SENSE AND SENSIBILITY
by Jane Austen(1811)CHAPTER 1The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex.Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park,in the centre of their property, where, for many generations,they had lived in so respectable a manner as to engagethe general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance.The late owner of this estate was a single man, who livedto a very advanced age, and who for many years of his life,had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister.But her death, which happened ten years before his own,produced a great alteration in his home; for to supplyher loss, he invited and received into his house the familyof his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal inheritorof the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intendedto bequeath it.  In the society of his nephew and niece,and their children, the old Gentleman's days werecomfortably spent.  His attachment to them all increased.The constant attention of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dashwoodto his wishes, which proceeded not merely from interest,but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solidcomfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulnessof the children added a relish to his existence.By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had oneson: by his present lady, three daughters.  The son,a steady respectable young man, was amply providedfor by the fortune of his mother, which had been large,and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age.By his own marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards,he added to his wealth.  To him therefore the successionto the Norland estate was not so really important as tohis sisters; for their fortune, independent of what mightarise to them from their father's inheriting that property,could be but small.  Their mother had nothing, and theirfather only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal;for the remaining moiety of his first wife's fortune wasalso secured to her child, and he had only a life-interestin it.The old gentleman died: his will was read, andlike almost every other will, gave as much disappointmentas pleasure.  He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful,as to leave his estate from his nephew;--but he left it to himon such terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest.Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of hiswife and daughters than for himself or his son;--but tohis son, and his son's son, a child of four years old,it was secured, in such a way, as to leave to himselfno power of providing for those who were most dearto him, and who most needed a provision by any chargeon the estate, or by any sale of its valuable woods.The whole was tied up for the benefit of this child, who,in occasional visits with his father and mother at Norland,had so far gained on the affections of his uncle,by such attractions as are by no means unusual in childrenof two or three years old; an imperfect articulation,an earnest desire of having his own way, many cunning tricks,and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh all the valueof all the attention which, for years, he had receivedfrom his niece and her daughters.  He meant not tobe unkind, however, and, as a mark of his affectionfor the three girls, he left them a thousand pounds a-piece.Mr. Dashwood's disappointment was, at first, severe;but his temper was cheerful and sanguine; and he mightreasonably hope to live many years, and by living economically,lay by a considerable sum from the produce of an estatealready large, and capable of almost immediate improvement.But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was hisonly one twelvemonth.  He survived his uncle no longer;and ten thousand pounds, including the late legacies,was all that remained for his widow and daughters.His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known,and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strengthand urgency which illness could command, the interestof his mother-in-law and sisters.Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of therest of the family; but he was affected by a recommendationof such a nature at such a time, and he promised to doevery thing in his power to make them comfortable.His father was rendered easy by such an assurance,and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider howmuch there might prudently be in his power to do for them.He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless tobe rather cold hearted and rather selfish is to beill-disposed: but he was, in general, well respected;for he conducted himself with propriety in the dischargeof his ordinary duties.  Had he married a more amiable woman,he might have been made still more respectable than hewas:--he might even have been made amiable himself; for hewas very young when he married, and very fond of his wife.But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself;--more narrow-minded and selfish.When he gave his promise to his father, he meditatedwithin himself to increase the fortunes of his sistersby the present of a thousand pounds a-piece.  He thenreally thought himself equal to it.  The prospect of fourthousand a-year, in addition to his present income,besides the remaining half of his own mother's fortune,warmed his heart, and made him feel capable of generosity.--"Yes, he would give them three thousand pounds: it wouldbe liberal and handsome! It would be enough to makethem completely easy.  Three thousand pounds! he couldspare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience."-- He thought of it all day long, and for many days successively,and he did not repent.No sooner was his father's funeral over, than Mrs. JohnDashwood, without sending any notice of her intention to hermother-in-law, arrived with her child and their attendants.No one could dispute her right to come; the house washer husband's from the moment of his father's decease;but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the greater,and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood's situation, with onlycommon feelings, must have been highly unpleasing;--but in HER mind there was a sense of honor so keen,a generosity so romantic, that any offence of the kind,by whomsoever given or received, was to her a sourceof immoveable disgust.  Mrs. John Dashwood had neverbeen a favourite with any of her husband's family;but she had had no opportunity, till the present,of shewing them with how little attention to the comfortof other people she could act when occasion required it.So acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungraciousbehaviour, and so earnestly did she despise herdaughter-in-law for it, that, on the arrival of the latter,she would have quitted the house for ever, had not theentreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflecton the propriety of going, and her own tender love for allher three children determined her afterwards to stay,and for their sakes avoid a breach with their brother.Elinor, this eldest daughter, whose advice wasso effectual, possessed a strength of understanding,and coolness of judgment, which qualified her,though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother,and enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantageof them all, that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwoodwhich must generally have led to imprudence.  She hadan excellent heart;--her disposition was affectionate,and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to governthem: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn;and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.Marianne's abilities were, in many respects,quite equal to Elinor's. She was sensible and clever;but eager in everything: her sorrows, her joys, could haveno moderation.  She was generous, amiable, interesting: shewas everything but prudent.  The resemblance betweenher and her mother was strikingly great.Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of hersister's sensibility; but by Mrs. Dashwood it was valuedand cherished.  They encouraged each other now in theviolence of their affliction.  The agony of griefwhich overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed,was sought for, was created again and again.  They gavethemselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increaseof wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it,and resolved against ever admitting consolationin future.  Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but stillshe could struggle, she could exert herself.  She couldconsult with her brother, could receive her sister-in-lawon her arrival, and treat her with proper attention;and could strive to rouse her mother to similar exertion,and encourage her to similar forbearance.Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humored,well-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibeda good deal of Marianne's romance, without havingmuch of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fairto equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.CHAPTER 2Mrs. John Dashwood now installed herself mistressof Norland; and her mother and sisters-in-law were degradedto the condition of visitors.  As such, however, they weretreated by her with quiet civility; and by her husbandwith as much kindness as he could feel towards anybodybeyond himself, his wife, and their child.  He reallypressed them, with some earnestness, to consider Norlandas their home; and, as no plan appeared so eligibleto Mrs. Dashwood as remaining there till she couldaccommodate herself with a house in the neighbourhood,his invitation was accepted.A continuance in a place where everything remindedher of former delight, was exactly what suited her mind.In seasons of cheerfulness, no temper could be more cheerfulthan hers, or possess, in a greater degree, that sanguineexpectation of happiness which is happiness itself.But in sorrow she must be equally carried away by her fancy,and as far beyond consolation as in pleasure she wasbeyond alloy.Mrs. John Dashwood did not at all approve of what herhusband intended to do for his sisters.  To take threethousand pounds from the fortune of their dear little boywould be impoverishing him to the most dreadful degree.She begged him to think again on the subject.  How couldhe answer it to himself to rob his child, and his onlychild too, of so large a sum?  And what possible claimcould the Miss Dashwoods, who were related to him only byhalf blood, which she considered as no relationship at all,have on his generosity to so large an amount.  It was verywell known that no affection was ever supposed to existbetween the children of any man by different marriages;and why was he to ruin himself, and their poor little Harry,by giving away all his money to his half sisters?"It was my father's last request to me," repliedher husband, "that I should assist his widow and daughters.""He did not know what he was talking of, I dare say;ten to one but he was light-headed at the time.Had he been in his right senses, he could not have thoughtof such a thing as begging you to give away half yourfortune from your own child.""He did not stipulate for any particular sum,my dear Fanny; he only requested me, in general terms,to assist them, and make their situation more comfortablethan it was in his power to do.  Perhaps it wouldhave been as well if he had left it wholly to myself.He could hardly suppose I should neglect them.But as he required the promise, I could not do lessthan give it; at least I thought so at the time.The promise, therefore, was given, and must be performed.Something must be done for them whenever they leave Norlandand settle in a new home.""Well, then, LET something be done for them;but THAT something need not be three thousand pounds.Consider," she added, "that when the money is onceparted with, it never can return.  Your sisters will marry,and it will be gone for ever.  If, indeed, it couldbe restored to our poor little boy--""Why, to be sure," said her husband, very gravely,"that would make great difference.  The time may come whenHarry will regret that so large a sum was parted with.If he should have a numerous family, for instance, it wouldbe a very convenient addition.""To be sure it would.""Perhaps, then, it would be better for all parties,if the sum were diminished one half.--Five hundred poundswould be a prodigious increase to their fortunes!""Oh! beyond anything great!  What brother on earthwould do half so much for his sisters, even if REALLYhis sisters!  And as it is--only half blood!--But youhave such a generous spirit!""I would not wish to do any thing mean," he replied."One had rather, on such occasions, do too much thantoo little.  No one, at least, can think I have notdone enough for them: even themselves, they can hardlyexpect more.""There is no knowing what THEY may expect,"said the lady, "but we are not to think of theirexpectations: the question is, what you can afford to do.""Certainly--and I think I may afford to give them fivehundred pounds a-piece.  As it is, without any additionof mine, they will each have about three thousand poundson their mother's death--a very comfortable fortunefor any young woman.""To be sure it is; and, indeed, it strikes me thatthey can want no addition at all.  They will have tenthousand pounds divided amongst them.  If they marry,they will be sure of doing well, and if they do not,they may all live very comfortably together on the interestof ten thousand pounds.""That is very true, and, therefore, I do not know whether,upon the whole, it would not be more advisable to dosomething for their mother while she lives, rather thanfor them--something of the annuity kind I mean.--My sisterswould feel the good effects of it as well as herself.A hundred a year would make them all perfectly comfortable."His wife hesitated a little, however, in givingher consent to this plan."To be sure," said she, "it is better than parting withfifteen hundred pounds at once.  But, then, if Mrs. Dashwoodshould live fifteen years we shall be completely taken in.""Fifteen years! my dear Fanny; her life cannotbe worth half that purchase.""Certainly not; but if you observe, people alwayslive for ever when there is an annuity to be paid them;and she is very stout and healthy, and hardly forty.An annuity is a very serious business; it comes overand over every year, and there is no getting ridof it.  You are not aware of what you are doing.I have known a great deal of the trouble of annuities;for my mother was clogged with the payment of threeto old superannuated servants by my father's will,and it is amazing how disagreeable she found it.Twice every year these annuities were to be paid; and thenthere was the trouble of getting it to them; and then oneof them was said to have died, and afterwards it turnedout to be no such thing.  My mother was quite sick of it.Her income was not her own, she said, with such perpetualclaims on it; and it was the more unkind in my father,because, otherwise, the money would have been entirely atmy mother's disposal, without any restriction whatever.It has given me such an abhorrence of annuities, that I amsure I would not pin myself down to the payment of one forall the world.""It is certainly an unpleasant thing," replied Mr. Dashwood,"to have those kind of yearly drains on one's income.One's fortune, as your mother justly says, is NOT one's own.To be tied down to the regular payment of such a sum,on every rent day, is by no means desirable: it takes awayone's independence.""Undoubtedly; and after all you have no thanks for it.They think themselves secure, you do no more than whatis expected, and it raises no gratitude at all.  If I were you,whatever I did should be done at my own discretion entirely.I would not bind myself to allow them any thing yearly.It may be very inconvenient some years to spare a hundred,or even fifty pounds from our own expenses.""I believe you are right, my love; it will be betterthat there should by no annuity in the case; whatever Imay give them occasionally will be of far greater assistancethan a yearly allowance, because they would only enlargetheir style of living if they felt sure of a larger income,and would not be sixpence the richer for it at the endof the year.  It will certainly be much the best way.A present of fifty pounds, now and then, will preventtheir ever being distressed for money, and will, I think,be amply discharging my promise to my father.""To be sure it will.  Indeed, to say the truth,I am convinced within myself that your father had no ideaof your giving them any money at all.  The assistancehe thought of, I dare say, was only such as might bereasonably expected of you; for instance, such as lookingout for a comfortable small house for them, helping themto move their things, and sending them presents of fishand game, and so forth, whenever they are in season.I'll lay my life that he meant nothing farther; indeed,it would be very strange and unreasonable if he did.Do but consider, my dear Mr. Dashwood, how excessivelycomfortable your mother-in-law and her daughters may liveon the interest of seven thousand pounds, besides thethousand pounds belonging to each of the girls, which bringsthem in fifty pounds a year a-piece, and, of course,they will pay their mother for their board out of it.Altogether, they will have five hundred a-year amongst them,and what on earth can four women want for more thanthat?--They will live so cheap! Their housekeeping willbe nothing at all.  They will have no carriage, no horses,and hardly any servants; they will keep no company,and can have no expenses of any kind!  Only conceivehow comfortable they will be!  Five hundred a year! I amsure I cannot imagine how they will spend half of it;and as to your giving them more, it is quite absurd to thinkof it.  They will be much more able to give YOU something.""Upon my word," said Mr. Dashwood, "I believe youare perfectly right.  My father certainly could meannothing more by his request to me than what you say.I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly fulfilmy engagement by such acts of assistance and kindnessto them as you have described.  When my mother removesinto another house my services shall be readily givento accommodate her as far as I can.  Some little presentof furniture too may be acceptable then.""Certainly," returned Mrs. John Dashwood.  "But, however,ONE thing must be considered.  When your father and mothermoved to Norland, though the furniture of Stanhillwas sold, all the china, plate, and linen was saved,and is now left to your mother.  Her house will thereforebe almost completely fitted up as soon as she takes it.""That is a material consideration undoubtedly.A valuable legacy indeed! And yet some of the plate wouldhave been a very pleasant addition to our own stock here.""Yes; and the set of breakfast china is twiceas handsome as what belongs to this house.  A greatdeal too handsome, in my opinion, for any place THEYcan ever afford to live in.  But, however, so it is.Your father thought only of THEM.  And I must say this:that you owe no particular gratitude to him, nor attentionto his wishes; for we very well know that if he could,he would have left almost everything in the world to THEM."This argument was irresistible.  It gave to hisintentions whatever of decision was wanting before; and hefinally resolved, that it would be absolutely unnecessary,if not highly indecorous, to do more for the widowand children of his father, than such kind of neighbourlyacts as his own wife pointed out.CHAPTER 3Mrs. Dashwood remained at Norland several months;not from any disinclination to move when the sight of everywell known spot ceased to raise the violent emotion which itproduced for a while; for when her spirits began to revive,and her mind became capable of some other exertion than thatof heightening its affliction by melancholy remembrances,she was impatient to be gone, and indefatigable in her inquiriesfor a suitable dwelling in the neighbourhood of Norland;for to remove far from that beloved spot was impossible.But she could hear of no situation that at once answeredher notions of comfort and ease, and suited the prudenceof her eldest daughter, whose steadier judgment rejectedseveral houses as too large for their income, which hermother would have approved.Mrs. Dashwood had been informed by her husband of thesolemn promise on the part of his son in their favour,which gave comfort to his last earthly reflections.She doubted the sincerity of this assurance no more than hehad doubted it himself, and she thought of it for her daughters'sake with satisfaction, though as for herself she waspersuaded that a much smaller provision than 7000L wouldsupport her in affluence.  For their brother's sake, too,for the sake of his own heart, she rejoiced; and shereproached herself for being unjust to his merit before,in believing him incapable of generosity.  His attentivebehaviour to herself and his sisters convinced her thattheir welfare was dear to him, and, for a long time,she firmly relied on the liberality of his intentions.The contempt which she had, very early in their acquaintance,felt for her daughter-in-law, was very much increasedby the farther knowledge of her character, which halfa year's residence in her family afforded; and perhapsin spite of every consideration of politeness or maternalaffection on the side of the former, the two ladies mighthave found it impossible to have lived together so long,had not a particular circumstance occurred to givestill greater eligibility, according to the opinionsof Mrs. Dashwood, to her daughters' continuance at Norland.This circumstance was a growing attachment betweenher eldest girl and the brother of Mrs. John Dashwood,a gentleman-like and pleasing young man, who was introducedto their acquaintance soon after his sister's establishmentat Norland, and who had since spent the greatest partof his time there.Some mothers might have encouraged the intimacy frommotives of interest, for Edward Ferrars was the eldest sonof a man who had died very rich; and some might have repressedit from motives of prudence, for, except a trifling sum,the whole of his fortune depended on the will of his mother.But Mrs. Dashwood was alike uninfluenced by either consideration.It was enough for her that he appeared to be amiable,that he loved her daughter, and that Elinor returnedthe partiality.  It was contrary to every doctrine ofher's that difference of fortune should keep any coupleasunder who were attracted by resemblance of disposition;and that Elinor's merit should not be acknowledgedby every one who knew her, was to her comprehension impossible.Edward Ferrars was not recommended to their goodopinion by any peculiar graces of person or address.He was not handsome, and his manners required intimacyto make them pleasing.  He was too diffident to do justiceto himself; but when his natural shyness was overcome,his behaviour gave every indication of an open,affectionate heart.  His understanding was good,and his education had given it solid improvement.But he was neither fitted by abilities nor dispositionto answer the wishes of his mother and sister, who longedto see him distinguished--as--they hardly knew what.They wanted him to make a fine figure in the world in somemanner or other.  His mother wished to interest him inpolitical concerns, to get him into parliament, or to seehim connected with some of the great men of the day.Mrs. John Dashwood wished it likewise; but in the mean while,till one of these superior blessings could be attained, it wouldhave quieted her ambition to see him driving a barouche.But Edward had no turn for great men or barouches.All his wishes centered in domestic comfort and the quietof private life.  Fortunately he had a younger brotherwho was more promising.Edward had been staying several weeks in the housebefore he engaged much of Mrs. Dashwood's attention;for she was, at that time, in such affliction as renderedher careless of surrounding objects.  She saw only that hewas quiet and unobtrusive, and she liked him for it.He did not disturb the wretchedness of her mind byill-timed conversation.  She was first called to observeand approve him farther, by a reflection which Elinorchanced one day to make on the difference between himand his sister.  It was a contrast which recommended himmost forcibly to her mother."It is enough," said she; "to say that he is unlikeFanny is enough.  It implies everything amiable.I love him already.""I think you will like him," said Elinor, "when youknow more of him.""Like him!" replied her mother with a smile."I feel no sentiment of approbation inferior to love.""You may esteem him.""I have never yet known what it was to separateesteem and love."Mrs. Dashwood now took pains to get acquainted with him.Her manners were attaching, and soon banished his reserve.She speedily comprehended all his merits; the persuasionof his regard for Elinor perhaps assisted her penetration;but she really felt assured of his worth: and even thatquietness of manner, which militated against all herestablished ideas of what a young man's address ought to be,was no longer uninteresting when she knew his heart to bewarm and his temper affectionate.No sooner did she perceive any symptom of lovein his behaviour to Elinor, than she considered theirserious attachment as certain, and looked forwardto their marriage as rapidly approaching."In a few months, my dear Marianne." said she,"Elinor will, in all probability be settled for life.We shall miss her; but SHE will be happy.""Oh! Mamma, how shall we do without her?""My love, it will be scarcely a separation.We shall live within a few miles of each other, and shallmeet every day of our lives.  You will gain a brother,a real, affectionate brother.  I have the highest opinionin the world of Edward's heart.  But you look grave,Marianne; do you disapprove your sister's choice?""Perhaps," said Marianne, "I may consider itwith some surprise.  Edward is very amiable, and I lovehim tenderly.  But yet--he is not the kind of youngman--there is something wanting--his figure is not striking;it has none of that grace which I should expectin the man who could seriously attach my sister.His eyes want all that spirit, that fire, which at onceannounce virtue and intelligence.  And besides all this,I am afraid, Mamma, he has no real taste.  Music seemsscarcely to attract him, and though he admires Elinor'sdrawings very much, it is not the admiration of a personwho can understand their worth.  It is evident, in spite ofhis frequent attention to her while she draws, that in facthe knows nothing of the matter.  He admires as a lover,not as a connoisseur.  To satisfy me, those charactersmust be united.  I could not be happy with a man whosetaste did not in every point coincide with my own.He must enter into all my feelings; the same books,the same music must charm us both.  Oh! mama, how spiritless,how tame was Edward's manner in reading to us last night!I felt for my sister most severely.  Yet she bore itwith so much composure, she seemed scarcely to notice it.I could hardly keep my seat.  To hear those beautiful lineswhich have frequently almost driven me wild, pronouncedwith such impenetrable calmness, such dreadful indifference!"--"He would certainly have done more justice tosimple and elegant prose.  I thought so at the time;but you WOULD give him Cowper.""Nay, Mamma, if he is not to be animated by Cowper!--but we must allow for difference of taste.  Elinor hasnot my feelings, and therefore she may overlook it, and be happy with him.  But it would have broke MY heart,had I loved him, to hear him read with so little sensibility.Mama, the more I know of the world, the more am I convincedthat I shall never see a man whom I can really love.I require so much!  He must have all Edward's virtues,and his person and manners must ornament his goodnesswith every possible charm.""Remember, my love, that you are not seventeen.It is yet too early in life to despair of such a happiness.Why should you be less fortunate than your mother?  Inone circumstance only, my Marianne, may your destiny bedifferent from her's!"CHAPTER 4"What a pity it is, Elinor," said Marianne,"that Edward should have no taste for drawing.""No taste for drawing!" replied Elinor, "why shouldyou think so? He does not draw himself, indeed, but he hasgreat pleasure in seeing the performances of other people,and I assure you he is by no means deficient in natural taste,though he has not had opportunities of improving it.Had he ever been in the way of learning, I think he wouldhave drawn very well.  He distrusts his own judgmentin such matters so much, that he is always unwillingto give his opinion on any picture; but he has an innatepropriety and simplicity of taste, which in generaldirect him perfectly right."Marianne was afraid of offending, and said no moreon the subject; but the kind of approbation which Elinordescribed as excited in him by the drawings of otherpeople, was very far from that rapturous delight, which,in her opinion, could alone be called taste.  Yet, thoughsmiling within herself at the mistake, she honouredher sister for that blind partiality to Edward which produced it."I hope, Marianne," continued Elinor, "you do notconsider him as deficient in general taste.  Indeed, I thinkI may say that you cannot, for your behaviour to himis perfectly cordial, and if THAT were your opinion,I am sure you could never be civil to him."Marianne hardly knew what to say.  She wouldnot wound the feelings of her sister on any account,and yet to say what she did not believe was impossible.At length she replied:"Do not be offended, Elinor, if my praise of himis not in every thing equal to your sense of his merits.I have not had so many opportunities of estimating the minuterpropensities of his mind, his inclinations and tastes,as you have; but I have the highest opinion in the worldof his goodness and sense.  I think him every thing that isworthy and amiable.""I am sure," replied Elinor, with a smile,"that his dearest friends could not be dissatisfiedwith such commendation as that.  I do not perceivehow you could express yourself more warmly."Marianne was rejoiced to find her sister so easily pleased."Of his sense and his goodness," continued Elinor,"no one can, I think, be in doubt, who has seen himoften enough to engage him in unreserved conversation.The excellence of his understanding and his principlescan be concealed only by that shyness which too oftenkeeps him silent.  You know enough of him to do justiceto his solid worth.  But of his minuter propensities,as you call them you have from peculiar circumstancesbeen kept more ignorant than myself.  He and I havebeen at times thrown a good deal together, while youhave been wholly engrossed on the most affectionateprinciple by my mother.  I have seen a great deal of him,have studied his sentiments and heard his opinion onsubjects of literature and taste; and, upon the whole,I venture to pronounce that his mind is well-informed,enjoyment of books exceedingly great, his imagination lively,his observation just and correct, and his taste delicateand pure.  His abilities in every respect improveas much upon acquaintance as his manners and person.At first sight, his address is certainly not striking;and his person can hardly be called handsome, till theexpression of his eyes, which are uncommonly good,and the general sweetness of his countenance, is perceived.At present, I know him so well, that I think himreally handsome; or at least, almost so.  What say you,Marianne?""I shall very soon think him handsome, Elinor, if Ido not now.  When you tell me to love him as a brother,I shall no more see imperfection in his face, than I now doin his heart."Elinor started at this declaration, and was sorry forthe warmth she had been betrayed into, in speaking of him.She felt that Edward stood very high in her opinion.She believed the regard to be mutual; but she requiredgreater certainty of it to make Marianne's convictionof their attachment agreeable to her.  She knew thatwhat Marianne and her mother conjectured one moment,they believed the next--that with them, to wish was to hope,and to hope was to expect.  She tried to explain the realstate of the case to her sister."I do not attempt to deny," said she, "that I thinkvery highly of him--that I greatly esteem, that I like him."Marianne here burst forth with indignation--"Esteem him! Like him! Cold-hearted Elinor! Oh!worse than cold-hearted! Ashamed of being otherwise.Use those words again, and I will leave the room this moment."Elinor could not help laughing.  "Excuse me,"said she; "and be assured that I meant no offence to you,by speaking, in so quiet a way, of my own feelings.Believe them to be stronger than I have declared;believe them, in short, to be such as his merit, and thesuspicion--the hope of his affection for me may warrant,without imprudence or folly.  But farther than this you mustnot believe.  I am by no means assured of his regard for me.There are moments when the extent of it seems doubtful;and till his sentiments are fully known, you cannot wonderat my wishing to avoid any encouragement of my own partiality,by believing or calling it more than it is.  In my heartI feel little--scarcely any doubt of his preference.But there are other points to be considered besideshis inclination.  He is very far from being independent.What his mother really is we cannot know; but, from Fanny'soccasional mention of her conduct and opinions, we havenever been disposed to think her amiable; and I am verymuch mistaken if Edward is not himself aware that therewould be many difficulties in his way, if he were to wishto marry a woman who had not either a great fortune orhigh rank."Marianne was astonished to find how much the imaginationof her mother and herself had outstripped the truth."And you really are not engaged to him!" said she."Yet it certainly soon will happen.  But two advantageswill proceed from this delay.  I shall not lose you so soon,and Edward will have greater opportunity of improvingthat natural taste for your favourite pursuit which mustbe so indispensably necessary to your future felicity.Oh! if he should be so far stimulated by your genius as tolearn to draw himself, how delightful it would be!"Elinor had given her real opinion to her sister.She could not consider her partiality for Edwardin so prosperous a state as Marianne had believed it.There was, at times, a want of spirits about him which,if it did not denote indifference, spoke a something almostas unpromising.  A doubt of her regard, supposing himto feel it, need not give him more than inquietude.It would not be likely to produce that dejection of mindwhich frequently attended him.  A more reasonable causemight be found in the dependent situation which forbadthe indulgence of his affection.  She knew that his motherneither behaved to him so as to make his home comfortableat present, nor to give him any assurance that he might forma home for himself, without strictly attending to her viewsfor his aggrandizement.  With such a knowledge as this,it was impossible for Elinor to feel easy on the subject.She was far from depending on that result of his preferenceof her, which her mother and sister still consideredas certain.  Nay, the longer they were together the moredoubtful seemed the nature of his regard; and sometimes,for a few painful minutes, she believed it to be no morethan friendship.But, whatever might really be its limits, it was enough,when perceived by his sister, to make her uneasy,and at the same time, (which was still more common,)to make her uncivil.  She took the first opportunity ofaffronting her mother-in-law on the occasion, talking toher so expressively of her brother's great expectations,of Mrs. Ferrars's resolution that both her sons shouldmarry well, and of the danger attending any young womanwho attempted to DRAW HIM IN; that Mrs. Dashwood couldneither pretend to be unconscious, nor endeavor to be calm.She gave her an answer which marked her contempt,and instantly left the room, resolving that, whatever mightbe the inconvenience or expense of so sudden a removal,her beloved Elinor should not be exposed another weekto such insinuations.In this state of her spirits, a letter was deliveredto her from the post, which contained a proposalparticularly well timed.  It was the offer of a small house,on very easy terms, belonging to a relation of her own,a gentleman of consequence and property in Devonshire.The letter was from this gentleman himself, and writtenin the true spirit of friendly accommodation.He understood that she was in need of a dwelling;and though the house he now offered her was merely a cottage,he assured her that everything should be done to it whichshe might think necessary, if the situation pleased her.He earnestly pressed her, after giving the particularsof the house and garden, to come with her daughters toBarton Park, the place of his own residence, from whenceshe might judge, herself, whether Barton Cottage, for thehouses were in the same parish, could, by any alteration,be made comfortable to her.  He seemed really anxious toaccommodate them and the whole of his letter was writtenin so friendly a style as could not fail of giving pleasureto his cousin; more especially at a moment when she wassuffering under the cold and unfeeling behaviour of hernearer connections.  She needed no time for deliberationor inquiry.  Her resolution was formed as she read.The situation of Barton, in a county so far distant fromSussex as Devonshire, which, but a few hours before,would have been a sufficient objection to outweigh everypossible advantage belonging to the place, was now itsfirst recommendation.  To quit the neighbourhood of Norlandwas no longer an evil; it was an object of desire;it was a blessing, in comparison of the misery of continuingher daughter-in-law's guest; and to remove for everfrom that beloved place would be less painful than toinhabit or visit it while such a woman was its mistress.She instantly wrote Sir John Middleton her acknowledgmentof his kindness, and her acceptance of his proposal;and then hastened to shew both letters to her daughters,that she might be secure of their approbation before heranswer were sent.Elinor had always thought it would be more prudentfor them to settle at some distance from Norland,than immediately amongst their present acquaintance.On THAT head, therefore, it was not for her to opposeher mother's intention of removing into Devonshire.The house, too, as described by Sir John, was on sosimple a scale, and the rent so uncommonly moderate,as to leave her no right of objection on either point;and, therefore, though it was not a plan which broughtany charm to her fancy, though it was a removal fromthe vicinity of Norland beyond her wishes, she madeno attempt to dissuade her mother from sending a letterof acquiescence.CHAPTER 5No sooner was her answer dispatched, than Mrs. Dashwoodindulged herself in the pleasure of announcing to herson-in-law and his wife that she was provided with a house,and should incommode them no longer than till every thing wereready for her inhabiting it.  They heard her with surprise.Mrs. John Dashwood said nothing; but her husband civillyhoped that she would not be settled far from Norland.She had great satisfaction in replying that she was goinginto Devonshire.--Edward turned hastily towards her,on hearing this, and, in a voice of surprise and concern,which required no explanation to her, repeated,"Devonshire! Are you, indeed, going there?  So far from hence!And to what part of it?"  She explained the situation.It was within four miles northward of Exeter."It is but a cottage," she continued, "but I hopeto see many of my friends in it.  A room or two caneasily be added; and if my friends find no difficultyin travelling so far to see me, I am sure I will findnone in accommodating them."She concluded with a very kind invitation toMr. and Mrs. John Dashwood to visit her at Barton;and to Edward she gave one with still greater affection.Though her late conversation with her daughter-in-law hadmade her resolve on remaining at Norland no longer thanwas unavoidable, it had not produced the smallest effecton her in that point to which it principally tended.To separate Edward and Elinor was as far from being herobject as ever; and she wished to show Mrs. John Dashwood,by this pointed invitation to her brother, how totally shedisregarded her disapprobation of the match.Mr. John Dashwood told his mother again and againhow exceedingly sorry he was that she had taken a house atsuch a distance from Norland as to prevent his being of anyservice to her in removing her furniture.  He really feltconscientiously vexed on the occasion; for the very exertionto which he had limited the performance of his promise tohis father was by this arrangement rendered impracticable.--The furniture was all sent around by water.  It chieflyconsisted of household linen, plate, china, and books,with a handsome pianoforte of Marianne's.  Mrs. JohnDashwood saw the packages depart with a sigh: she couldnot help feeling it hard that as Mrs. Dashwood's incomewould be so trifling in comparison with their own,she should have any handsome article of furniture.Mrs. Dashwood took the house for a twelvemonth; it wasready furnished, and she might have immediate possession.No difficulty arose on either side in the agreement; and shewaited only for the disposal of her effects at Norland,and to determine her future household, before she setoff for the west; and this, as she was exceedingly rapidin the performance of everything that interested her,was soon done.--The horses which were left her by her husbandhad been sold soon after his death, and an opportunitynow offering of disposing of her carriage, she agreedto sell that likewise at the earnest advice of hereldest daughter.  For the comfort of her children, had sheconsulted only her own wishes, she would have kept it;but the discretion of Elinor prevailed.  HER wisdomtoo limited the number of their servants to three;two maids and a man, with whom they were speedily providedfrom amongst those who had formed their establishmentat Norland.The man and one of the maids were sent off immediatelyinto Devonshire, to prepare the house for their mistress'sarrival; for as Lady Middleton was entirely unknownto Mrs. Dashwood, she preferred going directly to thecottage to being a visitor at Barton Park; and she reliedso undoubtingly on Sir John's description of the house,as to feel no curiosity to examine it herself till sheentered it as her own.  Her eagerness to be gone from Norlandwas preserved from diminution by the evident satisfactionof her daughter-in-law in the prospect of her removal;a satisfaction which was but feebly attempted to be concealedunder a cold invitation to her to defer her departure.Now was the time when her son-in-law's promise to hisfather might with particular propriety be fulfilled.Since he had neglected to do it on first coming tothe estate, their quitting his house might be lookedon as the most suitable period for its accomplishment.But Mrs. Dashwood began shortly to give over everyhope of the kind, and to be convinced, from the generaldrift of his discourse, that his assistance extended nofarther than their maintenance for six months at Norland.He so frequently talked of the increasing expensesof housekeeping, and of the perpetual demands upon his purse,which a man of any consequence in the world was beyondcalculation exposed to, that he seemed rather to standin need of more money himself than to have any design ofgiving money away.In a very few weeks from the day which brought SirJohn Middleton's first letter to Norland, every thing wasso far settled in their future abode as to enableMrs. Dashwood and her daughters to begin their journey.Many were the tears shed by them in their lastadieus to a place so much beloved.  "Dear, dear Norland!"said Marianne, as she wandered alone before the house,on the last evening of their being there; "when shall I ceaseto regret you!--when learn to feel a home elsewhere!--Oh!happy house, could you know what I suffer in now viewingyou from this spot, from whence perhaps I may viewyou no more!--And you, ye well-known trees!--but youwill continue the same.--No leaf will decay because weare removed, nor any branch become motionless although wecan observe you no longer!--No; you will continue the same;unconscious of the pleasure or the regret you occasion,and insensible of any change in those who walk under yourshade!--But who will remain to enjoy you?"CHAPTER 6The first part of their journey was performed in toomelancholy a disposition to be otherwise than tediousand unpleasant.  But as they drew towards the end of it,their interest in the appearance of a country which theywere to inhabit overcame their dejection, and a view ofBarton Valley as they entered it gave them cheerfulness.It was a pleasant fertile spot, well wooded, and richin pasture.  After winding along it for more than a mile,they reached their own house.  A small green court wasthe whole of its demesne in front; and a neat wicket gateadmitted them into it.As a house, Barton Cottage, though small, was comfortableand compact; but as a cottage it was defective, for thebuilding was regular, the roof was tiled, the windowshutters were not painted green, nor were the walls coveredwith honeysuckles.  A narrow passage led directly throughthe house into the garden behind.  On each side of theentrance was a sitting room, about sixteen feet square;and beyond them were the offices and the stairs.Four bed-rooms and two garrets formed the rest of the house.It had not been built many years and was in good repair.In comparison of Norland, it was poor and small indeed!--butthe tears which recollection called forth as they enteredthe house were soon dried away.  They were cheeredby the joy of the servants on their arrival, and eachfor the sake of the others resolved to appear happy.It was very early in September; the season was fine,and from first seeing the place under the advantageof good weather, they received an impression in itsfavour which was of material service in recommendingit to their lasting approbation.The situation of the house was good.  High hills roseimmediately behind, and at no great distance on each side;some of which were open downs, the others cultivated and woody.The village of Barton was chiefly on one of these hills,and formed a pleasant view from the cottage windows.The prospect in front was more extensive; it commanded thewhole of the valley, and reached into the country beyond.The hills which surrounded the cottage terminatedthe valley in that direction; under another name,and in another course, it branched out again between twoof the steepest of them.With the size and furniture of the house Mrs. Dashwoodwas upon the whole well satisfied; for though her formerstyle of life rendered many additions to the latterindispensable, yet to add and improve was a delight to her;and she had at this time ready money enough to supply allthat was wanted of greater elegance to the apartments."As for the house itself, to be sure," said she, "it istoo small for our family, but we will make ourselvestolerably comfortable for the present, as it is too latein the year for improvements.  Perhaps in the spring,if I have plenty of money, as I dare say I shall, we maythink about building.  These parlors are both too smallfor such parties of our friends as I hope to see oftencollected here; and I have some thoughts of throwing thepassage into one of them with perhaps a part of the other,and so leave the remainder of that other for an entrance;this, with a new drawing room which may be easily added,and a bed-chamber and garret above, will make it a very snuglittle cottage.  I could wish the stairs were handsome.But one must not expect every thing; though I suppose itwould be no difficult matter to widen them.  I shall seehow much I am before-hand with the world in the spring,and we will plan our improvements accordingly."In the mean time, till all these alterations couldbe made from the savings of an income of five hundreda-year by a woman who never saved in her life, they werewise enough to be contented with the house as it was;and each of them was busy in arranging their particularconcerns, and endeavoring, by placing around them booksand other possessions, to form themselves a home.Marianne's pianoforte was unpacked and properly disposed of;and Elinor's drawings were affixed to the walls of theirsitting room.In such employments as these they were interruptedsoon after breakfast the next day by the entrance oftheir landlord, who called to welcome them to Barton,and to offer them every accommodation from his own houseand garden in which theirs might at present be deficient.Sir John Middleton was a good looking man about forty.He had formerly visited at Stanhill, but it was too longfor his young cousins to remember him.  His countenancewas thoroughly good-humoured; and his manners wereas friendly as the style of his letter.  Their arrivalseemed to afford him real satisfaction, and their comfortto be an object of real solicitude to him.  He said muchof his earnest desire of their living in the most sociableterms with his family, and pressed them so cordiallyto dine at Barton Park every day till they were bettersettled at home, that, though his entreaties were carriedto a point of perseverance beyond civility, they couldnot give offence.  His kindness was not confined to words;for within an hour after he left them, a large basketfull of garden stuff and fruit arrived from the park,which was followed before the end of the day by a presentof game.  He insisted, moreover, on conveying all theirletters to and from the post for them, and would not bedenied the satisfaction of sending them his newspaperevery day.Lady Middleton had sent a very civil message by him,denoting her intention of waiting on Mrs. Dashwood as soon asshe could be assured that her visit would be no inconvenience;and as this message was answered by an invitationequally polite, her ladyship was introduced to them the next day.They were, of course, very anxious to see a person onwhom so much of their comfort at Barton must depend; and theelegance of her appearance was favourable to their wishes.Lady Middleton was not more than six or seven and twenty;her face was handsome, her figure tall and striking,and her address graceful.  Her manners had all the elegancewhich her husband's wanted.  But they would have beenimproved by some share of his frankness and warmth;and her visit was long enough to detract something fromtheir first admiration, by shewing that, though perfectlywell-bred, she was reserved, cold, and had nothing to sayfor herself beyond the most common-place inquiry or remark.Conversation however was not wanted, for Sir Johnwas very chatty, and Lady Middleton had taken the wiseprecaution of bringing with her their eldest child, a finelittle boy about six years old, by which means there wasone subject always to be recurred to by the ladies in caseof extremity, for they had to enquire his name and age,admire his beauty, and ask him questions which his motheranswered for him, while he hung about her and helddown his head, to the great surprise of her ladyship,who wondered at his being so shy before company, as hecould make noise enough at home.  On every formal visita child ought to be of the party, by way of provisionfor discourse.  In the present case it took up ten minutesto determine whether the boy were most like his fatheror mother, and in what particular he resembled either,for of course every body differed, and every body wasastonished at the opinion of the others.An opportunity was soon to be given to the Dashwoodsof debating on the rest of the children, as Sir Johnwould not leave the house without securing their promiseof dining at the park the next day.CHAPTER 7Barton Park was about half a mile from the cottage.The ladies had passed near it in their way along the valley,but it was screened from their view at home by theprojection of a hill.  The house was large and handsome;and the Middletons lived in a style of equal hospitalityand elegance.  The former was for Sir John's gratification,the latter for that of his lady.  They were scarcelyever without some friends staying with them in the house,and they kept more company of every kind than any otherfamily in the neighbourhood.  It was necessary to thehappiness of both; for however dissimilar in temperand outward behaviour, they strongly resembled each otherin that total want of talent and taste which confinedtheir employments, unconnected with such as society produced,within a very narrow compass.  Sir John was a sportsman,Lady Middleton a mother.  He hunted and shot, and shehumoured her children; and these were their only resources.Lady Middleton had the advantage of being able to spoil herchildren all the year round, while Sir John's independentemployments were in existence only half the time.Continual engagements at home and abroad, however,supplied all the deficiencies of nature and education;supported the good spirits of Sir John, and gave exerciseto the good breeding of his wife.Lady Middleton piqued herself upon the eleganceof her table, and of all her domestic arrangements;and from this kind of vanity was her greatest enjoymentin any of their parties.  But Sir John's satisfactionin society was much more real; he delighted in collectingabout him more young people than his house would hold,and the noisier they were the better was he pleased.He was a blessing to all the juvenile part of the neighbourhood,for in summer he was for ever forming parties to eat coldham and chicken out of doors, and in winter his privateballs were numerous enough for any young lady who was notsuffering under the unsatiable appetite of fifteen.The arrival of a new family in the country was alwaysa matter of joy to him, and in every point of view he wascharmed with the inhabitants he had now procured for hiscottage at Barton.  The Miss Dashwoods were young, pretty,and unaffected.  It was enough to secure his good opinion;for to be unaffected was all that a pretty girl couldwant to make her mind as captivating as her person.The friendliness of his disposition made him happy inaccommodating those, whose situation might be considered,in comparison with the past, as unfortunate.  In showingkindness to his cousins therefore he had the real satisfactionof a good heart; and in settling a family of females onlyin his cottage, he had all the satisfaction of a sportsman;for a sportsman, though he esteems only those of his sex whoare sportsmen likewise, is not often desirous of encouragingtheir taste by admitting them to a residence within his ownmanor.Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters were met at the doorof the house by Sir John, who welcomed them to BartonPark with unaffected sincerity; and as he attended themto the drawing room repeated to the young ladies the concernwhich the same subject had drawn from him the day before,at being unable to get any smart young men to meet them.They would see, he said, only one gentleman therebesides himself; a particular friend who was staying atthe park, but who was neither very young nor very gay.He hoped they would all excuse the smallness of the party,and could assure them it should never happen so again.He had been to several families that morning in hopesof procuring some addition to their number, but itwas moonlight and every body was full of engagements.Luckily Lady Middleton's mother had arrived at Bartonwithin the last hour, and as she was a very cheerfulagreeable woman, he hoped the young ladies would not findit so very dull as they might imagine.  The young ladies,as well as their mother, were perfectly satisfied withhaving two entire strangers of the party, and wished forno more.Mrs. Jennings, Lady Middleton's mother, was agood-humoured, merry, fat, elderly woman, who talked agreat deal, seemed very happy, and rather vulgar.  She was fullof jokes and laughter, and before dinner was over had saidmany witty things on the subject of lovers and husbands;hoped they had not left their hearts behind them in Sussex,and pretended to see them blush whether they did or not.Marianne was vexed at it for her sister's sake, and turnedher eyes towards Elinor to see how she bore these attacks,with an earnestness which gave Elinor far more pain thancould arise from such common-place raillery as Mrs. Jennings's.Colonel Brandon, the friend of Sir John, seemed nomore adapted by resemblance of manner to be his friend,than Lady Middleton was to be his wife, or Mrs. Jenningsto be Lady Middleton's mother.  He was silent and grave.His appearance however was not unpleasing, in spiteof his being in the opinion of Marianne and Margaretan absolute old bachelor, for he was on the wrong sideof five and thirty; but though his face was not handsome,his countenance was sensible, and his address wasparticularly gentlemanlike.There was nothing in any of the party which couldrecommend them as companions to the Dashwoods; but the coldinsipidity of Lady Middleton was so particularly repulsive,that in comparison of it the gravity of Colonel Brandon,and even the boisterous mirth of Sir John and hismother-in-law was interesting.  Lady Middleton seemedto be roused to enjoyment only by the entrance of herfour noisy children after dinner, who pulled her about,tore her clothes, and put an end to every kind of discourseexcept what related to themselves.In the evening, as Marianne was discovered to be musical,she was invited to play.  The instrument was unlocked,every body prepared to be charmed, and Marianne,who sang very well, at their request went through thechief of the songs which Lady Middleton had brought intothe family on her marriage, and which perhaps had lainever since in the same position on the pianoforte,for her ladyship had celebrated that event by givingup music, although by her mother's account, she hadplayed extremely well, and by her own was very fond of it.Marianne's performance was highly applauded.Sir John was loud in his admiration at the end of every song,and as loud in his conversation with the others while everysong lasted.  Lady Middleton frequently called him to order,wondered how any one's attention could be diverted from musicfor a moment, and asked Marianne to sing a particular songwhich Marianne had just finished.  Colonel Brandon alone,of all the party, heard her without being in raptures.He paid her only the compliment of attention; and she felta respect for him on the occasion, which the others hadreasonably forfeited by their shameless want of taste.His pleasure in music, though it amounted not to thatecstatic delight which alone could sympathize with her own,was estimable when contrasted against the horribleinsensibility of the others; and she was reasonable enoughto allow that a man of five and thirty might well haveoutlived all acuteness of feeling and every exquisitepower of enjoyment.  She was perfectly disposed to makeevery allowance for the colonel's advanced state of lifewhich humanity required.CHAPTER 8Mrs. Jennings was a widow with an ample jointure.She had only two daughters, both of whom she had livedto see respectably married, and she had now thereforenothing to do but to marry all the rest of the world.In the promotion of this object she was zealously active,as far as her ability reached; and missed no opportunityof projecting weddings among all the young peopleof her acquaintance.  She was remarkably quick in thediscovery of attachments, and had enjoyed the advantageof raising the blushes and the vanity of many a younglady by insinuations of her power over such a young man;and this kind of discernment enabled her soon after herarrival at Barton decisively to pronounce that ColonelBrandon was very much in love with Marianne Dashwood.She rather suspected it to be so, on the very firstevening of their being together, from his listeningso attentively while she sang to them; and when the visitwas returned by the Middletons' dining at the cottage,the fact was ascertained by his listening to her again.It must be so.  She was perfectly convinced of it.It would be an excellent match, for HE was rich, and SHEwas handsome.  Mrs. Jennings had been anxious to seeColonel Brandon well married, ever since her connectionwith Sir John first brought him to her knowledge;and she was always anxious to get a good husband for everypretty girl.The immediate advantage to herself was by no meansinconsiderable, for it supplied her with endless jokesagainst them both.  At the park she laughed at the colonel,and in the cottage at Marianne.  To the former herraillery was probably, as far as it regarded only himself,perfectly indifferent; but to the latter it was atfirst incomprehensible; and when its object was understood,she hardly knew whether most to laugh at its absurdity,or censure its impertinence, for she considered it as anunfeeling reflection on the colonel's advanced years,and on his forlorn condition as an old bachelor.Mrs. Dashwood, who could not think a man five yearsyounger than herself, so exceedingly ancient as he appearedto the youthful fancy of her daughter, ventured to clearMrs. Jennings from the probability of wishing to throwridicule on his age."But at least, Mamma, you cannot deny the absurdityof the accusation, though you may not think it intentionallyill-natured.  Colonel Brandon is certainly younger thanMrs. Jennings, but he is old enough to be MY father;and if he were ever animated enough to be in love,must have long outlived every sensation of the kind.It is too ridiculous!  When is a man to be safe from such wit,if age and infirmity will not protect him?""Infirmity!" said Elinor, "do you call Colonel Brandoninfirm?  I can easily suppose that his age may appear muchgreater to you than to my mother; but you can hardlydeceive yourself as to his having the use of his limbs!""Did not you hear him complain of the rheumatism?and is not that the commonest infirmity of declining life?""My dearest child," said her mother, laughing,"at this rate you must be in continual terror of MY decay;and it must seem to you a miracle that my life has beenextended to the advanced age of forty.""Mamma, you are not doing me justice.  I know very wellthat Colonel Brandon is not old enough to make his friendsyet apprehensive of losing him in the course of nature.He may live twenty years longer.  But thirty-five hasnothing to do with matrimony.""Perhaps," said Elinor, "thirty-five and seventeen hadbetter not have any thing to do with matrimony together.But if there should by any chance happen to be a womanwho is single at seven and twenty, I should not thinkColonel Brandon's being thirty-five any objection to hismarrying HER.""A woman of seven and twenty," said Marianne,after pausing a moment, "can never hope to feel or inspireaffection again, and if her home be uncomfortable,or her fortune small, I can suppose that she mightbring herself to submit to the offices of a nurse,for the sake of the provision and security of a wife.In his marrying such a woman therefore there would benothing unsuitable.  It would be a compact of convenience,and the world would be satisfied.  In my eyes it wouldbe no marriage at all, but that would be nothing.To me it would seem only a commercial exchange, in whicheach wished to be benefited at the expense of the other.""It would be impossible, I know," replied Elinor,"to convince you that a woman of seven and twenty couldfeel for a man of thirty-five anything near enoughto love, to make him a desirable companion to her.But I must object to your dooming Colonel Brandon andhis wife to the constant confinement of a sick chamber,merely because he chanced to complain yesterday (avery cold damp day) of a slight rheumatic feel in oneof his shoulders.""But he talked of flannel waistcoats," said Marianne;"and with me a flannel waistcoat is invariably connectedwith aches, cramps, rheumatisms, and every species ofailment that can afflict the old and the feeble.""Had he been only in a violent fever, you would nothave despised him half so much.  Confess, Marianne, is notthere something interesting to you in the flushed cheek,hollow eye, and quick pulse of a fever?"Soon after this, upon Elinor's leaving the room,"Mamma," said Marianne, "I have an alarm on the subjectof illness which I cannot conceal from you.  I am sureEdward Ferrars is not well.  We have now been here almosta fortnight, and yet he does not come.  Nothing but realindisposition could occasion this extraordinary delay.What else can detain him at Norland?""Had you any idea of his coming so soon?"said Mrs. Dashwood.  "I had none.  On the contrary,if I have felt any anxiety at all on the subject, it hasbeen in recollecting that he sometimes showed a wantof pleasure and readiness in accepting my invitation,when I talked of his coming to Barton.  Does Elinorexpect him already?""I have never mentioned it to her, but of courseshe must.""I rather think you are mistaken, for when Iwas talking to her yesterday of getting a new gratefor the spare bedchamber, she observed that therewas no immediate hurry for it, as it was not likelythat the room would be wanted for some time.""How strange this is! what can be the meaning of it!But the whole of their behaviour to each other has beenunaccountable! How cold, how composed were their lastadieus! How languid their conversation the last eveningof their being together! In Edward's farewell there was nodistinction between Elinor and me: it was the good wishesof an affectionate brother to both.  Twice did I leavethem purposely together in the course of the last morning,and each time did he most unaccountably follow me outof the room.  And Elinor, in quitting Norland and Edward,cried not as I did.  Even now her self-command is invariable.When is she dejected or melancholy? When does she tryto avoid society, or appear restless and dissatisfiedin it?"CHAPTER 9The Dashwoods were now settled at Barton with tolerablecomfort to themselves.  The house and the garden, with allthe objects surrounding them, were now become familiar,and the ordinary pursuits which had given to Norlandhalf its charms were engaged in again with far greaterenjoyment than Norland had been able to afford, since theloss of their father.  Sir John Middleton, who calledon them every day for the first fortnight, and who wasnot in the habit of seeing much occupation at home,could not conceal his amazement on finding them always employed.Their visitors, except those from Barton Park,were not many; for, in spite of Sir John's urgent entreatiesthat they would mix more in the neighbourhood, and repeatedassurances of his carriage being always at their service,the independence of Mrs. Dashwood's spirit overcame thewish of society for her children; and she was resolutein declining to visit any family beyond the distanceof a walk.  There were but few who could be so classed;and it was not all of them that were attainable.About a mile and a half from the cottage, along the narrowwinding valley of Allenham, which issued from that of Barton,as formerly described, the girls had, in one of theirearliest walks, discovered an ancient respectable lookingmansion which, by reminding them a little of Norland,interested their imagination and made them wish to bebetter acquainted with it.  But they learnt, on enquiry,that its possessor, an elderly lady of very good character,was unfortunately too infirm to mix with the world,and never stirred from home.The whole country about them abounded in beautiful walks.The high downs which invited them from almost every windowof the cottage to seek the exquisite enjoyment of airon their summits, were a happy alternative when the dirtof the valleys beneath shut up their superior beauties;and towards one of these hills did Marianne and Margaretone memorable morning direct their steps, attracted by thepartial sunshine of a showery sky, and unable longer to bearthe confinement which the settled rain of the two precedingdays had occasioned.  The weather was not tempting enoughto draw the two others from their pencil and their book,in spite of Marianne's declaration that the day wouldbe lastingly fair, and that every threatening cloud wouldbe drawn off from their hills; and the two girls set offtogether.They gaily ascended the downs, rejoicing in their ownpenetration at every glimpse of blue sky; and when theycaught in their faces the animating gales of a highsouth-westerly wind, they pitied the fears which had preventedtheir mother and Elinor from sharing such delightful sensations."Is there a felicity in the world," said Marianne,"superior to this?--Margaret, we will walk here at leasttwo hours."Margaret agreed, and they pursued their way againstthe wind, resisting it with laughing delight for abouttwenty minutes longer, when suddenly the clouds united overtheir heads, and a driving rain set full in their face.--Chagrined and surprised, they were obliged, though unwillingly,to turn back, for no shelter was nearer than their own house.One consolation however remained for them, to which theexigence of the moment gave more than usual propriety;it was that of running with all possible speed down the steepside of the hill which led immediately to their garden gate.They set off.  Marianne had at first the advantage,but a false step brought her suddenly to the ground;and Margaret, unable to stop herself to assist her,was involuntarily hurried along, and reached the bottomin safety.A gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointersplaying round him, was passing up the hill and withina few yards of Marianne, when her accident happened.He put down his gun and ran to her assistance.  She hadraised herself from the ground, but her foot had beentwisted in her fall, and she was scarcely able to stand.The gentleman offered his services; and perceiving that hermodesty declined what her situation rendered necessary,took her up in his arms without farther delay, and carriedher down the hill.  Then passing through the garden,the gate of which had been left open by Margaret, he bore herdirectly into the house, whither Margaret was just arrived,and quitted not his hold till he had seated her in a chairin the parlour.Elinor and her mother rose up in amazement attheir entrance, and while the eyes of both were fixedon him with an evident wonder and a secret admirationwhich equally sprung from his appearance, he apologizedfor his intrusion by relating its cause, in a mannerso frank and so graceful that his person, which wasuncommonly handsome, received additional charms from his voiceand expression.  Had he been even old, ugly, and vulgar,the gratitude and kindness of Mrs. Dashwood wouldhave been secured by any act of attention to her child;but the influence of youth, beauty, and elegance,gave an interest to the action which came home to her feelings.She thanked him again and again; and, with a sweetnessof address which always attended her, invited him tobe seated.  But this he declined, as he was dirty and wet.Mrs. Dashwood then begged to know to whom she was obliged.His name, he replied, was Willoughby, and his presenthome was at Allenham, from whence he hoped she wouldallow him the honour of calling tomorrow to enquireafter Miss Dashwood.  The honour was readily granted,and he then departed, to make himself still more interesting,in the midst of an heavy rain.His manly beauty and more than common gracefulnesswere instantly the theme of general admiration,and the laugh which his gallantry raised against Mariannereceived particular spirit from his exterior attractions.--Marianne herself had seen less of his person that the rest,for the confusion which crimsoned over her face, on hislifting her up, had robbed her of the power of regardinghim after their entering the house.  But she had seenenough of him to join in all the admiration of the others,and with an energy which always adorned her praise.His person and air were equal to what her fancy had everdrawn for the hero of a favourite story; and in his carryingher into the house with so little previous formality, therewas a rapidity of thought which particularly recommendedthe action to her.  Every circumstance belonging to himwas interesting.  His name was good, his residence was intheir favourite village, and she soon found out that of allmanly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming.Her imagination was busy, her reflections were pleasant,and the pain of a sprained ankle was disregarded.Sir John called on them as soon as the next intervalof fair weather that morning allowed him to get outof doors; and Marianne's accident being related to him,he was eagerly asked whether he knew any gentlemanof the name of Willoughby at Allenham."Willoughby!" cried Sir John; "what, is HEin the country? That is good news however; I willride over tomorrow, and ask him to dinner on Thursday.""You know him then," said Mrs. Dashwood."Know him! to be sure I do.  Why, he is down hereevery year.""And what sort of a young man is he?""As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you.A very decent shot, and there is not a bolder riderin England.""And is that all you can say for him?" cried Marianne,indignantly.  "But what are his manners on more intimateacquaintance? What his pursuits, his talents, and genius?"Sir John was rather puzzled."Upon my soul," said he, "I do not know much about himas to all THAT.  But he is a pleasant, good humoured fellow,and has got the nicest little black bitch of a pointerI ever saw.  Was she out with him today?"But Marianne could no more satisfy him as to thecolour of Mr. Willoughby's pointer, than he coulddescribe to her the shades of his mind."But who is he?" said Elinor.  "Where does he comefrom?  Has he a house at Allenham?"On this point Sir John could give more certain intelligence;and he told them that Mr. Willoughby had no propertyof his own in the country; that he resided there onlywhile he was visiting the old lady at Allenham Court,to whom he was related, and whose possessions he wasto inherit; adding, "Yes, yes, he is very well worthcatching I can tell you, Miss Dashwood; he has a prettylittle estate of his own in Somersetshire besides;and if I were you, I would not give him up to myyounger sister, in spite of all this tumbling down hills.Miss Marianne must not expect to have all the men to herself.Brandon will be jealous, if she does not take care.""I do not believe," said Mrs. Dashwood, with agood humoured smile, "that Mr. Willoughby will be incommodedby the attempts of either of MY daughters towards whatyou call CATCHING him.  It is not an employment to whichthey have been brought up.  Men are very safe with us,let them be ever so rich.  I am glad to find, however,from what you say, that he is a respectable young man,and one whose acquaintance will not be ineligible.""He is as good a sort of fellow, I believe,as ever lived," repeated Sir John.  "I rememberlast Christmas at a little hop at the park, he dancedfrom eight o'clock till four, without once sitting down.""Did he indeed?" cried Marianne with sparkling eyes,"and with elegance, with spirit?""Yes; and he was up again at eight to ride to covert.""That is what I like; that is what a young man oughtto be.  Whatever be his pursuits, his eagerness in themshould know no moderation, and leave him no sense of fatigue.""Aye, aye, I see how it will be," said Sir John, "I seehow it will be.  You will be setting your cap at him now,and never think of poor Brandon.""That is an expression, Sir John," said Marianne,warmly, "which I particularly dislike.  I abhor everycommon-place phrase by which wit is intended; and 'settingone's cap at a man,' or 'making a conquest,' are the mostodious of all.  Their tendency is gross and illiberal;and if their construction could ever be deemed clever,time has long ago destroyed all its ingenuity."Sir John did not much understand this reproof;but he laughed as heartily as if he did, and then replied,"Ay, you will make conquests enough, I dare say,one way or other.  Poor Brandon! he is quite smitten already,and he is very well worth setting your cap at, I cantell you, in spite of all this tumbling about and sprainingof ankles."CHAPTER 10Marianne's preserver, as Margaret, with more elegancethan precision, styled Willoughby, called at the cottageearly the next morning to make his personal enquiries.He was received by Mrs. Dashwood with more than politeness;with a kindness which Sir John's account of him and her owngratitude prompted; and every thing that passed duringthe visit tended to assure him of the sense, elegance,mutual affection, and domestic comfort of the familyto whom accident had now introduced him.  Of theirpersonal charms he had not required a second interviewto be convinced.Miss Dashwood had a delicate complexion,regular features, and a remarkably pretty figure.Marianne was still handsomer.  Her form, though not socorrect as her sister's, in having the advantage of height,was more striking; and her face was so lovely, that when in the common cant of praise, she was called a beautiful girl,truth was less violently outraged than usually happens.Her skin was very brown, but, from its transparency,her complexion was uncommonly brilliant; her featureswere all good; her smile was sweet and attractive;and in her eyes, which were very dark, there was a life,a spirit, an eagerness, which could hardily be seenwithout delight.  From Willoughby their expression was atfirst held back, by the embarrassment which the remembranceof his assistance created.  But when this passed away,when her spirits became collected, when she saw that to theperfect good-breeding of the gentleman, he united franknessand vivacity, and above all, when she heard him declare,that of music and dancing he was passionately fond,she gave him such a look of approbation as secured thelargest share of his discourse to herself for the restof his stay.It was only necessary to mention any favouriteamusement to engage her to talk.  She could not besilent when such points were introduced, and shehad neither shyness nor reserve in their discussion.They speedily discovered that their enjoyment of dancingand music was mutual, and that it arose from a generalconformity of judgment in all that related to either.Encouraged by this to a further examination of his opinions,she proceeded to question him on the subject of books;her favourite authors were brought forward and dweltupon with so rapturous a delight, that any young man offive and twenty must have been insensible indeed, not tobecome an immediate convert to the excellence of such works,however disregarded before.  Their taste was strikingly alike.The same books, the same passages were idolized by each--or if any difference appeared, any objection arose,it lasted no longer than till the force of her argumentsand the brightness of her eyes could be displayed.He acquiesced in all her decisions, caught all her enthusiasm;and long before his visit concluded, they conversedwith the familiarity of a long-established acquaintance."Well, Marianne," said Elinor, as soon as he had left them,"for ONE morning I think you have done pretty well.You have already ascertained Mr. Willoughby's opinion inalmost every matter of importance.  You know what he thinksof Cowper and Scott; you are certain of his estimatingtheir beauties as he ought, and you have received everyassurance of his admiring Pope no more than is proper.But how is your acquaintance to be long supported, under suchextraordinary despatch of every subject for discourse?You will soon have exhausted each favourite topic.Another meeting will suffice to explain his sentimentson picturesque beauty, and second marriages, and thenyou can have nothing farther to ask."--"Elinor," cried Marianne, "is this fair? is thisjust? are my ideas so scanty?  But I see what you mean.I have been too much at my ease, too happy, too frank.I have erred against every common-place notion of decorum;I have been open and sincere where I ought to havebeen reserved, spiritless, dull, and deceitful--hadI talked only of the weather and the roads, and had Ispoken only once in ten minutes, this reproach would havebeen spared.""My love," said her mother, "you must not be offendedwith Elinor--she was only in jest.  I should scoldher myself, if she were capable of wishing to checkthe delight of your conversation with our new friend."--Marianne was softened in a moment.Willoughby, on his side, gave every proof of hispleasure in their acquaintance, which an evident wishof improving it could offer.  He came to them every day.To enquire after Marianne was at first his excuse; but theencouragement of his reception, to which every day gavegreater kindness, made such an excuse unnecessary before ithad ceased to be possible, by Marianne's perfect recovery.She was confined for some days to the house; but never hadany confinement been less irksome.  Willoughby was a youngman of good abilities, quick imagination, lively spirits,and open, affectionate manners.  He was exactly formedto engage Marianne's heart, for with all this, he joinednot only a captivating person, but a natural ardourof mind which was now roused and increased by the exampleof her own, and which recommended him to her affectionbeyond every thing else.His society became gradually her most exquisite enjoyment.They read, they talked, they sang together; his musicaltalents were considerable; and he read with all thesensibility and spirit which Edward had unfortunately wanted.In Mrs. Dashwood's estimation he was as faultlessas in Marianne's; and Elinor saw nothing to censure in himbut a propensity, in which he strongly resembled and peculiarlydelighted her sister, of saying too much what he thought onevery occasion, without attention to persons or circumstances.In hastily forming and giving his opinion of other people,in sacrificing general politeness to the enjoymentof undivided attention where his heart was engaged,and in slighting too easily the forms of worldly propriety,he displayed a want of caution which Elinor could not approve,in spite of all that he and Marianne could say in its support.Marianne began now to perceive that the desperationwhich had seized her at sixteen and a half, of everseeing a man who could satisfy her ideas of perfection,had been rash and unjustifiable.  Willoughby was allthat her fancy had delineated in that unhappy hourand in every brighter period, as capable of attaching her;and his behaviour declared his wishes to be in that respectas earnest, as his abilities were strong.Her mother too, in whose mind not one speculativethought of their marriage had been raised, by his prospectof riches, was led before the end of a week to hope andexpect it; and secretly to congratulate herself on havinggained two such sons-in-law as Edward and Willoughby.Colonel Brandon's partiality for Marianne, which hadso early been discovered by his friends, now first becameperceptible to Elinor, when it ceased to be noticedby them.  Their attention and wit were drawn off to hismore fortunate rival; and the raillery which the otherhad incurred before any partiality arose, was removedwhen his feelings began really to call for the ridiculeso justly annexed to sensibility.  Elinor was obliged,though unwillingly, to believe that the sentiments whichMrs. Jennings had assigned him for her own satisfaction,were now actually excited by her sister; and that howevera general resemblance of disposition between the partiesmight forward the affection of Mr. Willoughby, an equallystriking opposition of character was no hindrance to theregard of Colonel Brandon.  She saw it with concern;for what could a silent man of five and thirty hope,when opposed to a very lively one of five and twenty? and asshe could not even wish him successful, she heartily wishedhim indifferent.  She liked him--in spite of his gravityand reserve, she beheld in him an object of interest.His manners, though serious, were mild; and his reserveappeared rather the result of some oppression of spiritsthan of any natural gloominess of temper.  Sir Johnhad dropped hints of past injuries and disappointments,which justified her belief of his being an unfortunate man,and she regarded him with respect and compassion.Perhaps she pitied and esteemed him the morebecause he was slighted by Willoughby and Marianne,who, prejudiced against him for being neither livelynor young, seemed resolved to undervalue his merits."Brandon is just the kind of man," said Willoughbyone day, when they were talking of him together,"whom every body speaks well of, and nobody cares about;whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembersto talk to.""That is exactly what I think of him," cried Marianne."Do not boast of it, however," said Elinor, "for itis injustice in both of you.  He is highly esteemedby all the family at the park, and I never see him myselfwithout taking pains to converse with him.""That he is patronised by YOU," replied Willoughby,"is certainly in his favour; but as for the esteemof the others, it is a reproach in itself.  Who wouldsubmit to the indignity of being approved by such a womanas Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings, that could commandthe indifference of any body else?""But perhaps the abuse of such people as yourselfand Marianne will make amends for the regard of LadyMiddleton and her mother.  If their praise is censure,your censure may be praise, for they are not more undiscerning,than you are prejudiced and unjust.""In defence of your protege you can even be saucy.""My protege, as you call him, is a sensible man;and sense will always have attractions for me.Yes, Marianne, even in a man between thirty and forty.He has seen a great deal of the world; has been abroad,has read, and has a thinking mind.  I have found himcapable of giving me much information on various subjects;and he has always answered my inquiries with readiness ofgood-breeding and good nature.""That is to say," cried Marianne contemptuously,"he has told you, that in the East Indies the climate is hot,and the mosquitoes are troublesome.""He WOULD have told me so, I doubt not, had I madeany such inquiries, but they happened to be pointson which I had been previously informed.""Perhaps," said Willoughby, "his observations mayhave extended to the existence of nabobs, gold mohrs,and palanquins.""I may venture to say that HIS observationshave stretched much further than your candour.But why should you dislike him?""I do not dislike him.  I consider him, on the contrary,as a very respectable man, who has every body's good word,and nobody's notice; who, has more money than he can spend,more time than he knows how to employ, and two new coatsevery year.""Add to which," cried Marianne, "that he hasneither genius, taste, nor spirit.  That his understandinghas no brilliancy, his feelings no ardour, and his voiceno expression.""You decide on his imperfections so much in the mass,"replied Elinor, "and so much on the strength of yourown imagination, that the commendation I am able to giveof him is comparatively cold and insipid.  I can onlypronounce him to be a sensible man, well-bred, well-informed,of gentle address, and, I believe, possessing an amiable heart.""Miss Dashwood," cried Willoughby, "you are now usingme unkindly.  You are endeavouring to disarm me by reason,and to convince me against my will.  But it will not do.You shall find me as stubborn as you can be artful.  I havethree unanswerable reasons for disliking Colonel Brandon;he threatened me with rain when I wanted it to be fine;he has found fault with the hanging of my curricle,and I cannot persuade him to buy my brown mare.  If itwill be any satisfaction to you, however, to be told,that I believe his character to be in other respectsirreproachable, I am ready to confess it.  And in returnfor an acknowledgment, which must give me some pain,you cannot deny me the privilege of disliking him as muchas ever."CHAPTER 11Little had Mrs. Dashwood or her daughters imaginedwhen they first came into Devonshire, that so manyengagements would arise to occupy their time as shortlypresented themselves, or that they should have such frequentinvitations and such constant visitors as to leave them littleleisure for serious employment.  Yet such was the case.When Marianne was recovered, the schemes of amusement at homeand abroad, which Sir John had been previously forming,were put into execution.  The private balls at the parkthen began; and parties on the water were made andaccomplished as often as a showery October would allow.In every meeting of the kind Willoughby was included;and the ease and familiarity which naturally attendedthese parties were exactly calculated to give increasingintimacy to his acquaintance with the Dashwoods, to affordhim opportunity of witnessing the excellencies of Marianne,of marking his animated admiration of her, and of receiving,in her behaviour to himself, the most pointed assuranceof her affection.Elinor could not be surprised at their attachment.She only wished that it were less openly shewn; and onceor twice did venture to suggest the propriety of someself-command to Marianne.  But Marianne abhorred allconcealment where no real disgrace could attend unreserve;and to aim at the restraint of sentiments which were notin themselves illaudable, appeared to her not merelyan unnecessary effort, but a disgraceful subjectionof reason to common-place and mistaken notions.Willoughby thought the same; and their behaviour atall times, was an illustration of their opinions.When he was present she had no eyes for any one else.Every thing he did, was right.  Every thing he said, was clever.If their evenings at the park were concluded with cards,he cheated himself and all the rest of the party to gether a good hand.  If dancing formed the amusementof the night, they were partners for half the time;and when obliged to separate for a couple of dances,were careful to stand together and scarcely spoke a wordto any body else.  Such conduct made them of coursemost exceedingly laughed at; but ridicule could not shame,and seemed hardly to provoke them.Mrs. Dashwood entered into all their feelings witha warmth which left her no inclination for checking thisexcessive display of them.  To her it was but the naturalconsequence of a strong affection in a young and ardent mind.This was the season of happiness to Marianne.Her heart was devoted to Willoughby, and the fond attachmentto Norland, which she brought with her from Sussex,was more likely to be softened than she had thought itpossible before, by the charms which his society bestowedon her present home.Elinor's happiness was not so great.  Her heart was notso much at ease, nor her satisfaction in their amusementsso pure.  They afforded her no companion that could makeamends for what she had left behind, nor that could teachher to think of Norland with less regret than ever.Neither Lady Middleton nor Mrs. Jennings could supplyto her the conversation she missed; although the latterwas an everlasting talker, and from the first had regardedher with a kindness which ensured her a large share ofher discourse.  She had already repeated her own historyto Elinor three or four times; and had Elinor's memory beenequal to her means of improvement, she might have knownvery early in their acquaintance all the particulars ofMr. Jenning's last illness, and what he said to his wifea few minutes before he died.  Lady Middleton was moreagreeable than her mother only in being more silent.Elinor needed little observation to perceive that herreserve was a mere calmness of manner with which sensehad nothing to do.  Towards her husband and mother shewas the same as to them; and intimacy was thereforeneither to be looked for nor desired.  She had nothingto say one day that she had not said the day before.Her insipidity was invariable, for even her spirits werealways the same; and though she did not oppose the partiesarranged by her husband, provided every thing were conductedin style and her two eldest children attended her,she never appeared to receive more enjoyment from themthan she might have experienced in sitting at home;--and so little did her presence add to the pleasureof the others, by any share in their conversation,that they were sometimes only reminded of her beingamongst them by her solicitude about her troublesome boys.In Colonel Brandon alone, of all her new acquaintance,did Elinor find a person who could in any degree claim therespect of abilities, excite the interest of friendship,or give pleasure as a companion.  Willoughby was outof the question.  Her admiration and regard, even hersisterly regard, was all his own; but he was a lover;his attentions were wholly Marianne's, and a far lessagreeable man might have been more generally pleasing.Colonel Brandon, unfortunately for himself, had no suchencouragement to think only of Marianne, and in conversingwith Elinor he found the greatest consolation for theindifference of her sister.Elinor's compassion for him increased, as she had reasonto suspect that the misery of disappointed love had alreadybeen known to him.  This suspicion was given by some wordswhich accidently dropped from him one evening at the park,when they were sitting down together by mutual consent,while the others were dancing.  His eyes were fixedon Marianne, and, after a silence of some minutes,he said, with a faint smile, "Your sister, I understand,does not approve of second attachments.""No," replied Elinor, "her opinions are all romantic.""Or rather, as I believe, she considers themimpossible to exist.""I believe she does.  But how she contrives itwithout reflecting on the character of her own father,who had himself two wives, I know not.  A few yearshowever will settle her opinions on the reasonable basisof common sense and observation; and then they may bemore easy to define and to justify than they now are,by any body but herself.""This will probably be the case," he replied;"and yet there is something so amiable in the prejudicesof a young mind, that one is sorry to see them give wayto the reception of more general opinions.""I cannot agree with you there," said Elinor."There are inconveniences attending such feelingsas Marianne's, which all the charms of enthusiasm andignorance of the world cannot atone for.  Her systems haveall the unfortunate tendency of setting propriety at nought;and a better acquaintance with the world is what I lookforward to as her greatest possible advantage."After a short pause he resumed the conversationby saying,--"Does your sister make no distinction in her objectionsagainst a second attachment? or is it equally criminalin every body?  Are those who have been disappointedin their first choice, whether from the inconstancyof its object, or the perverseness of circumstances,to be equally indifferent during the rest of their lives?""Upon my word, I am not acquainted with the minutiaeof her principles.  I only know that I never yet heard heradmit any instance of a second attachment's being pardonable.""This," said he, "cannot hold; but a change,a total change of sentiments--No, no, do not desire it;for when the romantic refinements of a young mindare obliged to give way, how frequently are theysucceeded by such opinions as are but too common, and toodangerous!  I speak from experience.  I once knew a ladywho in temper and mind greatly resembled your sister,who thought and judged like her, but who from an inforcedchange--from a series of unfortunate circumstances"--Here he stopt suddenly; appeared to think that he had saidtoo much, and by his countenance gave rise to conjectures,which might not otherwise have entered Elinor's head.The lady would probably have passed without suspicion,had he not convinced Miss Dashwood that what concernedher ought not to escape his lips.  As it was,it required but a slight effort of fancy to connect hisemotion with the tender recollection of past regard.Elinor attempted no more.  But Marianne, in her place,would not have done so little.  The whole story wouldhave been speedily formed under her active imagination;and every thing established in the most melancholy orderof disastrous love.CHAPTER 12As Elinor and Marianne were walking together thenext morning the latter communicated a piece of newsto her sister, which in spite of all that she knewbefore of Marianne's imprudence and want of thought,surprised her by its extravagant testimony of both.Marianne told her, with the greatest delight, that Willoughby had given her a horse, one that he had bred himself on his estate in Somersetshire, and which was exactly calculated to carry a woman.  Without considering that it was not in her mother's plan to keep any horse, that if she were to alter her resolution in favour of this gift, she must buy another for the servant, and keep a servant to ride it, and after all, build a stable to receive them, she had accepted the present without hesitation, and told her sister of it in raptures."He intends to send his groom into Somersetshireimmediately for it," she added, "and when it arrives wewill ride every day.  You shall share its use with me.Imagine to yourself, my dear Elinor, the delight of a gallopon some of these downs."Most unwilling was she to awaken from such a dream offelicity to comprehend all the unhappy truths which attendedthe affair; and for some time she refused to submit to them.As to an additional servant, the expense would be a trifle;Mamma she was sure would never object to it; and any horsewould do for HIM; he might always get one at the park;as to a stable, the merest shed would be sufficient.Elinor then ventured to doubt the propriety of her receivingsuch a present from a man so little, or at least so latelyknown to her.  This was too much."You are mistaken, Elinor," said she warmly,"in supposing I know very little of Willoughby.I have not known him long indeed, but I am much betteracquainted with him, than I am with any other creaturein the world, except yourself and mama.  It is nottime or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;--it is disposition alone.  Seven years would be insufficientto make some people acquainted with each other, and sevendays are more than enough for others.  I should holdmyself guilty of greater impropriety in accepting a horsefrom my brother, than from Willoughby.  Of John I knowvery little, though we have lived together for years;but of Willoughby my judgment has long been formed."Elinor thought it wisest to touch that point no more.She knew her sister's temper.  Opposition on so tender asubject would only attach her the more to her own opinion.But by an appeal to her affection for her mother,by representing the inconveniences which that indulgentmother must draw on herself, if (as would probably bethe case) she consented to this increase of establishment,Marianne was shortly subdued; and she promised not totempt her mother to such imprudent kindness by mentioningthe offer, and to tell Willoughby when she saw him next,that it must be declined.She was faithful to her word; and when Willoughbycalled at the cottage, the same day, Elinor heard herexpress her disappointment to him in a low voice, onbeing obliged to forego the acceptance of his present.The reasons for this alteration were at the same time related,and they were such as to make further entreaty on hisside impossible.  His concern however was very apparent;and after expressing it with earnestness, he added,in the same low voice,--"But, Marianne, the horse isstill yours, though you cannot use it now.  I shall keepit only till you can claim it.  When you leave Bartonto form your own establishment in a more lasting home,Queen Mab shall receive you."This was all overheard by Miss Dashwood; and in thewhole of the sentence, in his manner of pronouncing it,and in his addressing her sister by her christian name alone,she instantly saw an intimacy so decided, a meaningso direct, as marked a perfect agreement between them.>From that moment she doubted not of their being engagedto each other; and the belief of it created no other surprisethan that she, or any of their friends, should be leftby tempers so frank, to discover it by accident.Margaret related something to her the next day,which placed this matter in a still clearer light.Willoughby had spent the preceding evening with them,and Margaret, by being left some time in the parlourwith only him and Marianne, had had opportunityfor observations, which, with a most important face,she communicated to her eldest sister, when they werenext by themselves."Oh, Elinor!" she cried, "I have such a secret totell you about Marianne.  I am sure she will be marriedto Mr. Willoughby very soon.""You have said so," replied Elinor, "almost everyday since they first met on High-church Down; and theyhad not known each other a week, I believe, before youwere certain that Marianne wore his picture round her neck;but it turned out to be only the miniature of our great uncle.""But indeed this is quite another thing.  I am surethey will be married very soon, for he has got a lockof her hair.""Take care, Margaret.  It may be only the hairof some great uncle of HIS.""But, indeed, Elinor, it is Marianne's. I am almostsure it is, for I saw him cut it off.  Last nightafter tea, when you and mama went out of the room,they were whispering and talking together as fast ascould be, and he seemed to be begging something of her,and presently he took up her scissors and cut off a longlock of her hair, for it was all tumbled down her back;and he kissed it, and folded it up in a piece of white paper;and put it into his pocket-book."For such particulars, stated on such authority,Elinor could not withhold her credit; nor was she disposedto it, for the circumstance was in perfect unison withwhat she had heard and seen herself.Margaret's sagacity was not always displayed in away so satisfactory to her sister.  When Mrs. Jenningsattacked her one evening at the park, to give the nameof the young man who was Elinor's particular favourite,which had been long a matter of great curiosity to her,Margaret answered by looking at her sister, and saying,"I must not tell, may I, Elinor?"This of course made every body laugh; and Elinortried to laugh too.  But the effort was painful.She was convinced that Margaret had fixed on a personwhose name she could not bear with composure to becomea standing joke with Mrs. Jennings.Marianne felt for her most sincerely; but she didmore harm than good to the cause, by turning very redand saying in an angry manner to Margaret,"Remember that whatever your conjectures may be,you have no right to repeat them.""I never had any conjectures about it," replied Margaret;"it was you who told me of it yourself."This increased the mirth of the company, and Margaretwas eagerly pressed to say something more."Oh! pray, Miss Margaret, let us know all about it,"said Mrs. Jennings.  "What is the gentleman's name?""I must not tell, ma'am. But I know very well what it is;and I know where he is too.""Yes, yes, we can guess where he is; at his own houseat Norland to be sure.  He is the curate of the parishI dare say.""No, THAT he is not.  He is of no profession at all.""Margaret," said Marianne with great warmth,"you know that all this is an invention of your own,and that there is no such person in existence.""Well, then, he is lately dead, Marianne, for Iam sure there was such a man once, and his name beginswith an F."Most grateful did Elinor feel to Lady Middletonfor observing, at this moment, "that it rained very hard,"though she believed the interruption to proceed less fromany attention to her, than from her ladyship's great dislikeof all such inelegant subjects of raillery as delightedher husband and mother.  The idea however started by her,was immediately pursued by Colonel Brandon, who wason every occasion mindful of the feelings of others;and much was said on the subject of rain by both of them.Willoughby opened the piano-forte, and asked Marianneto sit down to it; and thus amidst the various endeavoursof different people to quit the topic, it fell to the ground.But not so easily did Elinor recover from the alarm intowhich it had thrown her.A party was formed this evening for going on thefollowing day to see a very fine place about twelve milesfrom Barton, belonging to a brother-in-law of Colonel Brandon,without whose interest it could not be seen, as the proprietor,who was then abroad, had left strict orders on that head.The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful,and Sir John, who was particularly warm in their praise,might be allowed to be a tolerable judge, for he hadformed parties to visit them, at least, twice every summerfor the last ten years.  They contained a noble pieceof water; a sail on which was to a form a great part ofthe morning's amusement; cold provisions were to be taken,open carriages only to be employed, and every thingconducted in the usual style of a complete party of pleasure.To some few of the company it appeared rathera bold undertaking, considering the time of year,and that it had rained every day for the last fortnight;--and Mrs. Dashwood, who had already a cold, was persuadedby Elinor to stay at home.CHAPTER 13Their intended excursion to Whitwell turned outvery different from what Elinor had expected.  She wasprepared to be wet through, fatigued, and frightened;but the event was still more unfortunate, for they didnot go at all.By ten o'clock the whole party was assembled atthe park, where they were to breakfast.  The morningwas rather favourable, though it had rained all night,as the clouds were then dispersing across the sky,and the sun frequently appeared.  They were all in highspirits and good humour, eager to be happy, and determinedto submit to the greatest inconveniences and hardshipsrather than be otherwise.While they were at breakfast the letters were brought in.Among the rest there was one for Colonel Brandon;--hetook it, looked at the direction, changed colour,and immediately left the room."What is the matter with Brandon?" said Sir John.Nobody could tell."I hope he has had no bad news," said Lady Middleton."It must be something extraordinary that could make ColonelBrandon leave my breakfast table so suddenly."In about five minutes he returned."No bad news, Colonel, I hope;" said Mrs. Jennings,as soon as he entered the room."None at all, ma'am, I thank you.""Was it from Avignon?  I hope it is not to saythat your sister is worse.""No, ma'am. It came from town, and is merelya letter of business.""But how came the hand to discompose you so much,if it was only a letter of business?  Come, come,this won't do, Colonel; so let us hear the truth of it.""My dear madam," said Lady Middleton, "recollect whatyou are saying.""Perhaps it is to tell you that your cousin Fannyis married?" said Mrs. Jennings, without attendingto her daughter's reproof."No, indeed, it is not.""Well, then, I know who it is from, Colonel.  And Ihope she is well.""Whom do you mean, ma'am?" said he, colouring a little."Oh! you know who I mean.""I am particularly sorry, ma'am," said he,addressing Lady Middleton, "that I should receive thisletter today, for it is on business which requiresmy immediate attendance in town.""In town!" cried Mrs. Jennings.  "What can youhave to do in town at this time of year?""My own loss is great," be continued, "in being obligedto leave so agreeable a party; but I am the more concerned,as I fear my presence is necessary to gain your admittanceat Whitwell."What a blow upon them all was this!"But if you write a note to the housekeeper, Mr. Brandon,"said Marianne, eagerly, "will it not be sufficient?"He shook his head."We must go," said Sir John.--"It shall not be putoff when we are so near it.  You cannot go to town tilltomorrow, Brandon, that is all.""I wish it could be so easily settled.  But itis not in my power to delay my journey for one day!""If you would but let us know what your business is,"said Mrs. Jennings, "we might see whether it could be putoff or not.""You would not be six hours later," said Willoughby,"if you were to defer your journey till our return.""I cannot afford to lose ONE hour."--Elinor then heard Willoughby say, in a low voice to Marianne,"There are some people who cannot bear a party of pleasure.Brandon is one of them.  He was afraid of catching coldI dare say, and invented this trick for getting out of it.I would lay fifty guineas the letter was of his own writing.""I have no doubt of it," replied Marianne."There is no persuading you to change your mind,Brandon, I know of old," said Sir John, "when once youare determined on anything.  But, however, I hope youwill think better of it.  Consider, here are the two MissCareys come over from Newton, the three Miss Dashwoodswalked up from the cottage, and Mr. Willoughby got uptwo hours before his usual time, on purpose to go to Whitwell."Colonel Brandon again repeated his sorrow at beingthe cause of disappointing the party; but at the sametime declared it to be unavoidable."Well, then, when will you come back again?""I hope we shall see you at Barton," added her ladyship,"as soon as you can conveniently leave town; and we mustput off the party to Whitwell till you return.""You are very obliging.  But it is so uncertain,when I may have it in my power to return, that I darenot engage for it at all.""Oh! he must and shall come back," cried Sir John."If he is not here by the end of the week, I shall goafter him.""Ay, so do, Sir John," cried Mrs. Jennings, "and thenperhaps you may find out what his business is.""I do not want to pry into other men's concerns.I suppose it is something he is ashamed of."Colonel Brandon's horses were announced."You do not go to town on horseback, do you?"added Sir John."No. Only to Honiton.  I shall then go post.""Well, as you are resolved to go, I wish youa good journey.  But you had better change your mind.""I assure you it is not in my power."He then took leave of the whole party."Is there no chance of my seeing you and your sistersin town this winter, Miss Dashwood?""I am afraid, none at all.""Then I must bid you farewell for a longer timethan I should wish to do."To Marianne, he merely bowed and said nothing."Come Colonel," said Mrs. Jennings, "before you go,do let us know what you are going about."He wished her a good morning, and, attended by Sir John,left the room.The complaints and lamentations which politenesshad hitherto restrained, now burst forth universally;and they all agreed again and again how provoking it wasto be so disappointed."I can guess what his business is, however,"said Mrs. Jennings exultingly."Can you, ma'am?" said almost every body."Yes; it is about Miss Williams, I am sure.""And who is Miss Williams?" asked Marianne."What! do not you know who Miss Williams is? I amsure you must have heard of her before.  She is a relationof the Colonel's, my dear; a very near relation.  We willnot say how near, for fear of shocking the young ladies."Then, lowering her voice a little, she said to Elinor,"She is his natural daughter.""Indeed!""Oh, yes; and as like him as she can stare.I dare say the Colonel will leave her all his fortune."When Sir John returned, he joined most heartilyin the general regret on so unfortunate an event;concluding however by observing, that as they wereall got together, they must do something by way ofbeing happy; and after some consultation it was agreed,that although happiness could only be enjoyed at Whitwell,they might procure a tolerable composure of mind by drivingabout the country.  The carriages were then ordered;Willoughby's was first, and Marianne never lookedhappier than when she got into it.  He drove throughthe park very fast, and they were soon out of sight;and nothing more of them was seen till their return,which did not happen till after the return of all the rest.They both seemed delighted with their drive; but saidonly in general terms that they had kept in the lanes,while the others went on the downs.It was settled that there should be a dance in the evening,and that every body should be extremely merry all day long.Some more of the Careys came to dinner, and they had thepleasure of sitting down nearly twenty to table, which SirJohn observed with great contentment.  Willoughby tookhis usual place between the two elder Miss Dashwoods.Mrs. Jennings sat on Elinor's right hand; and they had notbeen long seated, before she leant behind her and Willoughby,and said to Marianne, loud enough for them both to hear,"I have found you out in spite of all your tricks.I know where you spent the morning."Marianne coloured, and replied very hastily,"Where, pray?"--"Did not you know," said Willoughby, "that we hadbeen out in my curricle?""Yes, yes, Mr. Impudence, I know that very well,and I was determined to find out WHERE you had been to.--I hope you like your house, Miss Marianne.  It is a verylarge one, I know; and when I come to see you, I hope youwill have new-furnished it, for it wanted it very muchwhen I was there six years ago."Marianne turned away in great confusion.Mrs. Jennings laughed heartily; and Elinor found that in herresolution to know where they had been, she had actuallymade her own woman enquire of Mr. Willoughby's groom;and that she had by that method been informed that theyhad gone to Allenham, and spent a considerable time therein walking about the garden and going all over the house.Elinor could hardly believe this to be true,as it seemed very unlikely that Willoughby should propose,or Marianne consent, to enter the house while Mrs. Smith wasin it, with whom Marianne had not the smallest acquaintance.As soon as they left the dining-room, Elinor enquiredof her about it; and great was her surprise when shefound that every circumstance related by Mrs. Jenningswas perfectly true.  Marianne was quite angry with herfor doubting it."Why should you imagine, Elinor, that we did notgo there, or that we did not see the house?  Is not itwhat you have often wished to do yourself?""Yes, Marianne, but I would not go while Mrs. Smithwas there, and with no other companion than Mr. Willoughby.""Mr. Willoughby however is the only person who canhave a right to shew that house; and as he went in an opencarriage, it was impossible to have any other companion.I never spent a pleasanter morning in my life.""I am afraid," replied Elinor, "that the pleasantnessof an employment does not always evince its propriety.""On the contrary, nothing can be a stronger proofof it, Elinor; for if there had been any real improprietyin what I did, I should have been sensible of it atthe time, for we always know when we are acting wrong,and with such a conviction I could have had no pleasure.""But, my dear Marianne, as it has already exposed youto some very impertinent remarks, do you not now beginto doubt the discretion of your own conduct?""If the impertinent remarks of Mrs. Jennings areto be the proof of impropriety in conduct, we are alloffending every moment of our lives.  I value not hercensure any more than I should do her commendation.I am not sensible of having done anything wrong in walkingover Mrs. Smith's grounds, or in seeing her house.They will one day be Mr. Willoughby's, and--""If they were one day to be your own, Marianne,you would not be justified in what you have done."She blushed at this hint; but it was even visiblygratifying to her; and after a ten minutes' interval ofearnest thought, she came to her sister again, and saidwith great good humour, "Perhaps, Elinor, it WAS ratherill-judged in me to go to Allenham; but Mr. Willoughby wantedparticularly to shew me the place; and it is a charming house,I assure you.--There is one remarkably pretty sitting roomup stairs; of a nice comfortable size for constant use,and with modern furniture it would be delightful.It is a corner room, and has windows on two sides.On one side you look across the bowling-green, behindthe house, to a beautiful hanging wood, and on the other youhave a view of the church and village, and, beyond them,of those fine bold hills that we have so often admired.I did not see it to advantage, for nothing could bemore forlorn than the furniture,--but if it were newlyfitted up--a couple of hundred pounds, Willoughby says,would make it one of the pleasantest summer-roomsin England."Could Elinor have listened to her without interruptionfrom the others, she would have described every roomin the house with equal delight.CHAPTER 14The sudden termination of Colonel Brandon's visitat the park, with his steadiness in concealing its cause,filled the mind, and raised the wonder of Mrs. Jenningsfor two or three days; she was a great wonderer, as everyone must be who takes a very lively interest in all thecomings and goings of all their acquaintance.  She wondered,with little intermission what could be the reason of it;was sure there must be some bad news, and thought overevery kind of distress that could have befallen him,with a fixed determination that he should not escapethem all."Something very melancholy must be the matter,I am sure," said she.  "I could see it in his face.Poor man!  I am afraid his circumstances may be bad.The estate at Delaford was never reckoned more than two thousanda year, and his brother left everything sadly involved.I do think he must have been sent for about money matters,for what else can it be?  I wonder whether it is so.I would give anything to know the truth of it.  Perhaps itis about Miss Williams and, by the bye, I dare say it is,because he looked so conscious when I mentioned her.May be she is ill in town; nothing in the world more likely,for I have a notion she is always rather sickly.I would lay any wager it is about Miss Williams.It is not so very likely he should be distressed inhis circumstances NOW, for he is a very prudent man,and to be sure must have cleared the estate by this time.I wonder what it can be!  May be his sister is worseat Avignon, and has sent for him over.  His setting offin such a hurry seems very like it.  Well, I wish him outof all his trouble with all my heart, and a good wife intothe bargain."So wondered, so talked Mrs. Jennings.  Her opinionvarying with every fresh conjecture, and all seemingequally probable as they arose.  Elinor, though she feltreally interested in the welfare of Colonel Brandon,could not bestow all the wonder on his going so suddenlyaway, which Mrs. Jennings was desirous of her feeling;for besides that the circumstance did not in her opinionjustify such lasting amazement or variety of speculation,her wonder was otherwise disposed of.  It was engossedby the extraordinary silence of her sister and Willoughbyon the subject, which they must know to be peculiarlyinteresting to them all.  As this silence continued,every day made it appear more strange and more incompatiblewith the disposition of both.  Why they should not openlyacknowledge to her mother and herself, what their constantbehaviour to each other declared to have taken place,Elinor could not imagine.She could easily conceive that marriage might notbe immediately in their power; for though Willoughbywas independent, there was no reason to believe him rich.His estate had been rated by Sir John at about six or sevenhundred a year; but he lived at an expense to which that incomecould hardly be equal, and he had himself often complainedof his poverty.  But for this strange kind of secrecymaintained by them relative to their engagement, whichin fact concealed nothing at all, she could not account;and it was so wholly contradictory to their generalopinions and practice, that a doubt sometimes enteredher mind of their being really engaged, and this doubtwas enough to prevent her making any inquiry of Marianne.Nothing could be more expressive of attachmentto them all, than Willoughby's behaviour.  To Marianne it had all the distinguishing tenderness which a lover'sheart could give, and to the rest of the family it was theaffectionate attention of a son and a brother.  The cottageseemed to be considered and loved by him as his home;many more of his hours were spent there than at Allenham;and if no general engagement collected them at the park,the exercise which called him out in the morning wasalmost certain of ending there, where the rest of the daywas spent by himself at the side of Marianne, and by hisfavourite pointer at her feet.One evening in particular, about a week afterColonel Brandon left the country, his heart seemedmore than usually open to every feeling of attachmentto the objects around him; and on Mrs. Dashwood'shappening to mention her design of improving the cottagein the spring, he warmly opposed every alterationof a place which affection had established as perfect with him."What!" he exclaimed--"Improve this dear cottage!No. THAT I will never consent to.  Not a stone mustbe added to its walls, not an inch to its size,if my feelings are regarded.""Do not be alarmed," said Miss Dashwood,"nothing of the kind will be done; for my motherwill never have money enough to attempt it.""I am heartily glad of it", he cried.  "May shealways be poor, if she can employ her riches no better.""Thank you, Willoughby.  But you may be assured that Iwould not sacrifice one sentiment of local attachmentof yours, or of any one whom I loved, for all the improvementsin the world.  Depend upon it that whatever unemployedsum may remain, when I make up my accounts in the spring,I would even rather lay it uselessly by than disposeof it in a manner so painful to you.  But are you reallyso attached to this place as to see no defect in it?""I am," said he.  "To me it is faultless.  Nay, more,I consider it as the only form of building in which happinessis attainable, and were I rich enough I would instantly pullCombe down, and build it up again in the exact plan of thiscottage.""With dark narrow stairs and a kitchen that smokes,I suppose," said Elinor."Yes," cried he in the same eager tone, "with alland every thing belonging to it;--in no one convenienceor INconvenience about it, should the least variationbe perceptible.  Then, and then only, under such a roof, Imight perhaps be as happy at Combe as I have been at Barton.""I flatter myself," replied Elinor, "that even underthe disadvantage of better rooms and a broader staircase,you will hereafter find your own house as faultless as younow do this.""There certainly are circumstances," said Willoughby,"which might greatly endear it to me; but this place willalways have one claim of my affection, which no other canpossibly share."Mrs. Dashwood looked with pleasure at Marianne,whose fine eyes were fixed so expressively on Willoughby,as plainly denoted how well she understood him."How often did I wish," added he, "when I was atAllenham this time twelvemonth, that Barton cottage wereinhabited!  I never passed within view of it without admiringits situation, and grieving that no one should live in it.How little did I then think that the very first newsI should hear from Mrs. Smith, when I next came intothe country, would be that Barton cottage was taken: and Ifelt an immediate satisfaction and interest in the event,which nothing but a kind of prescience of what happiness Ishould experience from it, can account for.  Must it not havebeen so, Marianne?" speaking to her in a lowered voice.Then continuing his former tone, he said, "And yet thishouse you would spoil, Mrs. Dashwood?  You would rob itof its simplicity by imaginary improvement! and this dearparlour in which our acquaintance first began, and in whichso many happy hours have been since spent by us together,you would degrade to the condition of a common entrance,and every body would be eager to pass through the roomwhich has hitherto contained within itself more realaccommodation and comfort than any other apartment ofthe handsomest dimensions in the world could possibly afford."Mrs. Dashwood again assured him that no alterationof the kind should be attempted."You are a good woman," he warmly replied."Your promise makes me easy.  Extend it a little farther,and it will make me happy.  Tell me that not only yourhouse will remain the same, but that I shall ever findyou and yours as unchanged as your dwelling; and that youwill always consider me with the kindness which has madeeverything belonging to you so dear to me."The promise was readily given, and Willoughby'sbehaviour during the whole of the evening declaredat once his affection and happiness."Shall we see you tomorrow to dinner?" said Mrs. Dashwood,when he was leaving them.  "I do not ask you to come inthe morning, for we must walk to the park, to call on LadyMiddleton."He engaged to be with them by four o'clock.CHAPTER 15Mrs. Dashwood's visit to Lady Middleton took placethe next day, and two of her daughters went with her;but Marianne excused herself from being of the party,under some trifling pretext of employment; and her mother,who concluded that a promise had been made by Willoughbythe night before of calling on her while they were absent,was perfectly satisfied with her remaining at home.On their return from the park they found Willoughby'scurricle and servant in waiting at the cottage,and Mrs. Dashwood was convinced that her conjecturehad been just.  So far it was all as she had foreseen;but on entering the house she beheld what no foresighthad taught her to expect.  They were no sooner in thepassage than Marianne came hastily out of the parlourapparently in violent affliction, with her handkerchiefat her eyes; and without noticing them ran up stairs.Surprised and alarmed they proceeded directly into the roomshe had just quitted, where they found only Willoughby,who was leaning against the mantel-piece with his backtowards them.  He turned round on their coming in,and his countenance shewed that he strongly partookof the emotion which over-powered Marianne."Is anything the matter with her?" cried Mrs. Dashwoodas she entered--"is she ill?""I hope not," he replied, trying to look cheerful;and with a forced smile presently added, "It is I who mayrather expect to be ill--for I am now suffering under avery heavy disappointment!""Disappointment?""Yes, for I am unable to keep my engagement with you.Mrs. Smith has this morning exercised the privilegeof riches upon a poor dependent cousin, by sending me onbusiness to London.  I have just received my dispatches,and taken my farewell of Allenham; and by way of exhilarationI am now come to take my farewell of you.""To London!--and are you going this morning?""Almost this moment.""This is very unfortunate.  But Mrs. Smith mustbe obliged;--and her business will not detain you fromus long I hope."He coloured as he replied, "You are very kind, but Ihave no idea of returning into Devonshire immediately.My visits to Mrs. Smith are never repeated withinthe twelvemonth.""And is Mrs. Smith your only friend?  Is Allenham the onlyhouse in the neighbourhood to which you will be welcome?For shame, Willoughby, can you wait for an invitation here?"His colour increased; and with his eyes fixedon the ground he only replied, "You are too good."Mrs. Dashwood looked at Elinor with surprise.Elinor felt equal amazement.  For a few moments every onewas silent.  Mrs. Dashwood first spoke."I have only to add, my dear Willoughby, that atBarton cottage you will always be welcome; for I will notpress you to return here immediately, because you onlycan judge how far THAT might be pleasing to Mrs. Smith;and on this head I shall be no more disposed to questionyour judgment than to doubt your inclination.""My engagements at present," replied Willoughby,confusedly, "are of such a nature--that--I dare not flattermyself"--He stopt.  Mrs. Dashwood was too much astonishedto speak, and another pause succeeded.  This was brokenby Willoughby, who said with a faint smile, "It is follyto linger in this manner.  I will not torment myselfany longer by remaining among friends whose societyit is impossible for me now to enjoy."He then hastily took leave of them all and leftthe room.  They saw him step into his carriage,and in a minute it was out of sight.Mrs. Dashwood felt too much for speech, and instantlyquitted the parlour to give way in solitude to the concernand alarm which this sudden departure occasioned.Elinor's uneasiness was at least equal to her mother's. She thought of what had just passed with anxiety and distrust.  Willoughby's behaviour in taking leave of them, hisembarrassment, and affectation of cheerfulness, and, above all, hisunwillingness to accept her mother's invitation, a backwardness so unlike alover, so unlike himself, greatly disturbed her.  One moment she feared that no serious design had ever been formed on his side; and the next that some unfortunate quarrel had taken place between himand her sister;--the distress in which Marianne had quitted the room was such as a serious quarrel could most reasonably account for, though when she considered what Marianne's love for him was, a quarrel seemed almost impossible.But whatever might be the particulars of their separation,her sister's affliction was indubitable; and she thoughtwith the tenderest compassion of that violent sorrowwhich Marianne was in all probability not merely givingway to as a relief, but feeding and encouraging as a duty.In about half an hour her mother returned, and thoughher eyes were red, her countenance was not uncheerful."Our dear Willoughby is now some miles from Barton, Elinor," said she, as she sat down to work, "and with how heavy a heart does he travel?""It is all very strange.  So suddenly to be gone! Itseems but the work of a moment.  And last night he waswith us so happy, so cheerful, so affectionate?  And now,after only ten minutes notice--Gone too without intendingto return!--Something more than what be owned to us musthave happened.  He did not speak, he did not behavelike himself.  YOU must have seen the difference as well as I. What can it be?  Can they have quarrelled?  Why else should he have shewn such unwillingness to accept your invitation here?"--"It was not inclination that he wanted, Elinor; I couldplainly see THAT.  He had not the power of accepting it.I have thought it all over I assure you, and I canperfectly account for every thing that at first seemedstrange to me as well as to you.""Can you, indeed!""Yes. I have explained it to myself in the mostsatisfactory way;--but you, Elinor, who love to doubtwhere you can--it will not satisfy YOU, I know; but youshall not talk ME out of my trust in it.  I am persuadedthat Mrs. Smith suspects his regard for Marianne,disapproves of it, (perhaps because she has other viewsfor him,) and on that account is eager to get h