No More Learning

She was assisted, however, by that perfect indifference and
apparent unconsciousness, among the only three of her own friends in
the secret of the past, which seemed almost to deny any recollection of
it. She could do justice to the superiority of Lady Russell's motives
in this, over those of her father and Elizabeth; she could honour all
the better feelings of her calmness; but the general air of oblivion
among them was highly important from whatever it sprung; and in the
event of Admiral Croft's really taking Kellynch Hall, she rejoiced anew
over the conviction which had always been most grateful to her, of the
past being known to those three only among her connexions, by whom no
syllable, she believed, would ever be whispered, and in the trust that
among his, the brother only with whom he had been residing, had
received any information of their short-lived engagement. That brother
had been long removed from the country and being a sensible man, and,
moreover, a single man at the time, she had a fond dependence on no
human creature's having heard of it from him.

The sister, Mrs Croft, had then been out of England, accompanying her
husband on a foreign station, and her own sister, Mary, had been at
school while it all occurred; and never admitted by the pride of some,
and the delicacy of others, to the smallest knowledge of it afterwards.

With these supports, she hoped that the acquaintance between herself
and the Crofts, which, with Lady Russell, still resident in Kellynch,
and Mary fixed only three miles off, must be anticipated, need not
involve any particular awkwardness.



Chapter 5


On the morning appointed for Admiral and Mrs Croft's seeing Kellynch
Hall, Anne found it most natural to take her almost daily walk to Lady
Russell's, and keep out of the way till all was over; when she found it
most natural to be sorry that she had missed the opportunity of seeing
them.

This meeting of the two parties proved highly satisfactory, and decided
the whole business at once. Each lady was previously well disposed for
an agreement, and saw nothing, therefore, but good manners in the
other; and with regard to the gentlemen, there was such an hearty good
humour, such an open, trusting liberality on the Admiral's side, as
could not but influence Sir Walter, who had besides been flattered into
his very best and most polished behaviour by Mr Shepherd's assurances
of his being known, by report, to the Admiral, as a model of good
breeding.

The house and grounds, and furniture, were approved, the Crofts were
approved, terms, time, every thing, and every body, was right; and Mr
Shepherd's clerks were set to work, without there having been a single
preliminary difference to modify of all that "This indenture sheweth. "

Sir Walter, without hesitation, declared the Admiral to be the
best-looking sailor he had ever met with, and went so far as to say,
that if his own man might have had the arranging of his hair, he should
not be ashamed of being seen with him any where; and the Admiral, with
sympathetic cordiality, observed to his wife as they drove back through
the park, "I thought we should soon come to a deal, my dear, in spite
of what they told us at Taunton. The Baronet will never set the Thames
on fire, but there seems to be no harm in him. "--reciprocal
compliments, which would have been esteemed about equal.

The Crofts were to have possession at Michaelmas; and as Sir Walter
proposed removing to Bath in the course of the preceding month, there
was no time to be lost in making every dependent arrangement.

Lady Russell, convinced that Anne would not be allowed to be of any
use, or any importance, in the choice of the house which they were
going to secure, was very unwilling to have her hurried away so soon,
and wanted to make it possible for her to stay behind till she might
convey her to Bath herself after Christmas; but having engagements of
her own which must take her from Kellynch for several weeks, she was
unable to give the full invitation she wished, and Anne though dreading
the possible heats of September in all the white glare of Bath, and
grieving to forego all the influence so sweet and so sad of the
autumnal months in the country, did not think that, everything
considered, she wished to remain. It would be most right, and most
wise, and, therefore must involve least suffering to go with the others.

Something occurred, however, to give her a different duty. Mary, often
a little unwell, and always thinking a great deal of her own
complaints, and always in the habit of claiming Anne when anything was
the matter, was indisposed; and foreseeing that she should not have a
day's health all the autumn, entreated, or rather required her, for it
was hardly entreaty, to come to Uppercross Cottage, and bear her
company as long as she should want her, instead of going to Bath.

"I cannot possibly do without Anne," was Mary's reasoning; and
Elizabeth's reply was, "Then I am sure Anne had better stay, for nobody
will want her in Bath. "

To be claimed as a good, though in an improper style, is at least
better than being rejected as no good at all; and Anne, glad to be
thought of some use, glad to have anything marked out as a duty, and
certainly not sorry to have the scene of it in the country, and her own
dear country, readily agreed to stay.

This invitation of Mary's removed all Lady Russell's difficulties, and
it was consequently soon settled that Anne should not go to Bath till
Lady Russell took her, and that all the intervening time should be
divided between Uppercross Cottage and Kellynch Lodge.

So far all was perfectly right; but Lady Russell was almost startled by
the wrong of one part of the Kellynch Hall plan, when it burst on her,
which was, Mrs Clay's being engaged to go to Bath with Sir Walter and
Elizabeth, as a most important and valuable assistant to the latter in
all the business before her. Lady Russell was extremely sorry that
such a measure should have been resorted to at all, wondered, grieved,
and feared; and the affront it contained to Anne, in Mrs Clay's being
of so much use, while Anne could be of none, was a very sore
aggravation.

Anne herself was become hardened to such affronts; but she felt the
imprudence of the arrangement quite as keenly as Lady Russell. With a
great deal of quiet observation, and a knowledge, which she often
wished less, of her father's character, she was sensible that results
the most serious to his family from the intimacy were more than
possible. She did not imagine that her father had at present an idea
of the kind. Mrs Clay had freckles, and a projecting tooth, and a
clumsy wrist, which he was continually making severe remarks upon, in
her absence; but she was young, and certainly altogether well-looking,
and possessed, in an acute mind and assiduous pleasing manners,
infinitely more dangerous attractions than any merely personal might
have been. Anne was so impressed by the degree of their danger, that
she could not excuse herself from trying to make it perceptible to her
sister. She had little hope of success; but Elizabeth, who in the
event of such a reverse would be so much more to be pitied than
herself, should never, she thought, have reason to reproach her for
giving no warning.

She spoke, and seemed only to offend. Elizabeth could not conceive how
such an absurd suspicion should occur to her, and indignantly answered
for each party's perfectly knowing their situation.

"Mrs Clay," said she, warmly, "never forgets who she is; and as I am
rather better acquainted with her sentiments than you can be, I can
assure you, that upon the subject of marriage they are particularly
nice, and that she reprobates all inequality of condition and rank more
strongly than most people. And as to my father, I really should not
have thought that he, who has kept himself single so long for our
sakes, need be suspected now. If Mrs Clay were a very beautiful woman,
I grant you, it might be wrong to have her so much with me; not that
anything in the world, I am sure, would induce my father to make a
degrading match, but he might be rendered unhappy. But poor Mrs Clay
who, with all her merits, can never have been reckoned tolerably
pretty, I really think poor Mrs Clay may be staying here in perfect
safety. One would imagine you had never heard my father speak of her
personal misfortunes, though I know you must fifty times. That tooth
of her's and those freckles. Freckles do not disgust me so very much
as they do him. I have known a face not materially disfigured by a
few, but he abominates them. You must have heard him notice Mrs Clay's
freckles. "

"There is hardly any personal defect," replied Anne, "which an
agreeable manner might not gradually reconcile one to. "

"I think very differently," answered Elizabeth, shortly; "an agreeable
manner may set off handsome features, but can never alter plain ones.
However, at any rate, as I have a great deal more at stake on this
point than anybody else can have, I think it rather unnecessary in you
to be advising me. "

Anne had done; glad that it was over, and not absolutely hopeless of
doing good. Elizabeth, though resenting the suspicion, might yet be
made observant by it.

The last office of the four carriage-horses was to draw Sir Walter,
Miss Elliot, and Mrs Clay to Bath. The party drove off in very good
spirits; Sir Walter prepared with condescending bows for all the
afflicted tenantry and cottagers who might have had a hint to show
themselves, and Anne walked up at the same time, in a sort of desolate
tranquillity, to the Lodge, where she was to spend the first week.

Her friend was not in better spirits than herself. Lady Russell felt
this break-up of the family exceedingly. Their respectability was as
dear to her as her own, and a daily intercourse had become precious by
habit. It was painful to look upon their deserted grounds, and still
worse to anticipate the new hands they were to fall into; and to escape
the solitariness and the melancholy of so altered a village, and be out
of the way when Admiral and Mrs Croft first arrived, she had determined
to make her own absence from home begin when she must give up Anne.
Accordingly their removal was made together, and Anne was set down at
Uppercross Cottage, in the first stage of Lady Russell's journey.

Uppercross was a moderate-sized village, which a few years back had
been completely in the old English style, containing only two houses
superior in appearance to those of the yeomen and labourers; the
mansion of the squire, with its high walls, great gates, and old trees,
substantial and unmodernized, and the compact, tight parsonage,
enclosed in its own neat garden, with a vine and a pear-tree trained
round its casements; but upon the marriage of the young 'squire, it had
received the improvement of a farm-house elevated into a cottage, for
his residence, and Uppercross Cottage, with its veranda, French
windows, and other prettiness, was quite as likely to catch the
traveller's eye as the more consistent and considerable aspect and
premises of the Great House, about a quarter of a mile farther on.

Here Anne had often been staying. She knew the ways of Uppercross as
well as those of Kellynch. The two families were so continually
meeting, so much in the habit of running in and out of each other's
house at all hours, that it was rather a surprise to her to find Mary
alone; but being alone, her being unwell and out of spirits was almost
a matter of course. Though better endowed than the elder sister, Mary
had not Anne's understanding nor temper. While well, and happy, and
properly attended to, she had great good humour and excellent spirits;
but any indisposition sunk her completely. She had no resources for
solitude; and inheriting a considerable share of the Elliot
self-importance, was very prone to add to every other distress that of
fancying herself neglected and ill-used. In person, she was inferior to
both sisters, and had, even in her bloom, only reached the dignity of
being "a fine girl. " She was now lying on the faded sofa of the pretty
little drawing-room, the once elegant furniture of which had been
gradually growing shabby, under the influence of four summers and two
children; and, on Anne's appearing, greeted her with--

"So, you are come at last! I began to think I should never see you. I
am so ill I can hardly speak. I have not seen a creature the whole
morning! "

"I am sorry to find you unwell," replied Anne. "You sent me such a
good account of yourself on Thursday! "

"Yes, I made the best of it; I always do: but I was very far from well
at the time; and I do not think I ever was so ill in my life as I have
been all this morning: very unfit to be left alone, I am sure.
Suppose I were to be seized of a sudden in some dreadful way, and not
able to ring the bell! So, Lady Russell would not get out. I do not
think she has been in this house three times this summer. "

Anne said what was proper, and enquired after her husband. "Oh!
Charles is out shooting. I have not seen him since seven o'clock. He
would go, though I told him how ill I was. He said he should not stay
out long; but he has never come back, and now it is almost one. I
assure you, I have not seen a soul this whole long morning. "

"You have had your little boys with you? "

"Yes, as long as I could bear their noise; but they are so unmanageable
that they do me more harm than good. Little Charles does not mind a
word I say, and Walter is growing quite as bad. "

"Well, you will soon be better now," replied Anne, cheerfully. "You
know I always cure you when I come. How are your neighbours at the
Great House? "

"I can give you no account of them. I have not seen one of them
to-day, except Mr Musgrove, who just stopped and spoke through the
window, but without getting off his horse; and though I told him how
ill I was, not one of them have been near me. It did not happen to
suit the Miss Musgroves, I suppose, and they never put themselves out
of their way. "

"You will see them yet, perhaps, before the morning is gone. It is
early. "

"I never want them, I assure you. They talk and laugh a great deal too
much for me. Oh! Anne, I am so very unwell! It was quite unkind of
you not to come on Thursday. "

"My dear Mary, recollect what a comfortable account you sent me of
yourself! You wrote in the cheerfullest manner, and said you were
perfectly well, and in no hurry for me; and that being the case, you
must be aware that my wish would be to remain with Lady Russell to the
last: and besides what I felt on her account, I have really been so
busy, have had so much to do, that I could not very conveniently have
left Kellynch sooner. "

"Dear me! what can you possibly have to do? "

"A great many things, I assure you. More than I can recollect in a
moment; but I can tell you some. I have been making a duplicate of the
catalogue of my father's books and pictures. I have been several times
in the garden with Mackenzie, trying to understand, and make him
understand, which of Elizabeth's plants are for Lady Russell. I have
had all my own little concerns to arrange, books and music to divide,
and all my trunks to repack, from not having understood in time what
was intended as to the waggons: and one thing I have had to do, Mary,
of a more trying nature: going to almost every house in the parish, as
a sort of take-leave. I was told that they wished it. But all these
things took up a great deal of time. "

"Oh! well! " and after a moment's pause, "but you have never asked me
one word about our dinner at the Pooles yesterday. "

"Did you go then? I have made no enquiries, because I concluded you
must have been obliged to give up the party. "

"Oh yes! I went. I was very well yesterday; nothing at all the matter
with me till this morning. It would have been strange if I had not
gone. "

"I am very glad you were well enough, and I hope you had a pleasant
party. "

"Nothing remarkable. One always knows beforehand what the dinner will
be, and who will be there; and it is so very uncomfortable not having a
carriage of one's own. Mr and Mrs Musgrove took me, and we were so
crowded! They are both so very large, and take up so much room; and Mr
Musgrove always sits forward. So, there was I, crowded into the back
seat with Henrietta and Louisa; and I think it very likely that my
illness to-day may be owing to it. "

A little further perseverance in patience and forced cheerfulness on
Anne's side produced nearly a cure on Mary's. She could soon sit
upright on the sofa, and began to hope she might be able to leave it by
dinner-time. Then, forgetting to think of it, she was at the other end
of the room, beautifying a nosegay; then, she ate her cold meat; and
then she was well enough to propose a little walk.

"Where shall we go? " said she, when they were ready. "I suppose you
will not like to call at the Great House before they have been to see
you? "

"I have not the smallest objection on that account," replied Anne. "I
should never think of standing on such ceremony with people I know so
well as Mrs and the Miss Musgroves. "

"Oh! but they ought to call upon you as soon as possible. They ought
to feel what is due to you as my sister. However, we may as well go
and sit with them a little while, and when we have that over, we can
enjoy our walk. "

Anne had always thought such a style of intercourse highly imprudent;
but she had ceased to endeavour to check it, from believing that,
though there were on each side continual subjects of offence, neither
family could now do without it. To the Great House accordingly they
went, to sit the full half hour in the old-fashioned square parlour,
with a small carpet and shining floor, to which the present daughters
of the house were gradually giving the proper air of confusion by a
grand piano-forte and a harp, flower-stands and little tables placed in
every direction. Oh! could the originals of the portraits against the
wainscot, could the gentlemen in brown velvet and the ladies in blue
satin have seen what was going on, have been conscious of such an
overthrow of all order and neatness! The portraits themselves seemed
to be staring in astonishment.

The Musgroves, like their houses, were in a state of alteration,
perhaps of improvement. The father and mother were in the old English
style, and the young people in the new. Mr and Mrs Musgrove were a
very good sort of people; friendly and hospitable, not much educated,
and not at all elegant. Their children had more modern minds and
manners. There was a numerous family; but the only two grown up,
excepting Charles, were Henrietta and Louisa, young ladies of nineteen
and twenty, who had brought from school at Exeter all the usual stock
of accomplishments, and were now like thousands of other young ladies,
living to be fashionable, happy, and merry. Their dress had every
advantage, their faces were rather pretty, their spirits extremely
good, their manner unembarrassed and pleasant; they were of consequence
at home, and favourites abroad. Anne always contemplated them as some
of the happiest creatures of her acquaintance; but still, saved as we
all are, by some comfortable feeling of superiority from wishing for
the possibility of exchange, she would not have given up her own more
elegant and cultivated mind for all their enjoyments; and envied them
nothing but that seemingly perfect good understanding and agreement
together, that good-humoured mutual affection, of which she had known
so little herself with either of her sisters.

They were received with great cordiality. Nothing seemed amiss on the
side of the Great House family, which was generally, as Anne very well
knew, the least to blame. The half hour was chatted away pleasantly
enough; and she was not at all surprised, at the end of it, to have
their walking party joined by both the Miss Musgroves, at Mary's
particular invitation.



Chapter 6


Anne had not wanted this visit to Uppercross, to learn that a removal
from one set of people to another, though at a distance of only three
miles, will often include a total change of conversation, opinion, and
idea. She had never been staying there before, without being struck by
it, or without wishing that other Elliots could have her advantage in
seeing how unknown, or unconsidered there, were the affairs which at
Kellynch Hall were treated as of such general publicity and pervading
interest; yet, with all this experience, she believed she must now
submit to feel that another lesson, in the art of knowing our own
nothingness beyond our own circle, was become necessary for her; for
certainly, coming as she did, with a heart full of the subject which
had been completely occupying both houses in Kellynch for many weeks,
she had expected rather more curiosity and sympathy than she found in
the separate but very similar remark of Mr and Mrs Musgrove: "So, Miss
Anne, Sir Walter and your sister are gone; and what part of Bath do you
think they will settle in? " and this, without much waiting for an
answer; or in the young ladies' addition of, "I hope we shall be in
Bath in the winter; but remember, papa, if we do go, we must be in a
good situation: none of your Queen Squares for us! " or in the anxious
supplement from Mary, of--"Upon my word, I shall be pretty well off,
when you are all gone away to be happy at Bath! "

She could only resolve to avoid such self-delusion in future, and think
with heightened gratitude of the extraordinary blessing of having one
such truly sympathising friend as Lady Russell.

The Mr Musgroves had their own game to guard, and to destroy, their own
horses, dogs, and newspapers to engage them, and the females were fully
occupied in all the other common subjects of housekeeping, neighbours,
dress, dancing, and music. She acknowledged it to be very fitting,
that every little social commonwealth should dictate its own matters of
discourse; and hoped, ere long, to become a not unworthy member of the
one she was now transplanted into. With the prospect of spending at
least two months at Uppercross, it was highly incumbent on her to
clothe her imagination, her memory, and all her ideas in as much of
Uppercross as possible.

She had no dread of these two months. Mary was not so repulsive and
unsisterly as Elizabeth, nor so inaccessible to all influence of hers;
neither was there anything among the other component parts of the
cottage inimical to comfort. She was always on friendly terms with her
brother-in-law; and in the children, who loved her nearly as well, and
respected her a great deal more than their mother, she had an object of
interest, amusement, and wholesome exertion.

Charles Musgrove was civil and agreeable; in sense and temper he was
undoubtedly superior to his wife, but not of powers, or conversation,
or grace, to make the past, as they were connected together, at all a
dangerous contemplation; though, at the same time, Anne could believe,
with Lady Russell, that a more equal match might have greatly improved
him; and that a woman of real understanding might have given more
consequence to his character, and more usefulness, rationality, and
elegance to his habits and pursuits. As it was, he did nothing with
much zeal, but sport; and his time was otherwise trifled away, without
benefit from books or anything else. He had very good spirits, which
never seemed much affected by his wife's occasional lowness, bore with
her unreasonableness sometimes to Anne's admiration, and upon the
whole, though there was very often a little disagreement (in which she
had sometimes more share than she wished, being appealed to by both
parties), they might pass for a happy couple. They were always
perfectly agreed in the want of more money, and a strong inclination
for a handsome present from his father; but here, as on most topics, he
had the superiority, for while Mary thought it a great shame that such
a present was not made, he always contended for his father's having
many other uses for his money, and a right to spend it as he liked.

As to the management of their children, his theory was much better than
his wife's, and his practice not so bad. "I could manage them very
well, if it were not for Mary's interference," was what Anne often
heard him say, and had a good deal of faith in; but when listening in
turn to Mary's reproach of "Charles spoils the children so that I
cannot get them into any order," she never had the smallest temptation
to say, "Very true. "

One of the least agreeable circumstances of her residence there was her
being treated with too much confidence by all parties, and being too
much in the secret of the complaints of each house. Known to have some
influence with her sister, she was continually requested, or at least
receiving hints to exert it, beyond what was practicable. "I wish you
could persuade Mary not to be always fancying herself ill," was
Charles's language; and, in an unhappy mood, thus spoke Mary: "I do
believe if Charles were to see me dying, he would not think there was
anything the matter with me. I am sure, Anne, if you would, you might
persuade him that I really am very ill--a great deal worse than I ever
own. "

Mary's declaration was, "I hate sending the children to the Great
House, though their grandmamma is always wanting to see them, for she
humours and indulges them to such a degree, and gives them so much
trash and sweet things, that they are sure to come back sick and cross
for the rest of the day. " And Mrs Musgrove took the first opportunity
of being alone with Anne, to say, "Oh! Miss Anne, I cannot help wishing
Mrs Charles had a little of your method with those children. They are
quite different creatures with you! But to be sure, in general they
are so spoilt! It is a pity you cannot put your sister in the way of
managing them. They are as fine healthy children as ever were seen,
poor little dears! without partiality; but Mrs Charles knows no more
how they should be treated--! Bless me! how troublesome they are
sometimes. I assure you, Miss Anne, it prevents my wishing to see them
at our house so often as I otherwise should. I believe Mrs Charles is
not quite pleased with my not inviting them oftener; but you know it is
very bad to have children with one that one is obligated to be checking
every moment; "don't do this," and "don't do that;" or that one can
only keep in tolerable order by more cake than is good for them. "

She had this communication, moreover, from Mary. "Mrs Musgrove thinks
all her servants so steady, that it would be high treason to call it in
question; but I am sure, without exaggeration, that her upper
house-maid and laundry-maid, instead of being in their business, are
gadding about the village, all day long. I meet them wherever I go;
and I declare, I never go twice into my nursery without seeing
something of them. If Jemima were not the trustiest, steadiest
creature in the world, it would be enough to spoil her; for she tells
me, they are always tempting her to take a walk with them. " And on Mrs
Musgrove's side, it was, "I make a rule of never interfering in any of
my daughter-in-law's concerns, for I know it would not do; but I shall
tell you, Miss Anne, because you may be able to set things to rights,
that I have no very good opinion of Mrs Charles's nursery-maid: I hear
strange stories of her; she is always upon the gad; and from my own
knowledge, I can declare, she is such a fine-dressing lady, that she is
enough to ruin any servants she comes near. Mrs Charles quite swears
by her, I know; but I just give you this hint, that you may be upon the
watch; because, if you see anything amiss, you need not be afraid of
mentioning it. "

Again, it was Mary's complaint, that Mrs Musgrove was very apt not to
give her the precedence that was her due, when they dined at the Great
House with other families; and she did not see any reason why she was
to be considered so much at home as to lose her place. And one day
when Anne was walking with only the Musgroves, one of them after
talking of rank, people of rank, and jealousy of rank, said, "I have no
scruple of observing to you, how nonsensical some persons are about
their place, because all the world knows how easy and indifferent you
are about it; but I wish anybody could give Mary a hint that it would
be a great deal better if she were not so very tenacious, especially if
she would not be always putting herself forward to take place of mamma.
Nobody doubts her right to have precedence of mamma, but it would be
more becoming in her not to be always insisting on it. It is not that
mamma cares about it the least in the world, but I know it is taken
notice of by many persons. "

How was Anne to set all these matters to rights? She could do little
more than listen patiently, soften every grievance, and excuse each to
the other; give them all hints of the forbearance necessary between
such near neighbours, and make those hints broadest which were meant
for her sister's benefit.

In all other respects, her visit began and proceeded very well. Her
own spirits improved by change of place and subject, by being removed
three miles from Kellynch; Mary's ailments lessened by having a
constant companion, and their daily intercourse with the other family,
since there was neither superior affection, confidence, nor employment
in the cottage, to be interrupted by it, was rather an advantage. It
was certainly carried nearly as far as possible, for they met every
morning, and hardly ever spent an evening asunder; but she believed
they should not have done so well without the sight of Mr and Mrs
Musgrove's respectable forms in the usual places, or without the
talking, laughing, and singing of their daughters.

She played a great deal better than either of the Miss Musgroves, but
having no voice, no knowledge of the harp, and no fond parents, to sit
by and fancy themselves delighted, her performance was little thought
of, only out of civility, or to refresh the others, as she was well
aware. She knew that when she played she was giving pleasure only to
herself; but this was no new sensation. Excepting one short period of
her life, she had never, since the age of fourteen, never since the
loss of her dear mother, known the happiness of being listened to, or
encouraged by any just appreciation or real taste. In music she had
been always used to feel alone in the world; and Mr and Mrs Musgrove's
fond partiality for their own daughters' performance, and total
indifference to any other person's, gave her much more pleasure for
their sakes, than mortification for her own.

The party at the Great House was sometimes increased by other company.
The neighbourhood was not large, but the Musgroves were visited by
everybody, and had more dinner-parties, and more callers, more visitors
by invitation and by chance, than any other family. They were more
completely popular.
The girls were wild for dancing; and the evenings ended, occasionally,
in an unpremeditated little ball. There was a family of cousins within
a walk of Uppercross, in less affluent circumstances, who depended on
the Musgroves for all their pleasures: they would come at any time,
and help play at anything, or dance anywhere; and Anne, very much
preferring the office of musician to a more active post, played country
dances to them by the hour together; a kindness which always
recommended her musical powers to the notice of Mr and Mrs Musgrove
more than anything else, and often drew this compliment;--"Well done,
Miss Anne! very well done indeed! Lord bless me! how those little
fingers of yours fly about! "

So passed the first three weeks. Michaelmas came; and now Anne's heart
must be in Kellynch again. A beloved home made over to others; all the
precious rooms and furniture, groves, and prospects, beginning to own
other eyes and other limbs! She could not think of much else on the
29th of September; and she had this sympathetic touch in the evening
from Mary, who, on having occasion to note down the day of the month,
exclaimed, "Dear me, is not this the day the Crofts were to come to
Kellynch? I am glad I did not think of it before. How low it makes
me! "

The Crofts took possession with true naval alertness, and were to be
visited. Mary deplored the necessity for herself. "Nobody knew how
much she should suffer. She should put it off as long as she could;"
but was not easy till she had talked Charles into driving her over on
an early day, and was in a very animated, comfortable state of
imaginary agitation, when she came back. Anne had very sincerely
rejoiced in there being no means of her going. She wished, however to
see the Crofts, and was glad to be within when the visit was returned.
They came: the master of the house was not at home, but the two
sisters were together; and as it chanced that Mrs Croft fell to the
share of Anne, while the Admiral sat by Mary, and made himself very
agreeable by his good-humoured notice of her little boys, she was well
able to watch for a likeness, and if it failed her in the features, to
catch it in the voice, or in the turn of sentiment and expression.

Mrs Croft, though neither tall nor fat, had a squareness, uprightness,
and vigour of form, which gave importance to her person. She had
bright dark eyes, good teeth, and altogether an agreeable face; though
her reddened and weather-beaten complexion, the consequence of her
having been almost as much at sea as her husband, made her seem to have
lived some years longer in the world than her real eight-and-thirty.
Her manners were open, easy, and decided, like one who had no distrust
of herself, and no doubts of what to do; without any approach to
coarseness, however, or any want of good humour. Anne gave her credit,
indeed, for feelings of great consideration towards herself, in all
that related to Kellynch, and it pleased her: especially, as she had
satisfied herself in the very first half minute, in the instant even of
introduction, that there was not the smallest symptom of any knowledge
or suspicion on Mrs Croft's side, to give a bias of any sort. She was
quite easy on that head, and consequently full of strength and courage,
till for a moment electrified by Mrs Croft's suddenly saying,--

"It was you, and not your sister, I find, that my brother had the
pleasure of being acquainted with, when he was in this country. "

Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blushing; but the age of emotion
she certainly had not.

"Perhaps you may not have heard that he is married? " added Mrs Croft.

She could now answer as she ought; and was happy to feel, when Mrs
Croft's next words explained it to be Mr Wentworth of whom she spoke,
that she had said nothing which might not do for either brother. She
immediately felt how reasonable it was, that Mrs Croft should be
thinking and speaking of Edward, and not of Frederick; and with shame
at her own forgetfulness applied herself to the knowledge of their
former neighbour's present state with proper interest.

The rest was all tranquillity; till, just as they were moving, she
heard the Admiral say to Mary--

"We are expecting a brother of Mrs Croft's here soon; I dare say you
know him by name. "

He was cut short by the eager attacks of the little boys, clinging to
him like an old friend, and declaring he should not go; and being too
much engrossed by proposals of carrying them away in his coat pockets,
&c. , to have another moment for finishing or recollecting what he had
begun, Anne was left to persuade herself, as well as she could, that
the same brother must still be in question. She could not, however,
reach such a degree of certainty, as not to be anxious to hear whether
anything had been said on the subject at the other house, where the
Crofts had previously been calling.

The folks of the Great House were to spend the evening of this day at
the Cottage; and it being now too late in the year for such visits to
be made on foot, the coach was beginning to be listened for, when the
youngest Miss Musgrove walked in. That she was coming to apologize,
and that they should have to spend the evening by themselves, was the
first black idea; and Mary was quite ready to be affronted, when Louisa
made all right by saying, that she only came on foot, to leave more
room for the harp, which was bringing in the carriage.

"And I will tell you our reason," she added, "and all about it. I am
come on to give you notice, that papa and mamma are out of spirits this
evening, especially mamma; she is thinking so much of poor Richard!
And we agreed it would be best to have the harp, for it seems to amuse
her more than the piano-forte. I will tell you why she is out of
spirits. When the Crofts called this morning, (they called here
afterwards, did not they? ), they happened to say, that her brother,
Captain Wentworth, is just returned to England, or paid off, or
something, and is coming to see them almost directly; and most
unluckily it came into mamma's head, when they were gone, that
Wentworth, or something very like it, was the name of poor Richard's
captain at one time; I do not know when or where, but a great while
before he died, poor fellow! And upon looking over his letters and
things, she found it was so, and is perfectly sure that this must be
the very man, and her head is quite full of it, and of poor Richard!
So we must be as merry as we can, that she may not be dwelling upon
such gloomy things. "

The real circumstances of this pathetic piece of family history were,
that the Musgroves had had the ill fortune of a very troublesome,
hopeless son; and the good fortune to lose him before he reached his
twentieth year; that he had been sent to sea because he was stupid and
unmanageable on shore; that he had been very little cared for at any
time by his family, though quite as much as he deserved; seldom heard
of, and scarcely at all regretted, when the intelligence of his death
abroad had worked its way to Uppercross, two years before.

He had, in fact, though his sisters were now doing all they could for
him, by calling him "poor Richard," been nothing better than a
thick-headed, unfeeling, unprofitable Dick Musgrove, who had never done
anything to entitle himself to more than the abbreviation of his name,
living or dead.

He had been several years at sea, and had, in the course of those
removals to which all midshipmen are liable, and especially such
midshipmen as every captain wishes to get rid of, been six months on
board Captain Frederick Wentworth's frigate, the Laconia; and from the
Laconia he had, under the influence of his captain, written the only
two letters which his father and mother had ever received from him
during the whole of his absence; that is to say, the only two
disinterested letters; all the rest had been mere applications for
money.

In each letter he had spoken well of his captain; but yet, so little
were they in the habit of attending to such matters, so unobservant and
incurious were they as to the names of men or ships, that it had made
scarcely any impression at the time; and that Mrs Musgrove should have
been suddenly struck, this very day, with a recollection of the name of
Wentworth, as connected with her son, seemed one of those extraordinary
bursts of mind which do sometimes occur.

She had gone to her letters, and found it all as she supposed; and the
re-perusal of these letters, after so long an interval, her poor son
gone for ever, and all the strength of his faults forgotten, had
affected her spirits exceedingly, and thrown her into greater grief for
him than she had known on first hearing of his death. Mr Musgrove was,
in a lesser degree, affected likewise; and when they reached the
cottage, they were evidently in want, first, of being listened to anew
on this subject, and afterwards, of all the relief which cheerful
companions could give them.

To hear them talking so much of Captain Wentworth, repeating his name
so often, puzzling over past years, and at last ascertaining that it
might, that it probably would, turn out to be the very same Captain
Wentworth whom they recollected meeting, once or twice, after their
coming back from Clifton--a very fine young man--but they could not say
whether it was seven or eight years ago, was a new sort of trial to
Anne's nerves. She found, however, that it was one to which she must
inure herself. Since he actually was expected in the country, she must
teach herself to be insensible on such points. And not only did it
appear that he was expected, and speedily, but the Musgroves, in their
warm gratitude for the kindness he had shewn poor Dick, and very high
respect for his character, stamped as it was by poor Dick's having been
six months under his care, and mentioning him in strong, though not
perfectly well-spelt praise, as "a fine dashing felow, only two
perticular about the schoolmaster," were bent on introducing
themselves, and seeking his acquaintance, as soon as they could hear of
his arrival.

The resolution of doing so helped to form the comfort of their evening.



Chapter 7


A very few days more, and Captain Wentworth was known to be at
Kellynch, and Mr Musgrove had called on him, and come back warm in his
praise, and he was engaged with the Crofts to dine at Uppercross, by
the end of another week. It had been a great disappointment to Mr
Musgrove to find that no earlier day could be fixed, so impatient was
he to shew his gratitude, by seeing Captain Wentworth under his own
roof, and welcoming him to all that was strongest and best in his
cellars. But a week must pass; only a week, in Anne's reckoning, and
then, she supposed, they must meet; and soon she began to wish that she
could feel secure even for a week.

Captain Wentworth made a very early return to Mr Musgrove's civility,
and she was all but calling there in the same half hour. She and Mary
were actually setting forward for the Great House, where, as she
afterwards learnt, they must inevitably have found him, when they were
stopped by the eldest boy's being at that moment brought home in
consequence of a bad fall. The child's situation put the visit
entirely aside; but she could not hear of her escape with indifference,
even in the midst of the serious anxiety which they afterwards felt on
his account.

His collar-bone was found to be dislocated, and such injury received in
the back, as roused the most alarming ideas. It was an afternoon of
distress, and Anne had every thing to do at once; the apothecary to
send for, the father to have pursued and informed, the mother to
support and keep from hysterics, the servants to control, the youngest
child to banish, and the poor suffering one to attend and soothe;
besides sending, as soon as she recollected it, proper notice to the
other house, which brought her an accession rather of frightened,
enquiring companions, than of very useful assistants.

Her brother's return was the first comfort; he could take best care of
his wife; and the second blessing was the arrival of the apothecary.
Till he came and had examined the child, their apprehensions were the
worse for being vague; they suspected great injury, but knew not where;
but now the collar-bone was soon replaced, and though Mr Robinson felt
and felt, and rubbed, and looked grave, and spoke low words both to the
father and the aunt, still they were all to hope the best, and to be
able to part and eat their dinner in tolerable ease of mind; and then
it was, just before they parted, that the two young aunts were able so
far to digress from their nephew's state, as to give the information of
Captain Wentworth's visit; staying five minutes behind their father and
mother, to endeavour to express how perfectly delighted they were with
him, how much handsomer, how infinitely more agreeable they thought him
than any individual among their male acquaintance, who had been at all
a favourite before. How glad they had been to hear papa invite him to
stay dinner, how sorry when he said it was quite out of his power, and
how glad again when he had promised in reply to papa and mamma's
farther pressing invitations to come and dine with them on the
morrow--actually on the morrow; and he had promised it in so pleasant a
manner, as if he felt all the motive of their attention just as he
ought. And in short, he had looked and said everything with such
exquisite grace, that they could assure them all, their heads were both
turned by him; and off they ran, quite as full of glee as of love, and
apparently more full of Captain Wentworth than of little Charles.

The same story and the same raptures were repeated, when the two girls
came with their father, through the gloom of the evening, to make
enquiries; and Mr Musgrove, no longer under the first uneasiness about
his heir, could add his confirmation and praise, and hope there would
be now no occasion for putting Captain Wentworth off, and only be sorry
to think that the cottage party, probably, would not like to leave the
little boy, to give him the meeting. "Oh no; as to leaving the little
boy," both father and mother were in much too strong and recent alarm
to bear the thought; and Anne, in the joy of the escape, could not help
adding her warm protestations to theirs.

Charles Musgrove, indeed, afterwards, shewed more of inclination; "the
child was going on so well, and he wished so much to be introduced to
Captain Wentworth, that, perhaps, he might join them in the evening; he
would not dine from home, but he might walk in for half an hour. " But
in this he was eagerly opposed by his wife, with "Oh! no, indeed,
Charles, I cannot bear to have you go away. Only think if anything
should happen? "

The child had a good night, and was going on well the next day. It
must be a work of time to ascertain that no injury had been done to the
spine; but Mr Robinson found nothing to increase alarm, and Charles
Musgrove began, consequently, to feel no necessity for longer
confinement. The child was to be kept in bed and amused as quietly as
possible; but what was there for a father to do? This was quite a
female case, and it would be highly absurd in him, who could be of no
use at home, to shut himself up. His father very much wished him to
meet Captain Wentworth, and there being no sufficient reason against
it, he ought to go; and it ended in his making a bold, public
declaration, when he came in from shooting, of his meaning to dress
directly, and dine at the other house.

"Nothing can be going on better than the child," said he; "so I told my
father, just now, that I would come, and he thought me quite right.
Your sister being with you, my love, I have no scruple at all. You
would not like to leave him yourself, but you see I can be of no use.
Anne will send for me if anything is the matter. "

Husbands and wives generally understand when opposition will be vain.
Mary knew, from Charles's manner of speaking, that he was quite
determined on going, and that it would be of no use to teaze him. She
said nothing, therefore, till he was out of the room, but as soon as
there was only Anne to hear--

"So you and I are to be left to shift by ourselves, with this poor sick
child; and not a creature coming near us all the evening! I knew how
it would be. This is always my luck. If there is anything
disagreeable going on men are always sure to get out of it, and Charles
is as bad as any of them. Very unfeeling! I must say it is very
unfeeling of him to be running away from his poor little boy. Talks of
his being going on so well! How does he know that he is going on well,
or that there may not be a sudden change half an hour hence? I did not
think Charles would have been so unfeeling. So here he is to go away
and enjoy himself, and because I am the poor mother, I am not to be
allowed to stir; and yet, I am sure, I am more unfit than anybody else
to be about the child. My being the mother is the very reason why my
feelings should not be tried. I am not at all equal to it. You saw
how hysterical I was yesterday. "

"But that was only the effect of the suddenness of your alarm--of the
shock. You will not be hysterical again. I dare say we shall have
nothing to distress us. I perfectly understand Mr Robinson's
directions, and have no fears; and indeed, Mary, I cannot wonder at
your husband. Nursing does not belong to a man; it is not his
province. A sick child is always the mother's property: her own
feelings generally make it so. "

"I hope I am as fond of my child as any mother, but I do not know that
I am of any more use in the sick-room than Charles, for I cannot be
always scolding and teazing the poor child when it is ill; and you saw,
this morning, that if I told him to keep quiet, he was sure to begin
kicking about. I have not nerves for the sort of thing. "

"But, could you be comfortable yourself, to be spending the whole
evening away from the poor boy? "

"Yes; you see his papa can, and why should not I? Jemima is so
careful; and she could send us word every hour how he was. I really
think Charles might as well have told his father we would all come. I
am not more alarmed about little Charles now than he is. I was
dreadfully alarmed yesterday, but the case is very different to-day. "

"Well, if you do not think it too late to give notice for yourself,
suppose you were to go, as well as your husband. Leave little Charles
to my care. Mr and Mrs Musgrove cannot think it wrong while I remain
with him. "

"Are you serious? " cried Mary, her eyes brightening. "Dear me! that's
a very good thought, very good, indeed. To be sure, I may just as well
go as not, for I am of no use at home--am I? and it only harasses me.
You, who have not a mother's feelings, are a great deal the properest
person. You can make little Charles do anything; he always minds you
at a word. It will be a great deal better than leaving him only with
Jemima. Oh! I shall certainly go; I am sure I ought if I can, quite as
much as Charles, for they want me excessively to be acquainted with
Captain Wentworth, and I know you do not mind being left alone. An
excellent thought of yours, indeed, Anne. I will go and tell Charles,
and get ready directly. You can send for us, you know, at a moment's
notice, if anything is the matter; but I dare say there will be nothing
to alarm you. I should not go, you may be sure, if I did not feel
quite at ease about my dear child. "

The next moment she was tapping at her husband's dressing-room door,
and as Anne followed her up stairs, she was in time for the whole
conversation, which began with Mary's saying, in a tone of great
exultation--

"I mean to go with you, Charles, for I am of no more use at home than
you are. If I were to shut myself up for ever with the child, I should
not be able to persuade him to do anything he did not like. Anne will
stay; Anne undertakes to stay at home and take care of him. It is
Anne's own proposal, and so I shall go with you, which will be a great
deal better, for I have not dined at the other house since Tuesday. "

"This is very kind of Anne," was her husband's answer, "and I should be
very glad to have you go; but it seems rather hard that she should be
left at home by herself, to nurse our sick child. "

Anne was now at hand to take up her own cause, and the sincerity of her
manner being soon sufficient to convince him, where conviction was at
least very agreeable, he had no farther scruples as to her being left
to dine alone, though he still wanted her to join them in the evening,
when the child might be at rest for the night, and kindly urged her to
let him come and fetch her, but she was quite unpersuadable; and this
being the case, she had ere long the pleasure of seeing them set off
together in high spirits. They were gone, she hoped, to be happy,
however oddly constructed such happiness might seem; as for herself,
she was left with as many sensations of comfort, as were, perhaps, ever
likely to be hers. She knew herself to be of the first utility to the
child; and what was it to her if Frederick Wentworth were only half a
mile distant, making himself agreeable to others?

She would have liked to know how he felt as to a meeting. Perhaps
indifferent, if indifference could exist under such circumstances. He
must be either indifferent or unwilling. Had he wished ever to see her
again, he need not have waited till this time; he would have done what
she could not but believe that in his place she should have done long
ago, when events had been early giving him the independence which alone
had been wanting.

Her brother and sister came back delighted with their new acquaintance,
and their visit in general. There had been music, singing, talking,
laughing, all that was most agreeable; charming manners in Captain
Wentworth, no shyness or reserve; they seemed all to know each other
perfectly, and he was coming the very next morning to shoot with
Charles. He was to come to breakfast, but not at the Cottage, though
that had been proposed at first; but then he had been pressed to come
to the Great House instead, and he seemed afraid of being in Mrs
Charles Musgrove's way, on account of the child, and therefore,
somehow, they hardly knew how, it ended in Charles's being to meet him
to breakfast at his father's.

Anne understood it. He wished to avoid seeing her. He had inquired
after her, she found, slightly, as might suit a former slight
acquaintance, seeming to acknowledge such as she had acknowledged,
actuated, perhaps, by the same view of escaping introduction when they
were to meet.

The morning hours of the Cottage were always later than those of the
other house, and on the morrow the difference was so great that Mary
and Anne were not more than beginning breakfast when Charles came in to
say that they were just setting off, that he was come for his dogs,
that his sisters were following with Captain Wentworth; his sisters
meaning to visit Mary and the child, and Captain Wentworth proposing
also to wait on her for a few minutes if not inconvenient; and though
Charles had answered for the child's being in no such state as could
make it inconvenient, Captain Wentworth would not be satisfied without
his running on to give notice.

Mary, very much gratified by this attention, was delighted to receive
him, while a thousand feelings rushed on Anne, of which this was the
most consoling, that it would soon be over. And it was soon over. In
two minutes after Charles's preparation, the others appeared; they were
in the drawing-room. Her eye half met Captain Wentworth's, a bow, a
curtsey passed; she heard his voice; he talked to Mary, said all that
was right, said something to the Miss Musgroves, enough to mark an easy
footing; the room seemed full, full of persons and voices, but a few
minutes ended it. Charles shewed himself at the window, all was ready,
their visitor had bowed and was gone, the Miss Musgroves were gone too,
suddenly resolving to walk to the end of the village with the
sportsmen: the room was cleared, and Anne might finish her breakfast
as she could.

"It is over! it is over! " she repeated to herself again and again, in
nervous gratitude. "The worst is over! "

Mary talked, but she could not attend. She had seen him. They had
met. They had been once more in the same room.

Soon, however, she began to reason with herself, and try to be feeling
less. Eight years, almost eight years had passed, since all had been
given up. How absurd to be resuming the agitation which such an
interval had banished into distance and indistinctness! What might not
eight years do? Events of every description, changes, alienations,
removals--all, all must be comprised in it, and oblivion of the past--
how natural, how certain too! It included nearly a third part of her
own life.

Alas! with all her reasoning, she found, that to retentive feelings
eight years may be little more than nothing.

Now, how were his sentiments to be read? Was this like wishing to
avoid her? And the next moment she was hating herself for the folly
which asked the question.

On one other question which perhaps her utmost wisdom might not have
prevented, she was soon spared all suspense; for, after the Miss
Musgroves had returned and finished their visit at the Cottage she had
this spontaneous information from Mary:--

"Captain Wentworth is not very gallant by you, Anne, though he was so
attentive to me. Henrietta asked him what he thought of you, when they
went away, and he said, 'You were so altered he should not have known
you again. '"

Mary had no feelings to make her respect her sister's in a common way,
but she was perfectly unsuspicious of being inflicting any peculiar
wound.

"Altered beyond his knowledge. " Anne fully submitted, in silent, deep
mortification. Doubtless it was so, and she could take no revenge, for
he was not altered, or not for the worse. She had already acknowledged
it to herself, and she could not think differently, let him think of
her as he would. No: the years which had destroyed her youth and
bloom had only given him a more glowing, manly, open look, in no
respect lessening his personal advantages. She had seen the same
Frederick Wentworth.

"So altered that he should not have known her again! " These were words
which could not but dwell with her. Yet she soon began to rejoice that
she had heard them. They were of sobering tendency; they allayed
agitation; they composed, and consequently must make her happier.

Frederick Wentworth had used such words, or something like them, but
without an idea that they would be carried round to her. He had
thought her wretchedly altered, and in the first moment of appeal, had
spoken as he felt. He had not forgiven Anne Elliot. She had used him
ill, deserted and disappointed him; and worse, she had shewn a
feebleness of character in doing so, which his own decided, confident
temper could not endure. She had given him up to oblige others. It
had been the effect of over-persuasion. It had been weakness and
timidity.

He had been most warmly attached to her, and had never seen a woman
since whom he thought her equal; but, except from some natural
sensation of curiosity, he had no desire of meeting her again. Her
power with him was gone for ever.

It was now his object to marry. He was rich, and being turned on
shore, fully intended to settle as soon as he could be properly
tempted; actually looking round, ready to fall in love with all the
speed which a clear head and a quick taste could allow. He had a heart
for either of the Miss Musgroves, if they could catch it; a heart, in
short, for any pleasing young woman who came in his way, excepting Anne
Elliot. This was his only secret exception, when he said to his
sister, in answer to her suppositions:--

"Yes, here I am, Sophia, quite ready to make a foolish match. Anybody
between fifteen and thirty may have me for asking. A little beauty,
and a few smiles, and a few compliments to the navy, and I am a lost
man. Should not this be enough for a sailor, who has had no society
among women to make him nice? "

He said it, she knew, to be contradicted. His bright proud eye spoke
the conviction that he was nice; and Anne Elliot was not out of his
thoughts, when he more seriously described the woman he should wish to
meet with.