment, and we shall have a clear afternoon.’\nElinor was alternately diverted and pained; but Mari-\nanne persevered, and saw every night in the brightness of \nthe fire, and every morning in the appearance of the atmo-\nsphere, the certain symptoms of approaching frost.\nThe Miss Dashwoods had no greater reason to be dis-\nsatisfied with Mrs. Jennings’s style of living, and set of \nacquaintance, than with her behaviour to themselves, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n200\nwhich was invariably kind. Every thing in her household \narrangements was conducted on the most liberal plan, and \nexcepting a few old city friends, whom, to Lady Middleton’s \nregret, she had never dropped, she visited no one to whom \nan introduction could at all discompose the feelings of \nher young companions. Pleased to find herself more com-\nfortably situated in that particular than she had expected, \nElinor was very willing to compound for the want of much \nreal enjoyment from any of their evening parties, which, \nwhether at home or abroad, formed only for cards, could \nhave little to amuse her.\nColonel Brandon, who had a general invitation to the \nhouse, was with them almost every day; he came to look at \nMarianne and talk to Elinor, who often derived more sat-\nisfaction from conversing with him than from any other \ndaily occurrence, but who saw at the same time with much \nconcern his continued regard for her sister. She feared it was \na strengthening regard. It grieved her to see the earnestness \nwith which he often watched Marianne, and his spirits were \ncertainly worse than when at Barton.\nAbout a week after their arrival, it became certain that \nWilloughby was also arrived. His card was on the table \nwhen they came in from the morning’s drive.\n‘Good God!’ cried Marianne, ‘he has been here while we \nwere out.’ Elinor, rejoiced to be assured of his being in Lon-\ndon, now ventured to say, ‘Depend upon it, he will call again \ntomorrow.’ But Marianne seemed hardly to hear her, and on \nMrs. Jenning’s entrance, escaped with the precious card.\nThis event, while it raised the spirits of Elinor, restored \n\n\n201\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nto those of her sister all, and more than all, their former \nagitation. From this moment her mind was never quiet; the \nexpectation of seeing him every hour of the day, made her \nunfit for any thing. She insisted on being left behind, the \nnext morning, when the others went out.\nElinor’s thoughts were full of what might be passing in \nBerkeley Street during their absence; but a moment’s glance \nat her sister when they returned was enough to inform her, \nthat Willoughby had paid no second visit there. A note was \njust then brought in, and laid on the table,\n‘For me!’ cried Marianne, stepping hastily forward.\n‘No, ma’am, for my mistress.’\nBut Marianne, not convinced, took it instantly up.\n‘It is indeed for Mrs. Jennings; how provoking!’\n‘You are expecting a letter, then?’ said Elinor, unable to \nbe longer silent.\n‘Yes, a little—not much.’\nAfter a short pause. ‘You have no confidence in me, Mar-\nianne.’\n‘Nay, Elinor, this reproach from YOU—you who have \nconfidence in no one!’\n‘Me!’ returned Elinor in some confusion; ‘indeed, Mari-\nanne, I have nothing to tell.’\n‘Nor I,’ answered Marianne with energy, ‘our situations \nthen are alike. We have neither of us any thing to tell; you, \nbecause you do not communicate, and I, because I conceal \nnothing.’\nElinor, distressed by this charge of reserve in herself, \nwhich she was not at liberty to do away, knew not how, un-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n202\nder such circumstances, to press for greater openness in \nMarianne.\nMrs. Jennings soon appeared, and the note being given \nher, she read it aloud. It was from Lady Middleton, an-\nnouncing their arrival in Conduit Street the night before, \nand requesting the company of her mother and cousins the \nfollowing evening. Business on Sir John’s part, and a violent \ncold on her own, prevented their calling in Berkeley Street. \nThe invitation was accepted; but when the hour of appoint-\nment drew near, necessary as it was in common civility to \nMrs. Jennings, that they should both attend her on such a \nvisit, Elinor had some difficulty in persuading her sister to \ngo, for still she had seen nothing of Willoughby; and there-\nfore was not more indisposed for amusement abroad, than \nunwilling to run the risk of his calling again in her ab-\nsence.\nElinor found, when the evening was over, that dispo-\nsition is not materially altered by a change of abode, for \nalthough scarcely settled in town, Sir John had contrived \nto collect around him, nearly twenty young people, and \nto amuse them with a ball. This was an affair, however, of \nwhich Lady Middleton did not approve. In the country, an \nunpremeditated dance was very allowable; but in London, \nwhere the reputation of elegance was more important and \nless easily attained, it was risking too much for the gratifi-\ncation of a few girls, to have it known that Lady Middleton \nhad given a small dance of eight or nine couple, with two \nviolins, and a mere side-board collation.\nMr. and Mrs. Palmer were of the party; from the for-\n\n\n203\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nmer, whom they had not seen before since their arrival in \ntown, as he was careful to avoid the appearance of any at-\ntention to his mother-in-law, and therefore never came near \nher, they received no mark of recognition on their entrance. \nHe looked at them slightly, without seeming to know who \nthey were, and merely nodded to Mrs. Jennings from the \nother side of the room. Marianne gave one glance round \nthe apartment as she entered: it was enough—HE was not \nthere—and she sat down, equally ill-disposed to receive \nor communicate pleasure. After they had been assembled \nabout an hour, Mr. Palmer sauntered towards the Miss \nDashwoods to express his surprise on seeing them in town, \nthough Colonel Brandon had been first informed of their \narrival at his house, and he had himself said something very \ndroll on hearing that they were to come.\n‘I thought you were both in Devonshire,’ said he.\n‘Did you?’ replied Elinor.\n‘When do you go back again?’\n‘I do not know.’ And thus ended their discourse.\nNever had Marianne been so unwilling to dance in her \nlife, as she was that evening, and never so much fatigued by \nthe exercise. She complained of it as they returned to Berke-\nley Street.\n‘Aye, aye,’ said Mrs. Jennings, ‘we know the reason of all \nthat very well; if a certain person who shall be nameless, \nhad been there, you would not have been a bit tired: and to \nsay the truth it was not very pretty of him not to give you \nthe meeting when he was invited.’\n‘Invited!’ cried Marianne.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n204\n‘So my daughter Middleton told me, for it seems Sir John \nmet him somewhere in the street this morning.’ Marianne \nsaid no more, but looked exceedingly hurt. Impatient in this \nsituation to be doing something that might lead to her sis-\nter’s relief, Elinor resolved to write the next morning to her \nmother, and hoped by awakening her fears for the health \nof Marianne, to procure those inquiries which had been so \nlong delayed; and she was still more eagerly bent on this \nmeasure by perceiving after breakfast on the morrow, that \nMarianne was again writing to Willoughby, for she could \nnot suppose it to be to any other person.\nAbout the middle of the day, Mrs. Jennings went out by \nherself on business, and Elinor began her letter directly, \nwhile Marianne, too restless for employment, too anxious \nfor conversation, walked from one window to the other, or \nsat down by the fire in melancholy meditation. Elinor was \nvery earnest in her application to her mother, relating all \nthat had passed, her suspicions of Willoughby’s inconstan-\ncy, urging her by every plea of duty and affection to demand \nfrom Marianne an account of her real situation with respect \nto him.\nHer letter was scarcely finished, when a rap foretold a \nvisitor, and Colonel Brandon was announced. Marianne, \nwho had seen him from the window, and who hated compa-\nny of any kind, left the room before he entered it. He looked \nmore than usually grave, and though expressing satisfac-\ntion at finding Miss Dashwood alone, as if he had somewhat \nin particular to tell her, sat for some time without saying a \nword. Elinor, persuaded that he had some communication \n\n\n205\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nto make in which her sister was concerned, impatiently ex-\npected its opening. It was not the first time of her feeling \nthe same kind of conviction; for, more than once before, be-\nginning with the observation of ‘your sister looks unwell \nto-day,’ or ‘your sister seems out of spirits,’ he had appeared \non the point, either of disclosing, or of inquiring, something \nparticular about her. After a pause of several minutes, their \nsilence was broken, by his asking her in a voice of some agi-\ntation, when he was to congratulate her on the acquisition \nof a brother? Elinor was not prepared for such a question, \nand having no answer ready, was obliged to adopt the sim-\nple and common expedient, of asking what he meant? He \ntried to smile as he replied, ‘your sister’s engagement to Mr. \nWilloughby is very generally known.’\n‘It cannot be generally known,’ returned Elinor, ‘for her \nown family do not know it.’\nHe looked surprised and said, ‘I beg your pardon, I am \nafraid my inquiry has been impertinent; but I had not sup-\nposed any secrecy intended, as they openly correspond, and \ntheir marriage is universally talked of.’\n‘How can that be? By whom can you have heard it men-\ntioned?’\n‘By many—by some of whom you know nothing, by oth-\ners with whom you are most intimate, Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. \nPalmer, and the Middletons. But still I might not have be-\nlieved it, for where the mind is perhaps rather unwilling \nto be convinced, it will always find something to support \nits doubts, if I had not, when the servant let me in today, \naccidentally seen a letter in his hand, directed to Mr. Wil-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n206\nloughby in your sister’s writing. I came to inquire, but I was \nconvinced before I could ask the question. Is every thing fi-\nnally settled? Is it impossible to-? But I have no right, and I \ncould have no chance of succeeding. Excuse me, Miss Dash-\nwood. I believe I have been wrong in saying so much, but I \nhardly know what to do, and on your prudence I have the \nstrongest dependence. Tell me that it is all absolutely re-\nsolved on, that any attempt, that in short concealment, if \nconcealment be possible, is all that remains.’\nThese words, which conveyed to Elinor a direct avowal \nof his love for her sister, affected her very much. She was not \nimmediately able to say anything, and even when her spirits \nwere recovered, she debated for a short time, on the answer \nit would be most proper to give. The real state of things \nbetween Willoughby and her sister was so little known to \nherself, that in endeavouring to explain it, she might be as \nliable to say too much as too little. Yet as she was convinced \nthat Marianne’s affection for Willoughby, could leave no \nhope of Colonel Brandon’s success, whatever the event of \nthat affection might be, and at the same time wished to \nshield her conduct from censure, she thought it most pru-\ndent and kind, after some consideration, to say more than \nshe really knew or believed. She acknowledged, therefore, \nthat though she had never been informed by themselves \nof the terms on which they stood with each other, of their \nmutual affection she had no doubt, and of their correspon-\ndence she was not astonished to hear.\nHe listened to her with silent attention, and on her ceas-\ning to speak, rose directly from his seat, and after saying \n\n\n207\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nin a voice of emotion, ‘to your sister I wish all imaginable \nhappiness; to Willoughby that he may endeavour to deserve \nher,’—took leave, and went away.\nElinor derived no comfortable feelings from this conver-\nsation, to lessen the uneasiness of her mind on other points; \nshe was left, on the contrary, with a melancholy impression \nof Colonel Brandon’s unhappiness, and was prevented even \nfrom wishing it removed, by her anxiety for the very event \nthat must confirm it.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n208\nChapter 28\nN\nothing occurred during the next three or four days, to \nmake Elinor regret what she had done, in applying to \nher mother; for Willoughby neither came nor wrote. They \nwere engaged about the end of that time to attend Lady Mid-\ndleton to a party, from which Mrs. Jennings was kept away \nby the indisposition of her youngest daughter; and for this \nparty, Marianne, wholly dispirited, careless of her appear-\nance, and seeming equally indifferent whether she went or \nstaid, prepared, without one look of hope or one expression \nof pleasure. She sat by the drawing-room fire after tea, till \nthe moment of Lady Middleton’s arrival, without once stir-\nring from her seat, or altering her attitude, lost in her own \nthoughts, and insensible of her sister’s presence; and when \nat last they were told that Lady Middleton waited for them \nat the door, she started as if she had forgotten that any one \nwas expected.\nThey arrived in due time at the place of destination, \nand as soon as the string of carriages before them would \nallow, alighted, ascended the stairs, heard their names an-\nnounced from one landing-place to another in an audible \nvoice, and entered a room splendidly lit up, quite full of \ncompany, and insufferably hot. When they had paid their \ntribute of politeness by curtsying to the lady of the house, \nthey were permitted to mingle in the crowd, and take their \n\n\n209\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nshare of the heat and inconvenience, to which their arrival \nmust necessarily add. After some time spent in saying little \nor doing less, Lady Middleton sat down to Cassino, and as \nMarianne was not in spirits for moving about, she and Eli-\nnor luckily succeeding to chairs, placed themselves at no \ngreat distance from the table.\nThey had not remained in this manner long, before Eli-\nnor perceived Willoughby, standing within a few yards \nof them, in earnest conversation with a very fashionable \nlooking young woman. She soon caught his eye, and he im-\nmediately bowed, but without attempting to speak to her, \nor to approach Marianne, though he could not but see her; \nand then continued his discourse with the same lady. Elinor \nturned involuntarily to Marianne, to see whether it could \nbe unobserved by her. At that moment she first perceived \nhim, and her whole countenance glowing with sudden de-\nlight, she would have moved towards him instantly, had not \nher sister caught hold of her.\n‘Good heavens!’ she exclaimed, ‘he is there—he is \nthere—Oh! why does he not look at me? why cannot I speak \nto him?’\n‘Pray, pray be composed,’ cried Elinor, ‘and do not betray \nwhat you feel to every body present. Perhaps he has not ob-\nserved you yet.’\nThis however was more than she could believe herself; \nand to be composed at such a moment was not only beyond \nthe reach of Marianne, it was beyond her wish. She sat in an \nagony of impatience which affected every feature.\nAt last he turned round again, and regarded them both; \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n210\nshe started up, and pronouncing his name in a tone of af-\nfection, held out her hand to him. He approached, and \naddressing himself rather to Elinor than Marianne, as if \nwishing to avoid her eye, and determined not to observe \nher attitude, inquired in a hurried manner after Mrs. Dash-\nwood, and asked how long they had been in town. Elinor \nwas robbed of all presence of mind by such an address, and \nwas unable to say a word. But the feelings of her sister were \ninstantly expressed. Her face was crimsoned over, and she \nexclaimed, in a voice of the greatest emotion, ‘Good God! \nWilloughby, what is the meaning of this? Have you not re-\nceived my letters? Will you not shake hands with me?’\nHe could not then avoid it, but her touch seemed painful \nto him, and he held her hand only for a moment. During all \nthis time he was evidently struggling for composure. Elinor \nwatched his countenance and saw its expression becoming \nmore tranquil. After a moment’s pause, he spoke with calm-\nness.\n‘I did myself the honour of calling in Berkeley Street last \nTuesday, and very much regretted that I was not fortunate \nenough to find yourselves and Mrs. Jennings at home. My \ncard was not lost, I hope.’\n‘But have you not received my notes?’ cried Marianne in \nthe wildest anxiety. ‘Here is some mistake I am sure—some \ndreadful mistake. What can be the meaning of it? Tell me, \nWilloughby; for heaven’s sake tell me, what is the matter?’\nHe made no reply; his complexion changed and all his \nembarrassment returned; but as if, on catching the eye of \nthe young lady with whom he had been previously talking, \n\n\n211\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nhe felt the necessity of instant exertion, he recovered himself \nagain, and after saying, ‘Yes, I had the pleasure of receiving \nthe information of your arrival in town, which you were so \ngood as to send me,’ turned hastily away with a slight bow \nand joined his friend.\nMarianne, now looking dreadfully white, and unable \nto stand, sunk into her chair, and Elinor, expecting every \nmoment to see her faint, tried to screen her from the obser-\nvation of others, while reviving her with lavender water.\n‘Go to him, Elinor,’ she cried, as soon as she could \nspeak, ‘and force him to come to me. Tell him I must see \nhim again—must speak to him instantly.— I cannot rest—I \nshall not have a moment’s peace till this is explained—some \ndreadful misapprehension or other.— Oh go to him this \nmoment.’\n‘How can that be done? No, my dearest Marianne, you \nmust wait. This is not the place for explanations. Wait only \ntill tomorrow.’\nWith difficulty however could she prevent her from \nfollowing him herself; and to persuade her to check her agi-\ntation, to wait, at least, with the appearance of composure, \ntill she might speak to him with more privacy and more \neffect, was impossible; for Marianne continued incessantly \nto give way in a low voice to the misery of her feelings, by \nexclamations of wretchedness. In a short time Elinor saw \nWilloughby quit the room by the door towards the stair-\ncase, and telling Marianne that he was gone, urged the \nimpossibility of speaking to him again that evening, as a \nfresh argument for her to be calm. She instantly begged her \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n212\nsister would entreat Lady Middleton to take them home, as \nshe was too miserable to stay a minute longer.\nLady Middleton, though in the middle of a rubber, on \nbeing informed that Marianne was unwell, was too polite to \nobject for a moment to her wish of going away, and making \nover her cards to a friend, they departed as soon the carriage \ncould be found. Scarcely a word was spoken during their re-\nturn to Berkeley Street. Marianne was in a silent agony, too \nmuch oppressed even for tears; but as Mrs. Jennings was \nluckily not come home, they could go directly to their own \nroom, where hartshorn restored her a little to herself. She \nwas soon undressed and in bed, and as she seemed desirous \nof being alone, her sister then left her, and while she waited \nthe return of Mrs. Jennings, had leisure enough for think-\ning over the past.\nThat some kind of engagement had subsisted between \nWilloughby and Marianne she could not doubt, and that \nWilloughby was weary of it, seemed equally clear; for how-\never Marianne might still feed her own wishes, SHE could \nnot attribute such behaviour to mistake or misapprehension \nof any kind. Nothing but a thorough change of sentiment \ncould account for it. Her indignation would have been still \nstronger than it was, had she not witnessed that embarrass-\nment which seemed to speak a consciousness of his own \nmisconduct, and prevented her from believing him so un-\nprincipled as to have been sporting with the affections of \nher sister from the first, without any design that would bear \ninvestigation. Absence might have weakened his regard, \nand convenience might have determined him to overcome \n\n\n213\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nit, but that such a regard had formerly existed she could not \nbring herself to doubt.\nAs for Marianne, on the pangs which so unhappy a \nmeeting must already have given her, and on those still \nmore severe which might await her in its probable conse-\nquence, she could not reflect without the deepest concern. \nHer own situation gained in the comparison; for while she \ncould ESTEEM Edward as much as ever, however they \nmight be divided in future, her mind might be always sup-\nported. But every circumstance that could embitter such an \nevil seemed uniting to heighten the misery of Marianne in \na final separation from Willoughby—in an immediate and \nirreconcilable rupture with him.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n214\nChapter 29\nB\nefore the house-maid had lit their fire the next day, or \nthe sun gained any power over a cold, gloomy morn-\ning in January, Marianne, only half dressed, was kneeling \nagainst one of the window-seats for the sake of all the little \nlight she could command from it, and writing as fast as a \ncontinual flow of tears would permit her. In this situation, \nElinor, roused from sleep by her agitation and sobs, first \nperceived her; and after observing her for a few moments \nwith silent anxiety, said, in a tone of the most considerate \ngentleness,\n‘Marianne, may I ask-?’\n‘No, Elinor,’ she replied, ‘ask nothing; you will soon \nknow all.’\nThe sort of desperate calmness with which this was said, \nlasted no longer than while she spoke, and was immediately \nfollowed by a return of the same excessive affliction. It was \nsome minutes before she could go on with her letter, and the \nfrequent bursts of grief which still obliged her, at intervals, \nto withhold her pen, were proofs enough of her feeling how \nmore than probable it was that she was writing for the last \ntime to Willoughby.\nElinor paid her every quiet and unobtrusive attention in \nher power; and she would have tried to sooth and tranquil-\nize her still more, had not Marianne entreated her, with all \n\n\n215\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nthe eagerness of the most nervous irritability, not to speak \nto her for the world. In such circumstances, it was better \nfor both that they should not be long together; and the rest-\nless state of Marianne’s mind not only prevented her from \nremaining in the room a moment after she was dressed, but \nrequiring at once solitude and continual change of place, \nmade her wander about the house till breakfast time, avoid-\ning the sight of every body.\nAt breakfast she neither ate, nor attempted to eat any \nthing; and Elinor’s attention was then all employed, not in \nurging her, not in pitying her, nor in appearing to regard \nher, but in endeavouring to engage Mrs. Jenning’s notice en-\ntirely to herself.\nAs this was a favourite meal with Mrs. Jennings, it lasted \na considerable time, and they were just setting themselves, \nafter it, round the common working table, when a letter was \ndelivered to Marianne, which she eagerly caught from the \nservant, and, turning of a death-like paleness, instantly ran \nout of the room. Elinor, who saw as plainly by this, as if she \nhad seen the direction, that it must come from Willoughby, \nfelt immediately such a sickness at heart as made her hardly \nable to hold up her head, and sat in such a general tremour \nas made her fear it impossible to escape Mrs. Jenning’s no-\ntice. That good lady, however, saw only that Marianne had \nreceived a letter from Willoughby, which appeared to her a \nvery good joke, and which she treated accordingly, by hop-\ning, with a laugh, that she would find it to her liking. Of \nElinor’s distress, she was too busily employed in measur-\ning lengths of worsted for her rug, to see any thing at all; \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n216\nand calmly continuing her talk, as soon as Marianne disap-\npeared, she said,\n‘Upon my word, I never saw a young woman so desper-\nately in love in my life! MY girls were nothing to her, and yet \nthey used to be foolish enough; but as for Miss Marianne, \nshe is quite an altered creature. I hope, from the bottom of \nmy heart, he won’t keep her waiting much longer, for it is \nquite grievous to see her look so ill and forlorn. Pray, when \nare they to be married?’\nElinor, though never less disposed to speak than at that \nmoment, obliged herself to answer such an attack as this, \nand, therefore, trying to smile, replied, ‘And have you re-\nally, Ma’am, talked yourself into a persuasion of my sister’s \nbeing engaged to Mr. Willoughby? I thought it had been \nonly a joke, but so serious a question seems to imply more; \nand I must beg, therefore, that you will not deceive yourself \nany longer. I do assure you that nothing would surprise me \nmore than to hear of their being going to be married.’\n‘For shame, for shame, Miss Dashwood! how can you \ntalk so? Don’t we all know that it must be a match, that they \nwere over head and ears in love with each other from the \nfirst moment they met? Did not I see them together in Dev-\nonshire every day, and all day long; and did not I know that \nyour sister came to town with me on purpose to buy wed-\nding clothes? Come, come, this won’t do. Because you are so \nsly about it yourself, you think nobody else has any senses; \nbut it is no such thing, I can tell you, for it has been known \nall over town this ever so long. I tell every body of it and so \ndoes Charlotte.’\n\n\n217\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘Indeed, Ma’am,’ said Elinor, very seriously, ‘you are \nmistaken. Indeed, you are doing a very unkind thing in \nspreading the report, and you will find that you have though \nyou will not believe me now.’\nMrs. Jennings laughed again, but Elinor had not spirits \nto say more, and eager at all events to know what Wil-\nloughby had written, hurried away to their room, where, \non opening the door, she saw Marianne stretched on the \nbed, almost choked by grief, one letter in her hand, and two \nor three others laying by her. Elinor drew near, but with-\nout saying a word; and seating herself on the bed, took her \nhand, kissed her affectionately several times, and then gave \nway to a burst of tears, which at first was scarcely less vio-\nlent than Marianne’s. The latter, though unable to speak, \nseemed to feel all the tenderness of this behaviour, and af-\nter some time thus spent in joint affliction, she put all the \nletters into Elinor’s hands; and then covering her face with \nher handkerchief, almost screamed with agony. Elinor, who \nknew that such grief, shocking as it was to witness it, must \nhave its course, watched by her till this excess of suffering \nhad somewhat spent itself, and then turning eagerly to Wil-\nloughby’s letter, read as follows:\n‘Bond \nStreet, \nJanuary. \n‘MY \nDEAR \nMADAM, \n \n‘I have just had the honour of receiving your letter, for \nwhich I beg to return my sincere acknowledgments. I am \nmuch concerned to find there was anything in my behaviour \nlast night that did not meet your approbation; and though \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n218\nI am quite at a loss to discover in what point I could be so \nunfortunate as to offend you, I entreat your forgiveness of \nwhat I can assure you to have been perfectly unintentional. \nI shall never reflect on my former acquaintance with your \nfamily in Devonshire without the most grateful pleasure, \nand flatter myself it will not be broken by any mistake or \nmisapprehension of my actions. My esteem for your whole \nfamily is very sincere; but if I have been so unfortunate as to \ngive rise to a belief of more than I felt, or meant to express, I \nshall reproach myself for not having been more guarded in \nmy professions of that esteem. That I should ever have meant \nmore you will allow to be impossible, when you understand \nthat my affections have been long engaged elsewhere, and it \nwill not be many weeks, I believe, before this engagement is \nfulfilled. It is with great regret that I obey your commands \nin returning the letters with which I have been honoured \nfrom you, and the lock of hair, which you so obligingly be-\nstowed on me.\n‘I am, dear Madam, ‘Your most obedient ‘humble servant, \n \n \n‘JOHN WILLOUGHBY.’ \nWith what indignation such a letter as this must be \nread by Miss Dashwood, may be imagined. Though aware, \nbefore she began it, that it must bring a confession of his \ninconstancy, and confirm their separation for ever, she was \nnot aware that such language could be suffered to announce \nit; nor could she have supposed Willoughby capable of de-\nparting so far from the appearance of every honourable \n\n\n219\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nand delicate feeling—so far from the common decorum of \na gentleman, as to send a letter so impudently cruel: a let-\nter which, instead of bringing with his desire of a release \nany professions of regret, acknowledged no breach of faith, \ndenied all peculiar affection whatever— a letter of which \nevery line was an insult, and which proclaimed its writer to \nbe deep in hardened villainy.\nShe paused over it for some time with indignant aston-\nishment; then read it again and again; but every perusal \nonly served to increase her abhorrence of the man, and so \nbitter were her feelings against him, that she dared not trust \nherself to speak, lest she might wound Marianne still deep-\ner by treating their disengagement, not as a loss to her of \nany possible good but as an escape from the worst and most \nirremediable of all evils, a connection, for life, with an un-\nprincipled man, as a deliverance the most real, a blessing \nthe most important.\nIn her earnest meditations on the contents of the let-\nter, on the depravity of that mind which could dictate it, \nand probably, on the very different mind of a very differ-\nent person, who had no other connection whatever with \nthe affair than what her heart gave him with every thing \nthat passed, Elinor forgot the immediate distress of her sis-\nter, forgot that she had three letters on her lap yet unread, \nand so entirely forgot how long she had been in the room, \nthat when on hearing a carriage drive up to the door, she \nwent to the window to see who could be coming so unrea-\nsonably early, she was all astonishment to perceive Mrs. \nJennings’s chariot, which she knew had not been ordered \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n220\ntill one. Determined not to quit Marianne, though hope-\nless of contributing, at present, to her ease, she hurried away \nto excuse herself from attending Mrs. Jennings, on account \nof her sister being indisposed. Mrs. Jennings, with a thor-\noughly good-humoured concern for its cause, admitted the \nexcuse most readily, and Elinor, after seeing her safe off, re-\nturned to Marianne, whom she found attempting to rise \nfrom the bed, and whom she reached just in time to prevent \nher from falling on the floor, faint and giddy from a long \nwant of proper rest and food; for it was many days since \nshe had any appetite, and many nights since she had really \nslept; and now, when her mind was no longer supported by \nthe fever of suspense, the consequence of all this was felt in \nan aching head, a weakened stomach, and a general nervous \nfaintness. A glass of wine, which Elinor procured for her di-\nrectly, made her more comfortable, and she was at last able \nto express some sense of her kindness, by saying,\n‘Poor Elinor! how unhappy I make you!’\n‘I only wish,’ replied her sister, ‘there were any thing I \nCOULD do, which might be of comfort to you.’\nThis, as every thing else would have been, was too much \nfor Marianne, who could only exclaim, in the anguish of \nher heart, ‘Oh! Elinor, I am miserable, indeed,’ before her \nvoice was entirely lost in sobs.\nElinor could no longer witness this torrent of unresisted \ngrief in silence.\n‘Exert yourself, dear Marianne,’ she cried, ‘if you would \nnot kill yourself and all who love you. Think of your moth-\ner; think of her misery while YOU suffer: for her sake you \n\n\n221\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nmust exert yourself.’\n‘I cannot, I cannot,’ cried Marianne; ‘leave me, leave me, \nif I distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me! but do not \ntorture me so. Oh! how easy for those, who have no sorrow \nof their own to talk of exertion! Happy, happy Elinor, YOU \ncannot have an idea of what I suffer.’\n‘Do you call ME happy, Marianne? Ah! if you knew!—\nAnd can you believe me to be so, while I see you so \nwretched!’\n‘Forgive me, forgive me,’ throwing her arms round her \nsister’s neck; ‘I know you feel for me; I know what a heart \nyou have; but yet you are—you must be happy; Edward loves \nyou—what, oh what, can do away such happiness as that?’\n‘Many, many circumstances,’ said Elinor, solemnly.\n‘No, no, no,’ cried Marianne wildly, ‘he loves you, and \nonly you. You CAN have no grief.’\n‘I can have no pleasure while I see you in this state.’\n‘And you will never see me otherwise. Mine is a misery \nwhich nothing can do away.’\n‘You must not talk so, Marianne. Have you no comforts? \nno friends? Is your loss such as leaves no opening for con-\nsolation? Much as you suffer now, think of what you would \nhave suffered if the discovery of his character had been \ndelayed to a later period— if your engagement had been \ncarried on for months and months, as it might have been, \nbefore he chose to put an end to it. Every additional day \nof unhappy confidence, on your side, would have made the \nblow more dreadful.’\n‘Engagement!’ cried Marianne, ‘there has been no en-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n222\ngagement.’\n‘No engagement!’\n‘No, he is not so unworthy as you believe him. He has \nbroken no faith with me.’\n‘But he told you that he loved you.’\n‘Yes—no—never absolutely. It was every day implied, \nbut never professedly declared. Sometimes I thought it had \nbeen—but it never was.’\n‘Yet you wrote to him?’—\n‘Yes—could that be wrong after all that had passed?— \nBut I cannot talk.’\nElinor said no more, and turning again to the three \nletters which now raised a much stronger curiosity than be-\nfore, directly ran over the contents of all. The first, which \nwas what her sister had sent him on their arrival in town, \nwas to this effect.\nBerkeley Street, January.\n‘How surprised you will be, Willoughby, on receiving \nthis; and I think you will feel something more than sur-\nprise, when you know that I am in town. An opportunity of \ncoming hither, though with Mrs. Jennings, was a tempta-\ntion we could not resist. I wish you may receive this in time \nto come here to-night, but I will not depend on it. At any \nrate I shall expect you to-morrow. For the present, adieu.\n‘M.D.’\nHer second note, which had been written on the morning \nafter the dance at the Middletons’, was in these words:—\n‘I cannot express my disappointment in having missed \nyou the day before yesterday, nor my astonishment at not \n\n\n223\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nhaving received any answer to a note which I sent you above \na week ago. I have been expecting to hear from you, and \nstill more to see you, every hour of the day. Pray call again \nas soon as possible, and explain the reason of my having \nexpected this in vain. You had better come earlier anoth-\ner time, because we are generally out by one. We were last \nnight at Lady Middleton’s, where there was a dance. I have \nbeen told that you were asked to be of the party. But could it \nbe so? You must be very much altered indeed since we part-\ned, if that could be the case, and you not there. But I will not \nsuppose this possible, and I hope very soon to receive your \npersonal assurance of its being otherwise.\n‘M.D.’\nThe contents of her last note to him were these:—\n‘What am I to imagine, Willoughby, by your behaviour \nlast night? Again I demand an explanation of it. I was pre-\npared to meet you with the pleasure which our separation \nnaturally produced, with the familiarity which our inti-\nmacy at Barton appeared to me to justify. I was repulsed \nindeed! I have passed a wretched night in endeavouring \nto excuse a conduct which can scarcely be called less than \ninsulting; but though I have not yet been able to form any \nreasonable apology for your behaviour, I am perfectly ready \nto hear your justification of it. You have perhaps been mis-\ninformed, or purposely deceived, in something concerning \nme, which may have lowered me in your opinion. Tell me \nwhat it is, explain the grounds on which you acted, and I \nshall be satisfied, in being able to satisfy you. It would grieve \nme indeed to be obliged to think ill of you; but if I am to do \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n224\nit, if I am to learn that you are not what we have hitherto \nbelieved you, that your regard for us all was insincere, that \nyour behaviour to me was intended only to deceive, let it be \ntold as soon as possible. My feelings are at present in a state \nof dreadful indecision; I wish to acquit you, but certainty \non either side will be ease to what I now suffer. If your sen-\ntiments are no longer what they were, you will return my \nnotes, and the lock of my hair which is in your possession.\n‘M.D.’\nThat such letters, so full of affection and confidence, \ncould have been so answered, Elinor, for Willoughby’s sake, \nwould have been unwilling to believe. But her condemna-\ntion of him did not blind her to the impropriety of their \nhaving been written at all; and she was silently grieving \nover the imprudence which had hazarded such unsolicited \nproofs of tenderness, not warranted by anything preceding, \nand most severely condemned by the event, when Mari-\nanne, perceiving that she had finished the letters, observed \nto her that they contained nothing but what any one would \nhave written in the same situation.\n‘I felt myself,’ she added, ‘to be as solemnly engaged to \nhim, as if the strictest legal covenant had bound us to each \nother.’\n‘I can believe it,’ said Elinor; ‘but unfortunately he did \nnot feel the same.’\n‘He DID feel the same, Elinor—for weeks and weeks he \nfelt it. I know he did. Whatever may have changed him now, \n(and nothing but the blackest art employed against me can \nhave done it), I was once as dear to him as my own soul \n\n\n225\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ncould wish. This lock of hair, which now he can so readily \ngive up, was begged of me with the most earnest supplica-\ntion. Had you seen his look, his manner, had you heard his \nvoice at that moment! Have you forgot the last evening of \nour being together at Barton? The morning that we parted \ntoo! When he told me that it might be many weeks before \nwe met again—his distress—can I ever forget his distress?’\nFor a moment or two she could say no more; but when \nthis emotion had passed away, she added, in a firmer tone,\n‘Elinor, I have been cruelly used; but not by Willough-\nby.’\n‘Dearest Marianne, who but himself? By whom can he \nhave been instigated?’\n‘By all the world, rather than by his own heart. I could \nrather believe every creature of my acquaintance leagued \ntogether to ruin me in his opinion, than believe his nature \ncapable of such cruelty. This woman of whom he writes—\nwhoever she be—or any one, in short, but your own dear \nself, mama, and Edward, may have been so barbarous to \nbely me. Beyond you three, is there a creature in the world \nwhom I would not rather suspect of evil than Willoughby, \nwhose heart I know so well?’\nElinor would not contend, and only replied, ‘Whoever \nmay have been so detestably your enemy, let them be cheat-\ned of their malignant triumph, my dear sister, by seeing \nhow nobly the consciousness of your own innocence and \ngood intentions supports your spirits. It is a reasonable and \nlaudable pride which resists such malevolence.’\n‘No, no,’ cried Marianne, ‘misery such as mine has no \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n226\npride. I care not who knows that I am wretched. The tri-\numph of seeing me so may be open to all the world. Elinor, \nElinor, they who suffer little may be proud and independent \nas they like—may resist insult, or return mortification—but \nI cannot. I must feel—I must be wretched—and they are \nwelcome to enjoy the consciousness of it that can.’\n‘But for my mother’s sake and mine—‘\n‘I would do more than for my own. But to appear happy \nwhen I am so miserable—Oh! who can require it?’\nAgain they were both silent. Elinor was employed in \nwalking thoughtfully from the fire to the window, from \nthe window to the fire, without knowing that she received \nwarmth from one, or discerning objects through the oth-\ner; and Marianne, seated at the foot of the bed, with her \nhead leaning against one of its posts, again took up Wil-\nloughby’s letter, and, after shuddering over every sentence, \nexclaimed—\n‘It is too much! Oh, Willoughby, Willoughby, could this \nbe yours! Cruel, cruel—nothing can acquit you. Elinor, \nnothing can. Whatever he might have heard against me— \nought he not to have suspended his belief? ought he not \nto have told me of it, to have given me the power of clear-\ning myself? ‘The lock of hair, (repeating it from the letter,) \nwhich you so obligingly bestowed on me’—That is unpar-\ndonable. Willoughby, where was your heart when you wrote \nthose words? Oh, barbarously insolent!—Elinor, can he be \njustified?’\n‘No, Marianne, in no possible way.’\n‘And yet this woman—who knows what her art may have \n\n\n227\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nbeen?—how long it may have been premeditated, and how \ndeeply contrived by her!—Who is she?—Who can she be?—\nWhom did I ever hear him talk of as young and attractive \namong his female acquaintance?—Oh! no one, no one—he \ntalked to me only of myself.’\nAnother pause ensued; Marianne was greatly agitated, \nand it ended thus.\n‘Elinor, I must go home. I must go and comfort mama. \nCan not we be gone to-morrow?’\n‘To-morrow, Marianne!’\n‘Yes, why should I stay here? I came only for Willough-\nby’s sake—and now who cares for me? Who regards me?’\n‘It would be impossible to go to-morrow. We owe Mrs. \nJennings much more than civility; and civility of the com-\nmonest kind must prevent such a hasty removal as that.’\n‘Well then, another day or two, perhaps; but I cannot \nstay here long, I cannot stay to endure the questions and \nremarks of all these people. The Middletons and Palmers—\nhow am I to bear their pity? The pity of such a woman as \nLady Middleton! Oh, what would HE say to that!’\nElinor advised her to lie down again, and for a moment \nshe did so; but no attitude could give her ease; and in rest-\nless pain of mind and body she moved from one posture \nto another, till growing more and more hysterical, her sis-\nter could with difficulty keep her on the bed at all, and for \nsome time was fearful of being constrained to call for as-\nsistance. Some lavender drops, however, which she was at \nlength persuaded to take, were of use; and from that time \ntill Mrs. Jennings returned, she continued on the bed quiet \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n228\nand motionless.\n\n\n229\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 30\nM\nrs. Jennings came immediately to their room on her \nreturn, and without waiting to have her request of ad-\nmittance answered, opened the door and walked in with a \nlook of real concern.\n‘How do you do my dear?’—said she in a voice of great \ncompassion to Marianne, who turned away her face with-\nout attempting to answer.\n‘How is she, Miss Dashwood?—Poor thing! she looks \nvery bad.— No wonder. Ay, it is but too true. He is to be \nmarried very soon—a good-for-nothing fellow! I have no \npatience with him. Mrs. Taylor told me of it half an hour \nago, and she was told it by a particular friend of Miss Grey \nherself, else I am sure I should not have believed it; and I \nwas almost ready to sink as it was. Well, said I, all I can say \nis, that if this be true, he has used a young lady of my ac-\nquaintance abominably ill, and I wish with all my soul his \nwife may plague his heart out. And so I shall always say, my \ndear, you may depend on it. I have no notion of men’s going \non in this way; and if ever I meet him again, I will give him \nsuch a dressing as he has not had this many a day. But there \nis one comfort, my dear Miss Marianne; he is not the only \nyoung man in the world worth having; and with your pretty \nface you will never want admirers. Well, poor thing! I won’t \ndisturb her any longer, for she had better have her cry out at \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n230\nonce and have done with. The Parrys and Sandersons luck-\nily are coming tonight you know, and that will amuse her.’\nShe then went away, walking on tiptoe out of the room, \nas if she supposed her young friend’s affliction could be in-\ncreased by noise.\nMarianne, to the surprise of her sister, determined on \ndining with them. Elinor even advised her against it. But \n‘no, she would go down; she could bear it very well, and \nthe bustle about her would be less.’ Elinor, pleased to have \nher governed for a moment by such a motive, though be-\nlieving it hardly possible that she could sit out the dinner, \nsaid no more; and adjusting her dress for her as well as she \ncould, while Marianne still remained on the bed, was ready \nto assist her into the dining room as soon as they were sum-\nmoned to it.\nWhen there, though looking most wretchedly, she ate \nmore and was calmer than her sister had expected. Had \nshe tried to speak, or had she been conscious of half Mrs. \nJennings’s well-meant but ill-judged attentions to her, this \ncalmness could not have been maintained; but not a syl-\nlable escaped her lips; and the abstraction of her thoughts \npreserved her in ignorance of every thing that was passing \nbefore her.\nElinor, who did justice to Mrs. Jennings’s kindness, \nthough its effusions were often distressing, and sometimes \nalmost ridiculous, made her those acknowledgments, and \nreturned her those civilities, which her sister could not \nmake or return for herself. Their good friend saw that Mari-\nanne was unhappy, and felt that every thing was due to her \n\n\n231\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nwhich might make her at all less so. She treated her there-\nfore, with all the indulgent fondness of a parent towards \na favourite child on the last day of its holidays. Marianne \nwas to have the best place by the fire, was to be tempted to \neat by every delicacy in the house, and to be amused by the \nrelation of all the news of the day. Had not Elinor, in the \nsad countenance of her sister, seen a check to all mirth, she \ncould have been entertained by Mrs. Jennings’s endeavours \nto cure a disappointment in love, by a variety of sweetmeats \nand olives, and a good fire. As soon, however, as the con-\nsciousness of all this was forced by continual repetition on \nMarianne, she could stay no longer. With a hasty exclama-\ntion of Misery, and a sign to her sister not to follow her, she \ndirectly got up and hurried out of the room.\n‘Poor soul!’ cried Mrs. Jennings, as soon as she was gone, \n‘how it grieves me to see her! And I declare if she is not \ngone away without finishing her wine! And the dried cher-\nries too! Lord! nothing seems to do her any good. I am sure \nif I knew of any thing she would like, I would send all over \nthe town for it. Well, it is the oddest thing to me, that a man \nshould use such a pretty girl so ill! But when there is plenty \nof money on one side, and next to none on the other, Lord \nbless you! they care no more about such things!—‘\n‘The lady then—Miss Grey I think you called her— is \nvery rich?’\n‘Fifty thousand pounds, my dear. Did you ever see her? \na smart, stylish girl they say, but not handsome. I remem-\nber her aunt very well, Biddy Henshawe; she married a very \nwealthy man. But the family are all rich together. Fifty thou-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n232\nsand pounds! and by all accounts, it won’t come before it’s \nwanted; for they say he is all to pieces. No wonder! dashing \nabout with his curricle and hunters! Well, it don’t signify \ntalking; but when a young man, be who he will, comes and \nmakes love to a pretty girl, and promises marriage, he has \nno business to fly off from his word only because he grows \npoor, and a richer girl is ready to have him. Why don’t he, \nin such a case, sell his horses, let his house, turn off his ser-\nvants, and make a thorough reform at once? I warrant you, \nMiss Marianne would have been ready to wait till matters \ncame round. But that won’t do now-a-days; nothing in the \nway of pleasure can ever be given up by the young men of \nthis age.’\n‘Do you know what kind of a girl Miss Grey is? Is she said \nto be amiable?’\n‘I never heard any harm of her; indeed I hardly ever \nheard her mentioned; except that Mrs. Taylor did say this \nmorning, that one day Miss Walker hinted to her, that she \nbelieved Mr. and Mrs. Ellison would not be sorry to have \nMiss Grey married, for she and Mrs. Ellison could never \nagree.’—\n‘And who are the Ellisons?’\n‘Her guardians, my dear. But now she is of age and may \nchoose for herself; and a pretty choice she has made!—What \nnow,’ after pausing a moment—‘your poor sister is gone to \nher own room, I suppose, to moan by herself. Is there noth-\ning one can get to comfort her? Poor dear, it seems quite \ncruel to let her be alone. Well, by-and-by we shall have a few \nfriends, and that will amuse her a little. What shall we play \n\n\n233\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nat? She hates whist I know; but is there no round game she \ncares for?’\n‘Dear ma’am, this kindness is quite unnecessary. Mari-\nanne, I dare say, will not leave her room again this evening. \nI shall persuade her if I can to go early to bed, for I am sure \nshe wants rest.’\n‘Aye, I believe that will be best for her. Let her name her \nown supper, and go to bed. Lord! no wonder she has been \nlooking so bad and so cast down this last week or two, for \nthis matter I suppose has been hanging over her head as long \nas that. And so the letter that came today finished it! Poor \nsoul! I am sure if I had had a notion of it, I would not have \njoked her about it for all my money. But then you know, how \nshould I guess such a thing? I made sure of its being noth-\ning but a common love letter, and you know young people \nlike to be laughed at about them. Lord! how concerned Sir \nJohn and my daughters will be when they hear it! If I had \nmy senses about me I might have called in Conduit Street \nin my way home, and told them of it. But I shall see them \ntomorrow.’\n‘It would be unnecessary I am sure, for you to caution \nMrs. Palmer and Sir John against ever naming Mr. Wil-\nloughby, or making the slightest allusion to what has passed, \nbefore my sister. Their own good-nature must point out to \nthem the real cruelty of appearing to know any thing about \nit when she is present; and the less that may ever be said to \nmyself on the subject, the more my feelings will be spared, \nas you my dear madam will easily believe.’\n‘Oh! Lord! yes, that I do indeed. It must be terrible for \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n234\nyou to hear it talked of; and as for your sister, I am sure I \nwould not mention a word about it to her for the world. You \nsaw I did not all dinner time. No more would Sir John, nor \nmy daughters, for they are all very thoughtful and consid-\nerate; especially if I give them a hint, as I certainly will. For \nmy part, I think the less that is said about such things, the \nbetter, the sooner ‘tis blown over and forgot. And what does \ntalking ever do you know?’\n‘In this affair it can only do harm; more so perhaps than \nin many cases of a similar kind, for it has been attended by \ncircumstances which, for the sake of every one concerned in \nit, make it unfit to become the public conversation. I must \ndo THIS justice to Mr. Willoughby—he has broken no posi-\ntive engagement with my sister.’\n‘Law, my dear! Don’t pretend to defend him. No posi-\ntive engagement indeed! after taking her all over Allenham \nHouse, and fixing on the very rooms they were to live in \nhereafter!’\nElinor, for her sister’s sake, could not press the subject \nfarther, and she hoped it was not required of her for Wil-\nloughby’s; since, though Marianne might lose much, he \ncould gain very little by the enforcement of the real truth. \nAfter a short silence on both sides, Mrs. Jennings, with all \nher natural hilarity, burst forth again.\n‘Well, my dear, ‘tis a true saying about an ill-wind, for it \nwill be all the better for Colonel Brandon. He will have her \nat last; aye, that he will. Mind me, now, if they an’t married \nby Mid-summer. Lord! how he’ll chuckle over this news! \nI hope he will come tonight. It will be all to one a better \n\n\n235\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nmatch for your sister. Two thousand a year without debt or \ndrawback—except the little love-child, indeed; aye, I had \nforgot her; but she may be ‘prenticed out at a small cost, \nand then what does it signify? Delaford is a nice place, I can \ntell you; exactly what I call a nice old fashioned place, full \nof comforts and conveniences; quite shut in with great gar-\nden walls that are covered with the best fruit-trees in the \ncountry; and such a mulberry tree in one corner! Lord! how \nCharlotte and I did stuff the only time we were there! Then, \nthere is a dove-cote, some delightful stew-ponds, and a very \npretty canal; and every thing, in short, that one could wish \nfor; and, moreover, it is close to the church, and only a quar-\nter of a mile from the turnpike-road, so ‘tis never dull, for \nif you only go and sit up in an old yew arbour behind the \nhouse, you may see all the carriages that pass along. Oh! \n‘tis a nice place! A butcher hard by in the village, and the \nparsonage-house within a stone’s throw. To my fancy, a \nthousand times prettier than Barton Park, where they are \nforced to send three miles for their meat, and have not a \nneighbour nearer than your mother. Well, I shall spirit up \nthe Colonel as soon as I can. One shoulder of mutton, you \nknow, drives another down. If we CAN but put Willoughby \nout of her head!’\n‘Ay, if we can do THAT, Ma’am,’ said Elinor, ‘we shall do \nvery well with or without Colonel Brandon.’ And then ris-\ning, she went away to join Marianne, whom she found, as \nshe expected, in her own room, leaning, in silent misery, \nover the small remains of a fire, which, till Elinor’s entrance, \nhad been her only light.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n236\n‘You had better leave me,’ was all the notice that her sis-\nter received from her.\n‘I will leave you,’ said Elinor, ‘if you will go to bed.’ But \nthis, from the momentary perverseness of impatient suffer-\ning, she at first refused to do. Her sister’s earnest, though \ngentle persuasion, however, soon softened her to compli-\nance, and Elinor saw her lay her aching head on the pillow, \nand as she hoped, in a way to get some quiet rest before she \nleft her.\nIn the drawing-room, whither she then repaired, she \nwas soon joined by Mrs. Jennings, with a wine-glass, full of \nsomething, in her hand.\n‘My dear,’ said she, entering, ‘I have just recollected that \nI have some of the finest old Constantia wine in the house \nthat ever was tasted, so I have brought a glass of it for your \nsister. My poor husband! how fond he was of it! Whenever \nhe had a touch of his old colicky gout, he said it did him \nmore good than any thing else in the world. Do take it to \nyour sister.’\n‘Dear Ma’am,’ replied Elinor, smiling at the difference of \nthe complaints for which it was recommended, ‘how good \nyou are! But I have just left Marianne in bed, and, I hope, \nalmost asleep; and as I think nothing will be of so much \nservice to her as rest, if you will give me leave, I will drink \nthe wine myself.’\nMrs. Jennings, though regretting that she had not been \nfive minutes earlier, was satisfied with the compromise; \nand Elinor, as she swallowed the chief of it, reflected, that \nthough its effects on a colicky gout were, at present, of lit-\n\n\n237\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ntle importance to her, its healing powers, on a disappointed \nheart might be as reasonably tried on herself as on her sis-\nter.\nColonel Brandon came in while the party were at tea, \nand by his manner of looking round the room for Mari-\nanne, Elinor immediately fancied that he neither expected \nnor wished to see her there, and, in short, that he was al-\nready aware of what occasioned her absence. Mrs. Jennings \nwas not struck by the same thought; for soon after his en-\ntrance, she walked across the room to the tea-table where \nElinor presided, and whispered— ‘The Colonel looks as \ngrave as ever you see. He knows nothing of it; do tell him, \nmy dear.’\nHe shortly afterwards drew a chair close to her’s, and, \nwith a look which perfectly assured her of his good infor-\nmation, inquired after her sister.\n‘Marianne is not well,’ said she. ‘She has been indisposed \nall day, and we have persuaded her to go to bed.’\n‘Perhaps, then,’ he hesitatingly replied, ‘what I heard \nthis morning may be—there may be more truth in it than I \ncould believe possible at first.’\n‘What did you hear?’\n‘That a gentleman, whom I had reason to think—in \nshort, that a man, whom I KNEW to be engaged—but how \nshall I tell you? If you know it already, as surely you must, I \nmay be spared.’\n‘You mean,’ answered Elinor, with forced calmness, ‘Mr. \nWilloughby’s marriage with Miss Grey. Yes, we DO know it \nall. This seems to have been a day of general elucidation, for \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n238\nthis very morning first unfolded it to us. Mr. Willoughby is \nunfathomable! Where did you hear it?’\n‘In a stationer’s shop in Pall Mall, where I had business. \nTwo ladies were waiting for their carriage, and one of them \nwas giving the other an account of the intended match, in \na voice so little attempting concealment, that it was impos-\nsible for me not to hear all. The name of Willoughby, John \nWilloughby, frequently repeated, first caught my attention; \nand what followed was a positive assertion that every thing \nwas now finally settled respecting his marriage with Miss \nGrey—it was no longer to be a secret—it would take place \neven within a few weeks, with many particulars of prepara-\ntions and other matters. One thing, especially, I remember, \nbecause it served to identify the man still more:—as soon as \nthe ceremony was over, they were to go to Combe Magna, \nhis seat in Somersetshire. My astonishment!—but it would \nbe impossible to describe what I felt. The communicative \nlady I learnt, on inquiry, for I stayed in the shop till they \nwere gone, was a Mrs. Ellison, and that, as I have been since \ninformed, is the name of Miss Grey’s guardian.’\n‘It is. But have you likewise heard that Miss Grey has fifty \nthousand pounds? In that, if in any thing, we may find an \nexplanation.’\n‘It may be so; but Willoughby is capable—at least I \nthink’—he stopped a moment; then added in a voice which \nseemed to distrust itself, ‘And your sister— how did she—‘\n‘Her sufferings have been very severe. I have only to \nhope that they may be proportionately short. It has been, it \nis a most cruel affliction. Till yesterday, I believe, she never \n\n\n239\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ndoubted his regard; and even now, perhaps—but I am al-\nmost convinced that he never was really attached to her. He \nhas been very deceitful! and, in some points, there seems a \nhardness of heart about him.’\n‘Ah!’ said Colonel Brandon, ‘there is, indeed! But your \nsister does not—I think you said so—she does not consider \nquite as you do?’\n‘You know her disposition, and may believe how eagerly \nshe would still justify him if she could.’\nHe made no answer; and soon afterwards, by the re-\nmoval of the tea-things, and the arrangement of the card \nparties, the subject was necessarily dropped. Mrs. Jennings, \nwho had watched them with pleasure while they were talk-\ning, and who expected to see the effect of Miss Dashwood’s \ncommunication, in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel \nBrandon’s side, as might have become a man in the bloom \nof youth, of hope and happiness, saw him, with amazement, \nremain the whole evening more serious and thoughtful \nthan usual.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n240\nChapter 31\nF\nrom a night of more sleep than she had expected, Mari-\nanne awoke the next morning to the same consciousness \nof misery in which she had closed her eyes.\nElinor encouraged her as much as possible to talk of \nwhat she felt; and before breakfast was ready, they had gone \nthrough the subject again and again; and with the same \nsteady conviction and affectionate counsel on Elinor’s side, \nthe same impetuous feelings and varying opinions on Mar-\nianne’s, as before. Sometimes she could believe Willoughby \nto be as unfortunate and as innocent as herself, and at oth-\ners, lost every consolation in the impossibility of acquitting \nhim. At one moment she was absolutely indifferent to the \nobservation of all the world, at another she would seclude \nherself from it for ever, and at a third could resist it with en-\nergy. In one thing, however, she was uniform, when it came \nto the point, in avoiding, where it was possible, the pres-\nence of Mrs. Jennings, and in a determined silence when \nobliged to endure it. Her heart was hardened against the \nbelief of Mrs. Jennings’s entering into her sorrows with any \ncompassion.\n‘No, no, no, it cannot be,’ she cried; ‘she cannot feel. Her \nkindness is not sympathy; her good-nature is not tender-\nness. All that she wants is gossip, and she only likes me now \nbecause I supply it.’\n\n\n241\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nElinor had not needed this to be assured of the injustice \nto which her sister was often led in her opinion of others, by \nthe irritable refinement of her own mind, and the too great \nimportance placed by her on the delicacies of a strong sen-\nsibility, and the graces of a polished manner. Like half the \nrest of the world, if more than half there be that are clever \nand good, Marianne, with excellent abilities and an excel-\nlent disposition, was neither reasonable nor candid. She \nexpected from other people the same opinions and feelings \nas her own, and she judged of their motives by the imme-\ndiate effect of their actions on herself. Thus a circumstance \noccurred, while the sisters were together in their own room \nafter breakfast, which sunk the heart of Mrs. Jennings still \nlower in her estimation; because, through her own weak-\nness, it chanced to prove a source of fresh pain to herself, \nthough Mrs. Jennings was governed in it by an impulse of \nthe utmost goodwill.\nWith a letter in her outstretched hand, and countenance \ngaily smiling, from the persuasion of bringing comfort, she \nentered their room, saying,\n‘Now, my dear, I bring you something that I am sure will \ndo you good.’\nMarianne heard enough. In one moment her imagination \nplaced before her a letter from Willoughby, full of tender-\nness and contrition, explanatory of all that had passed, \nsatisfactory, convincing; and instantly followed by Wil-\nloughby himself, rushing eagerly into the room to inforce, \nat her feet, by the eloquence of his eyes, the assurances of his \nletter. The work of one moment was destroyed by the next. \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n242\nThe hand writing of her mother, never till then unwelcome, \nwas before her; and, in the acuteness of the disappointment \nwhich followed such an ecstasy of more than hope, she felt \nas if, till that instant, she had never suffered.\nThe cruelty of Mrs. Jennings no language, within her \nreach in her moments of happiest eloquence, could have ex-\npressed; and now she could reproach her only by the tears \nwhich streamed from her eyes with passionate violence—a \nreproach, however, so entirely lost on its object, that after \nmany expressions of pity, she withdrew, still referring her \nto the letter of comfort. But the letter, when she was calm \nenough to read it, brought little comfort. Willoughby filled \nevery page. Her mother, still confident of their engagement, \nand relying as warmly as ever on his constancy, had only \nbeen roused by Elinor’s application, to intreat from Mari-\nanne greater openness towards them both; and this, with \nsuch tenderness towards her, such affection for Willoughby, \nand such a conviction of their future happiness in each oth-\ner, that she wept with agony through the whole of it.\nAll her impatience to be at home again now returned; \nher mother was dearer to her than ever; dearer through \nthe very excess of her mistaken confidence in Willoughby, \nand she was wildly urgent to be gone. Elinor, unable herself \nto determine whether it were better for Marianne to be in \nLondon or at Barton, offered no counsel of her own except \nof patience till their mother’s wishes could be known; and \nat length she obtained her sister’s consent to wait for that \nknowledge.\nMrs. Jennings left them earlier than usual; for she could \n\n\n243\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nnot be easy till the Middletons and Palmers were able to \ngrieve as much as herself; and positively refusing Elinor’s \noffered attendance, went out alone for the rest of the morn-\ning. Elinor, with a very heavy heart, aware of the pain she \nwas going to communicate, and perceiving, by Marianne’s \nletter, how ill she had succeeded in laying any foundation \nfor it, then sat down to write her mother an account of what \nhad passed, and entreat her directions for the future; while \nMarianne, who came into the drawing-room on Mrs. Jen-\nnings’s going away, remained fixed at the table where Elinor \nwrote, watching the advancement of her pen, grieving over \nher for the hardship of such a task, and grieving still more \nfondly over its effect on her mother.\nIn this manner they had continued about a quarter of an \nhour, when Marianne, whose nerves could not then bear \nany sudden noise, was startled by a rap at the door.\n‘Who can this be?’ cried Elinor. ‘So early too! I thought \nwe HAD been safe.’\nMarianne moved to the window—\n‘It is Colonel Brandon!’ said she, with vexation. ‘We are \nnever safe from HIM.’\n‘He will not come in, as Mrs. Jennings is from home.’\n‘I will not trust to THAT,’ retreating to her own room. ‘A \nman who has nothing to do with his own time has no con-\nscience in his intrusion on that of others.’\nThe event proved her conjecture right, though it was \nfounded on injustice and error; for Colonel Brandon DID \ncome in; and Elinor, who was convinced that solicitude for \nMarianne brought him thither, and who saw THAT so-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n244\nlicitude in his disturbed and melancholy look, and in his \nanxious though brief inquiry after her, could not forgive her \nsister for esteeming him so lightly.\n‘I met Mrs. Jennings in Bond Street,’ said he, after the \nfirst salutation, ‘and she encouraged me to come on; and I \nwas the more easily encouraged, because I thought it proba-\nble that I might find you alone, which I was very desirous of \ndoing. My object—my wish—my sole wish in desiring it—I \nhope, I believe it is—is to be a means of giving comfort;—no, \nI must not say comfort—not present comfort—but convic-\ntion, lasting conviction to your sister’s mind. My regard \nfor her, for yourself, for your mother—will you allow me \nto prove it, by relating some circumstances which nothing \nbut a VERY sincere regard—nothing but an earnest desire \nof being useful—I think I am justified—though where so \nmany hours have been spent in convincing myself that I am \nright, is there not some reason to fear I may be wrong?’ He \nstopped.\n‘I understand you,’ said Elinor. ‘You have something to \ntell me of Mr. Willoughby, that will open his character far-\nther. Your telling it will be the greatest act of friendship \nthat can be shewn Marianne. MY gratitude will be insured \nimmediately by any information tending to that end, and \nHERS must be gained by it in time. Pray, pray let me hear \nit.’\n‘You shall; and, to be brief, when I quitted Barton last \nOctober,—but this will give you no idea—I must go farther \nback. You will find me a very awkward narrator, Miss Dash-\nwood; I hardly know where to begin. A short account of \n\n\n245\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nmyself, I believe, will be necessary, and it SHALL be a short \none. On such a subject,’ sighing heavily, ‘can I have little \ntemptation to be diffuse.’\nHe stopt a moment for recollection, and then, with an-\nother sigh, went on.\n‘You have probably entirely forgotten a conversation— \n(it is not to be supposed that it could make any impression \non you)—a conversation between us one evening at Barton \nPark—it was the evening of a dance—in which I alluded to \na lady I had once known, as resembling, in some measure, \nyour sister Marianne.’\n‘Indeed,’ answered Elinor, ‘I have NOT forgotten it.’ He \nlooked pleased by this remembrance, and added,\n‘If I am not deceived by the uncertainty, the partiality of \ntender recollection, there is a very strong resemblance be-\ntween them, as well in mind as person. The same warmth \nof heart, the same eagerness of fancy and spirits. This lady \nwas one of my nearest relations, an orphan from her in-\nfancy, and under the guardianship of my father. Our ages \nwere nearly the same, and from our earliest years we were \nplayfellows and friends. I cannot remember the time when \nI did not love Eliza; and my affection for her, as we grew up, \nwas such, as perhaps, judging from my present forlorn and \ncheerless gravity, you might think me incapable of having \never felt. Her’s, for me, was, I believe, fervent as the attach-\nment of your sister to Mr. Willoughby and it was, though \nfrom a different cause, no less unfortunate. At seventeen she \nwas lost to me for ever. She was married—married against \nher inclination to my brother. Her fortune was large, and \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n246\nour family estate much encumbered. And this, I fear, is all \nthat can be said for the conduct of one, who was at once her \nuncle and guardian. My brother did not deserve her; he did \nnot even love her. I had hoped that her regard for me would \nsupport her under any difficulty, and for some time it did; \nbut at last the misery of her situation, for she experienced \ngreat unkindness, overcame all her resolution, and though \nshe had promised me that nothing—but how blindly I re-\nlate! I have never told you how this was brought on. We \nwere within a few hours of eloping together for Scotland. \nThe treachery, or the folly, of my cousin’s maid betrayed us. \nI was banished to the house of a relation far distant, and she \nwas allowed no liberty, no society, no amusement, till my \nfather’s point was gained. I had depended on her fortitude \ntoo far, and the blow was a severe one— but had her mar-\nriage been happy, so young as I then was, a few months must \nhave reconciled me to it, or at least I should not have now \nto lament it. This however was not the case. My brother had \nno regard for her; his pleasures were not what they ought \nto have been, and from the first he treated her unkindly. \nThe consequence of this, upon a mind so young, so lively, so \ninexperienced as Mrs. Brandon’s, was but too natural. She \nresigned herself at first to all the misery of her situation; and \nhappy had it been if she had not lived to overcome those re-\ngrets which the remembrance of me occasioned. But can we \nwonder that, with such a husband to provoke inconstancy, \nand without a friend to advise or restrain her (for my father \nlived only a few months after their marriage, and I was with \nmy regiment in the East Indies) she should fall? Had I re-\n\n\n247\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nmained in England, perhaps—but I meant to promote the \nhappiness of both by removing from her for years, and for \nthat purpose had procured my exchange. The shock which \nher marriage had given me,’ he continued, in a voice of great \nagitation, ‘was of trifling weight—was nothing to what I felt \nwhen I heard, about two years afterwards, of her divorce. It \nwas THAT which threw this gloom,—even now the recol-\nlection of what I suffered—‘\nHe could say no more, and rising hastily walked for a \nfew minutes about the room. Elinor, affected by his relation, \nand still more by his distress, could not speak. He saw her \nconcern, and coming to her, took her hand, pressed it, and \nkissed it with grateful respect. A few minutes more of silent \nexertion enabled him to proceed with composure.\n‘It was nearly three years after this unhappy period be-\nfore I returned to England. My first care, when I DID arrive, \nwas of course to seek for her; but the search was as fruitless \nas it was melancholy. I could not trace her beyond her first \nseducer, and there was every reason to fear that she had re-\nmoved from him only to sink deeper in a life of sin. Her \nlegal allowance was not adequate to her fortune, nor suffi-\ncient for her comfortable maintenance, and I learnt from my \nbrother that the power of receiving it had been made over \nsome months before to another person. He imagined, and \ncalmly could he imagine it, that her extravagance, and con-\nsequent distress, had obliged her to dispose of it for some \nimmediate relief. At last, however, and after I had been six \nmonths in England, I DID find her. Regard for a former \nservant of my own, who had since fallen into misfortune, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n248\ncarried me to visit him in a spunging-house, where he was \nconfined for debt; and there, the same house, under a simi-\nlar confinement, was my unfortunate sister. So altered—so \nfaded—worn down by acute suffering of every kind! hardly \ncould I believe the melancholy and sickly figure before me, \nto be the remains of the lovely, blooming, healthful girl, on \nwhom I had once doted. What I endured in so beholding \nher—but I have no right to wound your feelings by attempt-\ning to describe it—I have pained you too much already. \nThat she was, to all appearance, in the last stage of a con-\nsumption, was—yes, in such a situation it was my greatest \ncomfort. Life could do nothing for her, beyond giving time \nfor a better preparation for death; and that was given. I saw \nher placed in comfortable lodgings, and under proper at-\ntendants; I visited her every day during the rest of her short \nlife: I was with her in her last moments.’\nAgain he stopped to recover himself; and Elinor spoke \nher feelings in an exclamation of tender concern, at the fate \nof his unfortunate friend.\n‘Your sister, I hope, cannot be offended,’ said he, ‘by the \nresemblance I have fancied between her and my poor dis-\ngraced relation. Their fates, their fortunes, cannot be the \nsame; and had the natural sweet disposition of the one been \nguarded by a firmer mind, or a happier marriage, she might \nhave been all that you will live to see the other be. But to \nwhat does all this lead? I seem to have been distressing you \nfor nothing. Ah! Miss Dashwood—a subject such as this—\nuntouched for fourteen years—it is dangerous to handle \nit at all! I WILL be more collected—more concise. She left \n\n\n249\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nto my care her only child, a little girl, the offspring of her \nfirst guilty connection, who was then about three years old. \nShe loved the child, and had always kept it with her. It was \na valued, a precious trust to me; and gladly would I have \ndischarged it in the strictest sense, by watching over her ed-\nucation myself, had the nature of our situations allowed it; \nbut I had no family, no home; and my little Eliza was there-\nfore placed at school. I saw her there whenever I could, and \nafter the death of my brother, (which happened about five \nyears ago, and which left to me the possession of the family \nproperty,) she visited me at Delaford. I called her a distant \nrelation; but I am well aware that I have in general been sus-\npected of a much nearer connection with her. It is now three \nyears ago (she had just reached her fourteenth year,) that I \nremoved her from school, to place her under the care of a \nvery respectable woman, residing in Dorsetshire, who had \nthe charge of four or five other girls of about the same time \nof life; and for two years I had every reason to be pleased \nwith her situation. But last February, almost a twelvemonth \nback, she suddenly disappeared. I had allowed her, (impru-\ndently, as it has since turned out,) at her earnest desire, to go \nto Bath with one of her young friends, who was attending \nher father there for his health. I knew him to be a very good \nsort of man, and I thought well of his daughter—better than \nshe deserved, for, with a most obstinate and ill-judged se-\ncrecy, she would tell nothing, would give no clue, though \nshe certainly knew all. He, her father, a well-meaning, but \nnot a quick-sighted man, could really, I believe, give no in-\nformation; for he had been generally confined to the house, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n250\nwhile the girls were ranging over the town and making \nwhat acquaintance they chose; and he tried to convince me, \nas thoroughly as he was convinced himself, of his daugh-\nter’s being entirely unconcerned in the business. In short, I \ncould learn nothing but that she was gone; all the rest, for \neight long months, was left to conjecture. What I thought, \nwhat I feared, may be imagined; and what I suffered too.’\n‘Good heavens!’ cried Elinor, ‘could it be—could \nWilloughby!’—\n‘The first news that reached me of her,’ he continued, \n‘came in a letter from herself, last October. It was forwarded \nto me from Delaford, and I received it on the very morning \nof our intended party to Whitwell; and this was the reason \nof my leaving Barton so suddenly, which I am sure must at \nthe time have appeared strange to every body, and which \nI believe gave offence to some. Little did Mr. Willoughby \nimagine, I suppose, when his looks censured me for incivil-\nity in breaking up the party, that I was called away to the \nrelief of one whom he had made poor and miserable; but \nHAD he known it, what would it have availed? Would he \nhave been less gay or less happy in the smiles of your sister? \nNo, he had already done that, which no man who CAN feel \nfor another would do. He had left the girl whose youth and \ninnocence he had seduced, in a situation of the utmost dis-\ntress, with no creditable home, no help, no friends, ignorant \nof his address! He had left her, promising to return; he nei-\nther returned, nor wrote, nor relieved her.’\n‘This is beyond every thing!’ exclaimed Elinor.\n‘His character is now before you; expensive, dissipated, \n\n\n251\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nand worse than both. Knowing all this, as I have now known \nit many weeks, guess what I must have felt on seeing your \nsister as fond of him as ever, and on being assured that she \nwas to marry him: guess what I must have felt for all your \nsakes. When I came to you last week and found you alone, I \ncame determined to know the truth; though irresolute what \nto do when it WAS known. My behaviour must have seemed \nstrange to you then; but now you will comprehend it. To \nsuffer you all to be so deceived; to see your sister—but what \ncould I do? I had no hope of interfering with success; and \nsometimes I thought your sister’s influence might yet re-\nclaim him. But now, after such dishonorable usage, who can \ntell what were his designs on her. Whatever they may have \nbeen, however, she may now, and hereafter doubtless WILL \nturn with gratitude towards her own condition, when she \ncompares it with that of my poor Eliza, when she considers \nthe wretched and hopeless situation of this poor girl, and \npictures her to herself, with an affection for him so strong, \nstill as strong as her own, and with a mind tormented by \nself-reproach, which must attend her through life. Surely \nthis comparison must have its use with her. She will feel her \nown sufferings to be nothing. They proceed from no mis-\nconduct, and can bring no disgrace. On the contrary, every \nfriend must be made still more her friend by them. Concern \nfor her unhappiness, and respect for her fortitude under it, \nmust strengthen every attachment. Use your own discre-\ntion, however, in communicating to her what I have told \nyou. You must know best what will be its effect; but had \nI not seriously, and from my heart believed it might be of \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n252\nservice, might lessen her regrets, I would not have suffered \nmyself to trouble you with this account of my family afflic-\ntions, with a recital which may seem to have been intended \nto raise myself at the expense of others.’\nElinor’s thanks followed this speech with grateful ear-\nnestness; attended too with the assurance of her expecting \nmaterial advantage to Marianne, from the communication \nof what had passed.\n‘I have been more pained,’ said she, ‘by her endeavors \nto acquit him than by all the rest; for it irritates her mind \nmore than the most perfect conviction of his unworthiness \ncan do. Now, though at first she will suffer much, I am sure \nshe will soon become easier. Have you,’ she continued, af-\nter a short silence, ‘ever seen Mr. Willoughby since you left \nhim at Barton?’\n‘Yes,’ he replied gravely, ‘once I have. One meeting was \nunavoidable.’\nElinor, startled by his manner, looked at him anxiously, \nsaying,\n‘What? have you met him to—‘\n‘I could meet him no other way. Eliza had confessed to \nme, though most reluctantly, the name of her lover; and \nwhen he returned to town, which was within a fortnight \nafter myself, we met by appointment, he to defend, I to pun-\nish his conduct. We returned unwounded, and the meeting, \ntherefore, never got abroad.’\nElinor sighed over the fancied necessity of this; but to a \nman and a soldier she presumed not to censure it.\n‘Such,’ said Colonel Brandon, after a pause, ‘has been \n\n\n253\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nthe unhappy resemblance between the fate of mother and \ndaughter! and so imperfectly have I discharged my trust!’\n‘Is she still in town?’\n‘No; as soon as she recovered from her lying-in, for I \nfound her near her delivery, I removed her and her child \ninto the country, and there she remains.’\nRecollecting, soon afterwards, that he was probably \ndividing Elinor from her sister, he put an end to his visit, re-\nceiving from her again the same grateful acknowledgments, \nand leaving her full of compassion and esteem for him.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n254\nChapter 32\nW\nhen the particulars of this conversation were repeat-\ned by Miss Dashwood to her sister, as they very soon \nwere, the effect on her was not entirely such as the former \nhad hoped to see. Not that Marianne appeared to distrust \nthe truth of any part of it, for she listened to it all with the \nmost steady and submissive attention, made neither objec-\ntion nor remark, attempted no vindication of Willoughby, \nand seemed to shew by her tears that she felt it to be im-\npossible. But though this behaviour assured Elinor that the \nconviction of this guilt WAS carried home to her mind, \nthough she saw with satisfaction the effect of it, in her no \nlonger avoiding Colonel Brandon when he called, in her \nspeaking to him, even voluntarily speaking, with a kind \nof compassionate respect, and though she saw her spirits \nless violently irritated than before, she did not see her less \nwretched. Her mind did become settled, but it was settled in \na gloomy dejection. She felt the loss of Willoughby’s char-\nacter yet more heavily than she had felt the loss of his heart; \nhis seduction and desertion of Miss Williams, the misery \nof that poor girl, and the doubt of what his designs might \nONCE have been on herself, preyed altogether so much on \nher spirits, that she could not bring herself to speak of what \nshe felt even to Elinor; and, brooding over her sorrows in \nsilence, gave more pain to her sister than could have been \n\n\n255\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ncommunicated by the most open and most frequent confes-\nsion of them.\nTo give the feelings or the language of Mrs. Dashwood \non receiving and answering Elinor’s letter would be only \nto give a repetition of what her daughters had already felt \nand said; of a disappointment hardly less painful than Mar-\nianne’s, and an indignation even greater than Elinor’s. Long \nletters from her, quickly succeeding each other, arrived to \ntell all that she suffered and thought; to express her anxious \nsolicitude for Marianne, and entreat she would bear up with \nfortitude under this misfortune. Bad indeed must the na-\nture of Marianne’s affliction be, when her mother could talk \nof fortitude! mortifying and humiliating must be the origin \nof those regrets, which SHE could wish her not to indulge!\nAgainst the interest of her own individual comfort, Mrs. \nDashwood had determined that it would be better for Mari-\nanne to be any where, at that time, than at Barton, where \nevery thing within her view would be bringing back the past \nin the strongest and most afflicting manner, by constantly \nplacing Willoughby before her, such as she had always seen \nhim there. She recommended it to her daughters, therefore, \nby all means not to shorten their visit to Mrs. Jennings; the \nlength of which, though never exactly fixed, had been ex-\npected by all to comprise at least five or six weeks. A variety \nof occupations, of objects, and of company, which could not \nbe procured at Barton, would be inevitable there, and might \nyet, she hoped, cheat Marianne, at times, into some interest \nbeyond herself, and even into some amusement, much as \nthe ideas of both might now be spurned by her.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n256\nFrom all danger of seeing Willoughby again, her mother \nconsidered her to be at least equally safe in town as in the \ncountry, since his acquaintance must now be dropped by all \nwho called themselves her friends. Design could never bring \nthem in each other’s way: negligence could never leave them \nexposed to a surprise; and chance had less in its favour in \nthe crowd of London than even in the retirement of Barton, \nwhere it might force him before her while paying that visit \nat Allenham on his marriage, which Mrs. Dashwood, from \nforeseeing at first as a probable event, had brought herself to \nexpect as a certain one.\nShe had yet another reason for wishing her children to \nremain where they were; a letter from her son-in-law had \ntold her that he and his wife were to be in town before the \nmiddle of February, and she judged it right that they should \nsometimes see their brother.\nMarianne had promised to be guided by her mother’s \nopinion, and she submitted to it therefore without oppo-\nsition, though it proved perfectly different from what she \nwished and expected, though she felt it to be entirely wrong, \nformed on mistaken grounds, and that by requiring her \nlonger continuance in London it deprived her of the only \npossible alleviation of her wretchedness, the personal sym-\npathy of her mother, and doomed her to such society and \nsuch scenes as must prevent her ever knowing a moment’s \nrest.\nBut it was a matter of great consolation to her, that what \nbrought evil to herself would bring good to her sister; and \nElinor, on the other hand, suspecting that it would not be \n\n\n257\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nin her power to avoid Edward entirely, comforted herself \nby thinking, that though their longer stay would therefore \nmilitate against her own happiness, it would be better for \nMarianne than an immediate return into Devonshire.\nHer carefulness in guarding her sister from ever hear-\ning Willoughby’s name mentioned, was not thrown away. \nMarianne, though without knowing it herself, reaped all its \nadvantage; for neither Mrs. Jennings, nor Sir John, nor even \nMrs. Palmer herself, ever spoke of him before her. Elinor \nwished that the same forbearance could have extended to-\nwards herself, but that was impossible, and she was obliged \nto listen day after day to the indignation of them all.\nSir John, could not have thought it possible. ‘A man of \nwhom he had always had such reason to think well! Such a \ngood-natured fellow! He did not believe there was a bold-\ner rider in England! It was an unaccountable business. He \nwished him at the devil with all his heart. He would not \nspeak another word to him, meet him where he might, for \nall the world! No, not if it were to be by the side of Barton \ncovert, and they were kept watching for two hours together. \nSuch a scoundrel of a fellow! such a deceitful dog! It was \nonly the last time they met that he had offered him one of \nFolly’s puppies! and this was the end of it!’\nMrs. Palmer, in her way, was equally angry. ‘She was de-\ntermined to drop his acquaintance immediately, and she \nwas very thankful that she had never been acquainted with \nhim at all. She wished with all her heart Combe Magna was \nnot so near Cleveland; but it did not signify, for it was a great \ndeal too far off to visit; she hated him so much that she was \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n258\nresolved never to mention his name again, and she should \ntell everybody she saw, how good-for-nothing he was.’\nThe rest of Mrs. Palmer’s sympathy was shewn in pro-\ncuring all the particulars in her power of the approaching \nmarriage, and communicating them to Elinor. She could \nsoon tell at what coachmaker’s the new carriage was build-\ning, by what painter Mr. Willoughby’s portrait was drawn, \nand at what warehouse Miss Grey’s clothes might be seen.\nThe calm and polite unconcern of Lady Middleton on \nthe occasion was a happy relief to Elinor’s spirits, oppressed \nas they often were by the clamorous kindness of the others. \nIt was a great comfort to her to be sure of exciting no inter-\nest in ONE person at least among their circle of friends: a \ngreat comfort to know that there was ONE who would meet \nher without feeling any curiosity after particulars, or any \nanxiety for her sister’s health.\nEvery qualification is raised at times, by the circum-\nstances of the moment, to more than its real value; and she \nwas sometimes worried down by officious condolence to \nrate good-breeding as more indispensable to comfort than \ngood-nature.\nLady Middleton expressed her sense of the affair about \nonce every day, or twice, if the subject occurred very often, \nby saying, ‘It is very shocking, indeed!’ and by the means \nof this continual though gentle vent, was able not only to \nsee the Miss Dashwoods from the first without the smallest \nemotion, but very soon to see them without recollecting a \nword of the matter; and having thus supported the dignity \nof her own sex, and spoken her decided censure of what was \n\n\n259\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nwrong in the other, she thought herself at liberty to attend \nto the interest of her own assemblies, and therefore deter-\nmined (though rather against the opinion of Sir John) that \nas Mrs. Willoughby would at once be a woman of elegance \nand fortune, to leave her card with her as soon as she mar-\nried.\nColonel Brandon’s delicate, unobtrusive enquiries were \nnever unwelcome to Miss Dashwood. He had abundantly \nearned the privilege of intimate discussion of her sister’s \ndisappointment, by the friendly zeal with which he had \nendeavoured to soften it, and they always conversed with \nconfidence. His chief reward for the painful exertion of dis-\nclosing past sorrows and present humiliations, was given in \nthe pitying eye with which Marianne sometimes observed \nhim, and the gentleness of her voice whenever (though it \ndid not often happen) she was obliged, or could oblige her-\nself to speak to him. THESE assured him that his exertion \nhad produced an increase of good-will towards himself, and \nTHESE gave Elinor hopes of its being farther augmented \nhereafter; but Mrs. Jennings, who knew nothing of all this, \nwho knew only that the Colonel continued as grave as ever, \nand that she could neither prevail on him to make the of-\nfer himself, nor commission her to make it for him, began, \nat the end of two days, to think that, instead of Midsum-\nmer, they would not be married till Michaelmas, and by the \nend of a week that it would not be a match at all. The good \nunderstanding between the Colonel and Miss Dashwood \nseemed rather to declare that the honours of the mulberry-\ntree, the canal, and the yew arbour, would all be made over \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n260\nto HER; and Mrs. Jennings had, for some time ceased to \nthink at all of Mrs. Ferrars.\nEarly in February, within a fortnight from the receipt of \nWilloughby’s letter, Elinor had the painful office of inform-\ning her sister that he was married. She had taken care to \nhave the intelligence conveyed to herself, as soon as it was \nknown that the ceremony was over, as she was desirous that \nMarianne should not receive the first notice of it from the \npublic papers, which she saw her eagerly examining every \nmorning.\nShe received the news with resolute composure; made no \nobservation on it, and at first shed no tears; but after a short \ntime they would burst out, and for the rest of the day, she \nwas in a state hardly less pitiable than when she first learnt \nto expect the event.\nThe Willoughbys left town as soon as they were married; \nand Elinor now hoped, as there could be no danger of her \nseeing either of them, to prevail on her sister, who had never \nyet left the house since the blow first fell, to go out again by \ndegrees as she had done before.\nAbout this time the two Miss Steeles, lately arrived at \ntheir cousin’s house in Bartlett’s Buildings, Holburn, pre-\nsented themselves again before their more grand relations \nin Conduit and Berkeley Streets; and were welcomed by \nthem all with great cordiality.\nElinor only was sorry to see them. Their presence always \ngave her pain, and she hardly knew how to make a very gra-\ncious return to the overpowering delight of Lucy in finding \nher STILL in town.\n\n\n261\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘I should have been quite disappointed if I had not found \nyou here STILL,’ said she repeatedly, with a strong emphasis \non the word. ‘But I always thought I SHOULD. I was almost \nsure you would not leave London yet awhile; though you \nTOLD me, you know, at Barton, that you should not stay \nabove a MONTH. But I thought, at the time, that you would \nmost likely change your mind when it came to the point. It \nwould have been such a great pity to have went away before \nyour brother and sister came. And now to be sure you will \nbe in no hurry to be gone. I am amazingly glad you did not \nkeep to YOUR WORD.’\nElinor perfectly understood her, and was forced to use \nall her self-command to make it appear that she did NOT.\n‘Well, my dear,’ said Mrs. Jennings, ‘and how did you \ntravel?’\n‘Not in the stage, I assure you,’ replied Miss Steele, with \nquick exultation; ‘we came post all the way, and had a very \nsmart beau to attend us. Dr. Davies was coming to town, \nand so we thought we’d join him in a post-chaise; and he \nbehaved very genteelly, and paid ten or twelve shillings \nmore than we did.’\n‘Oh, oh!’ cried Mrs. Jennings; ‘very pretty, indeed! and \nthe Doctor is a single man, I warrant you.’\n‘There now,’ said Miss Steele, affectedly simpering, ‘every-\nbody laughs at me so about the Doctor, and I cannot think \nwhy. My cousins say they are sure I have made a conquest; \nbut for my part I declare I never think about him from one \nhour’s end to another. ‘Lord! here comes your beau, Nancy,’ \nmy cousin said t’other day, when she saw him crossing the \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n262\nstreet to the house. My beau, indeed! said I—I cannot think \nwho you mean. The Doctor is no beau of mine.’\n‘Aye, aye, that is very pretty talking—but it won’t do— \nthe Doctor is the man, I see.’\n‘No, indeed!’ replied her cousin, with affected earnest-\nness, ‘and I beg you will contradict it, if you ever hear it \ntalked of.’\nMrs. Jennings directly gave her the gratifying assurance \nthat she certainly would NOT, and Miss Steele was made \ncompletely happy.\n‘I suppose you will go and stay with your brother and \nsister, Miss Dashwood, when they come to town,’ said Lucy, \nreturning, after a cessation of hostile hints, to the charge.\n‘No, I do not think we shall.’\n‘Oh, yes, I dare say you will.’\nElinor would not humour her by farther opposition.\n‘What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can \nspare you both for so long a time together!’\n‘Long a time, indeed!’ interposed Mrs. Jennings. ‘Why, \ntheir visit is but just begun!’\nLucy was silenced.\n‘I am sorry we cannot see your sister, Miss Dashwood,’ \nsaid Miss Steele. ‘I am sorry she is not well—‘ for Marianne \nhad left the room on their arrival.\n‘You are very good. My sister will be equally sorry to \nmiss the pleasure of seeing you; but she has been very much \nplagued lately with nervous head-aches, which make her \nunfit for company or conversation.’\n‘Oh, dear, that is a great pity! but such old friends as Lucy \n\n\n263\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nand me!—I think she might see US; and I am sure we would \nnot speak a word.’\nElinor, with great civility, declined the proposal. Her sis-\nter was perhaps laid down upon the bed, or in her dressing \ngown, and therefore not able to come to them.\n‘Oh, if that’s all,’ cried Miss Steele, ‘we can just as well go \nand see HER.’\nElinor began to find this impertinence too much for her \ntemper; but she was saved the trouble of checking it, by Lu-\ncy’s sharp reprimand, which now, as on many occasions, \nthough it did not give much sweetness to the manners of \none sister, was of advantage in governing those of the oth-\ner.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n264\nChapter 33\nA\nfter some opposition, Marianne yielded to her sister’s \nentreaties, and consented to go out with her and Mrs. \nJennings one morning for half an hour. She expressly condi-\ntioned, however, for paying no visits, and would do no more \nthan accompany them to Gray’s in Sackville Street, where \nElinor was carrying on a negotiation for the exchange of a \nfew old-fashioned jewels of her mother.\nWhen they stopped at the door, Mrs. Jennings recol-\nlected that there was a lady at the other end of the street \non whom she ought to call; and as she had no business at \nGray’s, it was resolved, that while her young friends trans-\nacted their’s, she should pay her visit and return for them.\nOn ascending the stairs, the Miss Dashwoods found so \nmany people before them in the room, that there was not \na person at liberty to tend to their orders; and they were \nobliged to wait. All that could be done was, to sit down at \nthat end of the counter which seemed to promise the quick-\nest succession; one gentleman only was standing there, and \nit is probable that Elinor was not without hope of exciting \nhis politeness to a quicker despatch. But the correctness of \nhis eye, and the delicacy of his taste, proved to be beyond \nhis politeness. He was giving orders for a toothpick-case \nfor himself, and till its size, shape, and ornaments were de-\ntermined, all of which, after examining and debating for a \n\n\n265\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nquarter of an hour over every toothpick-case in the shop, \nwere finally arranged by his own inventive fancy, he had \nno leisure to bestow any other attention on the two ladies, \nthan what was comprised in three or four very broad stares; \na kind of notice which served to imprint on Elinor the re-\nmembrance of a person and face, of strong, natural, sterling \ninsignificance, though adorned in the first style of fashion.\nMarianne was spared from the troublesome feelings of \ncontempt and resentment, on this impertinent examina-\ntion of their features, and on the puppyism of his manner \nin deciding on all the different horrors of the different \ntoothpick-cases presented to his inspection, by remaining \nunconscious of it all; for she was as well able to collect her \nthoughts within herself, and be as ignorant of what was \npassing around her, in Mr. Gray’s shop, as in her own bed-\nroom.\nAt last the affair was decided. The ivory, the gold, and the \npearls, all received their appointment, and the gentleman \nhaving named the last day on which his existence could be \ncontinued without the possession of the toothpick-case, \ndrew on his gloves with leisurely care, and bestowing anoth-\ner glance on the Miss Dashwoods, but such a one as seemed \nrather to demand than express admiration, walked off with \na happy air of real conceit and affected indifference.\nElinor lost no time in bringing her business forward, was \non the point of concluding it, when another gentleman pre-\nsented himself at her side. She turned her eyes towards his \nface, and found him with some surprise to be her brother.\nTheir affection and pleasure in meeting was just enough \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n266\nto make a very creditable appearance in Mr. Gray’s shop. \nJohn Dashwood was really far from being sorry to see his \nsisters again; it rather gave them satisfaction; and his inqui-\nries after their mother were respectful and attentive.\nElinor found that he and Fanny had been in town two \ndays.\n‘I wished very much to call upon you yesterday,’ said he, \n‘but it was impossible, for we were obliged to take Harry to \nsee the wild beasts at Exeter Exchange; and we spent the \nrest of the day with Mrs. Ferrars. Harry was vastly pleased. \nTHIS morning I had fully intended to call on you, if I could \npossibly find a spare half hour, but one has always so much \nto do on first coming to town. I am come here to bespeak \nFanny a seal. But tomorrow I think I shall certainly be able \nto call in Berkeley Street, and be introduced to your friend \nMrs. Jennings. I understand she is a woman of very good \nfortune. And the Middletons too, you must introduce me to \nTHEM. As my mother-in-law’s relations, I shall be happy to \nshow them every respect. They are excellent neighbours to \nyou in the country, I understand.’\n‘Excellent indeed. Their attention to our comfort, their \nfriendliness in every particular, is more than I can ex-\npress.’\n‘I am extremely glad to hear it, upon my word; extremely \nglad indeed. But so it ought to be; they are people of large \nfortune, they are related to you, and every civility and ac-\ncommodation that can serve to make your situation pleasant \nmight be reasonably expected. And so you are most com-\nfortably settled in your little cottage and want for nothing! \n\n\n267\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nEdward brought us a most charming account of the place: \nthe most complete thing of its kind, he said, that ever was, \nand you all seemed to enjoy it beyond any thing. It was a \ngreat satisfaction to us to hear it, I assure you.’\nElinor did feel a little ashamed of her brother; and was \nnot sorry to be spared the necessity of answering him, by \nthe arrival of Mrs. Jennings’s servant, who came to tell her \nthat his mistress waited for them at the door.\nMr. Dashwood attended them down stairs, was intro-\nduced to Mrs. Jennings at the door of her carriage, and \nrepeating his hope of being able to call on them the next \nday, took leave.\nHis visit was duly paid. He came with a pretence at an \napology from their sister-in-law, for not coming too; ‘but \nshe was so much engaged with her mother, that really she \nhad no leisure for going any where.’ Mrs. Jennings, how-\never, assured him directly, that she should not stand upon \nceremony, for they were all cousins, or something like it, \nand she should certainly wait on Mrs. John Dashwood \nvery soon, and bring her sisters to see her. His manners to \nTHEM, though calm, were perfectly kind; to Mrs. Jennings, \nmost attentively civil; and on Colonel Brandon’s coming \nin soon after himself, he eyed him with a curiosity which \nseemed to say, that he only wanted to know him to be rich, \nto be equally civil to HIM.\nAfter staying with them half an hour, he asked Elinor \nto walk with him to Conduit Street, and introduce him to \nSir John and Lady Middleton. The weather was remarkably \nfine, and she readily consented. As soon as they were out of \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n268\nthe house, his enquiries began.\n‘Who is Colonel Brandon? Is he a man of fortune?’\n‘Yes; he has very good property in Dorsetshire.’\n‘I am glad of it. He seems a most gentlemanlike man; and \nI think, Elinor, I may congratulate you on the prospect of a \nvery respectable establishment in life.’\n‘Me, brother! what do you mean?’\n‘He likes you. I observed him narrowly, and am con-\nvinced of it. What is the amount of his fortune?’\n‘I believe about two thousand a year.’\n‘Two thousand a-year;’ and then working himself up to \na pitch of enthusiastic generosity, he added, ‘Elinor, I wish \nwith all my heart it were TWICE as much, for your sake.’\n‘Indeed I believe you,’ replied Elinor; ‘but I am very sure \nthat Colonel Brandon has not the smallest wish of marry-\ning ME.’\n‘You are mistaken, Elinor; you are very much mistaken. \nA very little trouble on your side secures him. Perhaps just at \npresent he may be undecided; the smallness of your fortune \nmay make him hang back; his friends may all advise him \nagainst it. But some of those little attentions and encourage-\nments which ladies can so easily give will fix him, in spite \nof himself. And there can be no reason why you should not \ntry for him. It is not to be supposed that any prior attach-\nment on your side—in short, you know as to an attachment \nof that kind, it is quite out of the question, the objections \nare insurmountable— you have too much sense not to see \nall that. Colonel Brandon must be the man; and no civil-\nity shall be wanting on my part to make him pleased with \n\n\n269\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nyou and your family. It is a match that must give universal \nsatisfaction. In short, it is a kind of thing that’—lowering \nhis voice to an important whisper—‘will be exceedingly \nwelcome to ALL PARTIES.’ Recollecting himself, however, \nhe added, ‘That is, I mean to say—your friends are all truly \nanxious to see you well settled; Fanny particularly, for she \nhas your interest very much at heart, I assure you. And her \nmother too, Mrs. Ferrars, a very good-natured woman, I am \nsure it would give her great pleasure; she said as much the \nother day.’\nElinor would not vouchsafe any answer.\n‘It would be something remarkable, now,’ he continued, \n‘something droll, if Fanny should have a brother and I a \nsister settling at the same time. And yet it is not very un-\nlikely.’\n‘Is Mr. Edward Ferrars,’ said Elinor, with resolution, ‘go-\ning to be married?’\n‘It is not actually settled, but there is such a thing in agi-\ntation. He has a most excellent mother. Mrs. Ferrars, with \nthe utmost liberality, will come forward, and settle on him \na thousand a year, if the match takes place. The lady is the \nHon. Miss Morton, only daughter of the late Lord Morton, \nwith thirty thousand pounds. A very desirable connection \non both sides, and I have not a doubt of its taking place in \ntime. A thousand a-year is a great deal for a mother to give \naway, to make over for ever; but Mrs. Ferrars has a noble \nspirit. To give you another instance of her liberality:—The \nother day, as soon as we came to town, aware that money \ncould not be very plenty with us just now, she put bank-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n270\nnotes into Fanny’s hands to the amount of two hundred \npounds. And extremely acceptable it is, for we must live at a \ngreat expense while we are here.’\nHe paused for her assent and compassion; and she forced \nherself to say,\n‘Your expenses both in town and country must certainly \nbe considerable; but your income is a large one.’\n‘Not so large, I dare say, as many people suppose. I do not \nmean to complain, however; it is undoubtedly a comfort-\nable one, and I hope will in time be better. The enclosure \nof Norland Common, now carrying on, is a most serious \ndrain. And then I have made a little purchase within this \nhalf year; East Kingham Farm, you must remember the \nplace, where old Gibson used to live. The land was so very \ndesirable for me in every respect, so immediately adjoining \nmy own property, that I felt it my duty to buy it. I could not \nhave answered it to my conscience to let it fall into any oth-\ner hands. A man must pay for his convenience; and it HAS \ncost me a vast deal of money.’\n‘More than you think it really and intrinsically worth.’\n‘Why, I hope not that. I might have sold it again, the next \nday, for more than I gave: but, with regard to the purchase-\nmoney, I might have been very unfortunate indeed; for the \nstocks were at that time so low, that if I had not happened to \nhave the necessary sum in my banker’s hands, I must have \nsold out to very great loss.’\nElinor could only smile.\n‘Other great and inevitable expenses too we have had on \nfirst coming to Norland. Our respected father, as you well \n\n\n271\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nknow, bequeathed all the Stanhill effects that remained at \nNorland (and very valuable they were) to your mother. Far \nbe it from me to repine at his doing so; he had an undoubt-\ned right to dispose of his own property as he chose, but, in \nconsequence of it, we have been obliged to make large pur-\nchases of linen, china, &c. to supply the place of what was \ntaken away. You may guess, after all these expenses, how \nvery far we must be from being rich, and how acceptable \nMrs. Ferrars’s kindness is.’\n‘Certainly,’ said Elinor; ‘and assisted by her liberality, I \nhope you may yet live to be in easy circumstances.’\n‘Another year or two may do much towards it,’ he gravely \nreplied; ‘but however there is still a great deal to be done. \nThere is not a stone laid of Fanny’s green-house, and noth-\ning but the plan of the flower-garden marked out.’\n‘Where is the green-house to be?’\n‘Upon the knoll behind the house. The old walnut trees \nare all come down to make room for it. It will be a very fine \nobject from many parts of the park, and the flower-garden \nwill slope down just before it, and be exceedingly pretty. We \nhave cleared away all the old thorns that grew in patches \nover the brow.’\nElinor kept her concern and her censure to herself; and \nwas very thankful that Marianne was not present, to share \nthe provocation.\nHaving now said enough to make his poverty clear, and \nto do away the necessity of buying a pair of ear-rings for \neach of his sisters, in his next visit at Gray’s his thoughts \ntook a cheerfuller turn, and he began to congratulate Elinor \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n272\non having such a friend as Mrs. Jennings.\n‘She seems a most valuable woman indeed—Her house, \nher style of living, all bespeak an exceeding good income; \nand it is an acquaintance that has not only been of great use \nto you hitherto, but in the end may prove materially advan-\ntageous.—Her inviting you to town is certainly a vast thing \nin your favour; and indeed, it speaks altogether so great a \nregard for you, that in all probability when she dies you will \nnot be forgotten.— She must have a great deal to leave.’\n‘Nothing at all, I should rather suppose; for she has only \nher jointure, which will descend to her children.’\n‘But it is not to be imagined that she lives up to her in-\ncome. Few people of common prudence will do THAT; and \nwhatever she saves, she will be able to dispose of.’\n‘And do you not think it more likely that she should leave \nit to her daughters, than to us?’\n‘Her daughters are both exceedingly well married, and \ntherefore I cannot perceive the necessity of her remember-\ning them farther. Whereas, in my opinion, by her taking so \nmuch notice of you, and treating you in this kind of way, she \nhas given you a sort of claim on her future consideration, \nwhich a conscientious woman would not disregard. Noth-\ning can be kinder than her behaviour; and she can hardly do \nall this, without being aware of the expectation it raises.’\n‘But she raises none in those most concerned. Indeed, \nbrother, your anxiety for our welfare and prosperity carries \nyou too far.’\n‘Why, to be sure,’ said he, seeming to recollect himself, \n‘people have little, have very little in their power. But, my \n\n\n273\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ndear Elinor, what is the matter with Marianne?— she looks \nvery unwell, has lost her colour, and is grown quite thin. Is \nshe ill?’\n‘She is not well, she has had a nervous complaint on her \nfor several weeks.’\n‘I am sorry for that. At her time of life, any thing of an ill-\nness destroys the bloom for ever! Her’s has been a very short \none! She was as handsome a girl last September, as I ever \nsaw; and as likely to attract the man. There was something \nin her style of beauty, to please them particularly. I remem-\nber Fanny used to say that she would marry sooner and \nbetter than you did; not but what she is exceedingly fond of \nYOU, but so it happened to strike her. She will be mistaken, \nhowever. I question whether Marianne NOW, will marry \na man worth more than five or six hundred a-year, at the \nutmost, and I am very much deceived if YOU do not do bet-\nter. Dorsetshire! I know very little of Dorsetshire; but, my \ndear Elinor, I shall be exceedingly glad to know more of it; \nand I think I can answer for your having Fanny and myself \namong the earliest and best pleased of your visitors.’\nElinor tried very seriously to convince him that there \nwas no likelihood of her marrying Colonel Brandon; but \nit was an expectation of too much pleasure to himself to be \nrelinquished, and he was really resolved on seeking an inti-\nmacy with that gentleman, and promoting the marriage by \nevery possible attention. He had just compunction enough \nfor having done nothing for his sisters himself, to be ex-\nceedingly anxious that everybody else should do a great \ndeal; and an offer from Colonel Brandon, or a legacy from \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n274\nMrs. Jennings, was the easiest means of atoning for his own \nneglect.\nThey were lucky enough to find Lady Middleton at \nhome, and Sir John came in before their visit ended. Abun-\ndance of civilities passed on all sides. Sir John was ready to \nlike anybody, and though Mr. Dashwood did not seem to \nknow much about horses, he soon set him down as a very \ngood-natured fellow: while Lady Middleton saw enough of \nfashion in his appearance to think his acquaintance worth \nhaving; and Mr. Dashwood went away delighted with both.\n‘I shall have a charming account to carry to Fanny,’ said \nhe, as he walked back with his sister. ‘Lady Middleton is \nreally a most elegant woman! Such a woman as I am sure \nFanny will be glad to know. And Mrs. Jennings too, an ex-\nceedingly well-behaved woman, though not so elegant as \nher daughter. Your sister need not have any scruple even of \nvisiting HER, which, to say the truth, has been a little the \ncase, and very naturally; for we only knew that Mrs. Jen-\nnings was the widow of a man who had got all his money in \na low way; and Fanny and Mrs. Ferrars were both strongly \nprepossessed, that neither she nor her daughters were such \nkind of women as Fanny would like to associate with. But \nnow I can carry her a most satisfactory account of both.’\n\n\n275\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 34\nM\nrs. John Dashwood had so much confidence in her \nhusband’s judgment, that she waited the very next \nday both on Mrs. Jennings and her daughter; and her con-\nfidence was rewarded by finding even the former, even the \nwoman with whom her sisters were staying, by no means \nunworthy her notice; and as for Lady Middleton, she found \nher one of the most charming women in the world!\nLady Middleton was equally pleased with Mrs. Dash-\nwood. There was a kind of cold hearted selfishness on both \nsides, which mutually attracted them; and they sympathi-\nsed with each other in an insipid propriety of demeanor, \nand a general want of understanding.\nThe same manners, however, which recommended Mrs. \nJohn Dashwood to the good opinion of Lady Middleton \ndid not suit the fancy of Mrs. Jennings, and to HER she ap-\npeared nothing more than a little proud-looking woman of \nuncordial address, who met her husband’s sisters without \nany affection, and almost without having anything to say \nto them; for of the quarter of an hour bestowed on Berkeley \nStreet, she sat at least seven minutes and a half in silence.\nElinor wanted very much to know, though she did not \nchuse to ask, whether Edward was then in town; but nothing \nwould have induced Fanny voluntarily to mention his name \nbefore her, till able to tell her that his marriage with Miss \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n276\nMorton was resolved on, or till her husband’s expectations \non Colonel Brandon were answered; because she believed \nthem still so very much attached to each other, that they \ncould not be too sedulously divided in word and deed on \nevery occasion. The intelligence however, which SHE would \nnot give, soon flowed from another quarter. Lucy came very \nshortly to claim Elinor’s compassion on being unable to see \nEdward, though he had arrived in town with Mr. and Mrs. \nDashwood. He dared not come to Bartlett’s Buildings for \nfear of detection, and though their mutual impatience to \nmeet, was not to be told, they could do nothing at present \nbut write.\nEdward assured them himself of his being in town, with-\nin a very short time, by twice calling in Berkeley Street. \nTwice was his card found on the table, when they returned \nfrom their morning’s engagements. Elinor was pleased that \nhe had called; and still more pleased that she had missed \nhim.\nThe Dashwoods were so prodigiously delighted with the \nMiddletons, that, though not much in the habit of giving \nanything, they determined to give them— a dinner; and \nsoon after their acquaintance began, invited them to dine \nin Harley Street, where they had taken a very good house \nfor three months. Their sisters and Mrs. Jennings were in-\nvited likewise, and John Dashwood was careful to secure \nColonel Brandon, who, always glad to be where the Miss \nDashwoods were, received his eager civilities with some \nsurprise, but much more pleasure. They were to meet Mrs. \nFerrars; but Elinor could not learn whether her sons were \n\n\n277\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nto be of the party. The expectation of seeing HER, however, \nwas enough to make her interested in the engagement; for \nthough she could now meet Edward’s mother without that \nstrong anxiety which had once promised to attend such an \nintroduction, though she could now see her with perfect in-\ndifference as to her opinion of herself, her desire of being in \ncompany with Mrs. Ferrars, her curiosity to know what she \nwas like, was as lively as ever.\nThe interest with which she thus anticipated the par-\nty, was soon afterwards increased, more powerfully than \npleasantly, by her hearing that the Miss Steeles were also \nto be at it.\nSo well had they recommended themselves to Lady Mid-\ndleton, so agreeable had their assiduities made them to her, \nthat though Lucy was certainly not so elegant, and her sister \nnot even genteel, she was as ready as Sir John to ask them to \nspend a week or two in Conduit Street; and it happened to \nbe particularly convenient to the Miss Steeles, as soon as the \nDashwoods’ invitation was known, that their visit should \nbegin a few days before the party took place.\nTheir claims to the notice of Mrs. John Dashwood, as the \nnieces of the gentleman who for many years had had the \ncare of her brother, might not have done much, however, \ntowards procuring them seats at her table; but as Lady Mid-\ndleton’s guests they must be welcome; and Lucy, who had \nlong wanted to be personally known to the family, to have a \nnearer view of their characters and her own difficulties, and \nto have an opportunity of endeavouring to please them, had \nseldom been happier in her life, than she was on receiving \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n278\nMrs. John Dashwood’s card.\nOn Elinor its effect was very different. She began im-\nmediately to determine, that Edward who lived with his \nmother, must be asked as his mother was, to a party given \nby his sister; and to see him for the first time, after all that \npassed, in the company of Lucy!—she hardly knew how she \ncould bear it!\nThese apprehensions, perhaps, were not founded entirely \non reason, and certainly not at all on truth. They were re-\nlieved however, not by her own recollection, but by the good \nwill of Lucy, who believed herself to be inflicting a severe \ndisappointment when she told her that Edward certainly \nwould not be in Harley Street on Tuesday, and even hoped \nto be carrying the pain still farther by persuading her that \nhe was kept away by the extreme affection for herself, which \nhe could not conceal when they were together.\nThe important Tuesday came that was to introduce the \ntwo young ladies to this formidable mother-in-law.\n‘Pity me, dear Miss Dashwood!’ said Lucy, as they walked \nup the stairs together—for the Middletons arrived so di-\nrectly after Mrs. Jennings, that they all followed the servant \nat the same time—‘There is nobody here but you, that can \nfeel for me.—I declare I can hardly stand. Good gracious!—\nIn a moment I shall see the person that all my happiness \ndepends on—that is to be my mother!’—\nElinor could have given her immediate relief by suggest-\ning the possibility of its being Miss Morton’s mother, rather \nthan her own, whom they were about to behold; but instead \nof doing that, she assured her, and with great sincerity, that \n\n\n279\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nshe did pity her—to the utter amazement of Lucy, who, \nthough really uncomfortable herself, hoped at least to be an \nobject of irrepressible envy to Elinor.\nMrs. Ferrars was a little, thin woman, upright, even to \nformality, in her figure, and serious, even to sourness, in \nher aspect. Her complexion was sallow; and her features \nsmall, without beauty, and naturally without expression; \nbut a lucky contraction of the brow had rescued her counte-\nnance from the disgrace of insipidity, by giving it the strong \ncharacters of pride and ill nature. She was not a woman of \nmany words; for, unlike people in general, she proportioned \nthem to the number of her ideas; and of the few syllables \nthat did escape her, not one fell to the share of Miss Dash-\nwood, whom she eyed with the spirited determination of \ndisliking her at all events.\nElinor could not NOW be made unhappy by this \nbehaviour.— A few months ago it would have hurt her ex-\nceedingly; but it was not in Mrs. Ferrars’ power to distress \nher by it now;— and the difference of her manners to the \nMiss Steeles, a difference which seemed purposely made \nto humble her more, only amused her. She could not but \nsmile to see the graciousness of both mother and daughter \ntowards the very person— for Lucy was particularly dis-\ntinguished—whom of all others, had they known as much \nas she did, they would have been most anxious to morti-\nfy; while she herself, who had comparatively no power to \nwound them, sat pointedly slighted by both. But while she \nsmiled at a graciousness so misapplied, she could not re-\nflect on the mean-spirited folly from which it sprung, nor \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n280\nobserve the studied attentions with which the Miss Steeles \ncourted its continuance, without thoroughly despising \nthem all four.\nLucy was all exultation on being so honorably distin-\nguished; and Miss Steele wanted only to be teazed about Dr. \nDavis to be perfectly happy.\nThe dinner was a grand one, the servants were numer-\nous, and every thing bespoke the Mistress’s inclination for \nshow, and the Master’s ability to support it. In spite of the \nimprovements and additions which were making to the \nNorland estate, and in spite of its owner having once been \nwithin some thousand pounds of being obliged to sell out at \na loss, nothing gave any symptom of that indigence which \nhe had tried to infer from it;— no poverty of any kind, ex-\ncept of conversation, appeared— but there, the deficiency \nwas considerable. John Dashwood had not much to say for \nhimself that was worth hearing, and his wife had still less. \nBut there was no peculiar disgrace in this; for it was very \nmuch the case with the chief of their visitors, who almost \nall laboured under one or other of these disqualifications \nfor being agreeable—Want of sense, either natural or im-\nproved—want of elegance—want of spirits—or want of \ntemper.\nWhen the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room after \ndinner, this poverty was particularly evident, for the gen-\ntlemen HAD supplied the discourse with some variety—the \nvariety of politics, inclosing land, and breaking horses—but \nthen it was all over; and one subject only engaged the ladies \ntill coffee came in, which was the comparative heights of \n\n\n281\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nHarry Dashwood, and Lady Middleton’s second son Wil-\nliam, who were nearly of the same age.\nHad both the children been there, the affair might have \nbeen determined too easily by measuring them at once; but \nas Harry only was present, it was all conjectural assertion \non both sides; and every body had a right to be equally posi-\ntive in their opinion, and to repeat it over and over again as \noften as they liked.\nThe parties stood thus:\nThe two mothers, though each really convinced that her \nown son was the tallest, politely decided in favour of the \nother.\nThe two grandmothers, with not less partiality, but more \nsincerity, were equally earnest in support of their own de-\nscendant.\nLucy, who was hardly less anxious to please one parent \nthan the other, thought the boys were both remarkably tall \nfor their age, and could not conceive that there could be the \nsmallest difference in the world between them; and Miss \nSteele, with yet greater address gave it, as fast as she could, \nin favour of each.\nElinor, having once delivered her opinion on William’s \nside, by which she offended Mrs. Ferrars and Fanny still \nmore, did not see the necessity of enforcing it by any farther \nassertion; and Marianne, when called on for her’s, offended \nthem all, by declaring that she had no opinion to give, as she \nhad never thought about it.\nBefore her removing from Norland, Elinor had painted \na very pretty pair of screens for her sister-in-law, which be-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n282\ning now just mounted and brought home, ornamented her \npresent drawing room; and these screens, catching the eye \nof John Dashwood on his following the other gentlemen \ninto the room, were officiously handed by him to Colonel \nBrandon for his admiration.\n‘These are done by my eldest sister,’ said he; ‘and you, as \na man of taste, will, I dare say, be pleased with them. I do \nnot know whether you have ever happened to see any of her \nperformances before, but she is in general reckoned to draw \nextremely well.’\nThe Colonel, though disclaiming all pretensions to con-\nnoisseurship, warmly admired the screens, as he would have \ndone any thing painted by Miss Dashwood; and on the curi-\nosity of the others being of course excited, they were handed \nround for general inspection. Mrs. Ferrars, not aware of \ntheir being Elinor’s work, particularly requested to look at \nthem; and after they had received gratifying testimony of \nLady Middletons’s approbation, Fanny presented them to \nher mother, considerately informing her, at the same time, \nthat they were done by Miss Dashwood.\n‘Hum’—said Mrs. Ferrars—‘very pretty,’—and without \nregarding them at all, returned them to her daughter.\nPerhaps Fanny thought for a moment that her mother \nhad been quite rude enough,—for, colouring a little, she im-\nmediately said,\n‘They are very pretty, ma’am—an’t they?’ But then again, \nthe dread of having been too civil, too encouraging herself, \nprobably came over her, for she presently added,\n‘Do you not think they are something in Miss Morton’s \n\n\n283\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nstyle of painting, Ma’am?—She DOES paint most delight-\nfully!—How beautifully her last landscape is done!’\n‘Beautifully indeed! But SHE does every thing well.’\nMarianne could not bear this.—She was already greatly \ndispleased with Mrs. Ferrars; and such ill-timed praise of \nanother, at Elinor’s expense, though she had not any notion \nof what was principally meant by it, provoked her immedi-\nately to say with warmth,\n‘This is admiration of a very particular kind!— what is \nMiss Morton to us?—who knows, or who cares, for her?—it \nis Elinor of whom WE think and speak.’\nAnd so saying, she took the screens out of her sister-\nin-law’s hands, to admire them herself as they ought to be \nadmired.\nMrs. Ferrars looked exceedingly angry, and drawing \nherself up more stiffly than ever, pronounced in retort this \nbitter philippic, ‘Miss Morton is Lord Morton’s daughter.’\nFanny looked very angry too, and her husband was all in \na fright at his sister’s audacity. Elinor was much more hurt \nby Marianne’s warmth than she had been by what produced \nit; but Colonel Brandon’s eyes, as they were fixed on Mari-\nanne, declared that he noticed only what was amiable in it, \nthe affectionate heart which could not bear to see a sister \nslighted in the smallest point.\nMarianne’s feelings did not stop here. The cold insolence \nof Mrs. Ferrars’s general behaviour to her sister, seemed, to \nher, to foretell such difficulties and distresses to Elinor, as \nher own wounded heart taught her to think of with horror; \nand urged by a strong impulse of affectionate sensibility, she \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n284\nmoved after a moment, to her sister’s chair, and putting one \narm round her neck, and one cheek close to hers, said in a \nlow, but eager, voice,\n‘Dear, dear Elinor, don’t mind them. Don’t let them make \nYOU unhappy.’\nShe could say no more; her spirits were quite overcome, \nand hiding her face on Elinor’s shoulder, she burst into \ntears. Every body’s attention was called, and almost ev-\nery body was concerned.—Colonel Brandon rose up and \nwent to them without knowing what he did.—Mrs. Jen-\nnings, with a very intelligent ‘Ah! poor dear,’ immediately \ngave her her salts; and Sir John felt so desperately enraged \nagainst the author of this nervous distress, that he instantly \nchanged his seat to one close by Lucy Steele, and gave her, in \na whisper, a brief account of the whole shocking affair.\nIn a few minutes, however, Marianne was recovered \nenough to put an end to the bustle, and sit down among the \nrest; though her spirits retained the impression of what had \npassed, the whole evening.\n‘Poor Marianne!’ said her brother to Colonel Brandon, \nin a low voice, as soon as he could secure his attention,— \n‘She has not such good health as her sister,—she is very \nnervous,—she has not Elinor’s constitution;—and one must \nallow that there is something very trying to a young woman \nwho HAS BEEN a beauty in the loss of her personal attrac-\ntions. You would not think it perhaps, but Marianne WAS \nremarkably handsome a few months ago; quite as hand-\nsome as Elinor.— Now you see it is all gone.’\n\n\n285\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 35\nE\nlinor’s curiosity to see Mrs. Ferrars was satisfied.— She \nhad found in her every thing that could tend to make a \nfarther connection between the families undesirable.— She \nhad seen enough of her pride, her meanness, and her de-\ntermined prejudice against herself, to comprehend all the \ndifficulties that must have perplexed the engagement, and \nretarded the marriage, of Edward and herself, had he been \notherwise free;—and she had seen almost enough to be \nthankful for her OWN sake, that one greater obstacle pre-\nserved her from suffering under any other of Mrs. Ferrars’s \ncreation, preserved her from all dependence upon her ca-\nprice, or any solicitude for her good opinion. Or at least, if \nshe did not bring herself quite to rejoice in Edward’s being \nfettered to Lucy, she determined, that had Lucy been more \namiable, she OUGHT to have rejoiced.\nShe wondered that Lucy’s spirits could be so very much \nelevated by the civility of Mrs. Ferrars;—that her interest \nand her vanity should so very much blind her as to make \nthe attention which seemed only paid her because she was \nNOT ELINOR, appear a compliment to herself—or to allow \nher to derive encouragement from a preference only given \nher, because her real situation was unknown. But that it was \nso, had not only been declared by Lucy’s eyes at the time, \nbut was declared over again the next morning more openly, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n286\nfor at her particular desire, Lady Middleton set her down in \nBerkeley Street on the chance of seeing Elinor alone, to tell \nher how happy she was.\nThe chance proved a lucky one, for a message from Mrs. \nPalmer soon after she arrived, carried Mrs. Jennings away.\n‘My dear friend,’ cried Lucy, as soon as they were by \nthemselves, ‘I come to talk to you of my happiness. Could \nanything be so flattering as Mrs. Ferrars’s way of treating \nme yesterday? So exceeding affable as she was!—You know \nhow I dreaded the thoughts of seeing her;— but the very \nmoment I was introduced, there was such an affability in \nher behaviour as really should seem to say, she had quite \ntook a fancy to me. Now was not it so?— You saw it all; and \nwas not you quite struck with it?’\n‘She was certainly very civil to you.’\n‘Civil!—Did you see nothing but only civility?— I saw \na vast deal more. Such kindness as fell to the share of no-\nbody but me!—No pride, no hauteur, and your sister just the \nsame—all sweetness and affability!’\nElinor wished to talk of something else, but Lucy still \npressed her to own that she had reason for her happiness; \nand Elinor was obliged to go on.—\n‘Undoubtedly, if they had known your engagement,’ said \nshe, ‘nothing could be more flattering than their treatment \nof you;—but as that was not the case’—\n‘I guessed you would say so’—replied Lucy quickly—‘but \nthere was no reason in the world why Mrs. Ferrars should \nseem to like me, if she did not, and her liking me is every \nthing. You shan’t talk me out of my satisfaction. I am sure \n\n\n287\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nit will all end well, and there will be no difficulties at all, to \nwhat I used to think. Mrs. Ferrars is a charming woman, \nand so is your sister. They are both delightful women, in-\ndeed!—I wonder I should never hear you say how agreeable \nMrs. Dashwood was!’\nTo this Elinor had no answer to make, and did not at-\ntempt any.\n‘Are you ill, Miss Dashwood?—you seem low—you don’t \nspeak;—sure you an’t well.’\n‘I never was in better health.’\n‘I am glad of it with all my heart; but really you did not \nlook it. I should be sorry to have YOU ill; you, that have \nbeen the greatest comfort to me in the world!—Heaven \nknows what I should have done without your friendship.’—\nElinor tried to make a civil answer, though doubting her \nown success. But it seemed to satisfy Lucy, for she directly \nreplied,\n‘Indeed I am perfectly convinced of your regard for me, \nand next to Edward’s love, it is the greatest comfort I have.—\nPoor Edward!—But now there is one good thing, we shall be \nable to meet, and meet pretty often, for Lady Middleton’s \ndelighted with Mrs. Dashwood, so we shall be a good deal \nin Harley Street, I dare say, and Edward spends half his time \nwith his sister—besides, Lady Middleton and Mrs. Ferrars \nwill visit now;— and Mrs. Ferrars and your sister were both \nso good to say more than once, they should always be glad \nto see me.— They are such charming women!—I am sure \nif ever you tell your sister what I think of her, you cannot \nspeak too high.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n288\nBut Elinor would not give her any encouragement to \nhope that she SHOULD tell her sister. Lucy continued.\n‘I am sure I should have seen it in a moment, if Mrs. Fer-\nrars had took a dislike to me. If she had only made me a \nformal courtesy, for instance, without saying a word, and \nnever after had took any notice of me, and never looked \nat me in a pleasant way—you know what I mean—if I had \nbeen treated in that forbidding sort of way, I should have \ngave it all up in despair. I could not have stood it. For where \nshe DOES dislike, I know it is most violent.’\nElinor was prevented from making any reply to this civil \ntriumph, by the door’s being thrown open, the servant’s an-\nnouncing Mr. Ferrars, and Edward’s immediately walking \nin.\nIt was a very awkward moment; and the countenance \nof each shewed that it was so. They all looked exceedingly \nfoolish; and Edward seemed to have as great an inclination \nto walk out of the room again, as to advance farther into \nit. The very circumstance, in its unpleasantest form, which \nthey would each have been most anxious to avoid, had fall-\nen on them.—They were not only all three together, but \nwere together without the relief of any other person. The \nladies recovered themselves first. It was not Lucy’s business \nto put herself forward, and the appearance of secrecy must \nstill be kept up. She could therefore only LOOK her tender-\nness, and after slightly addressing him, said no more.\nBut Elinor had more to do; and so anxious was she, for \nhis sake and her own, to do it well, that she forced herself, \nafter a moment’s recollection, to welcome him, with a look \n\n\n289\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nand manner that were almost easy, and almost open; and \nanother struggle, another effort still improved them. She \nwould not allow the presence of Lucy, nor the conscious-\nness of some injustice towards herself, to deter her from \nsaying that she was happy to see him, and that she had very \nmuch regretted being from home, when he called before in \nBerkeley Street. She would not be frightened from paying \nhim those attentions which, as a friend and almost a rela-\ntion, were his due, by the observant eyes of Lucy, though she \nsoon perceived them to be narrowly watching her.\nHer manners gave some re-assurance to Edward, and he \nhad courage enough to sit down; but his embarrassment still \nexceeded that of the ladies in a proportion, which the case \nrendered reasonable, though his sex might make it rare; for \nhis heart had not the indifference of Lucy’s, nor could his \nconscience have quite the ease of Elinor’s.\nLucy, with a demure and settled air, seemed determined \nto make no contribution to the comfort of the others, and \nwould not say a word; and almost every thing that WAS \nsaid, proceeded from Elinor, who was obliged to volunteer \nall the information about her mother’s health, their coming \nto town, &c. which Edward ought to have inquired about, \nbut never did.\nHer exertions did not stop here; for she soon afterwards \nfelt herself so heroically disposed as to determine, under \npretence of fetching Marianne, to leave the others by them-\nselves; and she really did it, and THAT in the handsomest \nmanner, for she loitered away several minutes on the land-\ning-place, with the most high-minded fortitude, before she \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n290\nwent to her sister. When that was once done, however, it \nwas time for the raptures of Edward to cease; for Marianne’s \njoy hurried her into the drawing-room immediately. Her \npleasure in seeing him was like every other of her feelings, \nstrong in itself, and strongly spoken. She met him with a \nhand that would be taken, and a voice that expressed the af-\nfection of a sister.\n‘Dear Edward!’ she cried, ‘this is a moment of great hap-\npiness!—This would almost make amends for every thing?’\nEdward tried to return her kindness as it deserved, but \nbefore such witnesses he dared not say half what he real-\nly felt. Again they all sat down, and for a moment or two \nall were silent; while Marianne was looking with the most \nspeaking tenderness, sometimes at Edward and sometimes \nat Elinor, regretting only that their delight in each other \nshould be checked by Lucy’s unwelcome presence. Edward \nwas the first to speak, and it was to notice Marianne’s al-\ntered looks, and express his fear of her not finding London \nagree with her.\n‘Oh, don’t think of me!’ she replied with spirited earnest-\nness, though her eyes were filled with tears as she spoke, \n‘don’t think of MY health. Elinor is well, you see. That must \nbe enough for us both.’\nThis remark was not calculated to make Edward or Eli-\nnor more easy, nor to conciliate the good will of Lucy, who \nlooked up at Marianne with no very benignant expression.\n‘Do you like London?’ said Edward, willing to say any \nthing that might introduce another subject.\n‘Not at all. I expected much pleasure in it, but I have \n\n\n291\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nfound none. The sight of you, Edward, is the only comfort \nit has afforded; and thank Heaven! you are what you always \nwere!’\nShe paused—no one spoke.\n‘I think, Elinor,’ she presently added, ‘we must employ \nEdward to take care of us in our return to Barton. In a week \nor two, I suppose, we shall be going; and, I trust, Edward \nwill not be very unwilling to accept the charge.’\nPoor Edward muttered something, but what it was, no-\nbody knew, not even himself. But Marianne, who saw his \nagitation, and could easily trace it to whatever cause best \npleased herself, was perfectly satisfied, and soon talked of \nsomething else.\n‘We spent such a day, Edward, in Harley Street yesterday! \nSo dull, so wretchedly dull!—But I have much to say to you \non that head, which cannot be said now.’\nAnd with this admirable discretion did she defer the \nassurance of her finding their mutual relatives more dis-\nagreeable than ever, and of her being particularly disgusted \nwith his mother, till they were more in private.\n‘But why were you not there, Edward?—Why did you not \ncome?’\n‘I was engaged elsewhere.’\n‘Engaged! But what was that, when such friends were to \nbe met?’\n‘Perhaps, Miss Marianne,’ cried Lucy, eager to take some \nrevenge on her, ‘you think young men never stand upon en-\ngagements, if they have no mind to keep them, little as well \nas great.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n292\nElinor was very angry, but Marianne seemed entirely in-\nsensible of the sting; for she calmly replied,\n‘Not so, indeed; for, seriously speaking, I am very sure \nthat conscience only kept Edward from Harley Street. And \nI really believe he HAS the most delicate conscience in the \nworld; the most scrupulous in performing every engage-\nment, however minute, and however it may make against \nhis interest or pleasure. He is the most fearful of giving pain, \nof wounding expectation, and the most incapable of being \nselfish, of any body I ever saw. Edward, it is so, and I will say \nit. What! are you never to hear yourself praised!—Then you \nmust be no friend of mine; for those who will accept of my \nlove and esteem, must submit to my open commendation.’\nThe nature of her commendation, in the present case, \nhowever, happened to be particularly ill-suited to the \nfeelings of two thirds of her auditors, and was so very unex-\nhilarating to Edward, that he very soon got up to go away.\n‘Going so soon!’ said Marianne; ‘my dear Edward, this \nmust not be.’\nAnd drawing him a little aside, she whispered her per-\nsuasion that Lucy could not stay much longer. But even \nthis encouragement failed, for he would go; and Lucy, who \nwould have outstaid him, had his visit lasted two hours, \nsoon afterwards went away.\n‘What can bring her here so often?’ said Marianne, on \nher leaving them. ‘Could not she see that we wanted her \ngone!—how teazing to Edward!’\n‘Why so?—we were all his friends, and Lucy has been the \nlongest known to him of any. It is but natural that he should \n\n\n293\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nlike to see her as well as ourselves.’\nMarianne looked at her steadily, and said, ‘You know, \nElinor, that this is a kind of talking which I cannot bear. \nIf you only hope to have your assertion contradicted, as I \nmust suppose to be the case, you ought to recollect that I am \nthe last person in the world to do it. I cannot descend to be \ntricked out of assurances, that are not really wanted.’\nShe then left the room; and Elinor dared not follow her \nto say more, for bound as she was by her promise of secrecy \nto Lucy, she could give no information that would convince \nMarianne; and painful as the consequences of her still con-\ntinuing in an error might be, she was obliged to submit to \nit. All that she could hope, was that Edward would not often \nexpose her or himself to the distress of hearing Marianne’s \nmistaken warmth, nor to the repetition of any other part of \nthe pain that had attended their recent meeting—and this \nshe had every reason to expect.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n294\nChapter 36\nW\nithin a few days after this meeting, the newspapers \nannounced to the world, that the lady of Thomas \nPalmer, Esq. was safely delivered of a son and heir; a very \ninteresting and satisfactory paragraph, at least to all those \nintimate connections who knew it before.\nThis event, highly important to Mrs. Jennings’s happi-\nness, produced a temporary alteration in the disposal of her \ntime, and influenced, in a like degree, the engagements of \nher young friends; for as she wished to be as much as possi-\nble with Charlotte, she went thither every morning as soon \nas she was dressed, and did not return till late in the eve-\nning; and the Miss Dashwoods, at the particular request of \nthe Middletons, spent the whole of every day, in every day \nin Conduit Street. For their own comfort they would much \nrather have remained, at least all the morning, in Mrs. Jen-\nnings’s house; but it was not a thing to be urged against the \nwishes of everybody. Their hours were therefore made over \nto Lady Middleton and the two Miss Steeles, by whom their \ncompany, in fact was as little valued, as it was professedly \nsought.\nThey had too much sense to be desirable companions to \nthe former; and by the latter they were considered with a \njealous eye, as intruding on THEIR ground, and sharing \nthe kindness which they wanted to monopolize. Though \n\n\n295\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nnothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton’s behav-\niour to Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at \nall. Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, \nshe could not believe them good-natured; and because they \nwere fond of reading, she fancied them satirical: perhaps \nwithout exactly knowing what it was to be satirical; but \nTHAT did not signify. It was censure in common use, and \neasily given.\nTheir presence was a restraint both on her and on Lucy. \nIt checked the idleness of one, and the business of the oth-\ner. Lady Middleton was ashamed of doing nothing before \nthem, and the flattery which Lucy was proud to think of and \nadminister at other times, she feared they would despise her \nfor offering. Miss Steele was the least discomposed of the \nthree, by their presence; and it was in their power to recon-\ncile her to it entirely. Would either of them only have given \nher a full and minute account of the whole affair between \nMarianne and Mr. Willoughby, she would have thought \nherself amply rewarded for the sacrifice of the best place by \nthe fire after dinner, which their arrival occasioned. But this \nconciliation was not granted; for though she often threw out \nexpressions of pity for her sister to Elinor, and more than \nonce dropt a reflection on the inconstancy of beaux before \nMarianne, no effect was produced, but a look of indiffer-\nence from the former, or of disgust in the latter. An effort \neven yet lighter might have made her their friend. Would \nthey only have laughed at her about the Doctor! But so little \nwere they, anymore than the others, inclined to oblige her, \nthat if Sir John dined from home, she might spend a whole \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n296\nday without hearing any other raillery on the subject, than \nwhat she was kind enough to bestow on herself.\nAll these jealousies and discontents, however, were so to-\ntally unsuspected by Mrs. Jennings, that she thought it a \ndelightful thing for the girls to be together; and generally \ncongratulated her young friends every night, on having es-\ncaped the company of a stupid old woman so long. She joined \nthem sometimes at Sir John’s, sometimes at her own house; \nbut wherever it was, she always came in excellent spirits, \nfull of delight and importance, attributing Charlotte’s well \ndoing to her own care, and ready to give so exact, so minute \na detail of her situation, as only Miss Steele had curiosity \nenough to desire. One thing DID disturb her; and of that \nshe made her daily complaint. Mr. Palmer maintained the \ncommon, but unfatherly opinion among his sex, of all in-\nfants being alike; and though she could plainly perceive, at \ndifferent times, the most striking resemblance between this \nbaby and every one of his relations on both sides, there was \nno convincing his father of it; no persuading him to believe \nthat it was not exactly like every other baby of the same age; \nnor could he even be brought to acknowledge the simple \nproposition of its being the finest child in the world.\nI come now to the relation of a misfortune, which about \nthis time befell Mrs. John Dashwood. It so happened that \nwhile her two sisters with Mrs. Jennings were first calling \non her in Harley Street, another of her acquaintance had \ndropt in—a circumstance in itself not apparently likely to \nproduce evil to her. But while the imaginations of other \npeople will carry them away to form wrong judgments of \n\n\n297\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nour conduct, and to decide on it by slight appearances, one’s \nhappiness must in some measure be always at the mercy of \nchance. In the present instance, this last-arrived lady al-\nlowed her fancy to so far outrun truth and probability, that \non merely hearing the name of the Miss Dashwoods, and \nunderstanding them to be Mr. Dashwood’s sisters, she im-\nmediately concluded them to be staying in Harley Street; \nand this misconstruction produced within a day or two af-\nterwards, cards of invitation for them as well as for their \nbrother and sister, to a small musical party at her house. The \nconsequence of which was, that Mrs. John Dashwood was \nobliged to submit not only to the exceedingly great incon-\nvenience of sending her carriage for the Miss Dashwoods, \nbut, what was still worse, must be subject to all the unpleas-\nantness of appearing to treat them with attention: and who \ncould tell that they might not expect to go out with her a \nsecond time? The power of disappointing them, it was true, \nmust always be her’s. But that was not enough; for when \npeople are determined on a mode of conduct which they \nknow to be wrong, they feel injured by the expectation of \nany thing better from them.\nMarianne had now been brought by degrees, so much \ninto the habit of going out every day, that it was become a \nmatter of indifference to her, whether she went or not: and \nshe prepared quietly and mechanically for every evening’s \nengagement, though without expecting the smallest amuse-\nment from any, and very often without knowing, till the last \nmoment, where it was to take her.\nTo her dress and appearance she was grown so perfect-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n298\nly indifferent, as not to bestow half the consideration on it, \nduring the whole of her toilet, which it received from Miss \nSteele in the first five minutes of their being together, when \nit was finished. Nothing escaped HER minute observation \nand general curiosity; she saw every thing, and asked ev-\nery thing; was never easy till she knew the price of every \npart of Marianne’s dress; could have guessed the number of \nher gowns altogether with better judgment than Marianne \nherself, and was not without hopes of finding out before \nthey parted, how much her washing cost per week, and how \nmuch she had every year to spend upon herself. The imper-\ntinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally \nconcluded with a compliment, which though meant as its \ndouceur, was considered by Marianne as the greatest im-\npertinence of all; for after undergoing an examination into \nthe value and make of her gown, the colour of her shoes, \nand the arrangement of her hair, she was almost sure of be-\ning told that upon ‘her word she looked vastly smart, and \nshe dared to say she would make a great many conquests.’\nWith such encouragement as this, was she dismissed on \nthe present occasion, to her brother’s carriage; which they \nwere ready to enter five minutes after it stopped at the door, \na punctuality not very agreeable to their sister-in-law, who \nhad preceded them to the house of her acquaintance, and \nwas there hoping for some delay on their part that might \ninconvenience either herself or her coachman.\nThe events of this evening were not very remarkable. \nThe party, like other musical parties, comprehended a great \nmany people who had real taste for the performance, and \n\n\n299\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\na great many more who had none at all; and the perform-\ners themselves were, as usual, in their own estimation, and \nthat of their immediate friends, the first private performers \nin England.\nAs Elinor was neither musical, nor affecting to be so, \nshe made no scruple of turning her eyes from the grand pi-\nanoforte, whenever it suited her, and unrestrained even by \nthe presence of a harp, and violoncello, would fix them at \npleasure on any other object in the room. In one of these ex-\ncursive glances she perceived among a group of young men, \nthe very he, who had given them a lecture on toothpick-cas-\nes at Gray’s. She perceived him soon afterwards looking at \nherself, and speaking familiarly to her brother; and had just \ndetermined to find out his name from the latter, when they \nboth came towards her, and Mr. Dashwood introduced him \nto her as Mr. Robert Ferrars.\nHe addressed her with easy civility, and twisted his head \ninto a bow which assured her as plainly as words could have \ndone, that he was exactly the coxcomb she had heard him \ndescribed to be by Lucy. Happy had it been for her, if her re-\ngard for Edward had depended less on his own merit, than \non the merit of his nearest relations! For then his brother’s \nbow must have given the finishing stroke to what the ill-hu-\nmour of his mother and sister would have begun. But while \nshe wondered at the difference of the two young men, she \ndid not find that the emptiness of conceit of the one, put \nher out of all charity with the modesty and worth of the \nother. Why they WERE different, Robert exclaimed to her \nhimself in the course of a quarter of an hour’s conversation; \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n300\nfor, talking of his brother, and lamenting the extreme GAU-\nCHERIE which he really believed kept him from mixing \nin proper society, he candidly and generously attributed it \nmuch less to any natural deficiency, than to the misfortune \nof a private education; while he himself, though probably \nwithout any particular, any material superiority by nature, \nmerely from the advantage of a public school, was as well \nfitted to mix in the world as any other man.\n‘Upon my soul,’ he added, ‘I believe it is nothing more; \nand so I often tell my mother, when she is grieving about \nit. ‘My dear Madam,’ I always say to her, ‘you must make \nyourself easy. The evil is now irremediable, and it has been \nentirely your own doing. Why would you be persuaded by \nmy uncle, Sir Robert, against your own judgment, to place \nEdward under private tuition, at the most critical time of \nhis life? If you had only sent him to Westminster as well as \nmyself, instead of sending him to Mr. Pratt’s, all this would \nhave been prevented.’ This is the way in which I always con-\nsider the matter, and my mother is perfectly convinced of \nher error.’\nElinor would not oppose his opinion, because, whatever \nmight be her general estimation of the advantage of a public \nschool, she could not think of Edward’s abode in Mr. Pratt’s \nfamily, with any satisfaction.\n‘You reside in Devonshire, I think,’—was his next obser-\nvation, ‘in a cottage near Dawlish.’\nElinor set him right as to its situation; and it seemed \nrather surprising to him that anybody could live in Devon-\nshire, without living near Dawlish. He bestowed his hearty \n\n\n301\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\napprobation however on their species of house.\n‘For my own part,’ said he, ‘I am excessively fond of a \ncottage; there is always so much comfort, so much elegance \nabout them. And I protest, if I had any money to spare, I \nshould buy a little land and build one myself, within a short \ndistance of London, where I might drive myself down at any \ntime, and collect a few friends about me, and be happy. I ad-\nvise every body who is going to build, to build a cottage. My \nfriend Lord Courtland came to me the other day on pur-\npose to ask my advice, and laid before me three different \nplans of Bonomi’s. I was to decide on the best of them. ‘My \ndear Courtland,’ said I, immediately throwing them all into \nthe fire, ‘do not adopt either of them, but by all means build \na cottage.’ And that I fancy, will be the end of it.\n‘Some people imagine that there can be no accommoda-\ntions, no space in a cottage; but this is all a mistake. I was \nlast month at my friend Elliott’s, near Dartford. Lady El-\nliott wished to give a dance. ‘But how can it be done?’ said \nshe; ‘my dear Ferrars, do tell me how it is to be managed. \nThere is not a room in this cottage that will hold ten cou-\nple, and where can the supper be?’ I immediately saw that \nthere could be no difficulty in it, so I said, ‘My dear Lady \nElliott, do not be uneasy. The dining parlour will admit \neighteen couple with ease; card-tables may be placed in the \ndrawing-room; the library may be open for tea and other \nrefreshments; and let the supper be set out in the saloon.’ \nLady Elliott was delighted with the thought. We measured \nthe dining-room, and found it would hold exactly eighteen \ncouple, and the affair was arranged precisely after my plan. \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n302\nSo that, in fact, you see, if people do but know how to set \nabout it, every comfort may be as well enjoyed in a cottage \nas in the most spacious dwelling.’\nElinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved \nthe compliment of rational opposition.\nAs John Dashwood had no more pleasure in music than \nhis eldest sister, his mind was equally at liberty to fix on any \nthing else; and a thought struck him during the evening, \nwhich he communicated to his wife, for her approbation, \nwhen they got home. The consideration of Mrs. Dennison’s \nmistake, in supposing his sisters their guests, had suggested \nthe propriety of their being really invited to become such, \nwhile Mrs. Jenning’s engagements kept her from home. The \nexpense would be nothing, the inconvenience not more; \nand it was altogether an attention which the delicacy of his \nconscience pointed out to be requisite to its complete en-\nfranchisement from his promise to his father. Fanny was \nstartled at the proposal.\n‘I do not see how it can be done,’ said she, ‘without af-\nfronting Lady Middleton, for they spend every day with her; \notherwise I should be exceedingly glad to do it. You know I \nam always ready to pay them any attention in my power, as \nmy taking them out this evening shews. But they are Lady \nMiddleton’s visitors. How can I ask them away from her?’\nHer husband, but with great humility, did not see the \nforce of her objection. ‘They had already spent a week in \nthis manner in Conduit Street, and Lady Middleton could \nnot be displeased at their giving the same number of days to \nsuch near relations.’\n\n\n303\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nFanny paused a moment, and then, with fresh vigor, \nsaid,\n‘My love I would ask them with all my heart, if it was in \nmy power. But I had just settled within myself to ask the \nMiss Steeles to spend a few days with us. They are very well \nbehaved, good kind of girls; and I think the attention is due \nto them, as their uncle did so very well by Edward. We can \nask your sisters some other year, you know; but the Miss \nSteeles may not be in town any more. I am sure you will like \nthem; indeed, you DO like them, you know, very much al-\nready, and so does my mother; and they are such favourites \nwith Harry!’\nMr. Dashwood was convinced. He saw the necessity of \ninviting the Miss Steeles immediately, and his conscience \nwas pacified by the resolution of inviting his sisters another \nyear; at the same time, however, slyly suspecting that an-\nother year would make the invitation needless, by bringing \nElinor to town as Colonel Brandon’s wife, and Marianne as \nTHEIR visitor.\nFanny, rejoicing in her escape, and proud of the ready \nwit that had procured it, wrote the next morning to Lucy, \nto request her company and her sister’s, for some days, in \nHarley Street, as soon as Lady Middleton could spare them. \nThis was enough to make Lucy really and reasonably happy. \nMrs. Dashwood seemed actually working for her, herself; \ncherishing all her hopes, and promoting all her views! Such \nan opportunity of being with Edward and his family was, \nabove all things, the most material to her interest, and such \nan invitation the most gratifying to her feelings! It was an \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n304\nadvantage that could not be too gratefully acknowledged, \nnor too speedily made use of; and the visit to Lady Mid-\ndleton, which had not before had any precise limits, was \ninstantly discovered to have been always meant to end in \ntwo days’ time.\nWhen the note was shown to Elinor, as it was within \nten minutes after its arrival, it gave her, for the first time, \nsome share in the expectations of Lucy; for such a mark of \nuncommon kindness, vouchsafed on so short an acquain-\ntance, seemed to declare that the good-will towards her \narose from something more than merely malice against \nherself; and might be brought, by time and address, to do \nevery thing that Lucy wished. Her flattery had already sub-\ndued the pride of Lady Middleton, and made an entry into \nthe close heart of Mrs. John Dashwood; and these were ef-\nfects that laid open the probability of greater.\nThe Miss Steeles removed to Harley Street, and all that \nreached Elinor of their influence there, strengthened her \nexpectation of the event. Sir John, who called on them more \nthan once, brought home such accounts of the favour they \nwere in, as must be universally striking. Mrs. Dashwood \nhad never been so much pleased with any young women \nin her life, as she was with them; had given each of them \na needle book made by some emigrant; called Lucy by her \nChristian name; and did not know whether she should ever \nbe able to part with them.\n[At this point in the first and second edtions, Volume II \nended.]\n\n\n305\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 37\nM\nrs. Palmer was so well at the end of a fortnight, that \nher mother felt it no longer necessary to give up the \nwhole of her time to her; and, contenting herself with visit-\ning her once or twice a day, returned from that period to her \nown home, and her own habits, in which she found the Miss \nDashwoods very ready to ressume their former share.\nAbout the third or fourth morning after their being thus \nresettled in Berkeley Street, Mrs. Jennings, on returning \nfrom her ordinary visit to Mrs. Palmer, entered the draw-\ning-room, where Elinor was sitting by herself, with an air \nof such hurrying importance as prepared her to hear some-\nthing wonderful; and giving her time only to form that idea, \nbegan directly to justify it, by saying,\n‘Lord! my dear Miss Dashwood! have you heard the \nnews?’\n‘No, ma’am. What is it?’\n‘Something so strange! But you shall hear it all.— When \nI got to Mr. Palmer’s, I found Charlotte quite in a fuss about \nthe child. She was sure it was very ill—it cried, and fret-\nted, and was all over pimples. So I looked at it directly, and, \n‘Lord! my dear,’ says I, ‘it is nothing in the world, but the \nred gum—‘ and nurse said just the same. But Charlotte, she \nwould not be satisfied, so Mr. Donavan was sent for; and \nluckily he happened to just come in from Harley Street, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n306\nso he stepped over directly, and as soon as ever he saw the \nchild, be said just as we did, that it was nothing in the world \nbut the red gum, and then Charlotte was easy. And so, just \nas he was going away again, it came into my head, I am sure \nI do not know how I happened to think of it, but it came into \nmy head to ask him if there was any news. So upon that, he \nsmirked, and simpered, and looked grave, and seemed to \nknow something or other, and at last he said in a whisper, \n‘For fear any unpleasant report should reach the young la-\ndies under your care as to their sister’s indisposition, I think \nit advisable to say, that I believe there is no great reason for \nalarm; I hope Mrs. Dashwood will do very well.’’\n‘What! is Fanny ill?’\n‘That is exactly what I said, my dear. ‘Lord!’ says I, ‘is \nMrs. Dashwood ill?’ So then it all came out; and the long \nand the short of the matter, by all I can learn, seems to be \nthis. Mr. Edward Ferrars, the very young man I used to joke \nwith you about (but however, as it turns out, I am mon-\nstrous glad there was never any thing in it), Mr. Edward \nFerrars, it seems, has been engaged above this twelvemonth \nto my cousin Lucy!—There’s for you, my dear!—And not a \ncreature knowing a syllable of the matter, except Nancy!—\nCould you have believed such a thing possible?— There \nis no great wonder in their liking one another; but that \nmatters should be brought so forward between them, and \nnobody suspect it!—THAT is strange!—I never happened \nto see them together, or I am sure I should have found it out \ndirectly. Well, and so this was kept a great secret, for fear of \nMrs. Ferrars, and neither she nor your brother or sister sus-\n\n\n307\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\npected a word of the matter;— till this very morning, poor \nNancy, who, you know, is a well-meaning creature, but no \nconjurer, popt it all out. ‘Lord!’ thinks she to herself, ‘they \nare all so fond of Lucy, to be sure they will make no diffi-\nculty about it;’ and so, away she went to your sister, who was \nsitting all alone at her carpet-work, little suspecting what \nwas to come—for she had just been saying to your brother, \nonly five minutes before, that she thought to make a match \nbetween Edward and some Lord’s daughter or other, I forget \nwho. So you may think what a blow it was to all her vanity \nand pride. She fell into violent hysterics immediately, with \nsuch screams as reached your brother’s ears, as he was sit-\nting in his own dressing-room down stairs, thinking about \nwriting a letter to his steward in the country. So up he flew \ndirectly, and a terrible scene took place, for Lucy was come \nto them by that time, little dreaming what was going on. \nPoor soul! I pity HER. And I must say, I think she was used \nvery hardly; for your sister scolded like any fury, and soon \ndrove her into a fainting fit. Nancy, she fell upon her knees, \nand cried bitterly; and your brother, he walked about the \nroom, and said he did not know what to do. Mrs. Dashwood \ndeclared they should not stay a minute longer in the house, \nand your brother was forced to go down upon HIS knees \ntoo, to persuade her to let them stay till they had packed \nup their clothes. THEN she fell into hysterics again, and he \nwas so frightened that he would send for Mr. Donavan, and \nMr. Donavan found the house in all this uproar. The car-\nriage was at the door ready to take my poor cousins away, \nand they were just stepping in as he came off; poor Lucy in \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n308\nsuch a condition, he says, she could hardly walk; and Nan-\ncy, she was almost as bad. I declare, I have no patience with \nyour sister; and I hope, with all my heart, it will be a match \nin spite of her. Lord! what a taking poor Mr. Edward will \nbe in when he hears of it! To have his love used so scorn-\nfully! for they say he is monstrous fond of her, as well he \nmay. I should not wonder, if he was to be in the greatest pas-\nsion!—and Mr. Donavan thinks just the same. He and I had \na great deal of talk about it; and the best of all is, that he is \ngone back again to Harley Street, that he may be within call \nwhen Mrs. Ferrars is told of it, for she was sent for as soon as \never my cousins left the house, for your sister was sure SHE \nwould be in hysterics too; and so she may, for what I care. I \nhave no pity for either of them. I have no notion of people’s \nmaking such a to-do about money and greatness. There is \nno reason on earth why Mr. Edward and Lucy should not \nmarry; for I am sure Mrs. Ferrars may afford to do very well \nby her son, and though Lucy has next to nothing herself, \nshe knows better than any body how to make the most of \nevery thing; I dare say, if Mrs. Ferrars would only allow him \nfive hundred a-year, she would make as good an appearance \nwith it as any body else would with eight. Lord! how snug \nthey might live in such another cottage as yours—or a little \nbigger—with two maids, and two men; and I believe I could \nhelp them to a housemaid, for my Betty has a sister out of \nplace, that would fit them exactly.’\nHere Mrs. Jennings ceased, and as Elinor had had time \nenough to collect her thoughts, she was able to give such an \nanswer, and make such observations, as the subject might \n\n\n309\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nnaturally be supposed to produce. Happy to find that she \nwas not suspected of any extraordinary interest in it; that \nMrs. Jennings (as she had of late often hoped might be the \ncase) had ceased to imagine her at all attached to Edward; \nand happy above all the rest, in the absence of Marianne, \nshe felt very well able to speak of the affair without embar-\nrassment, and to give her judgment, as she believed, with \nimpartiality on the conduct of every one concerned in it.\nShe could hardly determine what her own expectation \nof its event really was; though she earnestly tried to drive \naway the notion of its being possible to end otherwise at \nlast, than in the marriage of Edward and Lucy. What Mrs. \nFerrars would say and do, though there could not be a doubt \nof its nature, she was anxious to hear; and still more anx-\nious to know how Edward would conduct himself. For HIM \nshe felt much compassion;— for Lucy very little—and it cost \nher some pains to procure that little;—for the rest of the \nparty none at all.\nAs Mrs. Jennings could talk on no other subject, Elinor \nsoon saw the necessity of preparing Marianne for its discus-\nsion. No time was to be lost in undeceiving her, in making \nher acquainted with the real truth, and in endeavouring to \nbring her to hear it talked of by others, without betraying \nthat she felt any uneasiness for her sister, or any resentment \nagainst Edward.\nElinor’s office was a painful one.—She was going to \nremove what she really believed to be her sister’s chief con-\nsolation,—to give such particulars of Edward as she feared \nwould ruin him for ever in her good opinion,-and to make \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n310\nMarianne, by a resemblance in their situations, which to \nHER fancy would seem strong, feel all her own disappoint-\nment over again. But unwelcome as such a task must be, it \nwas necessary to be done, and Elinor therefore hastened to \nperform it.\nShe was very far from wishing to dwell on her own feel-\nings, or to represent herself as suffering much, any otherwise \nthan as the self-command she had practised since her first \nknowledge of Edward’s engagement, might suggest a hint \nof what was practicable to Marianne. Her narration was \nclear and simple; and though it could not be given without \nemotion, it was not accompanied by violent agitation, nor \nimpetuous grief.—THAT belonged rather to the hearer, for \nMarianne listened with horror, and cried excessively. Elinor \nwas to be the comforter of others in her own distresses, no \nless than in theirs; and all the comfort that could be given \nby assurances of her own composure of mind, and a very \nearnest vindication of Edward from every charge but of im-\nprudence, was readily offered.\nBut Marianne for some time would give credit to neither. \nEdward seemed a second Willoughby; and acknowledging \nas Elinor did, that she HAD loved him most sincerely, could \nshe feel less than herself! As for Lucy Steele, she considered \nher so totally unamiable, so absolutely incapable of attach-\ning a sensible man, that she could not be persuaded at first \nto believe, and afterwards to pardon, any former affection \nof Edward for her. She would not even admit it to have been \nnatural; and Elinor left her to be convinced that it was so, \nby that which only could convince her, a better knowledge \n\n\n311\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nof mankind.\nHer first communication had reached no farther than to \nstate the fact of the engagement, and the length of time it \nhad existed.—Marianne’s feelings had then broken in, and \nput an end to all regularity of detail; and for some time all \nthat could be done was to soothe her distress, lessen her \nalarms, and combat her resentment. The first question on \nher side, which led to farther particulars, was,\n‘How long has this been known to you, Elinor? has he \nwritten to you?’\n‘I have known it these four months. When Lucy first \ncame to Barton Park last November, she told me in confi-\ndence of her engagement.’\nAt these words, Marianne’s eyes expressed the astonish-\nment which her lips could not utter. After a pause of wonder, \nshe exclaimed—\n‘Four months!—Have you known of this four months?’\nElinor confirmed it.\n‘What!—while attending me in all my misery, has this \nbeen on your heart?—And I have reproached you for being \nhappy!’—\n‘It was not fit that you should then know how much I was \nthe reverse!’\n‘Four months!’—cried Marianne again.—‘So calm!— so \ncheerful!—how have you been supported?’—\n‘By feeling that I was doing my duty.—My promise to \nLucy, obliged me to be secret. I owed it to her, therefore, to \navoid giving any hint of the truth; and I owed it to my fam-\nily and friends, not to create in them a solicitude about me, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n312\nwhich it could not be in my power to satisfy.’\nMarianne seemed much struck.\n‘I have very often wished to undeceive yourself and my \nmother,’ added Elinor; ‘and once or twice I have attempt-\ned it;— but without betraying my trust, I never could have \nconvinced you.’\n‘Four months!—and yet you loved him!’—\n‘Yes. But I did not love only him;—and while the com-\nfort of others was dear to me, I was glad to spare them from \nknowing how much I felt. Now, I can think and speak of it \nwith little emotion. I would not have you suffer on my ac-\ncount; for I assure you I no longer suffer materially myself. I \nhave many things to support me. I am not conscious of hav-\ning provoked the disappointment by any imprudence of my \nown, I have borne it as much as possible without spreading \nit farther. I acquit Edward of essential misconduct. I wish \nhim very happy; and I am so sure of his always doing his \nduty, that though now he may harbour some regret, in the \nend he must become so. Lucy does not want sense, and that \nis the foundation on which every thing good may be built.—\nAnd after all, Marianne, after all that is bewitching in the \nidea of a single and constant attachment, and all that can \nbe said of one’s happiness depending entirely on any par-\nticular person, it is not meant—it is not fit—it is not possible \nthat it should be so.— Edward will marry Lucy; he will mar-\nry a woman superior in person and understanding to half \nher sex; and time and habit will teach him to forget that he \never thought another superior to HER.’—\n‘If such is your way of thinking,’ said Marianne, ‘if the \n\n\n313\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nloss of what is most valued is so easily to be made up by \nsomething else, your resolution, your self-command, are, \nperhaps, a little less to be wondered at.—They are brought \nmore within my comprehension.’\n‘I understand you.—You do not suppose that I have ever \nfelt much.—For four months, Marianne, I have had all this \nhanging on my mind, without being at liberty to speak of it \nto a single creature; knowing that it would make you and my \nmother most unhappy whenever it were explained to you, \nyet unable to prepare you for it in the least.— It was told \nme,—it was in a manner forced on me by the very person \nherself, whose prior engagement ruined all my prospects; \nand told me, as I thought, with triumph.— This person’s \nsuspicions, therefore, I have had to oppose, by endeavour-\ning to appear indifferent where I have been most deeply \ninterested;—and it has not been only once;—I have had her \nhopes and exultation to listen to again and again.— I have \nknown myself to be divided from Edward for ever, without \nhearing one circumstance that could make me less desire \nthe connection.—Nothing has proved him unworthy; nor \nhas anything declared him indifferent to me.— I have had \nto contend against the unkindness of his sister, and the in-\nsolence of his mother; and have suffered the punishment of \nan attachment, without enjoying its advantages.— And all \nthis has been going on at a time, when, as you know too well, \nit has not been my only unhappiness.— If you can think me \ncapable of ever feeling—surely you may suppose that I have \nsuffered NOW. The composure of mind with which I have \nbrought myself at present to consider the matter, the conso-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n314\nlation that I have been willing to admit, have been the effect \nof constant and painful exertion;—they did not spring up \nof themselves;— they did not occur to relieve my spirits \nat first.— No, Marianne.—THEN, if I had not been bound \nto silence, perhaps nothing could have kept me entirely—\nnot even what I owed to my dearest friends—from openly \nshewing that I was VERY unhappy.’—\nMarianne was quite subdued.—\n‘Oh! Elinor,’ she cried, ‘you have made me hate myself \nfor ever.—How barbarous have I been to you!— you, who \nhave been my only comfort, who have borne with me in all \nmy misery, who have seemed to be only suffering for me!—\nIs this my gratitude?—Is this the only return I can make \nyou?—Because your merit cries out upon myself, I have \nbeen trying to do it away.’\nThe tenderest caresses followed this confession. In such \na frame of mind as she was now in, Elinor had no difficulty \nin obtaining from her whatever promise she required; and \nat her request, Marianne engaged never to speak of the af-\nfair to any one with the least appearance of bitterness;—to \nmeet Lucy without betraying the smallest increase of dislike \nto her;—and even to see Edward himself, if chance should \nbring them together, without any diminution of her usu-\nal cordiality.— These were great concessions;—but where \nMarianne felt that she had injured, no reparation could be \ntoo much for her to make.\nShe performed her promise of being discreet, to admi-\nration.—She attended to all that Mrs. Jennings had to say \nupon the subject, with an unchanging complexion, dissent-\n\n\n315\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ned from her in nothing, and was heard three times to say, \n‘Yes, ma’am.’—She listened to her praise of Lucy with only \nmoving from one chair to another, and when Mrs. Jennings \ntalked of Edward’s affection, it cost her only a spasm in her \nthroat.—Such advances towards heroism in her sister, made \nElinor feel equal to any thing herself.\nThe next morning brought a farther trial of it, in a visit \nfrom their brother, who came with a most serious aspect \nto talk over the dreadful affair, and bring them news of his \nwife.\n‘You have heard, I suppose,’ said he with great solemnity, \nas soon as he was seated, ‘of the very shocking discovery \nthat took place under our roof yesterday.’\nThey all looked their assent; it seemed too awful a mo-\nment for speech.\n‘Your sister,’ he continued, ‘has suffered dreadfully. Mrs. \nFerrars too—in short it has been a scene of such complicated \ndistress—but I will hope that the storm may be weathered \nwithout our being any of us quite overcome. Poor Fanny! \nshe was in hysterics all yesterday. But I would not alarm you \ntoo much. Donavan says there is nothing materially to be \napprehended; her constitution is a good one, and her res-\nolution equal to any thing. She has borne it all, with the \nfortitude of an angel! She says she never shall think well \nof anybody again; and one cannot wonder at it, after be-\ning so deceived!— meeting with such ingratitude, where \nso much kindness had been shewn, so much confidence \nhad been placed! It was quite out of the benevolence of her \nheart, that she had asked these young women to her house; \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n316\nmerely because she thought they deserved some attention, \nwere harmless, well-behaved girls, and would be pleasant \ncompanions; for otherwise we both wished very much to \nhave invited you and Marianne to be with us, while your \nkind friend there, was attending her daughter. And now to \nbe so rewarded! ‘I wish, with all my heart,’ says poor Fanny \nin her affectionate way, ‘that we had asked your sisters in-\nstead of them.’’\nHere he stopped to be thanked; which being done, he \nwent on.\n‘What poor Mrs. Ferrars suffered, when first Fanny \nbroke it to her, is not to be described. While she with the \ntruest affection had been planning a most eligible connec-\ntion for him, was it to be supposed that he could be all the \ntime secretly engaged to another person!—such a suspicion \ncould never have entered her head! If she suspected ANY \nprepossession elsewhere, it could not be in THAT quarter. \n‘THERE, to be sure,’ said she, ‘I might have thought my-\nself safe.’ She was quite in an agony. We consulted together, \nhowever, as to what should be done, and at last she deter-\nmined to send for Edward. He came. But I am sorry to relate \nwhat ensued. All that Mrs. Ferrars could say to make him \nput an end to the engagement, assisted too as you may well \nsuppose by my arguments, and Fanny’s entreaties, was of no \navail. Duty, affection, every thing was disregarded. I nev-\ner thought Edward so stubborn, so unfeeling before. His \nmother explained to him her liberal designs, in case of his \nmarrying Miss Morton; told him she would settle on him \nthe Norfolk estate, which, clear of land-tax, brings in a good \n\n\n317\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nthousand a-year; offered even, when matters grew desper-\nate, to make it twelve hundred; and in opposition to this, if \nhe still persisted in this low connection, represented to him \nthe certain penury that must attend the match. His own two \nthousand pounds she protested should be his all; she would \nnever see him again; and so far would she be from affording \nhim the smallest assistance, that if he were to enter into any \nprofession with a view of better support, she would do all in \nher power to prevent him advancing in it.’\nHere Marianne, in an ecstasy of indignation, clapped her \nhands together, and cried, ‘Gracious God! can this be pos-\nsible!’\n‘Well may you wonder, Marianne,’ replied her broth-\ner, ‘at the obstinacy which could resist such arguments as \nthese. Your exclamation is very natural.’\nMarianne was going to retort, but she remembered her \npromises, and forbore.\n‘All this, however,’ he continued, ‘was urged in vain. Ed-\nward said very little; but what he did say, was in the most \ndetermined manner. Nothing should prevail on him to give \nup his engagement. He would stand to it, cost him what it \nmight.’\n‘Then,’ cried Mrs. Jennings with blunt sincerity, no lon-\nger able to be silent, ‘he has acted like an honest man! I beg \nyour pardon, Mr. Dashwood, but if he had done otherwise, I \nshould have thought him a rascal. I have some little concern \nin the business, as well as yourself, for Lucy Steele is my \ncousin, and I believe there is not a better kind of girl in the \nworld, nor one who more deserves a good husband.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n318\nJohn Dashwood was greatly astonished; but his nature \nwas calm, not open to provocation, and he never wished \nto offend anybody, especially anybody of good fortune. He \ntherefore replied, without any resentment,\n‘I would by no means speak disrespectfully of any re-\nlation of yours, madam. Miss Lucy Steele is, I dare say, a \nvery deserving young woman, but in the present case you \nknow, the connection must be impossible. And to have en-\ntered into a secret engagement with a young man under \nher uncle’s care, the son of a woman especially of such very \nlarge fortune as Mrs. Ferrars, is perhaps, altogether a little \nextraordinary. In short, I do not mean to reflect upon the \nbehaviour of any person whom you have a regard for, Mrs. \nJennings. We all wish her extremely happy; and Mrs. Fer-\nrars’s conduct throughout the whole, has been such as every \nconscientious, good mother, in like circumstances, would \nadopt. It has been dignified and liberal. Edward has drawn \nhis own lot, and I fear it will be a bad one.’\nMarianne sighed out her similar apprehension; and Eli-\nnor’s heart wrung for the feelings of Edward, while braving \nhis mother’s threats, for a woman who could not reward \nhim.\n‘Well, sir,’ said Mrs. Jennings, ‘and how did it end?’\n‘I am sorry to say, ma’am, in a most unhappy rupture:— \nEdward is dismissed for ever from his mother’s notice. He \nleft her house yesterday, but where he is gone, or whether he \nis still in town, I do not know; for WE of course can make \nno inquiry.’\n‘Poor young man!—and what is to become of him?’\n\n\n319\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘What, indeed, ma’am! It is a melancholy consideration. \nBorn to the prospect of such affluence! I cannot conceive \na situation more deplorable. The interest of two thousand \npounds—how can a man live on it?—and when to that is \nadded the recollection, that he might, but for his own fol-\nly, within three months have been in the receipt of two \nthousand, five hundred a-year (for Miss Morton has thir-\nty thousand pounds,) I cannot picture to myself a more \nwretched condition. We must all feel for him; and the more \nso, because it is totally out of our power to assist him.’\n‘Poor young man!’ cried Mrs. Jennings, ‘I am sure he \nshould be very welcome to bed and board at my house; and \nso I would tell him if I could see him. It is not fit that he \nshould be living about at his own charge now, at lodgings \nand taverns.’\nElinor’s heart thanked her for such kindness towards \nEdward, though she could not forbear smiling at the form \nof it.\n‘If he would only have done as well by himself,’ said John \nDashwood, ‘as all his friends were disposed to do by him, \nhe might now have been in his proper situation, and would \nhave wanted for nothing. But as it is, it must be out of any-\nbody’s power to assist him. And there is one thing more \npreparing against him, which must be worse than all—his \nmother has determined, with a very natural kind of spir-\nit, to settle THAT estate upon Robert immediately, which \nmight have been Edward’s, on proper conditions. I left her \nthis morning with her lawyer, talking over the business.’\n‘Well!’ said Mrs. Jennings, ‘that is HER revenge. Every-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n320\nbody has a way of their own. But I don’t think mine would \nbe, to make one son independent, because another had \nplagued me.’\nMarianne got up and walked about the room.\n‘Can anything be more galling to the spirit of a man,’ \ncontinued John, ‘than to see his younger brother in pos-\nsession of an estate which might have been his own? Poor \nEdward! I feel for him sincerely.’\nA few minutes more spent in the same kind of effusion, \nconcluded his visit; and with repeated assurances to his sis-\nters that he really believed there was no material danger in \nFanny’s indisposition, and that they need not therefore be \nvery uneasy about it, he went away; leaving the three ladies \nunanimous in their sentiments on the present occasion, as \nfar at least as it regarded Mrs. Ferrars’s conduct, the Dash-\nwoods’, and Edward’s.\nMarianne’s indignation burst forth as soon as he quitted \nthe room; and as her vehemence made reserve impossible in \nElinor, and unnecessary in Mrs. Jennings, they all joined in \na very spirited critique upon the party.\n\n\n321\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 38\nM\nrs. Jennings was very warm in her praise of Edward’s \nconduct, but only Elinor and Marianne understood \nits true merit. THEY only knew how little he had had to \ntempt him to be disobedient, and how small was the conso-\nlation, beyond the consciousness of doing right, that could \nremain to him in the loss of friends and fortune. Elinor glo-\nried in his integrity; and Marianne forgave all his offences \nin compassion for his punishment. But though confidence \nbetween them was, by this public discovery, restored to its \nproper state, it was not a subject on which either of them \nwere fond of dwelling when alone. Elinor avoided it upon \nprinciple, as tending to fix still more upon her thoughts, by \nthe too warm, too positive assurances of Marianne, that be-\nlief of Edward’s continued affection for herself which she \nrather wished to do away; and Marianne’s courage soon \nfailed her, in trying to converse upon a topic which always \nleft her more dissatisfied with herself than ever, by the com-\nparison it necessarily produced between Elinor’s conduct \nand her own.\nShe felt all the force of that comparison; but not as her sis-\nter had hoped, to urge her to exertion now; she felt it with all \nthe pain of continual self-reproach, regretted most bitterly \nthat she had never exerted herself before; but it brought only \nthe torture of penitence, without the hope of amendment. \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n322\nHer mind was so much weakened that she still fancied pres-\nent exertion impossible, and therefore it only dispirited her \nmore.\nNothing new was heard by them, for a day or two after-\nwards, of affairs in Harley Street, or Bartlett’s Buildings. But \nthough so much of the matter was known to them already, \nthat Mrs. Jennings might have had enough to do in spread-\ning that knowledge farther, without seeking after more, she \nhad resolved from the first to pay a visit of comfort and in-\nquiry to her cousins as soon as she could; and nothing but \nthe hindrance of more visitors than usual, had prevented \nher going to them within that time.\nThe third day succeeding their knowledge of the particu-\nlars, was so fine, so beautiful a Sunday as to draw many to \nKensington Gardens, though it was only the second week \nin March. Mrs. Jennings and Elinor were of the number; \nbut Marianne, who knew that the Willoughbys were again \nin town, and had a constant dread of meeting them, chose \nrather to stay at home, than venture into so public a place.\nAn intimate acquaintance of Mrs. Jennings joined them \nsoon after they entered the Gardens, and Elinor was not \nsorry that by her continuing with them, and engaging all \nMrs. Jennings’s conversation, she was herself left to quiet \nreflection. She saw nothing of the Willoughbys, nothing of \nEdward, and for some time nothing of anybody who could \nby any chance whether grave or gay, be interesting to her. \nBut at last she found herself with some surprise, accosted by \nMiss Steele, who, though looking rather shy, expressed great \nsatisfaction in meeting them, and on receiving encourage-\n\n\n323\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nment from the particular kindness of Mrs. Jennings, left her \nown party for a short time, to join their’s. Mrs. Jennings im-\nmediately whispered to Elinor,\n‘Get it all out of her, my dear. She will tell you any thing \nif you ask. You see I cannot leave Mrs. Clarke.’\nIt was lucky, however, for Mrs. Jennings’s curiosity and \nElinor’s too, that she would tell any thing WITHOUT being \nasked; for nothing would otherwise have been learnt.\n‘I am so glad to meet you;’ said Miss Steele, taking her \nfamiliarly by the arm—‘for I wanted to see you of all things \nin the world.’ And then lowering her voice, ‘I suppose Mrs. \nJennings has heard all about it. Is she angry?’\n‘Not at all, I believe, with you.’\n‘That is a good thing. And Lady Middleton, is SHE an-\ngry?’\n‘I cannot suppose it possible that she should.’\n‘I am monstrous glad of it. Good gracious! I have had \nsuch a time of it! I never saw Lucy in such a rage in my life. \nShe vowed at first she would never trim me up a new bon-\nnet, nor do any thing else for me again, so long as she lived; \nbut now she is quite come to, and we are as good friends as \never. Look, she made me this bow to my hat, and put in the \nfeather last night. There now, YOU are going to laugh at me \ntoo. But why should not I wear pink ribbons? I do not care \nif it IS the Doctor’s favourite colour. I am sure, for my part, \nI should never have known he DID like it better than any \nother colour, if he had not happened to say so. My cous-\nins have been so plaguing me! I declare sometimes I do not \nknow which way to look before them.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n324\nShe had wandered away to a subject on which Elinor had \nnothing to say, and therefore soon judged it expedient to \nfind her way back again to the first.\n‘Well, but Miss Dashwood,’ speaking triumphantly, \n‘people may say what they chuse about Mr. Ferrars’s declar-\ning he would not have Lucy, for it is no such thing I can tell \nyou; and it is quite a shame for such ill-natured reports to be \nspread abroad. Whatever Lucy might think about it herself, \nyou know, it was no business of other people to set it down \nfor certain.’\n‘I never heard any thing of the kind hinted at before, I as-\nsure you,’ said Elinor.\n‘Oh, did not you? But it WAS said, I know, very well, and \nby more than one; for Miss Godby told Miss Sparks, that \nnobody in their senses could expect Mr. Ferrars to give up \na woman like Miss Morton, with thirty thousand pounds \nto her fortune, for Lucy Steele that had nothing at all; and I \nhad it from Miss Sparks myself. And besides that, my cous-\nin Richard said himself, that when it came to the point he \nwas afraid Mr. Ferrars would be off; and when Edward did \nnot come near us for three days, I could not tell what to \nthink myself; and I believe in my heart Lucy gave it up all \nfor lost; for we came away from your brother’s Wednes-\nday, and we saw nothing of him not all Thursday, Friday, \nand Saturday, and did not know what was become of him. \nOnce Lucy thought to write to him, but then her spirits rose \nagainst that. However this morning he came just as we came \nhome from church; and then it all came out, how he had \nbeen sent for Wednesday to Harley Street, and been talked \n\n\n325\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nto by his mother and all of them, and how he had declared \nbefore them all that he loved nobody but Lucy, and nobody \nbut Lucy would he have. And how he had been so worried \nby what passed, that as soon as he had went away from his \nmother’s house, he had got upon his horse, and rid into the \ncountry, some where or other; and how he had stayed about \nat an inn all Thursday and Friday, on purpose to get the \nbetter of it. And after thinking it all over and over again, he \nsaid, it seemed to him as if, now he had no fortune, and no \nnothing at all, it would be quite unkind to keep her on to the \nengagement, because it must be for her loss, for he had noth-\ning but two thousand pounds, and no hope of any thing else; \nand if he was to go into orders, as he had some thoughts, he \ncould get nothing but a curacy, and how was they to live \nupon that?—He could not bear to think of her doing no bet-\nter, and so he begged, if she had the least mind for it, to put \nan end to the matter directly, and leave him shift for him-\nself. I heard him say all this as plain as could possibly be. \nAnd it was entirely for HER sake, and upon HER account, \nthat he said a word about being off, and not upon his own. \nI will take my oath he never dropt a syllable of being tired \nof her, or of wishing to marry Miss Morton, or any thing \nlike it. But, to be sure, Lucy would not give ear to such kind \nof talking; so she told him directly (with a great deal about \nsweet and love, you know, and all that—Oh, la! one can’t re-\npeat such kind of things you know)—she told him directly, \nshe had not the least mind in the world to be off, for she \ncould live with him upon a trifle, and how little so ever he \nmight have, she should be very glad to have it all, you know, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n326\nor something of the kind. So then he was monstrous happy, \nand talked on some time about what they should do, and \nthey agreed he should take orders directly, and they must \nwait to be married till he got a living. And just then I could \nnot hear any more, for my cousin called from below to tell \nme Mrs. Richardson was come in her coach, and would take \none of us to Kensington Gardens; so I was forced to go into \nthe room and interrupt them, to ask Lucy if she would like \nto go, but she did not care to leave Edward; so I just run up \nstairs and put on a pair of silk stockings and came off with \nthe Richardsons.’\n‘I do not understand what you mean by interrupting \nthem,’ said Elinor; ‘you were all in the same room together, \nwere not you?’\n‘No, indeed, not us. La! Miss Dashwood, do you think \npeople make love when any body else is by? Oh, for shame!—\nTo be sure you must know better than that. (Laughing \naffectedly.)—No, no; they were shut up in the drawing-room \ntogether, and all I heard was only by listening at the door.’\n‘How!’ cried Elinor; ‘have you been repeating to me what \nyou only learnt yourself by listening at the door? I am sorry \nI did not know it before; for I certainly would not have suf-\nfered you to give me particulars of a conversation which you \nought not to have known yourself. How could you behave \nso unfairly by your sister?’\n‘Oh, la! there is nothing in THAT. I only stood at the \ndoor, and heard what I could. And I am sure Lucy would \nhave done just the same by me; for a year or two back, \nwhen Martha Sharpe and I had so many secrets together, \n\n\n327\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nshe never made any bones of hiding in a closet, or behind a \nchimney-board, on purpose to hear what we said.’\nElinor tried to talk of something else; but Miss Steele \ncould not be kept beyond a couple of minutes, from what \nwas uppermost in her mind.\n‘Edward talks of going to Oxford soon,’ said she; ‘but \nnow he is lodging at No. —, Pall Mall. What an ill-natured \nwoman his monther is, an’t she? And your brother and \nsister were not very kind! However, I shan’t say anything \nagainst them to YOU; and to be sure they did send us home \nin their own chariot, which was more than I looked for. And \nfor my part, I was all in a fright for fear your sister should \nask us for the huswifes she had gave us a day or two before; \nbut, however, nothing was said about them, and I took care \nto keep mine out of sight. Edward have got some business \nat Oxford, he says; so he must go there for a time; and after \nTHAT, as soon as he can light upon a Bishop, he will be or-\ndained. I wonder what curacy he will get!—Good gracious! \n(giggling as she spoke) I’d lay my life I know what my cous-\nins will say, when they hear of it. They will tell me I should \nwrite to the Doctor, to get Edward the curacy of his new liv-\ning. I know they will; but I am sure I would not do such a \nthing for all the world.— ‘La!’ I shall say directly, ‘I wonder \nhow you could think of such a thing? I write to the Doctor, \nindeed!’’\n‘Well,’ said Elinor, ‘it is a comfort to be prepared against \nthe worst. You have got your answer ready.’\nMiss Steele was going to reply on the same subject, but \nthe approach of her own party made another more neces-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n328\nsary.\n‘Oh, la! here come the Richardsons. I had a vast deal more \nto say to you, but I must not stay away from them not any \nlonger. I assure you they are very genteel people. He makes \na monstrous deal of money, and they keep their own coach. \nI have not time to speak to Mrs. Jennings about it myself, \nbut pray tell her I am quite happy to hear she is not in anger \nagainst us, and Lady Middleton the same; and if anything \nshould happen to take you and your sister away, and Mrs. \nJennings should want company, I am sure we should be very \nglad to come and stay with her for as long a time as she likes. \nI suppose Lady Middleton won’t ask us any more this bout. \nGood-by; I am sorry Miss Marianne was not here. Remem-\nber me kindly to her. La! if you have not got your spotted \nmuslin on!—I wonder you was not afraid of its being torn.’\nSuch was her parting concern; for after this, she had time \nonly to pay her farewell compliments to Mrs. Jennings, be-\nfore her company was claimed by Mrs. Richardson; and \nElinor was left in possession of knowledge which might \nfeed her powers of reflection some time, though she had \nlearnt very little more than what had been already foreseen \nand foreplanned in her own mind. Edward’s marriage with \nLucy was as firmly determined on, and the time of its taking \nplace remained as absolutely uncertain, as she had conclud-\ned it would be;—every thing depended, exactly after her \nexpectation, on his getting that preferment, of which, at \npresent, there seemed not the smallest chance.\nAs soon as they returned to the carriage, Mrs. Jennings \nwas eager for information; but as Elinor wished to spread as \n\n\n329\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nlittle as possible intelligence that had in the first place been \nso unfairly obtained, she confined herself to the brief rep-\netition of such simple particulars, as she felt assured that \nLucy, for the sake of her own consequence, would choose to \nhave known. The continuance of their engagement, and the \nmeans that were able to be taken for promoting its end, was \nall her communication; and this produced from Mrs. Jen-\nnings the following natural remark.\n‘Wait for his having a living!—ay, we all know how \nTHAT will end:—they will wait a twelvemonth, and find-\ning no good comes of it, will set down upon a curacy of \nfifty pounds a-year, with the interest of his two thousand \npounds, and what little matter Mr. Steele and Mr. Pratt can \ngive her.—Then they will have a child every year! and Lord \nhelp ‘em! how poor they will be!—I must see what I can give \nthem towards furnishing their house. Two maids and two \nmen, indeed!—as I talked of t’other day.—No, no, they must \nget a stout girl of all works.— Betty’s sister would never do \nfor them NOW.’\nThe next morning brought Elinor a letter by the two-\npenny post from Lucy herself. It was as follows:\n‘Bartlett’s Building, March.\n‘I hope my dear Miss Dashwood will excuse the liberty \nI take of writing to her; but I know your friendship for me \nwill make you pleased to hear such a good account of my-\nself and my dear Edward, after all the troubles we have went \nthrough lately, therefore will make no more apologies, but \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n330\nproceed to say that, thank God! though we have suffered \ndreadfully, we are both quite well now, and as happy as we \nmust always be in one another’s love. We have had great tri-\nals, and great persecutions, but however, at the same time, \ngratefully acknowledge many friends, yourself not the least \namong them, whose great kindness I shall always thankful-\nly remember, as will Edward too, who I have told of it. I am \nsure you will be glad to hear, as likewise dear Mrs. Jennings, \nI spent two happy hours with him yesterday afternoon, he \nwould not hear of our parting, though earnestly did I, as I \nthought my duty required, urge him to it for prudence sake, \nand would have parted for ever on the spot, would he con-\nsent to it; but he said it should never be, he did not regard his \nmother’s anger, while he could have my affections; our pros-\npects are not very bright, to be sure, but we must wait, and \nhope for the best; he will be ordained shortly; and should \nit ever be in your power to recommend him to any body \nthat has a living to bestow, am very sure you will not forget \nus, and dear Mrs. Jennings too, trust she will speak a good \nword for us to Sir John, or Mr. Palmer, or any friend that \nmay be able to assist us.—Poor Anne was much to blame \nfor what she did, but she did it for the best, so I say nothing; \nhope Mrs. Jennings won’t think it too much trouble to give \nus a call, should she come this way any morning, ‘twould be \na great kindness, and my cousins would be proud to know \nher.—My paper reminds me to conclude; and begging to be \nmost gratefully and respectfully remembered to her, and to \nSir John, and Lady Middleton, and the dear children, when \nyou chance to see them, and love to Miss Marianne,\n\n\n331\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘I am, &c.’\nAs soon as Elinor had finished it, she performed what \nshe concluded to be its writer’s real design, by placing it in \nthe hands of Mrs. Jennings, who read it aloud with many \ncomments of satisfaction and praise.\n‘Very well indeed!—how prettily she writes!—aye, that \nwas quite proper to let him be off if he would. That was \njust like Lucy.—Poor soul! I wish I COULD get him a liv-\ning, with all my heart.—She calls me dear Mrs. Jennings, \nyou see. She is a good-hearted girl as ever lived.—Very well \nupon my word. That sentence is very prettily turned. Yes, \nyes, I will go and see her, sure enough. How attentive she is, \nto think of every body!—Thank you, my dear, for shewing it \nme. It is as pretty a letter as ever I saw, and does Lucy’s head \nand heart great credit.’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n332\nChapter 39\nT\nhe Miss Dashwoods had now been rather more than \ntwo months in town, and Marianne’s impatience to be \ngone increased every day. She sighed for the air, the liber-\nty, the quiet of the country; and fancied that if any place \ncould give her ease, Barton must do it. Elinor was hard-\nly less anxious than herself for their removal, and only so \nmuch less bent on its being effected immediately, as that \nshe was conscious of the difficulties of so long a journey, \nwhich Marianne could not be brought to acknowledge. She \nbegan, however, seriously to turn her thoughts towards its \naccomplishment, and had already mentioned their wishes \nto their kind hostess, who resisted them with all the elo-\nquence of her good-will, when a plan was suggested, which, \nthough detaining them from home yet a few weeks longer, \nappeared to Elinor altogether much more eligible than any \nother. The Palmers were to remove to Cleveland about the \nend of March, for the Easter holidays; and Mrs. Jennings, \nwith both her friends, received a very warm invitation from \nCharlotte to go with them. This would not, in itself, have \nbeen sufficient for the delicacy of Miss Dashwood;—but it \nwas inforced with so much real politeness by Mr. Palmer \nhimself, as, joined to the very great amendment of his man-\nners towards them since her sister had been known to be \nunhappy, induced her to accept it with pleasure.\n\n\n333\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nWhen she told Marianne what she had done, however, \nher first reply was not very auspicious.\n‘Cleveland!’—she cried, with great agitation. ‘No, I \ncannot go to Cleveland.’—\n‘You forget,’ said Elinor gently, ‘that its situation is not...\nthat it is not in the neighbourhood of..’\n‘But it is in Somersetshire.—I cannot go into Somerset-\nshire.—There, where I looked forward to going...No, Elinor, \nyou cannot expect me to go there.’\nElinor would not argue upon the propriety of overcom-\ning such feelings;—she only endeavoured to counteract \nthem by working on others;—represented it, therefore, as a \nmeasure which would fix the time of her returning to that \ndear mother, whom she so much wished to see, in a more el-\nigible, more comfortable manner, than any other plan could \ndo, and perhaps without any greater delay. From Cleveland, \nwhich was within a few miles of Bristol, the distance to Bar-\nton was not beyond one day, though a long day’s journey; \nand their mother’s servant might easily come there to at-\ntend them down; and as there could be no occasion of their \nstaying above a week at Cleveland, they might now be at \nhome in little more than three weeks’ time. As Marianne’s \naffection for her mother was sincere, it must triumph with \nlittle difficulty, over the imaginary evils she had started.\nMrs. Jennings was so far from being weary of her guest, \nthat she pressed them very earnestly to return with her \nagain from Cleveland. Elinor was grateful for the attention, \nbut it could not alter her design; and their mother’s con-\ncurrence being readily gained, every thing relative to their \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n334\nreturn was arranged as far as it could be;— and Marianne \nfound some relief in drawing up a statement of the hours \nthat were yet to divide her from Barton.\n‘Ah! Colonel, I do not know what you and I shall do with-\nout the Miss Dashwoods;’—was Mrs. Jennings’s address to \nhim when he first called on her, after their leaving her was \nsettled—‘for they are quite resolved upon going home from \nthe Palmers;—and how forlorn we shall be, when I come \nback!—Lord! we shall sit and gape at one another as dull as \ntwo cats.’\nPerhaps Mrs. Jennings was in hopes, by this vigorous \nsketch of their future ennui, to provoke him to make that \noffer, which might give himself an escape from it;— and if \nso, she had soon afterwards good reason to think her object \ngained; for, on Elinor’s moving to the window to take more \nexpeditiously the dimensions of a print, which she was go-\ning to copy for her friend, he followed her to it with a look of \nparticular meaning, and conversed with her there for sever-\nal minutes. The effect of his discourse on the lady too, could \nnot escape her observation, for though she was too honor-\nable to listen, and had even changed her seat, on purpose \nthat she might NOT hear, to one close by the piano forte \non which Marianne was playing, she could not keep her-\nself from seeing that Elinor changed colour, attended with \nagitation, and was too intent on what he said to pursue her \nemployment.— Still farther in confirmation of her hopes, \nin the interval of Marianne’s turning from one lesson to \nanother, some words of the Colonel’s inevitably reached \nher ear, in which he seemed to be apologising for the bad-\n\n\n335\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nness of his house. This set the matter beyond a doubt. She \nwondered, indeed, at his thinking it necessary to do so; but \nsupposed it to be the proper etiquette. What Elinor said in \nreply she could not distinguish, but judged from the motion \nof her lips, that she did not think THAT any material objec-\ntion;—and Mrs. Jennings commended her in her heart for \nbeing so honest. They then talked on for a few minutes lon-\nger without her catching a syllable, when another lucky stop \nin Marianne’s performance brought her these words in the \nColonel’s calm voice,—\n‘I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.’\nAstonished and shocked at so unlover-like a speech, \nshe was almost ready to cry out, ‘Lord! what should hinder \nit?’—but checking her desire, confined herself to this silent \nejaculation.\n‘This is very strange!—sure he need not wait to be old-\ner.’\nThis delay on the Colonel’s side, however, did not seem \nto offend or mortify his fair companion in the least, for \non their breaking up the conference soon afterwards, and \nmoving different ways, Mrs. Jennings very plainly heard \nElinor say, and with a voice which shewed her to feel what \nshe said,\n‘I shall always think myself very much obliged to you.’\nMrs. Jennings was delighted with her gratitude, and only \nwondered that after hearing such a sentence, the Colonel \nshould be able to take leave of them, as he immediately did, \nwith the utmost sang-froid, and go away without making \nher any reply!—She had not thought her old friend could \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n336\nhave made so indifferent a suitor.\nWhat had really passed between them was to this effect.\n‘I have heard,’ said he, with great compassion, ‘of the in-\njustice your friend Mr. Ferrars has suffered from his family; \nfor if I understand the matter right, he has been entirely \ncast off by them for persevering in his engagement with a \nvery deserving young woman.— Have I been rightly in-\nformed?—Is it so?—‘\nElinor told him that it was.\n‘The cruelty, the impolitic cruelty,’—he replied, with great \nfeeling,—‘of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young \npeople long attached to each other, is terrible.— Mrs. Fer-\nrars does not know what she may be doing—what she may \ndrive her son to. I have seen Mr. Ferrars two or three times \nin Harley Street, and am much pleased with him. He is not \na young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted \nin a short time, but I have seen enough of him to wish him \nwell for his own sake, and as a friend of yours, I wish it still \nmore. I understand that he intends to take orders. Will you \nbe so good as to tell him that the living of Delaford, now \njust vacant, as I am informed by this day’s post, is his, if he \nthink it worth his acceptance—but THAT, perhaps, so un-\nfortunately circumstanced as he is now, it may be nonsense \nto appear to doubt; I only wish it were more valuable.— It \nis a rectory, but a small one; the late incumbent, I believe, \ndid not make more than 200 L per annum, and though it \nis certainly capable of improvement, I fear, not to such an \namount as to afford him a very comfortable income. Such \nas it is, however, my pleasure in presenting him to it, will be \n\n\n337\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nvery great. Pray assure him of it.’\nElinor’s astonishment at this commission could hardly \nhave been greater, had the Colonel been really making her \nan offer of his hand. The preferment, which only two days \nbefore she had considered as hopeless for Edward, was al-\nready provided to enable him to marry;— and SHE, of all \npeople in the world, was fixed on to bestow it!—Her emo-\ntion was such as Mrs. Jennings had attributed to a very \ndifferent cause;—but whatever minor feelings less pure, less \npleasing, might have a share in that emotion, her esteem for \nthe general benevolence, and her gratitude for the particu-\nlar friendship, which together prompted Colonel Brandon \nto this act, were strongly felt, and warmly expressed. She \nthanked him for it with all her heart, spoke of Edward’s \nprinciples and disposition with that praise which she knew \nthem to deserve; and promised to undertake the commis-\nsion with pleasure, if it were really his wish to put off so \nagreeable an office to another. But at the same time, she \ncould not help thinking that no one could so well perform \nit as himself. It was an office in short, from which, unwill-\ning to give Edward the pain of receiving an obligation from \nHER, she would have been very glad to be spared her-\nself;— but Colonel Brandon, on motives of equal delicacy, \ndeclining it likewise, still seemed so desirous of its being \ngiven through her means, that she would not on any ac-\ncount make farther opposition. Edward, she believed, was \nstill in town, and fortunately she had heard his address \nfrom Miss Steele. She could undertake therefore to inform \nhim of it, in the course of the day. After this had been set-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n338\ntled, Colonel Brandon began to talk of his own advantage \nin securing so respectable and agreeable a neighbour, and \nTHEN it was that he mentioned with regret, that the house \nwas small and indifferent;—an evil which Elinor, as Mrs. \nJennings had supposed her to do, made very light of, at least \nas far as regarded its size.\n‘The smallness of the house,’ said she, ‘I cannot imagine \nany inconvenience to them, for it will be in proportion to \ntheir family and income.’\nBy which the Colonel was surprised to find that SHE was \nconsidering Mr. Ferrars’s marriage as the certain conse-\nquence of the presentation; for he did not suppose it possible \nthat Delaford living could supply such an income, as any-\nbody in his style of life would venture to settle on— and he \nsaid so.\n‘This little rectory CAN do no more than make Mr. Fer-\nrars comfortable as a bachelor; it cannot enable him to \nmarry. I am sorry to say that my patronage ends with this; \nand my interest is hardly more extensive. If, however, by an \nunforeseen chance it should be in my power to serve him \nfarther, I must think very differently of him from what I \nnow do, if I am not as ready to be useful to him then as I \nsincerely wish I could be at present. What I am now doing \nindeed, seems nothing at all, since it can advance him so \nlittle towards what must be his principal, his only object of \nhappiness. His marriage must still be a distant good;—at \nleast, I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.—‘\nSuch was the sentence which, when misunderstood, so \njustly offended the delicate feelings of Mrs. Jennings; but \n\n\n339\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nafter this narration of what really passed between Colonel \nBrandon and Elinor, while they stood at the window, the \ngratitude expressed by the latter on their parting, may per-\nhaps appear in general, not less reasonably excited, nor less \nproperly worded than if it had arisen from an offer of mar-\nriage.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n340\nChapter 40\n‘W\nell, Miss Dashwood,’ said Mrs. Jennings, sagacious-\nly smiling, as soon as the gentleman had withdrawn, \n‘I do not ask you what the Colonel has been saying to you; \nfor though, upon my honour, I TRIED to keep out of hear-\ning, I could not help catching enough to understand his \nbusiness. And I assure you I never was better pleased in my \nlife, and I wish you joy of it with all my heart.’\n‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Elinor. ‘It is a matter of great \njoy to me; and I feel the goodness of Colonel Brandon most \nsensibly. There are not many men who would act as he has \ndone. Few people who have so compassionate a heart! I nev-\ner was more astonished in my life.’\n‘Lord! my dear, you are very modest. I an’t the least as-\ntonished at it in the world, for I have often thought of late, \nthere was nothing more likely to happen.’\n‘You judged from your knowledge of the Colonel’s gen-\neral benevolence; but at least you could not foresee that the \nopportunity would so very soon occur.’\n‘Opportunity!’ repeated Mrs. Jennings—‘Oh! as to that, \nwhen a man has once made up his mind to such a thing, \nsomehow or other he will soon find an opportunity. Well, \nmy dear, I wish you joy of it again and again; and if ever \nthere was a happy couple in the world, I think I shall soon \nknow where to look for them.’\n\n\n341\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘You mean to go to Delaford after them I suppose,’ said \nElinor, with a faint smile.\n‘Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed. And as to the house be-\ning a bad one, I do not know what the Colonel would be at, \nfor it is as good a one as ever I saw.’\n‘He spoke of its being out of repair.’\n‘Well, and whose fault is that? why don’t he repair it?— \nwho should do it but himself?’\nThey were interrupted by the servant’s coming in to an-\nnounce the carriage being at the door; and Mrs. Jennings \nimmediately preparing to go, said,—\n‘Well, my dear, I must be gone before I have had half my \ntalk out. But, however, we may have it all over in the eve-\nning; for we shall be quite alone. I do not ask you to go with \nme, for I dare say your mind is too full of the matter to care \nfor company; and besides, you must long to tell your sister \nall about it.’\nMarianne had left the room before the conversation be-\ngan.\n‘Certainly, ma’am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall \nnot mention it at present to any body else.’\n‘Oh! very well,’ said Mrs. Jennings rather disappointed. \n‘Then you would not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of \ngoing as far as Holborn to-day.’\n‘No, ma’am, not even Lucy if you please. One day’s delay \nwill not be very material; and till I have written to Mr. Fer-\nrars, I think it ought not to be mentioned to any body else. \nI shall do THAT directly. It is of importance that no time \nshould be lost with him, for he will of course have much to \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n342\ndo relative to his ordination.’\nThis speech at first puzzled Mrs. Jennings exceedingly. \nWhy Mr. Ferrars was to have been written to about it in \nsuch a hurry, she could not immediately comprehend. A few \nmoments’ reflection, however, produced a very happy idea, \nand she exclaimed;—\n‘Oh, ho!—I understand you. Mr. Ferrars is to be the man. \nWell, so much the better for him. Ay, to be sure, he must be \nordained in readiness; and I am very glad to find things are \nso forward between you. But, my dear, is not this rather out \nof character? Should not the Colonel write himself?—sure, \nhe is the proper person.’\nElinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. \nJennings’s speech, neither did she think it worth inquiring \ninto; and therefore only replied to its conclusion.\n‘Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather \nwished any one to announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars \nthan himself.’\n‘And so YOU are forced to do it. Well THAT is an odd \nkind of delicacy! However, I will not disturb you (seeing her \npreparing to write.) You know your own concerns best. So \ngoodby, my dear. I have not heard of any thing to please me \nso well since Charlotte was brought to bed.’\nAnd away she went; but returning again in a moment,\n‘I have just been thinking of Betty’s sister, my dear. I \nshould be very glad to get her so good a mistress. But wheth-\ner she would do for a lady’s maid, I am sure I can’t tell. She is \nan excellent housemaid, and works very well at her needle. \nHowever, you will think of all that at your leisure.’\n\n\n343\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘Certainly, ma’am,’ replied Elinor, not hearing much of \nwhat she said, and more anxious to be alone, than to be mis-\ntress of the subject.\nHow she should begin—how she should express herself \nin her note to Edward, was now all her concern. The par-\nticular circumstances between them made a difficulty of \nthat which to any other person would have been the easiest \nthing in the world; but she equally feared to say too much \nor too little, and sat deliberating over her paper, with the \npen in her band, till broken in on by the entrance of Ed-\nward himself.\nHe had met Mrs. Jennings at the door in her way to the \ncarriage, as he came to leave his farewell card; and she, af-\nter apologising for not returning herself, had obliged him to \nenter, by saying that Miss Dashwood was above, and want-\ned to speak with him on very particular business.\nElinor had just been congratulating herself, in the midst \nof her perplexity, that however difficult it might be to ex-\npress herself properly by letter, it was at least preferable to \ngiving the information by word of mouth, when her visi-\ntor entered, to force her upon this greatest exertion of all. \nHer astonishment and confusion were very great on his \nso sudden appearance. She had not seen him before since \nhis engagement became public, and therefore not since his \nknowing her to be acquainted with it; which, with the con-\nsciousness of what she had been thinking of, and what she \nhad to tell him, made her feel particularly uncomfortable \nfor some minutes. He too was much distressed; and they \nsat down together in a most promising state of embarrass-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n344\nment.—Whether he had asked her pardon for his intrusion \non first coming into the room, he could not recollect; but \ndetermining to be on the safe side, he made his apology in \nform as soon as he could say any thing, after taking a chair.\n‘Mrs. Jennings told me,’ said he, ‘that you wished to speak \nwith me, at least I understood her so—or I certainly should \nnot have intruded on you in such a manner; though at the \nsame time, I should have been extremely sorry to leave Lon-\ndon without seeing you and your sister; especially as it will \nmost likely be some time—it is not probable that I should \nsoon have the pleasure of meeting you again. I go to Oxford \ntomorrow.’\n‘You would not have gone, however,’ said Elinor, recov-\nering herself, and determined to get over what she so much \ndreaded as soon as possible, ‘without receiving our good \nwishes, even if we had not been able to give them in person. \nMrs. Jennings was quite right in what she said. I have some-\nthing of consequence to inform you of, which I was on the \npoint of communicating by paper. I am charged with a most \nagreeable office (breathing rather faster than usual as she \nspoke.) Colonel Brandon, who was here only ten minutes \nago, has desired me to say, that understanding you mean \nto take orders, he has great pleasure in offering you the liv-\ning of Delaford now just vacant, and only wishes it were \nmore valuable. Allow me to congratulate you on having \nso respectable and well-judging a friend, and to join in his \nwish that the living—it is about two hundred a-year—were \nmuch more considerable, and such as might better enable \nyou to—as might be more than a temporary accommoda-\n\n\n345\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ntion to yourself—such, in short, as might establish all your \nviews of happiness.’\nWhat Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it can-\nnot be expected that any one else should say for him. He \nLOOKED all the astonishment which such unexpected, \nsuch unthought-of information could not fail of exciting; \nbut he said only these two words,\n‘Colonel Brandon!’\n‘Yes,’ continued Elinor, gathering more resolution, as \nsome of the worst was over, ‘Colonel Brandon means it as a \ntestimony of his concern for what has lately passed—for the \ncruel situation in which the unjustifiable conduct of your \nfamily has placed you—a concern which I am sure Mari-\nanne, myself, and all your friends, must share; and likewise \nas a proof of his high esteem for your general character, and \nhis particular approbation of your behaviour on the pres-\nent occasion.’\n‘Colonel Brandon give ME a living!—Can it be possi-\nble?’\n‘The unkindness of your own relations has made you as-\ntonished to find friendship any where.’\n‘No,’ replied be, with sudden consciousness, ‘not to find it \nin YOU; for I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your good-\nness, I owe it all.—I feel it—I would express it if I could—but, \nas you well know, I am no orator.’\n‘You are very much mistaken. I do assure you that you \nowe it entirely, at least almost entirely, to your own mer-\nit, and Colonel Brandon’s discernment of it. I have had no \nhand in it. I did not even know, till I understood his design, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n346\nthat the living was vacant; nor had it ever occurred to me \nthat he might have had such a living in his gift. As a friend \nof mine, of my family, he may, perhaps—indeed I know he \nHAS, still greater pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my \nword, you owe nothing to my solicitation.’\nTruth obliged her to acknowledge some small share in \nthe action, but she was at the same time so unwilling to ap-\npear as the benefactress of Edward, that she acknowledged \nit with hesitation; which probably contributed to fix that \nsuspicion in his mind which had recently entered it. For a \nshort time he sat deep in thought, after Elinor had ceased to \nspeak;—at last, and as if it were rather an effort, he said,\n‘Colonel Brandon seems a man of great worth and re-\nspectability. I have always heard him spoken of as such, and \nyour brother I know esteems him highly. He is undoubtedly \na sensible man, and in his manners perfectly the gentle-\nman.’\n‘Indeed,’ replied Elinor, ‘I believe that you will find him, \non farther acquaintance, all that you have heard him to be, \nand as you will be such very near neighbours (for I under-\nstand the parsonage is almost close to the mansion-house,) \nit is particularly important that he SHOULD be all this.’\nEdward made no answer; but when she had turned away \nher head, gave her a look so serious, so earnest, so un-\ncheerful, as seemed to say, that he might hereafter wish the \ndistance between the parsonage and the mansion-house \nmuch greater.\n‘Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street,’ \nsaid he, soon afterwards, rising from his chair.\n\n\n347\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nElinor told him the number of the house.\n‘I must hurry away then, to give him those thanks which \nyou will not allow me to give YOU; to assure him that he has \nmade me a very—an exceedingly happy man.’\nElinor did not offer to detain him; and they parted, with \na very earnest assurance on HER side of her unceasing good \nwishes for his happiness in every change of situation that \nmight befall him; on HIS, with rather an attempt to return \nthe same good will, than the power of expressing it.\n‘When I see him again,’ said Elinor to herself, as the door \nshut him out, ‘I shall see him the husband of Lucy.’\nAnd with this pleasing anticipation, she sat down to \nreconsider the past, recall the words and endeavour to com-\nprehend all the feelings of Edward; and, of course, to reflect \non her own with discontent.\nWhen Mrs. Jennings came home, though she returned \nfrom seeing people whom she had never seen before, and \nof whom therefore she must have a great deal to say, her \nmind was so much more occupied by the important secret \nin her possession, than by anything else, that she reverted \nto it again as soon as Elinor appeared.\n‘Well, my dear,’ she cried, ‘I sent you up to the young \nman. Did not I do right?—And I suppose you had no great \ndifficulty—You did not find him very unwilling to accept \nyour proposal?’\n‘No, ma’am; THAT was not very likely.’\n‘Well, and how soon will he be ready?—For it seems all \nto depend upon that.’\n‘Really,’ said Elinor, ‘I know so little of these kind of \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n348\nforms, that I can hardly even conjecture as to the time, \nor the preparation necessary; but I suppose two or three \nmonths will complete his ordination.’\n‘Two or three months!’ cried Mrs. Jennings; ‘Lord! my \ndear, how calmly you talk of it; and can the Colonel wait \ntwo or three months! Lord bless me!—I am sure it would \nput ME quite out of patience!—And though one would be \nvery glad to do a kindness by poor Mr. Ferrars, I do think \nit is not worth while to wait two or three months for him. \nSure somebody else might be found that would do as well; \nsomebody that is in orders already.’\n‘My dear ma’am,’ said Elinor, ‘what can you be thinking \nof?— Why, Colonel Brandon’s only object is to be of use to \nMr. Ferrars.’\n‘Lord bless you, my dear!—Sure you do not mean to per-\nsuade me that the Colonel only marries you for the sake of \ngiving ten guineas to Mr. Ferrars!’\nThe deception could not continue after this; and an ex-\nplanation immediately took place, by which both gained \nconsiderable amusement for the moment, without any ma-\nterial loss of happiness to either, for Mrs. Jennings only \nexchanged one form of delight for another, and still without \nforfeiting her expectation of the first.\n‘Aye, aye, the parsonage is but a small one,’ said she, af-\nter the first ebullition of surprise and satisfaction was over, \n‘and very likely MAY be out of repair; but to hear a man \napologising, as I thought, for a house that to my knowledge \nhas five sitting rooms on the ground-floor, and I think the \nhousekeeper told me could make up fifteen beds!— and to \n\n\n349\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nyou too, that had been used to live in Barton cottage!—It \nseems quite ridiculous. But, my dear, we must touch up the \nColonel to do some thing to the parsonage, and make it \ncomfortable for them, before Lucy goes to it.’\n‘But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of \nthe living’s being enough to allow them to marry.’\n‘The Colonel is a ninny, my dear; because he has two \nthousand a-year himself, he thinks that nobody else can \nmarry on less. Take my word for it, that, if I am alive, I shall \nbe paying a visit at Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas; \nand I am sure I sha’nt go if Lucy an’t there.’\nElinor was quite of her opinion, as to the probability of \ntheir not waiting for any thing more.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n350\nChapter 41\nE\ndward, having carried his thanks to Colonel Brandon, \nproceeded with his happiness to Lucy; and such was \nthe excess of it by the time he reached Bartlett’s Buildings, \nthat she was able to assure Mrs. Jennings, who called on her \nagain the next day with her congratulations, that she had \nnever seen him in such spirits before in her life.\nHer own happiness, and her own spirits, were at least \nvery certain; and she joined Mrs. Jennings most heartily in \nher expectation of their being all comfortably together in \nDelaford Parsonage before Michaelmas. So far was she, at \nthe same time, from any backwardness to give Elinor that \ncredit which Edward WOULD give her, that she spoke of her \nfriendship for them both with the most grateful warmth, \nwas ready to own all their obligation to her, and openly de-\nclared that no exertion for their good on Miss Dashwood’s \npart, either present or future, would ever surprise her, for \nshe believed her capable of doing any thing in the world for \nthose she really valued. As for Colonel Brandon, she was \nnot only ready to worship him as a saint, but was moreover \ntruly anxious that he should be treated as one in all worldly \nconcerns; anxious that his tithes should be raised to the ut-\nmost; and scarcely resolved to avail herself, at Delaford, as \nfar as she possibly could, of his servants, his carriage, his \ncows, and his poultry.\n\n\n351\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nIt was now above a week since John Dashwood had called \nin Berkeley Street, and as since that time no notice had been \ntaken by them of his wife’s indisposition, beyond one verbal \nenquiry, Elinor began to feel it necessary to pay her a visit.—\nThis was an obligation, however, which not only opposed \nher own inclination, but which had not the assistance of \nany encouragement from her companions. Marianne, not \ncontented with absolutely refusing to go herself, was very \nurgent to prevent her sister’s going at all; and Mrs. Jennings, \nthough her carriage was always at Elinor’s service, so very \nmuch disliked Mrs. John Dashwood, that not even her curi-\nosity to see how she looked after the late discovery, nor her \nstrong desire to affront her by taking Edward’s part, could \novercome her unwillingness to be in her company again. \nThe consequence was, that Elinor set out by herself to pay \na visit, for which no one could really have less inclination, \nand to run the risk of a tete-a-tete with a woman, whom nei-\nther of the others had so much reason to dislike.\nMrs. Dashwood was denied; but before the carriage \ncould turn from the house, her husband accidentally came \nout. He expressed great pleasure in meeting Elinor, told her \nthat he had been just going to call in Berkeley Street, and, \nassuring her that Fanny would be very glad to see her, in-\nvited her to come in.\nThey walked up stairs in to the drawing-room.—Nobody \nwas there.\n‘Fanny is in her own room, I suppose,’ said he:—‘I will \ngo to her presently, for I am sure she will not have the least \nobjection in the world to seeing YOU.— Very far from it, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n352\nindeed. NOW especially there cannot be—but however, you \nand Marianne were always great favourites.—Why would \nnot Marianne come?’—\nElinor made what excuse she could for her.\n‘I am not sorry to see you alone,’ he replied, ‘for I have a \ngood deal to say to you. This living of Colonel Brandon’s—\ncan it be true?—has he really given it to Edward?—I heard it \nyesterday by chance, and was coming to you on purpose to \nenquire farther about it.’\n‘It is perfectly true.—Colonel Brandon has given the liv-\ning of Delaford to Edward.’\n‘Really!—Well, this is very astonishing!—no relation-\nship!—no connection between them!—and now that livings \nfetch such a price!—what was the value of this?’\n‘About two hundred a year.’\n‘Very well—and for the next presentation to a living of \nthat value—supposing the late incumbent to have been old \nand sickly, and likely to vacate it soon—he might have got I \ndare say—fourteen hundred pounds. And how came he not \nto have settled that matter before this person’s death?—NOW \nindeed it would be too late to sell it, but a man of Colonel \nBrandon’s sense!—I wonder he should be so improvident in \na point of such common, such natural, concern!—Well, I \nam convinced that there is a vast deal of inconsistency in \nalmost every human character. I suppose, however—on \nrecollection—that the case may probably be THIS. Edward \nis only to hold the living till the person to whom the Colo-\nnel has really sold the presentation, is old enough to take \nit.—Aye, aye, that is the fact, depend upon it.’\n\n\n353\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nElinor contradicted it, however, very positively; and by \nrelating that she had herself been employed in conveying \nthe offer from Colonel Brandon to Edward, and, therefore, \nmust understand the terms on which it was given, obliged \nhim to submit to her authority.\n‘It is truly astonishing!’—he cried, after hearing what she \nsaid—‘what could be the Colonel’s motive?’\n‘A very simple one—to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.’\n‘Well, well; whatever Colonel Brandon may be, Edward \nis a very lucky man.—You will not mention the matter to \nFanny, however, for though I have broke it to her, and she \nbears it vastly well,—she will not like to hear it much talked \nof.’\nElinor had some difficulty here to refrain from observing, \nthat she thought Fanny might have borne with composure, \nan acquisition of wealth to her brother, by which neither she \nnor her child could be possibly impoverished.\n‘Mrs. Ferrars,’ added he, lowering his voice to the tone \nbecoming so important a subject, ‘knows nothing about it \nat present, and I believe it will be best to keep it entirely con-\ncealed from her as long as may be.— When the marriage \ntakes place, I fear she must hear of it all.’\n‘But why should such precaution be used?—Though it is \nnot to be supposed that Mrs. Ferrars can have the smallest \nsatisfaction in knowing that her son has money enough to \nlive upon,—for THAT must be quite out of the question; \nyet why, upon her late behaviour, is she supposed to feel at \nall?—She has done with her son, she cast him off for ever, \nand has made all those over whom she had any influence, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n354\ncast him off likewise. Surely, after doing so, she cannot be \nimagined liable to any impression of sorrow or of joy on his \naccount— she cannot be interested in any thing that befalls \nhim.— She would not be so weak as to throw away the com-\nfort of a child, and yet retain the anxiety of a parent!’\n‘Ah! Elinor,’ said John, ‘your reasoning is very good, but it \nis founded on ignorance of human nature. When Edward’s \nunhappy match takes place, depend upon it his mother will \nfeel as much as if she had never discarded him; and, there-\nfore every circumstance that may accelerate that dreadful \nevent, must be concealed from her as much as possible. Mrs. \nFerrars can never forget that Edward is her son.’\n‘You surprise me; I should think it must nearly have es-\ncaped her memory by THIS time.’\n‘You wrong her exceedingly. Mrs. Ferrars is one of the \nmost affectionate mothers in the world.’\nElinor was silent.\n‘We think NOW,’—said Mr. Dashwood, after a short \npause, ‘of ROBERT’S marrying Miss Morton.’\nElinor, smiling at the grave and decisive importance of \nher brother’s tone, calmly replied,\n‘The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair.’\n‘Choice!—how do you mean?’\n‘I only mean that I suppose, from your manner of speak-\ning, it must be the same to Miss Morton whether she marry \nEdward or Robert.’\n‘Certainly, there can be no difference; for Robert will \nnow to all intents and purposes be considered as the eldest \nson;—and as to any thing else, they are both very agree-\n\n\n355\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nable young men: I do not know that one is superior to the \nother.’\nElinor said no more, and John was also for a short time \nsilent.—His reflections ended thus.\n‘Of ONE thing, my dear sister,’ kindly taking her hand, \nand speaking in an awful whisper,—‘I may assure you;— \nand I WILL do it, because I know it must gratify you. I have \ngood reason to think—indeed I have it from the best au-\nthority, or I should not repeat it, for otherwise it would be \nvery wrong to say any thing about it—but I have it from \nthe very best authority—not that I ever precisely heard Mrs. \nFerrars say it herself—but her daughter DID, and I have it \nfrom her—That in short, whatever objections there might be \nagainst a certain—a certain connection—you understand \nme—it would have been far preferable to her, it would not \nhave given her half the vexation that THIS does. I was ex-\nceedingly pleased to hear that Mrs. Ferrars considered it in \nthat light— a very gratifying circumstance you know to us \nall. ‘It would have been beyond comparison,’ she said, ‘the \nleast evil of the two, and she would be glad to compound \nNOW for nothing worse.’ But however, all that is quite out \nof the question—not to be thought of or mentioned— as to \nany attachment you know—it never could be—all that is \ngone by. But I thought I would just tell you of this, because \nI knew how much it must please you. Not that you have any \nreason to regret, my dear Elinor. There is no doubt of your \ndoing exceedingly well—quite as well, or better, perhaps, \nall things considered. Has Colonel Brandon been with you \nlately?’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n356\nElinor had heard enough, if not to gratify her vanity, \nand raise her self-importance, to agitate her nerves and fill \nher mind;—and she was therefore glad to be spared from \nthe necessity of saying much in reply herself, and from the \ndanger of hearing any thing more from her brother, by the \nentrance of Mr. Robert Ferrars. After a few moments’ chat, \nJohn Dashwood, recollecting that Fanny was yet unin-\nformed of her sister’s being there, quitted the room in quest \nof her; and Elinor was left to improve her acquaintance with \nRobert, who, by the gay unconcern, the happy self-compla-\ncency of his manner while enjoying so unfair a division of \nhis mother’s love and liberality, to the prejudice of his ban-\nished brother, earned only by his own dissipated course of \nlife, and that brother’s integrity, was confirming her most \nunfavourable opinion of his head and heart.\nThey had scarcely been two minutes by themselves, be-\nfore he began to speak of Edward; for he, too, had heard \nof the living, and was very inquisitive on the subject. Eli-\nnor repeated the particulars of it, as she had given them \nto John; and their effect on Robert, though very different, \nwas not less striking than it had been on HIM. He laughed \nmost immoderately. The idea of Edward’s being a clergy-\nman, and living in a small parsonage-house, diverted him \nbeyond measure;—and when to that was added the fanciful \nimagery of Edward reading prayers in a white surplice, and \npublishing the banns of marriage between John Smith and \nMary Brown, he could conceive nothing more ridiculous.\nElinor, while she waited in silence and immovable grav-\nity, the conclusion of such folly, could not restrain her eyes \n\n\n357\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nfrom being fixed on him with a look that spoke all the con-\ntempt it excited. It was a look, however, very well bestowed, \nfor it relieved her own feelings, and gave no intelligence to \nhim. He was recalled from wit to wisdom, not by any re-\nproof of her’s, but by his own sensibility.\n‘We may treat it as a joke,’ said he, at last, recovering \nfrom the affected laugh which had considerably length-\nened out the genuine gaiety of the moment—‘but, upon my \nsoul, it is a most serious business. Poor Edward! he is ru-\nined for ever. I am extremely sorry for it— for I know him \nto be a very good-hearted creature; as well-meaning a fellow \nperhaps, as any in the world. You must not judge of him, \nMiss Dashwood, from YOUR slight acquaintance.—Poor \nEdward!—His manners are certainly not the happiest in \nnature.—But we are not all born, you know, with the same \npowers,—the same address.— Poor fellow!—to see him in a \ncircle of strangers!— to be sure it was pitiable enough!—but \nupon my soul, I believe he has as good a heart as any in the \nkingdom; and I declare and protest to you I never was so \nshocked in my life, as when it all burst forth. I could not \nbelieve it.— My mother was the first person who told me of \nit; and I, feeling myself called on to act with resolution, im-\nmediately said to her, ‘My dear madam, I do not know what \nyou may intend to do on the occasion, but as for myself, \nI must say, that if Edward does marry this young woman, \nI never will see him again.’ That was what I said immedi-\nately.— I was most uncommonly shocked, indeed!—Poor \nEdward!—he has done for himself completely—shut him-\nself out for ever from all decent society!—but, as I directly \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n358\nsaid to my mother, I am not in the least surprised at it; from \nhis style of education, it was always to be expected. My poor \nmother was half frantic.’\n‘Have you ever seen the lady?’\n‘Yes; once, while she was staying in this house, I hap-\npened to drop in for ten minutes; and I saw quite enough \nof her. The merest awkward country girl, without style, or \nelegance, and almost without beauty.— I remember her \nperfectly. Just the kind of girl I should suppose likely to cap-\ntivate poor Edward. I offered immediately, as soon as my \nmother related the affair to me, to talk to him myself, and \ndissuade him from the match; but it was too late THEN, I \nfound, to do any thing, for unluckily, I was not in the way \nat first, and knew nothing of it till after the breach had tak-\nen place, when it was not for me, you know, to interfere. \nBut had I been informed of it a few hours earlier—I think it \nis most probable—that something might have been hit on. \nI certainly should have represented it to Edward in a very \nstrong light. ‘My dear fellow,’ I should have said, ‘consider \nwhat you are doing. You are making a most disgraceful con-\nnection, and such a one as your family are unanimous in \ndisapproving.’ I cannot help thinking, in short, that means \nmight have been found. But now it is all too late. He must be \nstarved, you know;— that is certain; absolutely starved.’\nHe had just settled this point with great composure, \nwhen the entrance of Mrs. John Dashwood put an end to \nthe subject. But though SHE never spoke of it out of her \nown family, Elinor could see its influence on her mind, in \nthe something like confusion of countenance with which \n\n\n359\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nshe entered, and an attempt at cordiality in her behaviour to \nherself. She even proceeded so far as to be concerned to find \nthat Elinor and her sister were so soon to leave town, as she \nhad hoped to see more of them;—an exertion in which her \nhusband, who attended her into the room, and hung enam-\noured over her accents, seemed to distinguish every thing \nthat was most affectionate and graceful.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n360\nChapter 42\nO\nne other short call in Harley Street, in which Elinor \nreceived her brother’s congratulations on their trav-\nelling so far towards Barton without any expense, and on \nColonel Brandon’s being to follow them to Cleveland in a \nday or two, completed the intercourse of the brother and \nsisters in town;—and a faint invitation from Fanny, to come \nto Norland whenever it should happen to be in their way, \nwhich of all things was the most unlikely to occur, with a \nmore warm, though less public, assurance, from John to \nElinor, of the promptitude with which he should come to \nsee her at Delaford, was all that foretold any meeting in the \ncountry.\nIt amused her to observe that all her friends seemed de-\ntermined to send her to Delaford;—a place, in which, of all \nothers, she would now least chuse to visit, or wish to reside; \nfor not only was it considered as her future home by her \nbrother and Mrs. Jennings, but even Lucy, when they part-\ned, gave her a pressing invitation to visit her there.\nVery early in April, and tolerably early in the day, the \ntwo parties from Hanover Square and Berkeley Street set \nout from their respective homes, to meet, by appointment, \non the road. For the convenience of Charlotte and her child, \nthey were to be more than two days on their journey, and \nMr. Palmer, travelling more expeditiously with Colonel \n\n\n361\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nBrandon, was to join them at Cleveland soon after their ar-\nrival.\nMarianne, few as had been her hours of comfort in Lon-\ndon, and eager as she had long been to quit it, could not, \nwhen it came to the point, bid adieu to the house in which \nshe had for the last time enjoyed those hopes, and that con-\nfidence, in Willoughby, which were now extinguished for \never, without great pain. Nor could she leave the place in \nwhich Willoughby remained, busy in new engagements, \nand new schemes, in which SHE could have no share, with-\nout shedding many tears.\nElinor’s satisfaction, at the moment of removal, was more \npositive. She had no such object for her lingering thoughts to \nfix on, she left no creature behind, from whom it would give \nher a moment’s regret to be divided for ever, she was pleased \nto be free herself from the persecution of Lucy’s friendship, \nshe was grateful for bringing her sister away unseen by Wil-\nloughby since his marriage, and she looked forward with \nhope to what a few months of tranquility at Barton might \ndo towards restoring Marianne’s peace of mind, and con-\nfirming her own.\nTheir journey was safely performed. The second day \nbrought them into the cherished, or the prohibited, county \nof Somerset, for as such was it dwelt on by turns in Mari-\nanne’s imagination; and in the forenoon of the third they \ndrove up to Cleveland.\nCleveland was a spacious, modern-built house, situated \non a sloping lawn. It had no park, but the pleasure-grounds \nwere tolerably extensive; and like every other place of the \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n362\nsame degree of importance, it had its open shrubbery, and \ncloser wood walk, a road of smooth gravel winding round \na plantation, led to the front, the lawn was dotted over with \ntimber, the house itself was under the guardianship of the \nfir, the mountain-ash, and the acacia, and a thick screen of \nthem altogether, interspersed with tall Lombardy poplars, \nshut out the offices.\nMarianne entered the house with a heart swelling with \nemotion from the consciousness of being only eighty miles \nfrom Barton, and not thirty from Combe Magna; and be-\nfore she had been five minutes within its walls, while the \nothers were busily helping Charlotte to show her child to the \nhousekeeper, she quitted it again, stealing away through the \nwinding shrubberies, now just beginning to be in beauty, \nto gain a distant eminence; where, from its Grecian tem-\nple, her eye, wandering over a wide tract of country to the \nsouth-east, could fondly rest on the farthest ridge of hills \nin the horizon, and fancy that from their summits Combe \nMagna might be seen.\nIn such moments of precious, invaluable misery, she \nrejoiced in tears of agony to be at Cleveland; and as she \nreturned by a different circuit to the house, feeling all the \nhappy privilege of country liberty, of wandering from place \nto place in free and luxurious solitude, she resolved to spend \nalmost every hour of every day while she remained with the \nPalmers, in the indulgence of such solitary rambles.\nShe returned just in time to join the others as they quit-\nted the house, on an excursion through its more immediate \npremises; and the rest of the morning was easily whiled \n\n\n363\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\naway, in lounging round the kitchen garden, examining the \nbloom upon its walls, and listening to the gardener’s lamen-\ntations upon blights, in dawdling through the green-house, \nwhere the loss of her favourite plants, unwarily exposed, \nand nipped by the lingering frost, raised the laughter of \nCharlotte,—and in visiting her poultry-yard, where, in the \ndisappointed hopes of her dairy-maid, by hens forsaking \ntheir nests, or being stolen by a fox, or in the rapid decrease \nof a promising young brood, she found fresh sources of \nmerriment.\nThe morning was fine and dry, and Marianne, in her plan \nof employment abroad, had not calculated for any change of \nweather during their stay at Cleveland. With great surprise \ntherefore, did she find herself prevented by a settled rain \nfrom going out again after dinner. She had depended on a \ntwilight walk to the Grecian temple, and perhaps all over \nthe grounds, and an evening merely cold or damp would \nnot have deterred her from it; but a heavy and settled rain \neven SHE could not fancy dry or pleasant weather for walk-\ning.\nTheir party was small, and the hours passed quiet-\nly away. Mrs. Palmer had her child, and Mrs. Jennings \nher carpet-work; they talked of the friends they had left\n \nbehind, arranged Lady Middleton’s engagements, and won-\ndered whether Mr. Palmer and Colonel Brandon would get \nfarther than Reading that night. Elinor, however little con-\ncerned in it, joined in their discourse; and Marianne, who \nhad the knack of finding her way in every house to the li-\nbrary, however it might be avoided by the family in general, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n364\nsoon procured herself a book.\nNothing was wanting on Mrs. Palmer’s side that con-\nstant and friendly good humour could do, to make them \nfeel themselves welcome. The openness and heartiness of \nher manner more than atoned for that want of recollection \nand elegance which made her often deficient in the forms of \npoliteness; her kindness, recommended by so pretty a face, \nwas engaging; her folly, though evident was not disgusting, \nbecause it was not conceited; and Elinor could have forgiv-\nen every thing but her laugh.\nThe two gentlemen arrived the next day to a very late \ndinner, affording a pleasant enlargement of the party, and \na very welcome variety to their conversation, which a long \nmorning of the same continued rain had reduced very low.\nElinor had seen so little of Mr. Palmer, and in that lit-\ntle had seen so much variety in his address to her sister \nand herself, that she knew not what to expect to find him \nin his own family. She found him, however, perfectly the \ngentleman in his behaviour to all his visitors, and only oc-\ncasionally rude to his wife and her mother; she found him \nvery capable of being a pleasant companion, and only pre-\nvented from being so always, by too great an aptitude to \nfancy himself as much superior to people in general, as he \nmust feel himself to be to Mrs. Jennings and Charlotte. For \nthe rest of his character and habits, they were marked, as far \nas Elinor could perceive, with no traits at all unusual in his \nsex and time of life. He was nice in his eating, uncertain in \nhis hours; fond of his child, though affecting to slight it; and \nidled away the mornings at billiards, which ought to have \n\n\n365\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nbeen devoted to business. She liked him, however, upon the \nwhole, much better than she had expected, and in her heart \nwas not sorry that she could like him no more;— not sorry \nto be driven by the observation of his Epicurism, his self-\nishness, and his conceit, to rest with complacency on the \nremembrance of Edward’s generous temper, simple taste, \nand diffident feelings.\nOf Edward, or at least of some of his concerns, she now \nreceived intelligence from Colonel Brandon, who had been \ninto Dorsetshire lately; and who, treating her at once as the \ndisinterested friend of Mr. Ferrars, and the kind of confi-\ndant of himself, talked to her a great deal of the parsonage \nat Delaford, described its deficiencies, and told her what he \nmeant to do himself towards removing them.—His behav-\niour to her in this, as well as in every other particular, his \nopen pleasure in meeting her after an absence of only ten \ndays, his readiness to converse with her, and his deference \nfor her opinion, might very well justify Mrs. Jennings’s per-\nsuasion of his attachment, and would have been enough, \nperhaps, had not Elinor still, as from the first, believed Mar-\nianne his real favourite, to make her suspect it herself. But \nas it was, such a notion had scarcely ever entered her head, \nexcept by Mrs. Jennings’s suggestion; and she could not \nhelp believing herself the nicest observer of the two;—she \nwatched his eyes, while Mrs. Jennings thought only of his \nbehaviour;—and while his looks of anxious solicitude on \nMarianne’s feeling, in her head and throat, the beginning \nof a heavy cold, because unexpressed by words, entirely es-\ncaped the latter lady’s observation;—SHE could discover in \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n366\nthem the quick feelings, and needless alarm of a lover.\nTwo delighful twilight walks on the third and fourth \nevenings of her being there, not merely on the dry gravel \nof the shrubbery, but all over the grounds, and especially in \nthe most distant parts of them, where there was something \nmore of wildness than in the rest, where the trees were the \noldest, and the grass was the longest and wettest, had—as-\nsisted by the still greater imprudence of sitting in her wet \nshoes and stockings—given Marianne a cold so violent as, \nthough for a day or two trifled with or denied, would force \nitself by increasing ailments on the concern of every body, \nand the notice of herself. Prescriptions poured in from all \nquarters, and as usual, were all declined. Though heavy and \nfeverish, with a pain in her limbs, and a cough, and a sore \nthroat, a good night’s rest was to cure her entirely; and it \nwas with difficulty that Elinor prevailed on her, when she \nwent to bed, to try one or two of the simplest of the rem-\nedies.\n\n\n367\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 43\nM\narianne got up the next morning at her usual time; to \nevery inquiry replied that she was better, and tried to \nprove herself so, by engaging in her accustomary employ-\nments. But a day spent in sitting shivering over the fire with \na book in her hand, which she was unable to read, or in ly-\ning, weary and languid, on a sofa, did not speak much in \nfavour of her amendment; and when, at last, she went early \nto bed, more and more indisposed, Colonel Brandon was \nonly astonished at her sister’s composure, who, though at-\ntending and nursing her the whole day, against Marianne \ninclination, and forcing proper medicines on her at night, \ntrusted, like Marianne, to the certainty and efficacy of sleep, \nand felt no real alarm.\nA very restless and feverish night, however, disappointed \nthe expectation of both; and when Marianne, after persist-\ning in rising, confessed herself unable to sit up, and returned \nvoluntarily to her bed, Elinor was very ready to adopt Mrs. \nJennings’s advice, of sending for the Palmers’ apothecary.\nHe came, examined his patient, and though encouraging \nMiss Dashwood to expect that a very few days would restore \nher sister to health, yet, by pronouncing her disorder to have \na putrid tendency, and allowing the word ‘infection’ to pass \nhis lips, gave instant alarm to Mrs. Palmer, on her baby’s ac-\ncount. Mrs. Jennings, who had been inclined from the first \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n368\nto think Marianne’s complaint more serious than Elinor, \nnow looked very grave on Mr. Harris’s report, and con-\nfirming Charlotte’s fears and caution, urged the necessity \nof her immediate removal with her infant; and Mr. Palmer, \nthough treating their apprehensions as idle, found the anxi-\nety and importunity of his wife too great to be withstood. \nHer departure, therefore, was fixed on; and within an hour \nafter Mr. Harris’s arrival, she set off, with her little boy and \nhis nurse, for the house of a near relation of Mr. Palmer’s, \nwho lived a few miles on the other side of Bath; whither her \nhusband promised, at her earnest entreaty, to join her in a \nday or two; and whither she was almost equally urgent with \nher mother to accompany her. Mrs. Jennings, however, with \na kindness of heart which made Elinor really love her, de-\nclared her resolution of not stirring from Cleveland as long \nas Marianne remained ill, and of endeavouring, by her own \nattentive care, to supply to her the place of the mother she \nhad taken her from; and Elinor found her on every occasion \na most willing and active helpmate, desirous to share in all \nher fatigues, and often by her better experience in nursing, \nof material use.\nPoor Marianne, languid and low from the nature of her \nmalady, and feeling herself universally ill, could no longer \nhope that tomorrow would find her recovered; and the idea \nof what tomorrow would have produced, but for this un-\nlucky illness, made every ailment severe; for on that day \nthey were to have begun their journey home; and, attended \nthe whole way by a servant of Mrs. Jennings, were to have \ntaken their mother by surprise on the following forenoon. \n\n\n369\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nThe little she said was all in lamentation of this inevitable \ndelay; though Elinor tried to raise her spirits, and make her \nbelieve, as she THEN really believed herself, that it would \nbe a very short one.\nThe next day produced little or no alteration in the state \nof the patient; she certainly was not better, and, except that \nthere was no amendment, did not appear worse. Their party \nwas now farther reduced; for Mr. Palmer, though very un-\nwilling to go as well from real humanity and good-nature, \nas from a dislike of appearing to be frightened away by his \nwife, was persuaded at last by Colonel Brandon to perform \nhis promise of following her; and while he was preparing to \ngo, Colonel Brandon himself, with a much greater exertion, \nbegan to talk of going likewise.—Here, however, the kind-\nness of Mrs. Jennings interposed most acceptably; for to \nsend the Colonel away while his love was in so much uneas-\niness on her sister’s account, would be to deprive them both, \nshe thought, of every comfort; and therefore telling him at \nonce that his stay at Cleveland was necessary to herself, that \nshe should want him to play at piquet of an evening, while \nMiss Dashwood was above with her sister, &c. she urged \nhim so strongly to remain, that he, who was gratifying the \nfirst wish of his own heart by a compliance, could not long \neven affect to demur; especially as Mrs. Jennings’s entreaty \nwas warmly seconded by Mr. Palmer, who seemed to feel a \nrelief to himself, in leaving behind him a person so well able \nto assist or advise Miss Dashwood in any emergence.\nMarianne was, of course, kept in ignorance of all these \narrangements. She knew not that she had been the means of \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n370\nsending the owners of Cleveland away, in about seven days \nfrom the time of their arrival. It gave her no surprise that \nshe saw nothing of Mrs. Palmer; and as it gave her likewise \nno concern, she never mentioned her name.\nTwo days passed away from the time of Mr. Palmer’s de-\nparture, and her situation continued, with little variation, \nthe same. Mr. Harris, who attended her every day, still talk-\ned boldly of a speedy recovery, and Miss Dashwood was \nequally sanguine; but the expectation of the others was by \nno means so cheerful. Mrs. Jennings had determined very \nearly in the seizure that Marianne would never get over it, \nand Colonel Brandon, who was chiefly of use in listening to \nMrs. Jennings’s forebodings, was not in a state of mind to \nresist their influence. He tried to reason himself out of fears, \nwhich the different judgment of the apothecary seemed to \nrender absurd; but the many hours of each day in which he \nwas left entirely alone, were but too favourable for the ad-\nmission of every melancholy idea, and he could not expel \nfrom his mind the persuasion that he should see Marianne \nno more.\nOn the morning of the third day however, the gloomy \nanticipations of both were almost done away; for when Mr. \nHarris arrived, he declared his patient materially better. \nHer pulse was much stronger, and every symptom more fa-\nvourable than on the preceding visit. Elinor, confirmed in \nevery pleasant hope, was all cheerfulness; rejoicing that in \nher letters to her mother, she had pursued her own judg-\nment rather than her friend’s, in making very light of the \nindisposition which delayed them at Cleveland; and almost \n\n\n371\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nfixing on the time when Marianne would be able to travel.\nBut the day did not close so auspiciously as it began.— \nTowards the evening Marianne became ill again, growing \nmore heavy, restless, and uncomfortable than before. Her \nsister, however, still sanguine, was willing to attribute the \nchange to nothing more than the fatigue of having sat up \nto have her bed made; and carefully administering the cor-\ndials prescribed, saw her, with satisfaction, sink at last into \na slumber, from which she expected the most beneficial ef-\nfects. Her sleep, though not so quiet as Elinor wished to see \nit, lasted a considerable time; and anxious to observe the \nresult of it herself, she resolved to sit with her during the \nwhole of it. Mrs. Jennings, knowing nothing of any change \nin the patient, went unusually early to bed; her maid, who \nwas one of the principal nurses, was recreating herself in \nthe housekeeper’s room, and Elinor remained alone with \nMarianne.\nThe repose of the latter became more and more dis-\nturbed; and her sister, who watched, with unremitting \nattention her continual change of posture, and heard the \nfrequent but inarticulate sounds of complaint which passed \nher lips, was almost wishing to rouse her from so painful \na slumber, when Marianne, suddenly awakened by some \naccidental noise in the house, started hastily up, and, with \nfeverish wildness, cried out,—\n‘Is mama coming?—‘\n‘Not yet,’ cried the other, concealing her terror, and as-\nsisting Marianne to lie down again, ‘but she will be here, \nI hope, before it is long. It is a great way, you know, from \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n372\nhence to Barton.’\n‘But she must not go round by London,’ cried Marianne, \nin the same hurried manner. ‘I shall never see her, if she \ngoes by London.’\nElinor perceived with alarm that she was not quite her-\nself, and, while attempting to soothe her, eagerly felt her \npulse. It was lower and quicker than ever! and Marianne, \nstill talking wildly of mama, her alarm increased so rapidly, \nas to determine her on sending instantly for Mr. Harris, and \ndespatching a messenger to Barton for her mother. To con-\nsult with Colonel Brandon on the best means of effecting \nthe latter, was a thought which immediately followed the \nresolution of its performance; and as soon she had rung up \nthe maid to take her place by her sister, she hastened down \nto the drawing-room, where she knew he was generally to \nbe found at a much later hour than the present.\nIt was no time for hesitation. Her fears and her diffi-\nculties were immediately before him. Her fears, he had no \ncourage, no confidence to attempt the removal of:— he lis-\ntened to them in silent despondence;—but her difficulties \nwere instantly obviated, for with a readiness that seemed \nto speak the occasion, and the service pre-arranged in his \nmind, he offered himself as the messenger who should fetch \nMrs. Dashwood. Elinor made no resistance that was not \neasily overcome. She thanked him with brief, though fer-\nvent gratitude, and while he went to hurry off his servant \nwith a message to Mr. Harris, and an order for post-horses \ndirectly, she wrote a few lines to her mother.\nThe comfort of such a friend at that moment as Colo-\n\n\n373\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nnel Brandon—or such a companion for her mother,—how \ngratefully was it felt!—a companion whose judgment would \nguide, whose attendance must relieve, and whose friendship \nmight soothe her!—as far as the shock of such a summons \nCOULD be lessened to her, his presence, his manners, his \nassistance, would lessen it.\nHE, meanwhile, whatever he might feel, acted with all \nthe firmness of a collected mind, made every necessary ar-\nrangement with the utmost despatch, and calculated with \nexactness the time in which she might look for his return. \nNot a moment was lost in delay of any kind. The horses ar-\nrived, even before they were expected, and Colonel Brandon \nonly pressing her hand with a look of solemnity, and a few \nwords spoken too low to reach her ear, hurried into the car-\nriage. It was then about twelve o’clock, and she returned to \nher sister’s apartment to wait for the arrival of the apothe-\ncary, and to watch by her the rest of the night. It was a night \nof almost equal suffering to both. Hour after hour passed \naway in sleepless pain and delirium on Marianne’s side, and \nin the most cruel anxiety on Elinor’s, before Mr. Harris ap-\npeared. Her apprehensions once raised, paid by their excess \nfor all her former security; and the servant who sat up with \nher, for she would not allow Mrs. Jennings to be called, only \ntortured her more, by hints of what her mistress had always \nthought.\nMarianne’s ideas were still, at intervals, fixed incoherent-\nly on her mother, and whenever she mentioned her name, \nit gave a pang to the heart of poor Elinor, who, reproaching \nherself for having trifled with so many days of illness, and \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n374\nwretched for some immediate relief, fancied that all relief \nmight soon be in vain, that every thing had been delayed \ntoo long, and pictured to herself her suffering mother arriv-\ning too late to see this darling child, or to see her rational.\nShe was on the point of sending again for Mr. Harris, \nor if HE could not come, for some other advice, when the \nformer—but not till after five o’clock—arrived. His opin-\nion, however, made some little amends for his delay, for \nthough acknowledging a very unexpected and unpleasant \nalteration in his patient, he would not allow the danger to \nbe material, and talked of the relief which a fresh mode of \ntreatment must procure, with a confidence which, in a less-\ner degree, was communicated to Elinor. He promised to call \nagain in the course of three or four hours, and left both the \npatient and her anxious attendant more composed than he \nhad found them.\nWith strong concern, and with many reproaches for not \nbeing called to their aid, did Mrs. Jennings hear in the morn-\ning of what had passed. Her former apprehensions, now \nwith greater reason restored, left her no doubt of the event; \nand though trying to speak comfort to Elinor, her convic-\ntion of her sister’s danger would not allow her to offer the \ncomfort of hope. Her heart was really grieved. The rapid de-\ncay, the early death of a girl so young, so lovely as Marianne, \nmust have struck a less interested person with concern. On \nMrs. Jennings’s compassion she had other claims. She had \nbeen for three months her companion, was still under her \ncare, and she was known to have been greatly injured, and \nlong unhappy. The distress of her sister too, particularly a \n\n\n375\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nfavourite, was before her;—and as for their mother, when \nMrs. Jennings considered that Marianne might probably be \nto HER what Charlotte was to herself, her sympathy in HER \nsufferings was very sincere.\nMr. Harris was punctual in his second visit;— but he \ncame to be disappointed in his hopes of what the last would \nproduce. His medicines had failed;—the fever was unabated; \nand Marianne only more quiet—not more herself—re-\nmained in a heavy stupor. Elinor, catching all, and more \nthan all, his fears in a moment, proposed to call in further \nadvice. But he judged it unnecessary: he had still something \nmore to try, some more fresh application, of whose success \nhe was as confident as the last, and his visit concluded with \nencouraging assurances which reached the ear, but could \nnot enter the heart of Miss Dashwood. She was calm, ex-\ncept when she thought of her mother; but she was almost \nhopeless; and in this state she continued till noon, scarcely \nstirring from her sister’s bed, her thoughts wandering from \none image of grief, one suffering friend to another, and \nher spirits oppressed to the utmost by the conversation of \nMrs. Jennings, who scrupled not to attribute the severity \nand danger of this attack to the many weeks of previous in-\ndisposition which Marianne’s disappointment had brought \non. Elinor felt all the reasonableness of the idea, and it gave \nfresh misery to her reflections.\nAbout noon, however, she began—but with a caution—\na dread of disappointment which for some time kept her \nsilent, even to her friend—to fancy, to hope she could per-\nceive a slight amendment in her sister’s pulse;—she waited, \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n376\nwatched, and examined it again and again;—and at last, \nwith an agitation more difficult to bury under exterior \ncalmness, than all her foregoing distress, ventured to com-\nmunicate her hopes. Mrs. Jennings, though forced, on \nexamination, to acknowledge a temporary revival, tried to \nkeep her young friend from indulging a thought of its con-\ntinuance;— and Elinor, conning over every injunction of \ndistrust, told herself likewise not to hope. But it was too late. \nHope had already entered; and feeling all its anxious flutter, \nshe bent over her sister to watch—she hardly knew for what. \nHalf an hour passed away, and the favourable symptom yet \nblessed her. Others even arose to confirm it. Her breath, \nher skin, her lips, all flattered Elinor with signs of amend-\nment; and Marianne fixed her eyes on her with a rational, \nthough languid, gaze. Anxiety and hope now oppressed \nher in equal degrees, and left her no moment of tranquil-\nlity till the arrival of Mr. Harris at four o’clock;—when his \nassurances, his felicitations on a recovery in her sister even \nsurpassing his expectation, gave her confidence, comfort, \nand tears of joy.\nMarianne was in every respect materially better, and he \ndeclared her entirely out of danger. Mrs. Jennings, perhaps \nsatisfied with the partial justification of her forebodings \nwhich had been found in their late alarm, allowed herself \nto trust in his judgment, and admitted, with unfeigned joy, \nand soon with unequivocal cheerfulness, the probability of \nan entire recovery.\nElinor could not be cheerful. Her joy was of a different \nkind, and led to any thing rather than to gaiety. Marianne \n\n\n377\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nrestored to life, health, friends, and to her doting mother, \nwas an idea to fill her heart with sensations of exquisite \ncomfort, and expand it in fervent gratitude;— but it lead to \nno outward demonstrations of joy, no words, no smiles. All \nwithin Elinor’s breast was satisfaction, silent and strong.\nShe continued by the side of her sister, with little inter-\nmission the whole afternoon, calming every fear, satisfying \nevery inquiry of her enfeebled spirits, supplying every suc-\ncour, and watching almost every look and every breath. The \npossibility of a relapse would of course, in some moments, \noccur to remind her of what anxiety was— but when she \nsaw, on her frequent and minute examination, that every \nsymptom of recovery continued, and saw Marianne at six \no’clock sink into a quiet, steady, and to all appearance com-\nfortable, sleep, she silenced every doubt.\nThe time was now drawing on, when Colonel Brandon \nmight be expected back. At ten o’clock, she trusted, or at \nleast not much later her mother would be relieved from the \ndreadful suspense in which she must now be travelling to-\nwards them. The Colonel, too!—perhaps scarcely less an \nobject of pity!—Oh!—how slow was the progress of time \nwhich yet kept them in ignorance!\nAt seven o’clock, leaving Marianne still sweetly asleep, \nshe joined Mrs. Jennings in the drawing-room to tea. Of \nbreakfast she had been kept by her fears, and of dinner by \ntheir sudden reverse, from eating much;— and the pres-\nent refreshment, therefore, with such feelings of content as \nshe brought to it, was particularly welcome. Mrs. Jennings \nwould have persuaded her, at its conclusion, to take some \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n378\nrest before her mother’s arrival, and allow HER to take her \nplace by Marianne; but Elinor had no sense of fatigue, no \ncapability of sleep at that moment about her, and she was \nnot to be kept away from her sister an unnecessary instant. \nMrs. Jennings therefore attending her up stairs into the sick \nchamber, to satisfy herself that all continued right, left her \nthere again to her charge and her thoughts, and retired to \nher own room to write letters and sleep.\nThe night was cold and stormy. The wind roared round \nthe house, and the rain beat against the windows; but Eli-\nnor, all happiness within, regarded it not. Marianne slept \nthrough every blast; and the travellers— they had a rich re-\nward in store, for every present inconvenience.\nThe clock struck eight. Had it been ten, Elinor would \nhave been convinced that at that moment she heard a \ncarriage driving up to the house; and so strong was the per-\nsuasion that she DID, in spite of the ALMOST impossibility \nof their being already come, that she moved into the ad-\njoining dressing-closet and opened a window shutter, to be \nsatisfied of the truth. She instantly saw that her ears had not \ndeceived her. The flaring lamps of a carriage were immedi-\nately in view. By their uncertain light she thought she could \ndiscern it to be drawn by four horses; and this, while it told \nthe excess of her poor mother’s alarm, gave some explana-\ntion to such unexpected rapidity.\nNever in her life had Elinor found it so difficult to be \ncalm, as at that moment. The knowledge of what her moth-\ner must be feeling as the carriage stopt at the door— of her \ndoubt—her dread—perhaps her despair!—and of what SHE \n\n\n379\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nhad to tell!—with such knowledge it was impossible to be \ncalm. All that remained to be done was to be speedy; and, \ntherefore staying only till she could leave Mrs. Jennings’s \nmaid with her sister, she hurried down stairs.\nThe bustle in the vestibule, as she passed along an in-\nner lobby, assured her that they were already in the house. \nShe rushed to the drawing-room,—she entered it,—and saw \nonly Willoughby.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n380\nChapter 44\nE\nlinor, starting back with a look of horror at the sight \nof him, obeyed the first impulse of her heart in turn-\ning instantly to quit the room, and her hand was already \non the lock, when its action was suspended by his hastily \nadvancing, and saying, in a voice rather of command than \nsupplication,\n‘Miss Dashwood, for half an hour—for ten minutes— I \nentreat you to stay.’\n‘No, sir,’ she replied with firmness, ‘I shall NOT stay. \nYour business cannot be with ME. The servants, I suppose, \nforgot to tell you that Mr. Palmer was not in the house.’\n‘Had they told me,’ he cried with vehemence, ‘that Mr. \nPalmer and all his relations were at the devil, it would not \nhave turned me from the door. My business is with you, and \nonly you.’\n‘With me!’—in the utmost amazement—‘well, sir,— be \nquick—and if you can—less violent.’\n‘Sit down, and I will be both.’\nShe hesitated; she knew not what to do. The possibility \nof Colonel Brandon’s arriving and finding her there, came \nacross her. But she had promised to hear him, and her curi-\nosity no less than her honor was engaged. After a moment’s \nrecollection, therefore, concluding that prudence required \ndispatch, and that her acquiescence would best promote it, \n\n\n381\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nshe walked silently towards the table, and sat down. He took \nthe opposite chair, and for half a minute not a word was said \nby either.\n‘Pray be quick, sir,’—said Elinor, impatiently;— ‘I have \nno time to spare.’\nHe was sitting in an attitude of deep meditation, and \nseemed not to hear her.\n‘Your sister,’ said he, with abruptness, a moment after-\nwards—‘is out of danger. I heard it from the servant. God \nbe praised!—But is it true? is it really true?’\nElinor would not speak. He repeated the inquiry with yet \ngreater eagerness.\n‘For God’s sake tell me, is she out of danger, or is she \nnot?’\n‘We hope she is.’\nHe rose up, and walked across the room.\n‘Had I known as much half an hour ago—But since I AM \nhere,’—speaking with a forced vivacity as he returned to his \nseat—‘what does it signify?—For once, Miss Dashwood—it \nwill be the last time, perhaps—let us be cheerful togeth-\ner.—I am in a fine mood for gaiety.— Tell me honestly’—a \ndeeper glow overspreading his cheeks— ‘do you think me \nmost a knave or a fool?’\nElinor looked at him with greater astonishment than \never. She began to think that be must be in liquor;—the \nstrangeness of such a visit, and of such manners, seemed no \notherwise intelligible; and with this impression she imme-\ndiately rose, saying,\n‘Mr. Willoughby, I advise you at present to return to \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n382\nCombe—I am not at leisure to remain with you longer.— \nWhatever your business may be with me, will it be better \nrecollected and explained to-morrow.’\n‘I understand you,’ he replied, with an expressive smile, \nand a voice perfectly calm; ‘yes, I am very drunk.— A pint \nof porter with my cold beef at Marlborough was enough to \nover-set me.’\n‘At Marlborough!’—cried Elinor, more and more at a loss \nto understand what he would be at.\n‘Yes,—I left London this morning at eight o’clock, and \nthe only ten minutes I have spent out of my chaise since that \ntime procured me a nuncheon at Marlborough.’\nThe steadiness of his manner, and the intelligence of his \neye as he spoke, convincing Elinor, that whatever other un-\npardonable folly might bring him to Cleveland, he was not \nbrought there by intoxication, she said, after a moment’s \nrecollection,\n‘Mr. Willoughby, you OUGHT to feel, and I certainly \nDO—that after what has passed—your coming here in this \nmanner, and forcing yourself upon my notice, requires a \nvery particular excuse.—What is it, that you mean by it?’—\n‘I mean,’—said he, with serious energy—‘if I can, to make \nyou hate me one degree less than you do NOW. I mean to \noffer some kind of explanation, some kind of apology, for \nthe past; to open my whole heart to you, and by convincing \nyou, that though I have been always a blockhead, I have not \nbeen always a rascal, to obtain something like forgiveness \nfrom Ma—from your sister.’\n‘Is this the real reason of your coming?’\n\n\n383\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘Upon my soul it is,’—was his answer, with a warmth \nwhich brought all the former Willoughby to her remem-\nbrance, and in spite of herself made her think him sincere.\n‘If that is all, you may be satisfied already,— for Mari-\nanne DOES—she has LONG forgiven you.’\n‘Has she?’—he cried, in the same eager tone.— ‘Then she \nhas forgiven me before she ought to have done it. But she \nshall forgive me again, and on more reasonable grounds.—\nNOW will you listen to me?’\nElinor bowed her assent.\n‘I do not know,’ said he, after a pause of expectation on \nher side, and thoughtfulness on his own,—‘how YOU may \nhave accounted for my behaviour to your sister, or what dia-\nbolical motive you may have imputed to me.— Perhaps you \nwill hardly think the better of me,—it is worth the trial how-\never, and you shall hear every thing. When I first became \nintimate in your family, I had no other intention, no other \nview in the acquaintance than to pass my time pleasantly \nwhile I was obliged to remain in Devonshire, more pleas-\nantly than I had ever done before. Your sister’s lovely person \nand interesting manners could not but please me; and her \nbehaviour to me almost from the first, was of a kind—It is \nastonishing, when I reflect on what it was, and what SHE \nwas, that my heart should have been so insensible! But at \nfirst I must confess, my vanity only was elevated by it. Care-\nless of her happiness, thinking only of my own amusement, \ngiving way to feelings which I had always been too much in \nthe habit of indulging, I endeavoured, by every means in my \npower, to make myself pleasing to her, without any design \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n384\nof returning her affection.’\nMiss Dashwood, at this point, turning her eyes on him \nwith the most angry contempt, stopped him, by saying,\n‘It is hardly worth while, Mr. Willoughby, for you to re-\nlate, or for me to listen any longer. Such a beginning as this \ncannot be followed by any thing.— Do not let me be pained \nby hearing any thing more on the subject.’\n‘I insist on you hearing the whole of it,’ he replied, ‘My \nfortune was never large, and I had always been expensive, \nalways in the habit of associating with people of better in-\ncome than myself. Every year since my coming of age, or \neven before, I believe, had added to my debts; and though \nthe death of my old cousin, Mrs. Smith, was to set me free; \nyet that event being uncertain, and possibly far distant, it \nhad been for some time my intention to re-establish my \ncircumstances by marrying a woman of fortune. To attach \nmyself to your sister, therefore, was not a thing to be thought \nof;—and with a meanness, selfishness, cruelty— which \nno indignant, no contemptuous look, even of yours, Miss \nDashwood, can ever reprobate too much—I was acting in \nthis manner, trying to engage her regard, without a thought \nof returning it.—But one thing may be said for me: even in \nthat horrid state of selfish vanity, I did not know the extent \nof the injury I meditated, because I did not THEN know \nwhat it was to love. But have I ever known it?—Well may it \nbe doubted; for, had I really loved, could I have sacrificed \nmy feelings to vanity, to avarice?—or, what is more, could I \nhave sacrificed hers?— But I have done it. To avoid a com-\nparative poverty, which her affection and her society would \n\n\n385\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nhave deprived of all its horrors, I have, by raising myself to \naffluence, lost every thing that could make it a blessing.’\n‘You did then,’ said Elinor, a little softened, ‘believe your-\nself at one time attached to her?’\n‘To have resisted such attractions, to have withstood \nsuch tenderness!—Is there a man on earth who could have \ndone it?—Yes, I found myself, by insensible degrees, sin-\ncerely fond of her; and the happiest hours of my life were \nwhat I spent with her when I felt my intentions were strict-\nly honourable, and my feelings blameless. Even THEN, \nhowever, when fully determined on paying my addresses \nto her, I allowed myself most improperly to put off, from \nday to day, the moment of doing it, from an unwillingness \nto enter into an engagement while my circumstances were \nso greatly embarrassed. I will not reason here—nor will I \nstop for YOU to expatiate on the absurdity, and the worse \nthan absurdity, of scrupling to engage my faith where my \nhonour was already bound. The event has proved, that I \nwas a cunning fool, providing with great circumspection \nfor a possible opportunity of making myself contemptible \nand wretched for ever. At last, however, my resolution was \ntaken, and I had determined, as soon as I could engage her \nalone, to justify the attentions I had so invariably paid her, \nand openly assure her of an affection which I had already \ntaken such pains to display. But in the interim—in the in-\nterim of the very few hours that were to pass, before I could \nhave an opportunity of speaking with her in private— a cir-\ncumstance occurred—an unlucky circumstance, to ruin all \nmy resolution, and with it all my comfort. A discovery took \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n386\nplace,’—here he hesitated and looked down.—‘Mrs. Smith \nhad somehow or other been informed, I imagine by some \ndistant relation, whose interest it was to deprive me of her \nfavour, of an affair, a connection—but I need not explain \nmyself farther,’ he added, looking at her with an heightened \ncolour and an enquiring eye—‘your particular intimacy—\nyou have probably heard the whole story long ago.’\n‘I have,’ returned Elinor, colouring likewise, and harden-\ning her heart anew against any compassion for him, ‘I have \nheard it all. And how you will explain away any part of your \nguilt in that dreadful business, I confess is beyond my com-\nprehension.’\n‘Remember,’ cried Willoughby, ‘from whom you received \nthe account. Could it be an impartial one? I acknowledge \nthat her situation and her character ought to have been re-\nspected by me. I do not mean to justify myself, but at the \nsame time cannot leave you to suppose that I have nothing \nto urge—that because she was injured she was irreproach-\nable, and because I was a libertine, SHE must be a saint. \nIf the violence of her passions, the weakness of her under-\nstanding—I do not mean, however, to defend myself. Her \naffection for me deserved better treatment, and I often, with \ngreat self-reproach, recall the tenderness which, for a very \nshort time, had the power of creating any return. I wish—\nI heartily wish it had never been. But I have injured more \nthan herself; and I have injured one, whose affection for \nme—(may I say it?) was scarcely less warm than hers; and \nwhose mind—Oh! how infinitely superior!’—\n‘Your indifference, however, towards that unfortunate \n\n\n387\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ngirl—I must say it, unpleasant to me as the discussion of \nsuch a subject may well be—your indifference is no apology \nfor your cruel neglect of her. Do not think yourself excused \nby any weakness, any natural defect of understanding on \nher side, in the wanton cruelty so evident on yours. You \nmust have known, that while you were enjoying yourself \nin Devonshire pursuing fresh schemes, always gay, always \nhappy, she was reduced to the extremest indigence.’\n‘But, upon my soul, I did NOT know it,’ he warmly re-\nplied; ‘I did not recollect that I had omitted to give her my \ndirection; and common sense might have told her how to \nfind it out.’\n‘Well, sir, and what said Mrs. Smith?’\n‘She taxed me with the offence at once, and my confu-\nsion may be guessed. The purity of her life, the formality of \nher notions, her ignorance of the world—every thing was \nagainst me. The matter itself I could not deny, and vain was \nevery endeavour to soften it. She was previously disposed, I \nbelieve, to doubt the morality of my conduct in general, and \nwas moreover discontented with the very little attention, \nthe very little portion of my time that I had bestowed on \nher, in my present visit. In short, it ended in a total breach. \nBy one measure I might have saved myself. In the height of \nher morality, good woman! she offered to forgive the past, if \nI would marry Eliza. That could not be—and I was formally \ndismissed from her favour and her house. The night follow-\ning this affair—I was to go the next morning— was spent by \nme in deliberating on what my future conduct should be. \nThe struggle was great—but it ended too soon. My affection \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n388\nfor Marianne, my thorough conviction of her attachment \nto me—it was all insufficient to outweigh that dread of pov-\nerty, or get the better of those false ideas of the necessity of \nriches, which I was naturally inclined to feel, and expensive \nsociety had increased. I had reason to believe myself secure \nof my present wife, if I chose to address her, and I persuad-\ned myself to think that nothing else in common prudence \nremained for me to do. A heavy scene however awaited me, \nbefore I could leave Devonshire;—I was engaged to dine \nwith you on that very day; some apology was therefore \nnecessary for my breaking this engagement. But whether I \nshould write this apology, or deliver it in person, was a point \nof long debate. To see Marianne, I felt, would be dreadful, \nand I even doubted whether I could see her again, and keep \nto my resolution. In that point, however, I undervalued my \nown magnanimity, as the event declared; for I went, I saw \nher, and saw her miserable, and left her miserable—and left \nher hoping never to see her again.’\n‘Why did you call, Mr. Willoughby?’ said Elinor, \nreproachfully; ‘a note would have answered every pur-\npose.— Why was it necessary to call?’\n‘It was necessary to my own pride. I could not bear to \nleave the country in a manner that might lead you, or the \nrest of the neighbourhood, to suspect any part of what had \nreally passed between Mrs. Smith and myself— and I re-\nsolved therefore on calling at the cottage, in my way to \nHoniton. The sight of your dear sister, however, was real-\nly dreadful; and, to heighten the matter, I found her alone. \nYou were all gone I do not know where. I had left her only \n\n\n389\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nthe evening before, so fully, so firmly resolved within my \nself on doing right! A few hours were to have engaged her to \nme for ever; and I remember how happy, how gay were my \nspirits, as I walked from the cottage to Allenham, satisfied \nwith myself, delighted with every body! But in this, our last \ninterview of friendship, I approached her with a sense of \nguilt that almost took from me the power of dissembling. \nHer sorrow, her disappointment, her deep regret, when I \ntold her that I was obliged to leave Devonshire so immedi-\nately—I never shall forget it—united too with such reliance, \nsuch confidence in me!—Oh, God!—what a hard-hearted \nrascal I was!’\nThey were both silent for a few moments. Elinor first \nspoke.\n‘Did you tell her that you should soon return?’\n‘I do not know what I told her,’ he replied, impatient-\nly; ‘less than was due to the past, beyond a doubt, and in \nall likelihood much more than was justified by the future. \nI cannot think of it.—It won’t do.—Then came your dear \nmother to torture me farther, with all her kindness and con-\nfidence. Thank Heaven! it DID torture me. I was miserable. \nMiss Dashwood, you cannot have an idea of the comfort \nit gives me to look back on my own misery. I owe such a \ngrudge to myself for the stupid, rascally folly of my own \nheart, that all my past sufferings under it are only triumph \nand exultation to me now. Well, I went, left all that I loved, \nand went to those to whom, at best, I was only indifferent. \nMy journey to town—travelling with my own horses, and \ntherefore so tediously—no creature to speak to—my own \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n390\nreflections so cheerful—when I looked forward every thing \nso inviting!—when I looked back at Barton, the picture so \nsoothing!—oh, it was a blessed journey!’\nHe stopped.\n‘Well, sir,’ said Elinor, who, though pitying him, grew \nimpatient for his departure, ‘and this is all?’\n‘Ah!—no,—have you forgot what passed in town?— That \ninfamous letter—Did she shew it you?’\n‘Yes, I saw every note that passed.’\n‘When the first of hers reached me (as it immediately \ndid, for I was in town the whole time,) what I felt is— in \nthe common phrase, not to be expressed; in a more sim-\nple one—perhaps too simple to raise any emotion— my \nfeelings were very, very painful.—Every line, every word \nwas—in the hackneyed metaphor which their dear writer, \nwere she here, would forbid—a dagger to my heart. To know \nthat Marianne was in town was—in the same language— a \nthunderbolt.—Thunderbolts and daggers!—what a reproof \nwould she have given me!—her taste, her opinions—I be-\nlieve they are better known to me than my own,—and I am \nsure they are dearer.’\nElinor’s heart, which had undergone many changes in \nthe course of this extraordinary conversation, was now soft-\nened again;—yet she felt it her duty to check such ideas in \nher companion as the last.\n‘This is not right, Mr. Willoughby.—Remember that you \nare married. Relate only what in your conscience you think \nnecessary for me to hear.’\n‘Marianne’s note, by assuring me that I was still as dear \n\n\n391\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nto her as in former days, that in spite of the many, many \nweeks we had been separated, she was as constant in her \nown feelings, and as full of faith in the constancy of mine \nas ever, awakened all my remorse. I say awakened, because \ntime and London, business and dissipation, had in some \nmeasure quieted it, and I had been growing a fine hard-\nened villain, fancying myself indifferent to her, and chusing \nto fancy that she too must have become indifferent to me; \ntalking to myself of our past attachment as a mere idle, tri-\nfling business, shrugging up my shoulders in proof of its \nbeing so, and silencing every reproach, overcoming every \nscruple, by secretly saying now and then, ‘I shall be heart-\nily glad to hear she is well married.’— But this note made \nme know myself better. I felt that she was infinitely dearer \nto me than any other woman in the world, and that I was \nusing her infamously. But every thing was then just settled \nbetween Miss Grey and me. To retreat was impossible. All \nthat I had to do, was to avoid you both. I sent no answer to \nMarianne, intending by that to preserve myself from her \nfarther notice; and for some time I was even determined not \nto call in Berkeley Street;—but at last, judging it wiser to af-\nfect the air of a cool, common acquaintance than anything \nelse, I watched you all safely out of the house one morning, \nand left my name.’\n‘Watched us out of the house!’\n‘Even so. You would be surprised to hear how often I \nwatched you, how often I was on the point of falling in with \nyou. I have entered many a shop to avoid your sight, as the \ncarriage drove by. Lodging as I did in Bond Street, there was \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n392\nhardly a day in which I did not catch a glimpse of one or \nother of you; and nothing but the most constant watchful-\nness on my side, a most invariably prevailing desire to keep \nout of your sight, could have separated us so long. I avoided \nthe Middletons as much as possible, as well as everybody \nelse who was likely to prove an acquaintance in common. \nNot aware of their being in town, however, I blundered on \nSir John, I believe, the first day of his coming, and the day \nafter I had called at Mrs. Jennings’s. He asked me to a party, \na dance at his house in the evening.—Had he NOT told me \nas an inducement that you and your sister were to be there, \nI should have felt it too certain a thing, to trust myself near \nhim. The next morning brought another short note from \nMarianne— still affectionate, open, artless, confiding—ev-\nerything that could make MY conduct most hateful. I could \nnot answer it. I tried—but could not frame a sentence. But \nI thought of her, I believe, every moment of the day. If you \nCAN pity me, Miss Dashwood, pity my situation as it was \nTHEN. With my head and heart full of your sister, I was \nforced to play the happy lover to another woman!—Those \nthree or four weeks were worse than all. Well, at last, as I \nneed not tell you, you were forced on me; and what a sweet \nfigure I cut!—what an evening of agony it was!— Marianne, \nbeautiful as an angel on one side, calling me Willoughby \nin such a tone!—Oh, God!—holding out her hand to me, \nasking me for an explanation, with those bewitching eyes \nfixed in such speaking solicitude on my face!—and So-\nphia, jealous as the devil on the other hand, looking all \nthat was—Well, it does not signify; it is over now.— Such \n\n\n393\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nan evening!—I ran away from you all as soon as I could; \nbut not before I had seen Marianne’s sweet face as white as \ndeath.—THAT was the last, last look I ever had of her;— the \nlast manner in which she appeared to me. It was a horrid \nsight!—yet when I thought of her to-day as really dying, it \nwas a kind of comfort to me to imagine that I knew exact-\nly how she would appear to those, who saw her last in this \nworld. She was before me, constantly before me, as I trav-\nelled, in the same look and hue.’\nA short pause of mutual thoughtfulness succeeded. Wil-\nloughby first rousing himself, broke it thus:\n‘Well, let me make haste and be gone. Your sister is cer-\ntainly better, certainly out of danger?’\n‘We are assured of it.’\n‘Your poor mother, too!—doting on Marianne.’\n‘But the letter, Mr. Willoughby, your own letter; have you \nany thing to say about that?’\n‘Yes, yes, THAT in particular. Your sister wrote to me \nagain, you know, the very next morning. You saw what she \nsaid. I was breakfasting at the Ellisons,—and her letter, with \nsome others, was brought to me there from my lodgings. It \nhappened to catch Sophia’s eye before it caught mine—and \nits size, the elegance of the paper, the hand-writing altogeth-\ner, immediately gave her a suspicion. Some vague report had \nreached her before of my attachment to some young lady \nin Devonshire, and what had passed within her observa-\ntion the preceding evening had marked who the young lady \nwas, and made her more jealous than ever. Affecting that \nair of playfulness, therefore, which is delightful in a woman \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n394\none loves, she opened the letter directly, and read its con-\ntents. She was well paid for her impudence. She read what \nmade her wretched. Her wretchedness I could have borne, \nbut her passion—her malice—At all events it must be ap-\npeased. And, in short—what do you think of my wife’s style \nof letter-writing?—delicate—tender— truly feminine—was \nit not?’\n‘Your wife!—The letter was in your own hand-writing.’\n‘Yes, but I had only the credit of servilely copying such \nsentences as I was ashamed to put my name to. The original \nwas all her own—her own happy thoughts and gentle dic-\ntion. But what could I do!—we were engaged, every thing \nin preparation, the day almost fixed—But I am talking like \na fool. Preparation!—day!—In honest words, her money \nwas necessary to me, and in a situation like mine, any thing \nwas to be done to prevent a rupture. And after all, what did \nit signify to my character in the opinion of Marianne and \nher friends, in what language my answer was couched?—It \nmust have been only to one end. My business was to de-\nclare myself a scoundrel, and whether I did it with a bow \nor a bluster was of little importance.— ‘I am ruined for \never in their opinion—‘ said I to myself—‘I am shut out for \never from their society, they already think me an unprin-\ncipled fellow, this letter will only make them think me a \nblackguard one.’ Such were my reasonings, as, in a sort of \ndesperate carelessness, I copied my wife’s words, and parted \nwith the last relics of Marianne. Her three notes—unluck-\nily they were all in my pocketbook, or I should have denied \ntheir existence, and hoarded them for ever—I was forced to \n\n\n395\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nput them up, and could not even kiss them. And the lock of \nhair—that too I had always carried about me in the same \npocket-book, which was now searched by Madam with the \nmost ingratiating virulence,—the dear lock—all, every me-\nmento was torn from me.’\n‘You are very wrong, Mr. Willoughby, very blamable,’ \nsaid Elinor, while her voice, in spite of herself, betrayed her \ncompassionate emotion; ‘you ought not to speak in this way, \neither of Mrs. Willoughby or my sister. You had made your \nown choice. It was not forced on you. Your wife has a claim \nto your politeness, to your respect, at least. She must be at-\ntached to you, or she would not have married you. To treat \nher with unkindness, to speak of her slightingly is no atone-\nment to Marianne—nor can I suppose it a relief to your own \nconscience.’\n‘Do not talk to me of my wife,’ said he with a heavy \nsigh.— ‘She does not deserve your compassion.—She knew \nI had no regard for her when we married.—Well, married \nwe were, and came down to Combe Magna to be happy, and \nafterwards returned to town to be gay.—And now do you \npity me, Miss Dashwood?—or have I said all this to no pur-\npose?— Am I—be it only one degree—am I less guilty in \nyour opinion than I was before?—My intentions were not \nalways wrong. Have I explained away any part of my guilt?’\n‘Yes, you have certainly removed something—a little.— \nYou have proved yourself, on the whole, less faulty than I \nhad believed you. You have proved your heart less wick-\ned, much less wicked. But I hardly know—the misery that \nyou have inflicted—I hardly know what could have made it \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n396\nworse.’\n‘Will you repeat to your sister when she is recovered, \nwhat I have been telling you?—Let me be a little lightened \ntoo in her opinion as well as in yours. You tell me that she \nhas forgiven me already. Let me be able to fancy that a bet-\nter knowledge of my heart, and of my present feelings, will \ndraw from her a more spontaneous, more natural, more \ngentle, less dignified, forgiveness. Tell her of my misery and \nmy penitence—tell her that my heart was never inconstant \nto her, and if you will, that at this moment she is dearer to \nme than ever.’\n‘I will tell her all that is necessary to what may com-\nparatively be called, your justification. But you have not \nexplained to me the particular reason of your coming now, \nnor how you heard of her illness.’\n‘Last night, in Drury Lane lobby, I ran against Sir John \nMiddleton, and when he saw who I was—for the first time \nthese two months—he spoke to me.—That he had cut me \never since my marriage, I had seen without surprise or re-\nsentment. Now, however, his good-natured, honest, stupid \nsoul, full of indignation against me, and concern for your \nsister, could not resist the temptation of telling me what \nhe knew ought to—though probably he did not think it \nWOULD—vex me horridly. As bluntly as he could speak \nit, therefore, he told me that Marianne Dashwood was dy-\ning of a putrid fever at Cleveland—a letter that morning \nreceived from Mrs. Jennings declared her danger most im-\nminent—the Palmers are all gone off in a fright, &c.—I was \ntoo much shocked to be able to pass myself off as insensible \n\n\n397\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\neven to the undiscerning Sir John. His heart was softened \nin seeing mine suffer; and so much of his ill-will was done \naway, that when we parted, he almost shook me by the hand \nwhile he reminded me of an old promise about a pointer \npuppy. What I felt on hearing that your sister was dying—\nand dying too, believing me the greatest villain upon earth, \nscorning, hating me in her latest moments—for how could \nI tell what horrid projects might not have been imputed? \nONE person I was sure would represent me as capable of \nany thing— What I felt was dreadful!—My resolution was \nsoon made, and at eight o’clock this morning I was in my \ncarriage. Now you know all.’\nElinor made no answer. Her thoughts were silently fixed \non the irreparable injury which too early an independence \nand its consequent habits of idleness, dissipation, and luxu-\nry, had made in the mind, the character, the happiness, of a \nman who, to every advantage of person and talents, united a \ndisposition naturally open and honest, and a feeling, affec-\ntionate temper. The world had made him extravagant and \nvain—Extravagance and vanity had made him cold-heart-\ned and selfish. Vanity, while seeking its own guilty triumph \nat the expense of another, had involved him in a real attach-\nment, which extravagance, or at least its offspring, necessity, \nhad required to be sacrificed. Each faulty propensity in lead-\ning him to evil, had led him likewise to punishment. The \nattachment, from which against honour, against feeling, \nagainst every better interest he had outwardly torn himself, \nnow, when no longer allowable, governed every thought; \nand the connection, for the sake of which he had, with little \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n398\nscruple, left her sister to misery, was likely to prove a source \nof unhappiness to himself of a far more incurable nature. \nFrom a reverie of this kind she was recalled at the end of \nsome minutes by Willoughby, who, rousing himself from a \nreverie at least equally painful, started up in preparation for \ngoing, and said—\n‘There is no use in staying here; I must be off.’\n‘Are you going back to town?’\n‘No—to Combe Magna. I have business there; from \nthence to town in a day or two. Good bye.’\nHe held out his hand. She could not refuse to give him \nhers’s;—he pressed it with affection.\n‘And you DO think something better of me than you \ndid?’—said he, letting it fall, and leaning against the man-\ntel-piece as if forgetting he was to go.\nElinor assured him that she did;—that she forgave, \npitied, wished him well—was even interested in his happi-\nness—and added some gentle counsel as to the behaviour \nmost likely to promote it. His answer was not very encour-\naging.\n‘As to that,’ said he, ‘I must rub through the world as \nwell as I can. Domestic happiness is out of the question. If, \nhowever, I am allowed to think that you and yours feel an \ninterest in my fate and actions, it may be the means—it may \nput me on my guard—at least, it may be something to live \nfor. Marianne to be sure is lost to me for ever. Were I even \nby any blessed chance at liberty again—‘\nElinor stopped him with a reproof.\n‘Well,’—he replied—‘once more good bye. I shall now go \n\n\n399\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\naway and live in dread of one event.’\n‘What do you mean?’\n‘Your sister’s marriage.’\n‘You are very wrong. She can never be more lost to you \nthan she is now.’\n‘But she will be gained by some one else. And if that some \none should be the very he whom, of all others, I could least \nbear—but I will not stay to rob myself of all your compas-\nsionate goodwill, by shewing that where I have most injured \nI can least forgive. Good bye,—God bless you!’\nAnd with these words, he almost ran out of the room.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n400\nChapter 45\nE\nlinor, for some time after he left her, for some time even \nafter the sound of his carriage had died away, remained \ntoo much oppressed by a crowd of ideas, widely differing in \nthemselves, but of which sadness was the general result, to \nthink even of her sister.\nWilloughby, he, whom only half an hour ago she had ab-\nhorred as the most worthless of men, Willoughby, in spite of \nall his faults, excited a degree of commiseration for the suf-\nferings produced by them, which made her think of him as \nnow separated for ever from her family, with a tenderness, \na regret, rather in proportion, as she soon acknowledged \nwithin herself—to his wishes than to his merits. She felt \nthat his influence over her mind was heightened by circum-\nstances which ought not in reason to have weight; by that \nperson of uncommon attraction, that open, affectionate, \nand lively manner which it was no merit to possess; and by \nthat still ardent love for Marianne, which it was not even \ninnocent to indulge. But she felt that it was so, long, long \nbefore she could feel his influence less.\nWhen at last she returned to the unconscious Marianne, \nshe found her just awaking, refreshed by so long and sweet \na sleep to the extent of her hopes. Elinor’s heart was full. The \npast, the present, the future, Willoughby’s visit, Marianne’s \nsafety, and her mother’s expected arrival, threw her altogeth-\n\n\n401\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ner into an agitation of spirits which kept off every indication \nof fatigue, and made her only fearful of betraying herself to \nher sister. Short was the time, however, in which that fear \ncould affect her, for within half an hour after Willoughby’s \nleaving the house, she was again called down stairs by the \nsound of another carriage.—Eager to save her mother from \nevery unnecessary moment’s horrible suspense, she ran im-\nmediately into the hall, and reached the outward door just \nin time to receive and support her as she entered it.\nMrs. Dashwood, whose terror as they drew near the \nhouse had produced almost the conviction of Marianne’s \nbeing no more, had no voice to inquire after her, no voice \neven for Elinor; but SHE, waiting neither for salutation nor \ninquiry, instantly gave the joyful relief;— and her mother, \ncatching it with all her usual warmth, was in a moment as \nmuch overcome by her happiness, as she had been before \nby her fears. She was supported into the drawing-room be-\ntween her daughter and her friend;— and there, shedding \ntears of joy, though still unable to speak, embraced Elinor \nagain and again, turning from her at intervals to press Col-\nonel Brandon’s hand, with a look which spoke at once her \ngratitude, and her conviction of his sharing with herself in \nthe bliss of the moment. He shared it, however, in a silence \neven greater than her own.\nAs soon as Mrs. Dashwood had recovered herself, to see \nMarianne was her first desire; and in two minutes she was \nwith her beloved child, rendered dearer to her than ever by \nabsence, unhappiness, and danger. Elinor’s delight, as she \nsaw what each felt in the meeting, was only checked by an \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n402\napprehension of its robbing Marianne of farther sleep;— \nbut Mrs. Dashwood could be calm, could be even prudent, \nwhen the life of a child was at stake, and Marianne, satis-\nfied in knowing her mother was near her, and conscious of \nbeing too weak for conversation, submitted readily to the si-\nlence and quiet prescribed by every nurse around her. Mrs. \nDashwood WOULD sit up with her all night; and Elinor, \nin compliance with her mother’s entreaty, went to bed. But \nthe rest, which one night entirely sleepless, and many hours \nof the most wearing anxiety seemed to make requisite, was \nkept off by irritation of spirits. Willoughby, ‘poor Willough-\nby,’ as she now allowed herself to call him, was constantly \nin her thoughts; she would not but have heard his vindica-\ntion for the world, and now blamed, now acquitted herself \nfor having judged him so harshly before. But her promise of \nrelating it to her sister was invariably painful. She dreaded \nthe performance of it, dreaded what its effect on Mari-\nanne might be; doubted whether after such an explanation \nshe could ever be happy with another; and for a moment \nwished Willoughby a widower. Then, remembering Colonel \nBrandon, reproved herself, felt that to HIS sufferings and \nhis constancy far more than to his rival’s, the reward of her \nsister was due, and wished any thing rather than Mrs. Wil-\nloughby’s death.\nThe shock of Colonel Brandon’s errand at Barton had \nbeen much softened to Mrs. Dashwood by her own previ-\nous alarm; for so great was her uneasiness about Marianne, \nthat she had already determined to set out for Cleveland on \nthat very day, without waiting for any further intelligence, \n\n\n403\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nand had so far settled her journey before his arrival, that the \nCareys were then expected every moment to fetch Margaret \naway, as her mother was unwilling to take her where there \nmight be infection.\nMarianne continued to mend every day, and the bril-\nliant cheerfulness of Mrs. Dashwood’s looks and spirits \nproved her to be, as she repeatedly declared herself, one \nof the happiest women in the world. Elinor could not hear \nthe declaration, nor witness its proofs without sometimes \nwondering whether her mother ever recollected Edward. \nBut Mrs. Dashwood, trusting to the temperate account of \nher own disappointment which Elinor had sent her, was \nled away by the exuberance of her joy to think only of what \nwould increase it. Marianne was restored to her from a dan-\nger in which, as she now began to feel, her own mistaken \njudgment in encouraging the unfortunate attachment to \nWilloughby, had contributed to place her;— and in her re-\ncovery she had yet another source of joy unthought of by \nElinor. It was thus imparted to her, as soon as any opportu-\nnity of private conference between them occurred.\n‘At last we are alone. My Elinor, you do not yet know all \nmy happiness. Colonel Brandon loves Marianne. He has \ntold me so himself.’\nHer daughter, feeling by turns both pleased and pained, \nsurprised and not surprised, was all silent attention.\n‘You are never like me, dear Elinor, or I should wonder \nat your composure now. Had I sat down to wish for any \npossible good to my family, I should have fixed on Colonel \nBrandon’s marrying one of you as the object most desirable. \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n404\nAnd I believe Marianne will be the most happy with him \nof the two.’\nElinor was half inclined to ask her reason for thinking \nso, because satisfied that none founded on an impartial \nconsideration of their age, characters, or feelings, could be \ngiven;—but her mother must always be carried away by her \nimagination on any interesting subject, and therefore in-\nstead of an inquiry, she passed it off with a smile.\n‘He opened his whole heart to me yesterday as we trav-\nelled. It came out quite unawares, quite undesignedly. I, you \nmay well believe, could talk of nothing but my child;—he \ncould not conceal his distress; I saw that it equalled my own, \nand he perhaps, thinking that mere friendship, as the world \nnow goes, would not justify so warm a sympathy—or rath-\ner, not thinking at all, I suppose—giving way to irresistible \nfeelings, made me acquainted with his earnest, tender, con-\nstant, affection for Marianne. He has loved her, my Elinor, \never since the first moment of seeing her.’\nHere, however, Elinor perceived,—not the language, not \nthe professions of Colonel Brandon, but the natural em-\nbellishments of her mother’s active fancy, which fashioned \nevery thing delightful to her as it chose.\n‘His regard for her, infinitely surpassing anything that \nWilloughby ever felt or feigned, as much more warm, as \nmore sincere or constant—which ever we are to call it— has \nsubsisted through all the knowledge of dear Marianne’s un-\nhappy prepossession for that worthless young man!—and \nwithout selfishness—without encouraging a hope!—could \nhe have seen her happy with another—Such a noble mind!— \n\n\n405\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nsuch openness, such sincerity!—no one can be deceived in \nHIM.’\n‘Colonel Brandon’s character,’ said Elinor, ‘as an excel-\nlent man, is well established.’\n‘I know it is’—replied her mother seriously, ‘or after such \na warning, I should be the last to encourage such affection, \nor even to be pleased by it. But his coming for me as he did, \nwith such active, such ready friendship, is enough to prove \nhim one of the worthiest of men.’\n‘His character, however,’ answered Elinor, ‘does not rest \non ONE act of kindness, to which his affection for Mari-\nanne, were humanity out of the case, would have prompted \nhim. To Mrs. Jennings, to the Middletons, he has been long \nand intimately known; they equally love and respect him; \nand even my own knowledge of him, though lately acquired, \nis very considerable; and so highly do I value and esteem \nhim, that if Marianne can be happy with him, I shall be as \nready as yourself to think our connection the greatest bless-\ning to us in the world. What answer did you give him?—Did \nyou allow him to hope?’\n‘Oh! my love, I could not then talk of hope to him or to \nmyself. Marianne might at that moment be dying. But he \ndid not ask for hope or encouragement. His was an invol-\nuntary confidence, an irrepressible effusion to a soothing \nfriend—not an application to a parent. Yet after a time I \nDID say, for at first I was quite overcome—that if she lived, \nas I trusted she might, my greatest happiness would lie in \npromoting their marriage; and since our arrival, since our \ndelightful security, I have repeated it to him more fully, have \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n406\ngiven him every encouragement in my power. Time, a very \nlittle time, I tell him, will do everything;—Marianne’s heart \nis not to be wasted for ever on such a man as Willoughby.— \nHis own merits must soon secure it.’\n‘To judge from the Colonel’s spirits, however, you have \nnot yet made him equally sanguine.’\n‘No.—He thinks Marianne’s affection too deeply rooted \nfor any change in it under a great length of time, and even \nsupposing her heart again free, is too diffident of himself \nto believe, that with such a difference of age and disposi-\ntion he could ever attach her. There, however, he is quite \nmistaken. His age is only so much beyond hers as to be an \nadvantage, as to make his character and principles fixed;—\nand his disposition, I am well convinced, is exactly the very \none to make your sister happy. And his person, his man-\nners too, are all in his favour. My partiality does not blind \nme; he certainly is not so handsome as Willoughby—but at \nthe same time, there is something much more pleasing in \nhis countenance.— There was always a something,—if you \nremember,—in Willoughby’s eyes at times, which I did not \nlike.’\nElinor could NOT remember it;—but her mother, with-\nout waiting for her assent, continued,\n‘And his manners, the Colonel’s manners are not only \nmore pleasing to me than Willoughby’s ever were, but they \nare of a kind I well know to be more solidly attaching to \nMarianne. Their gentleness, their genuine attention to oth-\ner people, and their manly unstudied simplicity is much \nmore accordant with her real disposition, than the liveli-\n\n\n407\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nness—often artificial, and often ill-timed of the other. I am \nvery sure myself, that had Willoughby turned out as really \namiable, as he has proved himself the contrary, Marianne \nwould yet never have been so happy with HIM, as she will \nbe with Colonel Brandon.’\nShe paused.—Her daughter could not quite agree with \nher, but her dissent was not heard, and therefore gave no \noffence.\n‘At Delaford, she will be within an easy distance of me,’ \nadded Mrs. Dashwood, ‘even if I remain at Barton; and in \nall probability,—for I hear it is a large village,—indeed there \ncertainly MUST be some small house or cottage close by, \nthat would suit us quite as well as our present situation.’\nPoor Elinor!—here was a new scheme for getting her to \nDelaford!—but her spirit was stubborn.\n‘His fortune too!—for at my time of life you know, ev-\nerybody cares about THAT;—and though I neither know \nnor desire to know, what it really is, I am sure it must be a \ngood one.’\nHere they were interrupted by the entrance of a third \nperson, and Elinor withdrew to think it all over in private, \nto wish success to her friend, and yet in wishing it, to feel a \npang for Willoughby.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n408\nChapter 46\nM\narianne’s illness, though weakening in its kind, had \nnot been long enough to make her recovery slow; and \nwith youth, natural strength, and her mother’s presence in \naid, it proceeded so smoothly as to enable her to remove, \nwithin four days after the arrival of the latter, into Mrs. \nPalmer’s dressing-room. When there, at her own particular \nrequest, for she was impatient to pour forth her thanks to \nhim for fetching her mother, Colonel Brandon was invited \nto visit her.\nHis emotion on entering the room, in seeing her altered \nlooks, and in receiving the pale hand which she immediate-\nly held out to him, was such, as, in Elinor’s conjecture, must \narise from something more than his affection for Marianne, \nor the consciousness of its being known to others; and she \nsoon discovered in his melancholy eye and varying com-\nplexion as he looked at her sister, the probable recurrence \nof many past scenes of misery to his mind, brought back \nby that resemblance between Marianne and Eliza already \nacknowledged, and now strengthened by the hollow eye, \nthe sickly skin, the posture of reclining weakness, and the \nwarm acknowledgment of peculiar obligation.\nMrs. Dashwood, not less watchful of what passed than \nher daughter, but with a mind very differently influenced, \nand therefore watching to very different effect, saw nothing \n\n\n409\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nin the Colonel’s behaviour but what arose from the most \nsimple and self-evident sensations, while in the actions \nand words of Marianne she persuaded herself to think that \nsomething more than gratitude already dawned.\nAt the end of another day or two, Marianne growing vis-\nibly stronger every twelve hours, Mrs. Dashwood, urged \nequally by her own and her daughter’s wishes, began to talk \nof removing to Barton. On HER measures depended those \nof her two friends; Mrs. Jennings could not quit Cleveland \nduring the Dashwoods’ stay; and Colonel Brandon was soon \nbrought, by their united request, to consider his own abode \nthere as equally determinate, if not equally indispensable. \nAt his and Mrs. Jennings’s united request in return, Mrs. \nDashwood was prevailed on to accept the use of his carriage \non her journey back, for the better accommodation of her \nsick child; and the Colonel, at the joint invitation of Mrs. \nDashwood and Mrs. Jennings, whose active good-nature \nmade her friendly and hospitable for other people as well as \nherself, engaged with pleasure to redeem it by a visit at the \ncottage, in the course of a few weeks.\nThe day of separation and departure arrived; and Mari-\nanne, after taking so particular and lengthened a leave of \nMrs. Jennings, one so earnestly grateful, so full of respect \nand kind wishes as seemed due to her own heart from a \nsecret acknowledgment of past inattention, and bidding \nColonel Brandon farewell with a cordiality of a friend, was \ncarefully assisted by him into the carriage, of which he \nseemed anxious that she should engross at least half. Mrs. \nDashwood and Elinor then followed, and the others were \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n410\nleft by themselves, to talk of the travellers, and feel their own \ndullness, till Mrs. Jennings was summoned to her chaise to \ntake comfort in the gossip of her maid for the loss of her two \nyoung companions; and Colonel Brandon immediately af-\nterwards took his solitary way to Delaford.\nThe Dashwoods were two days on the road, and Mari-\nanne bore her journey on both, without essential fatigue. \nEvery thing that the most zealous affection, the most solici-\ntous care could do to render her comfortable, was the office \nof each watchful companion, and each found their reward \nin her bodily ease, and her calmness of spirits. To Elinor, \nthe observation of the latter was particularly grateful. She, \nwho had seen her week after week so constantly suffering, \noppressed by anguish of heart which she had neither cour-\nage to speak of, nor fortitude to conceal, now saw with a \njoy, which no other could equally share, an apparent com-\nposure of mind, which, in being the result as she trusted of \nserious reflection, must eventually lead her to contentment \nand cheerfulness.\nAs they approached Barton, indeed, and entered on \nscenes of which every field and every tree brought some \npeculiar, some painful recollection, she grew silent and \nthoughtful, and turning away her face from their notice, \nsat earnestly gazing through the window. But here, Elinor \ncould neither wonder nor blame; and when she saw, as she \nassisted Marianne from the carriage, that she had been cry-\ning, she saw only an emotion too natural in itself to raise \nany thing less tender than pity, and in its unobtrusiveness \nentitled to praise. In the whole of her subsequent manner, \n\n\n411\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nshe traced the direction of a mind awakened to reasonable \nexertion; for no sooner had they entered their common sit-\nting-room, than Marianne turned her eyes around it with \na look of resolute firmness, as if determined at once to ac-\ncustom herself to the sight of every object with which the \nremembrance of Willoughby could be connected.—She said \nlittle, but every sentence aimed at cheerfulness, and though \na sigh sometimes escaped her, it never passed away without \nthe atonement of a smile. After dinner she would try her \npiano-forte. She went to it; but the music on which her eye \nfirst rested was an opera, procured for her by Willoughby, \ncontaining some of their favourite duets, and bearing on \nits outward leaf her own name in his hand-writing.—That \nwould not do.—She shook her head, put the music aside, \nand after running over the keys for a minute, complained of \nfeebleness in her fingers, and closed the instrument again; \ndeclaring however with firmness as she did so, that she \nshould in future practice much.\nThe next morning produced no abatement in these hap-\npy symptoms. On the contrary, with a mind and body alike \nstrengthened by rest, she looked and spoke with more gen-\nuine spirit, anticipating the pleasure of Margaret’s return, \nand talking of the dear family party which would then be \nrestored, of their mutual pursuits and cheerful society, as \nthe only happiness worth a wish.\n‘When the weather is settled, and I have recovered my \nstrength,’ said she, ‘we will take long walks together every \nday. We will walk to the farm at the edge of the down, and \nsee how the children go on; we will walk to Sir John’s new \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n412\nplantations at Barton Cross, and the Abbeyland; and we \nwill often go the old ruins of the Priory, and try to trace \nits foundations as far as we are told they once reached. I \nknow we shall be happy. I know the summer will pass hap-\npily away. I mean never to be later in rising than six, and \nfrom that time till dinner I shall divide every moment be-\ntween music and reading. I have formed my plan, and am \ndetermined to enter on a course of serious study. Our own \nlibrary is too well known to me, to be resorted to for any \nthing beyond mere amusement. But there are many works \nwell worth reading at the Park; and there are others of more \nmodern production which I know I can borrow of Colonel \nBrandon. By reading only six hours a-day, I shall gain in the \ncourse of a twelve-month a great deal of instruction which I \nnow feel myself to want.’\nElinor honoured her for a plan which originated so no-\nbly as this; though smiling to see the same eager fancy \nwhich had been leading her to the extreme of languid in-\ndolence and selfish repining, now at work in introducing \nexcess into a scheme of such rational employment and vir-\ntuous self-control. Her smile however changed to a sigh \nwhen she remembered that promise to Willoughby was yet \nunfulfilled, and feared she had that to communicate which \nmight again unsettle the mind of Marianne, and ruin at \nleast for a time this fair prospect of busy tranquillity. Will-\ning therefore to delay the evil hour, she resolved to wait till \nher sister’s health were more secure, before she appointed it. \nBut the resolution was made only to be broken.\nMarianne had been two or three days at home, before \n\n\n413\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nthe weather was fine enough for an invalid like herself to \nventure out. But at last a soft, genial morning appeared; \nsuch as might tempt the daughter’s wishes and the mother’s \nconfidence; and Marianne, leaning on Elinor’s arm, was au-\nthorised to walk as long as she could without fatigue, in the \nlane before the house.\nThe sisters set out at a pace, slow as the feebleness of \nMarianne in an exercise hitherto untried since her illness \nrequired;—and they had advanced only so far beyond the \nhouse as to admit a full view of the hill, the important hill \nbehind, when pausing with her eyes turned towards it, Mar-\nianne calmly said,\n‘There, exactly there,’—pointing with one hand, ‘on that \nprojecting mound,—there I fell; and there I first saw Wil-\nloughby.’\nHer voice sunk with the word, but presently reviving she \nadded,\n‘I am thankful to find that I can look with so little pain \non the spot!—shall we ever talk on that subject, Elinor?’— \nhesitatingly it was said.—‘Or will it be wrong?—I can talk of \nit now, I hope, as I ought to do.’—\nElinor tenderly invited her to be open.\n‘As for regret,’ said Marianne, ‘I have done with that, as \nfar as HE is concerned. I do not mean to talk to you of what \nmy feelings have been for him, but what they are NOW.—At \npresent, if I could be satisfied on one point, if I could be \nallowed to think that he was not ALWAYS acting a part, \nnot ALWAYS deceiving me;—but above all, if I could be as-\nsured that he never was so VERY wicked as my fears have \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n414\nsometimes fancied him, since the story of that unfortunate \ngirl’—\nShe stopt. Elinor joyfully treasured her words as she an-\nswered,\n‘If you could be assured of that, you think you should \nbe easy.’\n‘Yes. My peace of mind is doubly involved in it;— for not \nonly is it horrible to suspect a person, who has been what \nHE has been to ME, of such designs,—but what must it \nmake me appear to myself?—What in a situation like mine, \nbut a most shamefully unguarded affection could expose \nme to’—\n‘How then,’ asked her sister, ‘would you account for his \nbehaviour?’\n‘I would suppose him,—Oh, how gladly would I suppose \nhim, only fickle, very, very fickle.’\nElinor said no more. She was debating within herself on \nthe eligibility of beginning her story directly, or postponing \nit till Marianne were in stronger health;— and they crept on \nfor a few minutes in silence.\n‘I am not wishing him too much good,’ said Marianne at \nlast with a sigh, ‘when I wish his secret reflections may be \nno more unpleasant than my own. He will suffer enough in \nthem.’\n‘Do you compare your conduct with his?’\n‘No. I compare it with what it ought to have been; I com-\npare it with yours.’\n‘Our situations have borne little resemblance.’\n‘They have borne more than our conduct.—Do not, my \n\n\n415\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ndearest Elinor, let your kindness defend what I know your \njudgment must censure. My illness has made me think— It \nhas given me leisure and calmness for serious recollection. \nLong before I was enough recovered to talk, I was perfectly \nable to reflect. I considered the past: I saw in my own be-\nhaviour, since the beginning of our acquaintance with him \nlast autumn, nothing but a series of imprudence towards \nmyself, and want of kindness to others. I saw that my own \nfeelings had prepared my sufferings, and that my want of \nfortitude under them had almost led me to the grave. My \nillness, I well knew, had been entirely brought on by myself \nby such negligence of my own health, as I had felt even at \nthe time to be wrong. Had I died,—it would have been self-\ndestruction. I did not know my danger till the danger was \nremoved; but with such feelings as these reflections gave me, \nI wonder at my recovery,—wonder that the very eagerness \nof my desire to live, to have time for atonement to my God, \nand to you all, did not kill me at once. Had I died,— in what \npeculiar misery should I have left you, my nurse, my friend, \nmy sister!—You, who had seen all the fretful selfishness of \nmy latter days; who had known all the murmurings of my \nheart!—How should I have lived in YOUR remembrance!—\nMy mother too! How could you have consoled her!—I \ncannot express my own abhorrence of myself. Whenever \nI looked towards the past, I saw some duty neglected, or \nsome failing indulged. Every body seemed injured by me. \nThe kindness, the unceasing kindness of Mrs. Jennings, I \nhad repaid with ungrateful contempt. To the Middletons, \nto the Palmers, the Steeles, to every common acquaintance \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n416\neven, I had been insolent and unjust; with a heart hardened \nagainst their merits, and a temper irritated by their very at-\ntention.—To John, to Fanny,—yes, even to them, little as \nthey deserve, I had given less than their due. But you,—you \nabove all, above my mother, had been wronged by me. I, \nand only I, knew your heart and its sorrows; yet to what did \nit influence me?—not to any compassion that could benefit \nyou or myself.—Your example was before me; but to what \navail?—Was I more considerate of you and your comfort? \nDid I imitate your forbearance, or lessen your restraints, \nby taking any part in those offices of general complaisance \nor particular gratitude which you had hitherto been left to \ndischarge alone?—No;— not less when I knew you to be un-\nhappy, than when I had believed you at ease, did I turn away \nfrom every exertion of duty or friendship; scarcely allowing \nsorrow to exist but with me, regretting only THAT heart \nwhich had deserted and wronged me, and leaving you, for \nor I professed an unbounded affection, to be miserable for \nmy sake.’\nHere ceased the rapid flow of her self-reproving spirit; \nand Elinor, impatient to soothe, though too honest to flat-\nter, gave her instantly that praise and support which her \nfrankness and her contrition so well deserved. Marianne \npressed her hand and replied,\n‘You are very good.—The future must be my proof. I \nhave laid down my plan, and if I am capable of adhering to \nit—my feelings shall be governed and my temper improved. \nThey shall no longer worry others, nor torture myself. I \nshall now live solely for my family. You, my mother, and \n\n\n417\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nMargaret, must henceforth be all the world to me; you will \nshare my affections entirely between you. >From you, from \nmy home, I shall never again have the smallest incitement \nto move; and if I do mix in other society, it will be only \nto shew that my spirit is humbled, my heart amended, and \nthat I can practise the civilities, the lesser duties of life, with \ngentleness and forbearance. As for Willoughby—to say that \nI shall soon or that I shall ever forget him, would be idle. \nHis remembrance can be overcome by no change of cir-\ncumstances or opinions. But it shall be regulated, it shall be \nchecked by religion, by reason, by constant employment.’\nShe paused—and added in a low voice, ‘If I could but \nknow HIS heart, everything would become easy.’\nElinor, who had now been for some time reflecting on \nthe propriety or impropriety of speedily hazarding her nar-\nration, without feeling at all nearer decision than at first, \nheard this; and perceiving that as reflection did nothing, \nresolution must do all, soon found herself leading to the \nfact.\nShe managed the recital, as she hoped, with address; pre-\npared her anxious listener with caution; related simply and \nhonestly the chief points on which Willoughby grounded \nhis apology; did justice to his repentance, and softened only \nhis protestations of present regard. Marianne said not a \nword.—She trembled, her eyes were fixed on the ground, \nand her lips became whiter than even sickness had left\n \nthem. A thousand inquiries sprung up from her heart, but \nshe dared not urge one. She caught every syllable with pant-\ning eagerness; her hand, unknowingly to herself, closely \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n418\npressed her sister’s, and tears covered her cheeks.\nElinor, dreading her being tired, led her towards home; \nand till they reached the door of the cottage, easily con-\njecturing what her curiosity must be though no question \nwas suffered to speak it, talked of nothing but Willoughby, \nand their conversation together; and was carefully minute \nin every particular of speech and look, where minuteness \ncould be safely indulged. As soon as they entered the house, \nMarianne with a kiss of gratitude and these two words just \narticulate through her tears, ‘Tell mama,’ withdrew from \nher sister and walked slowly up stairs. Elinor would not at-\ntempt to disturb a solitude so reasonable as what she now \nsought; and with a mind anxiously pre-arranging its result, \nand a resolution of reviving the subject again, should Mari-\nanne fail to do it, she turned into the parlour to fulfill her \nparting injunction.\n\n\n419\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 47\nM\nrs. Dashwood did not hear unmoved the vindica-\ntion of her former favourite. She rejoiced in his being \ncleared from some part of his imputed guilt;—she was sor-\nry for him;—she wished him happy. But the feelings of the \npast could not be recalled.—Nothing could restore him \nwith a faith unbroken—a character unblemished, to Mari-\nanne. Nothing could do away the knowledge of what the \nlatter had suffered through his means, nor remove the guilt \nof his conduct towards Eliza. Nothing could replace him, \ntherefore, in her former esteem, nor injure the interests of \nColonel Brandon.\nHad Mrs. Dashwood, like her daughter, heard Willough-\nby’s story from himself—had she witnessed his distress, and \nbeen under the influence of his countenance and his man-\nner, it is probable that her compassion would have been \ngreater. But it was neither in Elinor’s power, nor in her wish, \nto rouse such feelings in another, by her retailed explana-\ntion, as had at first been called forth in herself. Reflection \nhad given calmness to her judgment, and sobered her own \nopinion of Willoughby’s deserts;— she wished, therefore, \nto declare only the simple truth, and lay open such facts as \nwere really due to his character, without any embellishment \nof tenderness to lead the fancy astray.\nIn the evening, when they were all three together, Mari-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n420\nanne began voluntarily to speak of him again;— but that \nit was not without an effort, the restless, unquiet thought-\nfulness in which she had been for some time previously \nsitting—her rising colour, as she spoke,— and her unsteady \nvoice, plainly shewed.\n‘I wish to assure you both,’ said she, ‘that I see every \nthing—as you can desire me to do.’\nMrs. Dashwood would have interrupted her instant-\nly with soothing tenderness, had not Elinor, who really \nwished to hear her sister’s unbiased opinion, by an eager \nsign, engaged her silence. Marianne slowly continued—\n‘It is a great relief to me—what Elinor told me this morn-\ning—I have now heard exactly what I wished to hear.’—For \nsome moments her voice was lost; but recovering herself, \nshe added, and with greater calmness than before—‘I am \nnow perfectly satisfied, I wish for no change. I never could \nhave been happy with him, after knowing, as sooner or later \nI must have known, all this.—I should have had no confi-\ndence, no esteem. Nothing could have done it away to my \nfeelings.’\n‘I know it—I know it,’ cried her mother. ‘Happy with a \nman of libertine practices!—With one who so injured the \npeace of the dearest of our friends, and the best of men!—\nNo—my Marianne has not a heart to be made happy with \nsuch a man!—Her conscience, her sensitive counscience, \nwould have felt all that the conscience of her husband ought \nto have felt.’\nMarianne sighed, and repeated, ‘I wish for no change.’\n‘You consider the matter,’ said Elinor, ‘exactly as a good \n\n\n421\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nmind and a sound understanding must consider it; and I \ndare say you perceive, as well as myself, not only in this, \nbut in many other circumstances, reason enough to be con-\nvinced that your marriage must have involved you in many \ncertain troubles and disappointments, in which you would \nhave been poorly supported by an affection, on his side, \nmuch less certain. Had you married, you must have been \nalways poor. His expensiveness is acknowledged even by \nhimself, and his whole conduct declares that self-denial is \na word hardly understood by him. His demands and your \ninexperience together, on a small, very small income, must \nhave brought on distresses which would not be the LESS \ngrievous to you, from having been entirely unknown and \nunthought of before. YOUR sense of honour and honesty \nwould have led you, I know, when aware of your situation, \nto attempt all the economy that would appear to you pos-\nsible: and, perhaps, as long as your frugality retrenched only \non your own comfort, you might have been suffered to prac-\ntice it, but beyond that— and how little could the utmost \nof your single management do to stop the ruin which had \nbegun before your marriage?— Beyond THAT, had you en-\ndeavoured, however reasonably, to abridge HIS enjoyments, \nis it not to be feared, that instead of prevailing on feelings so \nselfish to consent to it, you would have lessened your own \ninfluence on his heart, and made him regret the connection \nwhich had involved him in such difficulties?’\nMarianne’s lips quivered, and she repeated the word \n‘Selfish?’ in a tone that implied—‘do you really think him \nselfish?’\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n422\n‘The whole of his behaviour,’ replied Elinor, ‘from the \nbeginning to the end of the affair, has been grounded on \nselfishness. It was selfishness which first made him sport \nwith your affections; which afterwards, when his own were \nengaged, made him delay the confession of it, and which fi-\nnally carried him from Barton. His own enjoyment, or his \nown ease, was, in every particular, his ruling principle.’\n‘It is very true. MY happiness never was his object.’\n‘At present,’ continued Elinor, ‘he regrets what he has \ndone. And why does he regret it?—Because he finds it has \nnot answered towards himself. It has not made him hap-\npy. His circumstances are now unembarrassed—he suffers \nfrom no evil of that kind; and he thinks only that he has \nmarried a woman of a less amiable temper than yourself. \nBut does it follow that had he married you, he would have \nbeen happy?—The inconveniences would have been dif-\nferent. He would then have suffered under the pecuniary \ndistresses which, because they are removed, he now reckons \nas nothing. He would have had a wife of whose temper he \ncould make no complaint, but he would have been always \nnecessitous—always poor; and probably would soon have \nlearned to rank the innumerable comforts of a clear estate \nand good income as of far more importance, even to domes-\ntic happiness, than the mere temper of a wife.’\n‘I have not a doubt of it,’ said Marianne; ‘and I have noth-\ning to regret—nothing but my own folly.’\n‘Rather say your mother’s imprudence, my child,’ said \nMrs. Dashwood; ‘SHE must be answerable.’\nMarianne would not let her proceed;—and Elinor, sat-\n\n\n423\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nisfied that each felt their own error, wished to avoid any \nsurvey of the past that might weaken her sister’s spirits; she, \ntherefore, pursuing the first subject, immediately contin-\nued,\n‘One observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the \nwhole of the story—that all Willoughby’s difficulties have \narisen from the first offence against virtue, in his behaviour \nto Eliza Williams. That crime has been the origin of every \nlesser one, and of all his present discontents.’\nMarianne assented most feelingly to the remark; and her \nmother was led by it to an enumeration of Colonel Bran-\ndon’s injuries and merits, warm as friendship and design \ncould unitedly dictate. Her daughter did not look, however, \nas if much of it were heard by her.\nElinor, according to her expectation, saw on the two or \nthree following days, that Marianne did not continue to \ngain strength as she had done; but while her resolution was \nunsubdued, and she still tried to appear cheerful and easy, \nher sister could safely trust to the effect of time upon her \nhealth.\nMargaret returned, and the family were again all re-\nstored to each other, again quietly settled at the cottage; and \nif not pursuing their usual studies with quite so much vi-\ngour as when they first came to Barton, at least planning a \nvigorous prosecution of them in future.\nElinor grew impatient for some tidings of Edward. She \nhad heard nothing of him since her leaving London, noth-\ning new of his plans, nothing certain even of his present \nabode. Some letters had passed between her and her broth-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n424\ner, in consequence of Marianne’s illness; and in the first of \nJohn’s, there had been this sentence:— ‘We know nothing of \nour unfortunate Edward, and can make no enquiries on so \nprohibited a subject, but conclude him to be still at Oxford;’ \nwhich was all the intelligence of Edward afforded her by the \ncorrespondence, for his name was not even mentioned in \nany of the succeeding letters. She was not doomed, however, \nto be long in ignorance of his measures.\nTheir man-servant had been sent one morning to Exeter \non business; and when, as he waited at table, he had satisfied \nthe inquiries of his mistress as to the event of his errand, \nthis was his voluntary communication—\n‘I suppose you know, ma’am, that Mr. Ferrars is mar-\nried.’\nMarianne gave a violent start, fixed her eyes upon Elinor, \nsaw her turning pale, and fell back in her chair in hysterics. \nMrs. Dashwood, whose eyes, as she answered the servant’s \ninquiry, had intuitively taken the same direction, was \nshocked to perceive by Elinor’s countenance how much she \nreally suffered, and a moment afterwards, alike distressed \nby Marianne’s situation, knew not on which child to bestow \nher principal attention.\nThe servant, who saw only that Miss Marianne was tak-\nen ill, had sense enough to call one of the maids, who, with \nMrs. Dashwood’s assistance, supported her into the other \nroom. By that time, Marianne was rather better, and her \nmother leaving her to the care of Margaret and the maid, \nreturned to Elinor, who, though still much disordered, had \nso far recovered the use of her reason and voice as to be \n\n\n425\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\njust beginning an inquiry of Thomas, as to the source of \nhis intelligence. Mrs. Dashwood immediately took all that \ntrouble on herself; and Elinor had the benefit of the infor-\nmation without the exertion of seeking it.\n‘Who told you that Mr. Ferrars was married, Thomas?’\n‘I see Mr. Ferrars myself, ma’am, this morning in Exeter, \nand his lady too, Miss Steele as was. They was stopping in a \nchaise at the door of the New London Inn, as I went there \nwith a message from Sally at the Park to her brother, who is \none of the post-boys. I happened to look up as I went by the \nchaise, and so I see directly it was the youngest Miss Steele; \nso I took off my hat, and she knew me and called to me, and \ninquired after you, ma’am, and the young ladies, especially \nMiss Marianne, and bid me I should give her compliments \nand Mr. Ferrars’s, their best compliments and service, and \nhow sorry they was they had not time to come on and see \nyou, but they was in a great hurry to go forwards, for they \nwas going further down for a little while, but howsever, \nwhen they come back, they’d make sure to come and see \nyou.’\n‘But did she tell you she was married, Thomas?’\n‘Yes, ma’am. She smiled, and said how she had changed \nher name since she was in these parts. She was always a very \naffable and free-spoken young lady, and very civil behaved. \nSo, I made free to wish her joy.’\n‘Was Mr. Ferrars in the carriage with her?’\n‘Yes, ma’am, I just see him leaning back in it, but he did \nnot look up;—he never was a gentleman much for talking.’\nElinor’s heart could easily account for his not putting \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n426\nhimself forward; and Mrs. Dashwood probably found the \nsame explanation.\n‘Was there no one else in the carriage?’\n‘No, ma’am, only they two.’\n‘Do you know where they came from?’\n‘They come straight from town, as Miss Lucy— Mrs. Fer-\nrars told me.’\n‘And are they going farther westward?’\n‘Yes, ma’am—but not to bide long. They will soon be back \nagain, and then they’d be sure and call here.’\nMrs. Dashwood now looked at her daughter; but Elinor \nknew better than to expect them. She recognised the whole \nof Lucy in the message, and was very confident that Edward \nwould never come near them. She observed in a low voice, \nto her mother, that they were probably going down to Mr. \nPratt’s, near Plymouth.\nThomas’s intelligence seemed over. Elinor looked as if \nshe wished to hear more.\n‘Did you see them off, before you came away?’\n‘No, ma’am—the horses were just coming out, but I could \nnot bide any longer; I was afraid of being late.’\n‘Did Mrs. Ferrars look well?’\n‘Yes, ma’am, she said how she was very well; and to my \nmind she was always a very handsome young lady—and she \nseemed vastly contented.’\nMrs. Dashwood could think of no other question, and \nThomas and the tablecloth, now alike needless, were soon \nafterwards dismissed. Marianne had already sent to say, that \nshe should eat nothing more. Mrs. Dashwood’s and Elinor’s \n\n\n427\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nappetites were equally lost, and Margaret might think her-\nself very well off, that with so much uneasiness as both her \nsisters had lately experienced, so much reason as they had \noften had to be careless of their meals, she had never been \nobliged to go without her dinner before.\nWhen the dessert and the wine were arranged, and Mrs. \nDashwood and Elinor were left by themselves, they re-\nmained long together in a similarity of thoughtfulness and \nsilence. Mrs. Dashwood feared to hazard any remark, and \nventured not to offer consolation. She now found that she \nhad erred in relying on Elinor’s representation of herself; \nand justly concluded that every thing had been expressly \nsoftened at the time, to spare her from an increase of un-\nhappiness, suffering as she then had suffered for Marianne. \nShe found that she had been misled by the careful, the con-\nsiderate attention of her daughter, to think the attachment, \nwhich once she had so well understood, much slighter in \nreality, than she had been wont to believe, or than it was \nnow proved to be. She feared that under this persuasion \nshe had been unjust, inattentive, nay, almost unkind, to \nher Elinor;— that Marianne’s affliction, because more ac-\nknowledged, more immediately before her, had too much \nengrossed her tenderness, and led her away to forget that in \nElinor she might have a daughter suffering almost as much, \ncertainly with less self-provocation, and greater fortitude.\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n428\nChapter 48\nE\nlinor now found the difference between the expectation \nof an unpleasant event, however certain the mind may \nbe told to consider it, and certainty itself. She now found, \nthat in spite of herself, she had always admitted a hope, \nwhile Edward remained single, that something would occur \nto prevent his marrying Lucy; that some resolution of his \nown, some mediation of friends, or some more eligible op-\nportunity of establishment for the lady, would arise to assist \nthe happiness of all. But he was now married; and she con-\ndemned her heart for the lurking flattery, which so much \nheightened the pain of the intelligence.\nThat he should be married soon, before (as she imagined) \nhe could be in orders, and consequently before he could be \nin possession of the living, surprised her a little at first. But \nshe soon saw how likely it was that Lucy, in her self-provi-\ndent care, in her haste to secure him, should overlook every \nthing but the risk of delay. They were married, married in \ntown, and now hastening down to her uncle’s. What had \nEdward felt on being within four miles from Barton, on see-\ning her mother’s servant, on hearing Lucy’s message!\nThey would soon, she supposed, be settled at Delaford.—\nDelaford,—that place in which so much conspired to give \nher an interest; which she wished to be acquainted with, \nand yet desired to avoid. She saw them in an instant in their \n\n\n429\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nparsonage-house; saw in Lucy, the active, contriving man-\nager, uniting at once a desire of smart appearance with the \nutmost frugality, and ashamed to be suspected of half her \neconomical practices;— pursuing her own interest in every \nthought, courting the favour of Colonel Brandon, of Mrs. \nJennings, and of every wealthy friend. In Edward—she \nknew not what she saw, nor what she wished to see;—hap-\npy or unhappy,—nothing pleased her; she turned away her \nhead from every sketch of him.\nElinor flattered herself that some one of their connec-\ntions in London would write to them to announce the event, \nand give farther particulars,—but day after day passed off, \nand brought no letter, no tidings. Though uncertain that \nany one were to blame, she found fault with every absent \nfriend. They were all thoughtless or indolent.\n‘When do you write to Colonel Brandon, ma’am?’ was an \ninquiry which sprung from the impatience of her mind to \nhave something going on.\n‘I wrote to him, my love, last week, and rather expect to \nsee, than to hear from him again. I earnestly pressed his \ncoming to us, and should not be surprised to see him walk \nin today or tomorrow, or any day.’\nThis was gaining something, something to look forward \nto. Colonel Brandon must have some information to give.\nScarcely had she so determined it, when the figure of a \nman on horseback drew her eyes to the window. He stopt \nat their gate. It was a gentleman, it was Colonel Brandon \nhimself. Now she could hear more; and she trembled in ex-\npectation of it. But—it was NOT Colonel Brandon—neither \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n430\nhis air—nor his height. Were it possible, she must say it must \nbe Edward. She looked again. He had just dismounted;—she \ncould not be mistaken,—it WAS Edward. She moved away \nand sat down. ‘He comes from Mr. Pratt’s purposely to see \nus. I WILL be calm; I WILL be mistress of myself.’\nIn a moment she perceived that the others were likewise \naware of the mistake. She saw her mother and Marianne \nchange colour; saw them look at herself, and whisper a few \nsentences to each other. She would have given the world to \nbe able to speak—and to make them understand that she \nhoped no coolness, no slight, would appear in their behav-\niour to him;—but she had no utterance, and was obliged to \nleave all to their own discretion.\nNot a syllable passed aloud. They all waited in silence \nfor the appearance of their visitor. His footsteps were heard \nalong the gravel path; in a moment he was in the passage, \nand in another he was before them.\nHis countenance, as he entered the room, was not too \nhappy, even for Elinor. His complexion was white with \nagitation, and he looked as if fearful of his reception, and \nconscious that he merited no kind one. Mrs. Dashwood, \nhowever, conforming, as she trusted, to the wishes of that \ndaughter, by whom she then meant in the warmth of her \nheart to be guided in every thing, met with a look of forced \ncomplacency, gave him her hand, and wished him joy.\nHe coloured, and stammered out an unintelligible reply. \nElinor’s lips had moved with her mother’s, and, when the \nmoment of action was over, she wished that she had shaken \nhands with him too. But it was then too late, and with a \n\n\n431\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ncountenance meaning to be open, she sat down again and \ntalked of the weather.\nMarianne had retreated as much as possible out of sight, \nto conceal her distress; and Margaret, understanding some \npart, but not the whole of the case, thought it incumbent on \nher to be dignified, and therefore took a seat as far from him \nas she could, and maintained a strict silence.\nWhen Elinor had ceased to rejoice in the dryness of the \nseason, a very awful pause took place. It was put an end to \nby Mrs. Dashwood, who felt obliged to hope that he had left \nMrs. Ferrars very well. In a hurried manner, he replied in \nthe affirmative.\nAnother pause.\nElinor resolving to exert herself, though fearing the \nsound of her own voice, now said,\n‘Is Mrs. Ferrars at Longstaple?’\n‘At Longstaple!’ he replied, with an air of surprise.— ‘No, \nmy mother is in town.’\n‘I meant,’ said Elinor, taking up some work from the ta-\nble, ‘to inquire for Mrs. EDWARD Ferrars.’\nShe dared not look up;—but her mother and Marianne \nboth turned their eyes on him. He coloured, seemed per-\nplexed, looked doubtingly, and, after some hesitation, \nsaid,—\n‘Perhaps you mean—my brother—you mean Mrs.—Mrs. \nROBERT Ferrars.’\n‘Mrs. Robert Ferrars!’—was repeated by Marianne and \nher mother in an accent of the utmost amazement;—and \nthough Elinor could not speak, even HER eyes were fixed \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n432\non him with the same impatient wonder. He rose from his \nseat, and walked to the window, apparently from not know-\ning what to do; took up a pair of scissors that lay there, and \nwhile spoiling both them and their sheath by cutting the \nlatter to pieces as he spoke, said, in a hurried voice,\n‘Perhaps you do not know—you may not have heard that \nmy brother is lately married to—to the youngest—to Miss \nLucy Steele.’\nHis words were echoed with unspeakable astonishment \nby all but Elinor, who sat with her head leaning over her \nwork, in a state of such agitation as made her hardly know \nwhere she was.\n‘Yes,’ said he, ‘they were married last week, and are now \nat Dawlish.’\nElinor could sit it no longer. She almost ran out of the \nroom, and as soon as the door was closed, burst into tears of \njoy, which at first she thought would never cease. Edward, \nwho had till then looked any where, rather than at her, saw \nher hurry away, and perhaps saw— or even heard, her emo-\ntion; for immediately afterwards he fell into a reverie, which \nno remarks, no inquiries, no affectionate address of Mrs. \nDashwood could penetrate, and at last, without saying a \nword, quitted the room, and walked out towards the vil-\nlage—leaving the others in the greatest astonishment and \nperplexity on a change in his situation, so wonderful and so \nsudden;—a perplexity which they had no means of lessen-\ning but by their own conjectures.\n\n\n433\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 49\nU\nnaccountable, however, as the circumstances of his re-\nlease might appear to the whole family, it was certain \nthat Edward was free; and to what purpose that freedom \nwould be employed was easily pre-determined by all;—for \nafter experiencing the blessings of ONE imprudent engage-\nment, contracted without his mother’s consent, as he had \nalready done for more than four years, nothing less could be \nexpected of him in the failure of THAT, than the immediate \ncontraction of another.\nHis errand at Barton, in fact, was a simple one. It was \nonly to ask Elinor to marry him;—and considering that \nhe was not altogether inexperienced in such a question, it \nmight be strange that he should feel so uncomfortable in the \npresent case as he really did, so much in need of encourage-\nment and fresh air.\nHow soon he had walked himself into the proper reso-\nlution, however, how soon an opportunity of exercising it \noccurred, in what manner he expressed himself, and how \nhe was received, need not be particularly told. This only \nneed be said;—that when they all sat down to table at four \no’clock, about three hours after his arrival, he had secured \nhis lady, engaged her mother’s consent, and was not only in \nthe rapturous profession of the lover, but, in the reality of \nreason and truth, one of the happiest of men. His situation \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n434\nindeed was more than commonly joyful. He had more than \nthe ordinary triumph of accepted love to swell his heart, and \nraise his spirits. He was released without any reproach to \nhimself, from an entanglement which had long formed his \nmisery, from a woman whom he had long ceased to love;— \nand elevated at once to that security with another, which he \nmust have thought of almost with despair, as soon as he had \nlearnt to consider it with desire. He was brought, not from \ndoubt or suspense, but from misery to happiness;—and \nthe change was openly spoken in such a genuine, flowing, \ngrateful cheerfulness, as his friends had never witnessed in \nhim before.\nHis heart was now open to Elinor, all its weaknesses, all \nits errors confessed, and his first boyish attachment to Lucy \ntreated with all the philosophic dignity of twenty-four.\n‘It was a foolish, idle inclination on my side,’ said he, ‘the \nconsequence of ignorance of the world— and want of em-\nployment. Had my brother given me some active profession \nwhen I was removed at eighteen from the care of Mr. Pratt, \nI think—nay, I am sure, it would never have happened; for \nthough I left Longstaple with what I thought, at the time, a \nmost unconquerable preference for his niece, yet had I then \nhad any pursuit, any object to engage my time and keep me \nat a distance from her for a few months, I should very soon \nhave outgrown the fancied attachment, especially by mix-\ning more with the world, as in such case I must have done. \nBut instead of having any thing to do, instead of having any \nprofession chosen for me, or being allowed to chuse any \nmyself, I returned home to be completely idle; and for the \n\n\n435\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nfirst twelvemonth afterwards I had not even the nominal \nemployment, which belonging to the university would have \ngiven me; for I was not entered at Oxford till I was nineteen. \nI had therefore nothing in the world to do, but to fancy my-\nself in love; and as my mother did not make my home in \nevery respect comfortable, as I had no friend, no compan-\nion in my brother, and disliked new acquaintance, it was \nnot unnatural for me to be very often at Longstaple, where \nI always felt myself at home, and was always sure of a wel-\ncome; and accordingly I spent the greatest part of my time \nthere from eighteen to nineteen: Lucy appeared everything \nthat was amiable and obliging. She was pretty too—at least \nI thought so THEN; and I had seen so little of other wom-\nen, that I could make no comparisons, and see no defects. \nConsidering everything, therefore, I hope, foolish as our \nengagement was, foolish as it has since in every way been \nproved, it was not at the time an unnatural or an inexcus-\nable piece of folly.’\nThe change which a few hours had wrought in the minds \nand the happiness of the Dashwoods, was such—so great—\nas promised them all, the satisfaction of a sleepless night. \nMrs. Dashwood, too happy to be comfortable, knew not \nhow to love Edward, nor praise Elinor enough, how to be \nenough thankful for his release without wounding his deli-\ncacy, nor how at once to give them leisure for unrestrained \nconversation together, and yet enjoy, as she wished, the sight \nand society of both.\nMarianne could speak HER happiness only by tears. \nComparisons would occur—regrets would arise;—and her \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n436\njoy, though sincere as her love for her sister, was of a kind to \ngive her neither spirits nor language.\nBut Elinor—how are HER feelings to be described?—\nFrom the moment of learning that Lucy was married to \nanother, that Edward was free, to the moment of his justify-\ning the hopes which had so instantly followed, she was every \nthing by turns but tranquil. But when the second moment \nhad passed, when she found every doubt, every solicitude \nremoved, compared her situation with what so lately it had \nbeen,—saw him honourably released from his former en-\ngagement, saw him instantly profiting by the release, to \naddress herself and declare an affection as tender, as con-\nstant as she had ever supposed it to be,—she was oppressed, \nshe was overcome by her own felicity;— and happily dis-\nposed as is the human mind to be easily familiarized with \nany change for the better, it required several hours to give \nsedateness to her spirits, or any degree of tranquillity to her \nheart.\nEdward was now fixed at the cottage at least for a week;—\nfor whatever other claims might be made on him, it was \nimpossible that less than a week should be given up to the \nenjoyment of Elinor’s company, or suffice to say half that \nwas to be said of the past, the present, and the future;—for \nthough a very few hours spent in the hard labor of incessant \ntalking will despatch more subjects than can really be in \ncommon between any two rational creatures, yet with lov-\ners it is different. Between THEM no subject is finished, no \ncommunication is even made, till it has been made at least \ntwenty times over.\n\n\n437\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nLucy’s marriage, the unceasing and reasonable wonder \namong them all, formed of course one of the earliest discus-\nsions of the lovers;—and Elinor’s particular knowledge of \neach party made it appear to her in every view, as one of the \nmost extraordinary and unaccountable circumstances she \nhad ever heard. How they could be thrown together, and by \nwhat attraction Robert could be drawn on to marry a girl, of \nwhose beauty she had herself heard him speak without any \nadmiration,—a girl too already engaged to his brother, and \non whose account that brother had been thrown off by his \nfamily—it was beyond her comprehension to make out. To \nher own heart it was a delightful affair, to her imagination it \nwas even a ridiculous one, but to her reason, her judgment, \nit was completely a puzzle.\nEdward could only attempt an explanation by suppos-\ning, that, perhaps, at first accidentally meeting, the vanity \nof the one had been so worked on by the flattery of the other, \nas to lead by degrees to all the rest. Elinor remembered what \nRobert had told her in Harley Street, of his opinion of what \nhis own mediation in his brother’s affairs might have done, \nif applied to in time. She repeated it to Edward.\n‘THAT was exactly like Robert,’—was his immediate \nobservation.—‘And THAT,’ he presently added, ‘might per-\nhaps be in HIS head when the acquaintance between them \nfirst began. And Lucy perhaps at first might think only \nof procuring his good offices in my favour. Other designs \nmight afterward arise.’\nHow long it had been carrying on between them, how-\never, he was equally at a loss with herself to make out; for \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n438\nat Oxford, where he had remained for choice ever since his \nquitting London, he had had no means of hearing of her but \nfrom herself, and her letters to the very last were neither less \nfrequent, nor less affectionate than usual. Not the smallest \nsuspicion, therefore, had ever occurred to prepare him for \nwhat followed;—and when at last it burst on him in a letter \nfrom Lucy herself, he had been for some time, he believed, \nhalf stupified between the wonder, the horror, and the joy of \nsuch a deliverance. He put the letter into Elinor’s hands.\n‘DEAR SIR,\n‘Being very sure I have long lost your affections, I have \nthought myself at liberty to bestow my own on another, and \nhave no doubt of being as happy with him as I once used \nto think I might be with you; but I scorn to accept a hand \nwhile the heart was another’s. Sincerely wish you happy in \nyour choice, and it shall not be my fault if we are not always \ngood friends, as our near relationship now makes proper. I \ncan safely say I owe you no ill-will, and am sure you will be \ntoo generous to do us any ill offices. Your brother has gained \nmy affections entirely, and as we could not live without one \nanother, we are just returned from the altar, and are now on \nour way to Dawlish for a few weeks, which place your dear \nbrother has great curiosity to see, but thought I would first \ntrouble you with these few lines, and shall always remain,\n‘Your \nsincere \nwell-wisher, \nfriend, \nand \nsister, \n \n \n\n\n439\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘LUCY FERRARS.\n‘I have burnt all your letters, and will return your picture \nthe first opportunity. Please to destroy my scrawls—but the \nring with my hair you are very welcome to keep.’\nElinor read and returned it without any comment.\n‘I will not ask your opinion of it as a composition,’ said \nEdward.—‘For worlds would not I have had a letter of hers \nseen by YOU in former days.—In a sister it is bad enough, \nbut in a wife!—how I have blushed over the pages of her \nwriting!—and I believe I may say that since the first half \nyear of our foolish—business—this is the only letter I ever \nreceived from her, of which the substance made me any \namends for the defect of the style.’\n‘However it may have come about,’ said Elinor, after a \npause,—‘they are certainly married. And your mother has \nbrought on herself a most appropriate punishment. The \nindependence she settled on Robert, through resentment \nagainst you, has put it in his power to make his own choice; \nand she has actually been bribing one son with a thousand \na-year, to do the very deed which she disinherited the other \nfor intending to do. She will hardly be less hurt, I suppose, \nby Robert’s marrying Lucy, than she would have been by \nyour marrying her.’\n‘She will be more hurt by it, for Robert always was her \nfavourite.—She will be more hurt by it, and on the same \nprinciple will forgive him much sooner.’\nIn what state the affair stood at present between them, \nEdward knew not, for no communication with any of his \nfamily had yet been attempted by him. He had quitted \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n440\nOxford within four and twenty hours after Lucy’s letter ar-\nrived, and with only one object before him, the nearest road \nto Barton, had had no leisure to form any scheme of con-\nduct, with which that road did not hold the most intimate \nconnection. He could do nothing till he were assured of his \nfate with Miss Dashwood; and by his rapidity in seeking \nTHAT fate, it is to be supposed, in spite of the jealousy with \nwhich he had once thought of Colonel Brandon, in spite of \nthe modesty with which he rated his own deserts, and the \npoliteness with which he talked of his doubts, he did not, \nupon the whole, expect a very cruel reception. It was his \nbusiness, however, to say that he DID, and he said it very \nprettily. What he might say on the subject a twelvemonth \nafter, must be referred to the imagination of husbands and \nwives.\nThat Lucy had certainly meant to deceive, to go off with \na flourish of malice against him in her message by Thom-\nas, was perfectly clear to Elinor; and Edward himself, now \nthoroughly enlightened on her character, had no scruple in \nbelieving her capable of the utmost meanness of wanton ill-\nnature. Though his eyes had been long opened, even before \nhis acquaintance with Elinor began, to her ignorance and a \nwant of liberality in some of her opinions— they had been \nequally imputed, by him, to her want of education; and till \nher last letter reached him, he had always believed her to \nbe a well-disposed, good-hearted girl, and thoroughly at-\ntached to himself. Nothing but such a persuasion could \nhave prevented his putting an end to an engagement, which, \nlong before the discovery of it laid him open to his mother’s \n\n\n441\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nanger, had been a continual source of disquiet and regret \nto him.\n‘I thought it my duty,’ said he, ‘independent of my feel-\nings, to give her the option of continuing the engagement \nor not, when I was renounced by my mother, and stood to \nall appearance without a friend in the world to assist me. \nIn such a situation as that, where there seemed nothing to \ntempt the avarice or the vanity of any living creature, how \ncould I suppose, when she so earnestly, so warmly insisted \non sharing my fate, whatever it might be, that any thing but \nthe most disinterested affection was her inducement? And \neven now, I cannot comprehend on what motive she acted, \nor what fancied advantage it could be to her, to be fettered \nto a man for whom she had not the smallest regard, and who \nhad only two thousand pounds in the world. She could not \nforesee that Colonel Brandon would give me a living.’\n‘No; but she might suppose that something would oc-\ncur in your favour; that your own family might in time \nrelent. And at any rate, she lost nothing by continuing the \nengagement, for she has proved that it fettered neither her \ninclination nor her actions. The connection was certainly \na respectable one, and probably gained her consideration \namong her friends; and, if nothing more advantageous oc-\ncurred, it would be better for her to marry YOU than be \nsingle.’\nEdward was, of course, immediately convinced that \nnothing could have been more natural than Lucy’s conduct, \nnor more self-evident than the motive of it.\nElinor scolded him, harshly as ladies always scold the \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n442\nimprudence which compliments themselves, for having \nspent so much time with them at Norland, when he must \nhave felt his own inconstancy.\n‘Your behaviour was certainly very wrong,’ said she; ‘be-\ncause—to say nothing of my own conviction, our relations \nwere all led away by it to fancy and expect WHAT, as you \nwere THEN situated, could never be.’\nHe could only plead an ignorance of his own heart, and a \nmistaken confidence in the force of his engagement.\n‘I was simple enough to think, that because my FAITH \nwas plighted to another, there could be no danger in my be-\ning with you; and that the consciousness of my engagement \nwas to keep my heart as safe and sacred as my honour. I felt \nthat I admired you, but I told myself it was only friendship; \nand till I began to make comparisons between yourself and \nLucy, I did not know how far I was got. After that, I suppose, \nI WAS wrong in remaining so much in Sussex, and the ar-\nguments with which I reconciled myself to the expediency \nof it, were no better than these:—The danger is my own; I \nam doing no injury to anybody but myself.’\nElinor smiled, and shook her head.\nEdward heard with pleasure of Colonel Brandon’s being \nexpected at the Cottage, as he really wished not only to be \nbetter acquainted with him, but to have an opportunity of \nconvincing him that he no longer resented his giving him \nthe living of Delaford—‘Which, at present,’ said he, ‘after \nthanks so ungraciously delivered as mine were on the occa-\nsion, he must think I have never forgiven him for offering.’\nNOW he felt astonished himself that he had never yet \n\n\n443\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nbeen to the place. But so little interest had be taken in the \nmatter, that he owed all his knowledge of the house, garden, \nand glebe, extent of the parish, condition of the land, and \nrate of the tithes, to Elinor herself, who had heard so much \nof it from Colonel Brandon, and heard it with so much at-\ntention, as to be entirely mistress of the subject.\nOne question after this only remained undecided, be-\ntween them, one difficulty only was to be overcome. They \nwere brought together by mutual affection, with the warmest \napprobation of their real friends; their intimate knowledge \nof each other seemed to make their happiness certain—and \nthey only wanted something to live upon. Edward had two \nthousand pounds, and Elinor one, which, with Delaford \nliving, was all that they could call their own; for it was im-\npossible that Mrs. Dashwood should advance anything; and \nthey were neither of them quite enough in love to think that \nthree hundred and fifty pounds a-year would supply them \nwith the comforts of life.\nEdward was not entirely without hopes of some favour-\nable change in his mother towards him; and on THAT he \nrested for the residue of their income. But Elinor had no \nsuch dependence; for since Edward would still be unable to \nmarry Miss Morton, and his chusing herself had been spo-\nken of in Mrs. Ferrars’s flattering language as only a lesser \nevil than his chusing Lucy Steele, she feared that Robert’s \noffence would serve no other purpose than to enrich Fan-\nny.\nAbout four days after Edward’s arrival Colonel Brandon \nappeared, to complete Mrs. Dashwood’s satisfaction, and to \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n444\ngive her the dignity of having, for the first time since her \nliving at Barton, more company with her than her house \nwould hold. Edward was allowed to retain the privilege of \nfirst comer, and Colonel Brandon therefore walked every \nnight to his old quarters at the Park; from whence he usu-\nally returned in the morning, early enough to interrupt the \nlovers’ first tete-a-tete before breakfast.\nA three weeks’ residence at Delaford, where, in his eve-\nning hours at least, he had little to do but to calculate the \ndisproportion between thirty-six and seventeen, brought \nhim to Barton in a temper of mind which needed all the \nimprovement in Marianne’s looks, all the kindness of her \nwelcome, and all the encouragement of her mother’s lan-\nguage, to make it cheerful. Among such friends, however, \nand such flattery, he did revive. No rumour of Lucy’s mar-\nriage had yet reached him:—he knew nothing of what had \npassed; and the first hours of his visit were consequently \nspent in hearing and in wondering. Every thing was ex-\nplained to him by Mrs. Dashwood, and he found fresh \nreason to rejoice in what he had done for Mr. Ferrars, since \neventually it promoted the interest of Elinor.\nIt would be needless to say, that the gentlemen advanced \nin the good opinion of each other, as they advanced in each \nother’s acquaintance, for it could not be otherwise. Their \nresemblance in good principles and good sense, in dispo-\nsition and manner of thinking, would probably have been \nsufficient to unite them in friendship, without any other at-\ntraction; but their being in love with two sisters, and two \nsisters fond of each other, made that mutual regard inevi-\n\n\n445\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ntable and immediate, which might otherwise have waited \nthe effect of time and judgment.\nThe letters from town, which a few days before would \nhave made every nerve in Elinor’s body thrill with trans-\nport, now arrived to be read with less emotion that mirth. \nMrs. Jennings wrote to tell the wonderful tale, to vent her \nhonest indignation against the jilting girl, and pour forth \nher compassion towards poor Mr. Edward, who, she was \nsure, had quite doted upon the worthless hussy, and was \nnow, by all accounts, almost broken-hearted, at Oxford.— ‘I \ndo think,’ she continued, ‘nothing was ever carried on so sly; \nfor it was but two days before Lucy called and sat a couple of \nhours with me. Not a soul suspected anything of the mat-\nter, not even Nancy, who, poor soul! came crying to me the \nday after, in a great fright for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, as well as \nnot knowing how to get to Plymouth; for Lucy it seems bor-\nrowed all her money before she went off to be married, on \npurpose we suppose to make a show with, and poor Nancy \nhad not seven shillings in the world;—so I was very glad to \ngive her five guineas to take her down to Exeter, where she \nthinks of staying three or four weeks with Mrs. Burgess, in \nhopes, as I tell her, to fall in with the Doctor again. And I \nmust say that Lucy’s crossness not to take them along with \nthem in the chaise is worse than all. Poor Mr. Edward! I \ncannot get him out of my head, but you must send for him \nto Barton, and Miss Marianne must try to comfort him.’\nMr. Dashwood’s strains were more solemn. Mrs. Fer-\nrars was the most unfortunate of women—poor Fanny had \nsuffered agonies of sensibility—and he considered the ex-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n446\nistence of each, under such a blow, with grateful wonder. \nRobert’s offence was unpardonable, but Lucy’s was infinite-\nly worse. Neither of them were ever again to be mentioned \nto Mrs. Ferrars; and even, if she might hereafter be induced \nto forgive her son, his wife should never be acknowledged \nas her daughter, nor be permitted to appear in her presence. \nThe secrecy with which everything had been carried on \nbetween them, was rationally treated as enormously height-\nening the crime, because, had any suspicion of it occurred \nto the others, proper measures would have been taken to \nprevent the marriage; and he called on Elinor to join with \nhim in regretting that Lucy’s engagement with Edward had \nnot rather been fulfilled, than that she should thus be the \nmeans of spreading misery farther in the family.— He thus \ncontinued:\n‘Mrs. Ferrars has never yet mentioned Edward’s name, \nwhich does not surprise us; but, to our great astonishment, \nnot a line has been received from him on the occasion. Per-\nhaps, however, he is kept silent by his fear of offending, and \nI shall, therefore, give him a hint, by a line to Oxford, that \nhis sister and I both think a letter of proper submission \nfrom him, addressed perhaps to Fanny, and by her shewn to \nher mother, might not be taken amiss; for we all know the \ntenderness of Mrs. Ferrars’s heart, and that she wishes for \nnothing so much as to be on good terms with her children.’\nThis paragraph was of some importance to the prospects \nand conduct of Edward. It determined him to attempt a rec-\nonciliation, though not exactly in the manner pointed out \nby their brother and sister.\n\n\n447\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\n‘A letter of proper submission!’ repeated he; ‘would they \nhave me beg my mother’s pardon for Robert’s ingratitude \nto HER, and breach of honour to ME?—I can make no sub-\nmission—I am grown neither humble nor penitent by what \nhas passed.—I am grown very happy; but that would not \ninterest.—I know of no submission that IS proper for me \nto make.’\n‘You may certainly ask to be forgiven,’ said Elinor, ‘be-\ncause you have offended;—and I should think you might \nNOW venture so far as to profess some concern for hav-\ning ever formed the engagement which drew on you your \nmother’s anger.’\nHe agreed that he might.\n‘And when she has forgiven you, perhaps a little humility \nmay be convenient while acknowledging a second engage-\nment, almost as imprudent in HER eyes as the first.’\nHe had nothing to urge against it, but still resisted the \nidea of a letter of proper submission; and therefore, to make \nit easier to him, as he declared a much greater willingness \nto make mean concessions by word of mouth than on paper, \nit was resolved that, instead of writing to Fanny, he should \ngo to London, and personally intreat her good offices in his \nfavour.— ‘And if they really DO interest themselves,’ said \nMarianne, in her new character of candour, ‘in bringing \nabout a reconciliation, I shall think that even John and Fan-\nny are not entirely without merit.’\nAfter a visit on Colonel Brandon’s side of only three or \nfour days, the two gentlemen quitted Barton together.— \nThey were to go immediately to Delaford, that Edward \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n448\nmight have some personal knowledge of his future home, \nand assist his patron and friend in deciding on what im-\nprovements were needed to it; and from thence, after staying \nthere a couple of nights, he was to proceed on his journey \nto town.\n\n\n449\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nChapter 50\nA\nfter a proper resistance on the part of Mrs. Ferrars, just \nso violent and so steady as to preserve her from that \nreproach which she always seemed fearful of incurring, the \nreproach of being too amiable, Edward was admitted to her \npresence, and pronounced to be again her son.\nHer family had of late been exceedingly fluctuating. For \nmany years of her life she had had two sons; but the crime \nand annihilation of Edward a few weeks ago, had robbed \nher of one; the similar annihilation of Robert had left her \nfor a fortnight without any; and now, by the resuscitation of \nEdward, she had one again.\nIn spite of his being allowed once more to live, however, \nhe did not feel the continuance of his existence secure, till \nhe had revealed his present engagement; for the publication \nof that circumstance, he feared, might give a sudden turn \nto his constitution, and carry him off as rapidly as before. \nWith apprehensive caution therefore it was revealed, and he \nwas listened to with unexpected calmness. Mrs. Ferrars at \nfirst reasonably endeavoured to dissuade him from marry-\ning Miss Dashwood, by every argument in her power;—told \nhim, that in Miss Morton he would have a woman of higher \nrank and larger fortune;— and enforced the assertion, by \nobserving that Miss Morton was the daughter of a noble-\nman with thirty thousand pounds, while Miss Dashwood \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n450\nwas only the daughter of a private gentleman with no more \nthan THREE; but when she found that, though perfect-\nly admitting the truth of her representation, he was by no \nmeans inclined to be guided by it, she judged it wisest, from \nthe experience of the past, to submit—and therefore, after \nsuch an ungracious delay as she owed to her own dignity, \nand as served to prevent every suspicion of good-will, she \nissued her decree of consent to the marriage of Edward and \nElinor.\nWhat she would engage to do towards augmenting their \nincome was next to be considered; and here it plainly ap-\npeared, that though Edward was now her only son, he was \nby no means her eldest; for while Robert was inevitably \nendowed with a thousand pounds a-year, not the smallest \nobjection was made against Edward’s taking orders for the \nsake of two hundred and fifty at the utmost; nor was any-\nthing promised either for the present or in future, beyond \nthe ten thousand pounds, which had been given with Fan-\nny.\nIt was as much, however, as was desired, and more than \nwas expected, by Edward and Elinor; and Mrs. Ferrars \nherself, by her shuffling excuses, seemed the only person \nsurprised at her not giving more.\nWith an income quite sufficient to their wants thus se-\ncured to them, they had nothing to wait for after Edward \nwas in possession of the living, but the readiness of the \nhouse, to which Colonel Brandon, with an eager desire \nfor the accommodation of Elinor, was making consider-\nable improvements; and after waiting some time for their \n\n\n451\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ncompletion, after experiencing, as usual, a thousand disap-\npointments and delays from the unaccountable dilatoriness \nof the workmen, Elinor, as usual, broke through the first \npositive resolution of not marrying till every thing was \nready, and the ceremony took place in Barton church early \nin the autumn.\nThe first month after their marriage was spent with \ntheir friend at the Mansion-house; from whence they could \nsuperintend the progress of the Parsonage, and direct ev-\nery thing as they liked on the spot;— could chuse papers, \nproject shrubberies, and invent a sweep. Mrs. Jennings’s \nprophecies, though rather jumbled together, were chiefly \nfulfilled; for she was able to visit Edward and his wife in \ntheir Parsonage by Michaelmas, and she found in Elinor \nand her husband, as she really believed, one of the happiest \ncouples in the world. They had in fact nothing to wish for, \nbut the marriage of Colonel Brandon and Marianne, and \nrather better pasturage for their cows.\nThey were visited on their first settling by almost all their \nrelations and friends. Mrs. Ferrars came to inspect the hap-\npiness which she was almost ashamed of having authorised; \nand even the Dashwoods were at the expense of a journey \nfrom Sussex to do them honour.\n‘I will not say that I am disappointed, my dear sister,’ said \nJohn, as they were walking together one morning before the \ngates of Delaford House, ‘THAT would be saying too much, \nfor certainly you have been one of the most fortunate young \nwomen in the world, as it is. But, I confess, it would give me \ngreat pleasure to call Colonel Brandon brother. His property \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n452\nhere, his place, his house, every thing is in such respect-\nable and excellent condition!—and his woods!—I have not \nseen such timber any where in Dorsetshire, as there is now \nstanding in Delaford Hanger!—And though, perhaps, Mar-\nianne may not seem exactly the person to attract him— yet \nI think it would altogether be advisable for you to have them \nnow frequently staying with you, for as Colonel Brandon \nseems a great deal at home, nobody can tell what may hap-\npen—for, when people are much thrown together, and see \nlittle of anybody else—and it will always be in your power \nto set her off to advantage, and so forth;— in short, you may \nas well give her a chance—You understand me.’—\nBut though Mrs. Ferrars DID come to see them, and al-\nways treated them with the make-believe of decent affection, \nthey were never insulted by her real favour and preference. \nTHAT was due to the folly of Robert, and the cunning of his \nwife; and it was earned by them before many months had \npassed away. The selfish sagacity of the latter, which had at \nfirst drawn Robert into the scrape, was the principal instru-\nment of his deliverance from it; for her respectful humility, \nassiduous attentions, and endless flatteries, as soon as the \nsmallest opening was given for their exercise, reconciled \nMrs. Ferrars to his choice, and re-established him com-\npletely in her favour.\nThe whole of Lucy’s behaviour in the affair, and the pros-\nperity which crowned it, therefore, may be held forth as a \nmost encouraging instance of what an earnest, an unceas-\ning attention to self-interest, however its progress may be \napparently obstructed, will do in securing every advan-\n\n\n453\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ntage of fortune, with no other sacrifice than that of time \nand conscience. When Robert first sought her acquain-\ntance, and privately visited her in Bartlett’s Buildings, it \nwas only with the view imputed to him by his brother. He \nmerely meant to persuade her to give up the engagement; \nand as there could be nothing to overcome but the affection \nof both, he naturally expected that one or two interviews \nwould settle the matter. In that point, however, and that \nonly, he erred;—for though Lucy soon gave him hopes that \nhis eloquence would convince her in TIME, another visit, \nanother conversation, was always wanted to produce this \nconviction. Some doubts always lingered in her mind when \nthey parted, which could only be removed by another half \nhour’s discourse with himself. His attendance was by this \nmeans secured, and the rest followed in course. Instead of \ntalking of Edward, they came gradually to talk only of Rob-\nert,—a subject on which he had always more to say than on \nany other, and in which she soon betrayed an interest even \nequal to his own; and in short, it became speedily evident \nto both, that he had entirely supplanted his brother. He was \nproud of his conquest, proud of tricking Edward, and very \nproud of marrying privately without his mother’s consent. \nWhat immediately followed is known. They passed some \nmonths in great happiness at Dawlish; for she had many re-\nlations and old acquaintances to cut—and he drew several \nplans for magnificent cottages;— and from thence return-\ning to town, procured the forgiveness of Mrs. Ferrars, by the \nsimple expedient of asking it, which, at Lucy’s instigation, \nwas adopted. The forgiveness, at first, indeed, as was reason-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n454\nable, comprehended only Robert; and Lucy, who had owed \nhis mother no duty and therefore could have transgressed \nnone, still remained some weeks longer unpardoned. But \nperseverance in humility of conduct and messages, in self-\ncondemnation for Robert’s offence, and gratitude for the \nunkindness she was treated with, procured her in time the \nhaughty notice which overcame her by its graciousness, and \nled soon afterwards, by rapid degrees, to the highest state of \naffection and influence. Lucy became as necessary to Mrs. \nFerrars, as either Robert or Fanny; and while Edward was \nnever cordially forgiven for having once intended to marry \nher, and Elinor, though superior to her in fortune and birth, \nwas spoken of as an intruder, SHE was in every thing con-\nsidered, and always openly acknowledged, to be a favourite \nchild. They settled in town, received very liberal assistance \nfrom Mrs. Ferrars, were on the best terms imaginable with \nthe Dashwoods; and setting aside the jealousies and ill-will \ncontinually subsisting between Fanny and Lucy, in which \ntheir husbands of course took a part, as well as the frequent \ndomestic disagreements between Robert and Lucy them-\nselves, nothing could exceed the harmony in which they all \nlived together.\nWhat Edward had done to forfeit the right of eldest son, \nmight have puzzled many people to find out; and what Rob-\nert had done to succeed to it, might have puzzled them \nstill more. It was an arrangement, however, justified in its \neffects, if not in its cause; for nothing ever appeared in Rob-\nert’s style of living or of talking to give a suspicion of his \nregretting the extent of his income, as either leaving his \n\n\n455\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\nbrother too little, or bringing himself too much;—and if \nEdward might be judged from the ready discharge of his \nduties in every particular, from an increasing attachment to \nhis wife and his home, and from the regular cheerfulness of \nhis spirits, he might be supposed no less contented with his \nlot, no less free from every wish of an exchange.\nElinor’s marriage divided her as little from her family \nas could well be contrived, without rendering the cottage \nat Barton entirely useless, for her mother and sisters spent \nmuch more than half their time with her. Mrs. Dashwood \nwas acting on motives of policy as well as pleasure in the \nfrequency of her visits at Delaford; for her wish of bring-\ning Marianne and Colonel Brandon together was hardly \nless earnest, though rather more liberal than what John had \nexpressed. It was now her darling object. Precious as was \nthe company of her daughter to her, she desired nothing \nso much as to give up its constant enjoyment to her valued \nfriend; and to see Marianne settled at the mansion-house \nwas equally the wish of Edward and Elinor. They each felt \nhis sorrows, and their own obligations, and Marianne, by \ngeneral consent, was to be the reward of all.\nWith such a confederacy against her—with a knowledge \nso intimate of his goodness—with a conviction of his fond \nattachment to herself, which at last, though long after it was \nobservable to everybody else—burst on her—what could \nshe do?\nMarianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. \nShe was born to discover the falsehood of her own opin-\nions, and to counteract, by her conduct, her most favourite \n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n456\nmaxims. She was born to overcome an affection formed so \nlate in life as at seventeen, and with no sentiment superior \nto strong esteem and lively friendship, voluntarily to give \nher hand to another!—and THAT other, a man who had \nsuffered no less than herself under the event of a former at-\ntachment, whom, two years before, she had considered too \nold to be married,—and who still sought the constitutional \nsafeguard of a flannel waistcoat!\nBut so it was. Instead of falling a sacrifice to an irresist-\nible passion, as once she had fondly flattered herself with \nexpecting,—instead of remaining even for ever with her \nmother, and finding her only pleasures in retirement and \nstudy, as afterwards in her more calm and sober judgment \nshe had determined on,— she found herself at nineteen, \nsubmitting to new attachments, entering on new duties, \nplaced in a new home, a wife, the mistress of a family, and \nthe patroness of a village.\nColonel Brandon was now as happy, as all those who \nbest loved him, believed he deserved to be;—in Marianne \nhe was consoled for every past affliction;—her regard and \nher society restored his mind to animation, and his spirits \nto cheerfulness; and that Marianne found her own happi-\nness in forming his, was equally the persuasion and delight \nof each observing friend. Marianne could never love by \nhalves; and her whole heart became, in time, as much de-\nvoted to her husband, as it had once been to Willoughby.\nWilloughby could not hear of her marriage without a \npang; and his punishment was soon afterwards complete \nin the voluntary forgiveness of Mrs. Smith, who, by stat-\n\n\n457\nFree eBooks at Planet eBook.com\ning his marriage with a woman of character, as the source \nof her clemency, gave him reason for believing that had he \nbehaved with honour towards Marianne, he might at once \nhave been happy and rich. That his repentance of miscon-\nduct, which thus brought its own punishment, was sincere, \nneed not be doubted;—nor that he long thought of Colonel \nBrandon with envy, and of Marianne with regret. But that \nhe was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or \ncontracted an habitual gloom of temper, or died of a bro-\nken heart, must not be depended on—for he did neither. He \nlived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself. His wife was \nnot always out of humour, nor his home always uncomfort-\nable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in sporting of \nevery kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic \nfelicity.\nFor Marianne, however—in spite of his incivility in sur-\nviving her loss—he always retained that decided regard \nwhich interested him in every thing that befell her, and \nmade her his secret standard of perfection in woman;— and \nmany a rising beauty would be slighted by him in after-days \nas bearing no comparison with Mrs. Brandon.\nMrs. Dashwood was prudent enough to remain at the \ncottage, without attempting a removal to Delaford; and for-\ntunately for Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, when Marianne \nwas taken from them, Margaret had reached an age highly \nsuitable for dancing, and not very ineligible for being sup-\nposed to have a lover.\nBetween Barton and Delaford, there was that constant \ncommunication which strong family affection would nat-\n\n\nSense and Sensibility\n458\nurally dictate;—and among the merits and the happiness \nof Elinor and Marianne, let it not be ranked as the least \nconsiderable, that though sisters, and living almost within \nsight of each other, they could live without disagreement \nbetween themselves, or producing coolness between their \nhusbands.\nTHE END","difficulty":"hard","domain":"Single-Document QA","length":"medium","question":"How is Eliza Williams related to Colonel Brandon?","sub_domain":"Literary"}

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