No More Learning

"Hum"--said Mrs. Ferrars--"very pretty,"--and without regarding them at
all, returned them to her daughter.

Perhaps Fanny thought for a moment that her mother had been quite rude
enough,--for, colouring a little, she immediately said,

"They are very pretty, ma'am--an't they? " But then again, the dread of
having been too civil, too encouraging herself, probably came over her,
for she presently added,

"Do you not think they are something in Miss Morton's style of
painting, Ma'am? --She DOES paint most delightfully! --How beautifully
her last landscape is done! "

"Beautifully indeed! But SHE does every thing well. "

Marianne could not bear this. --She was already greatly displeased with
Mrs. Ferrars; and such ill-timed praise of another, at Elinor's
expense, though she had not any notion of what was principally meant by
it, provoked her immediately to say with warmth,

"This is admiration of a very particular kind! --what is Miss Morton to
us? --who knows, or who cares, for her? --it is Elinor of whom WE think
and speak. "

And so saying, she took the screens out of her sister-in-law's hands,
to admire them herself as they ought to be admired.

Mrs. Ferrars looked exceedingly angry, and drawing herself up more
stiffly than ever, pronounced in retort this bitter philippic, "Miss
Morton is Lord Morton's daughter. "

Fanny looked very angry too, and her husband was all in a fright at his
sister's audacity. Elinor was much more hurt by Marianne's warmth than
she had been by what produced it; but Colonel Brandon's eyes, as they
were fixed on Marianne, declared that he noticed only what was amiable
in it, the affectionate heart which could not bear to see a sister
slighted in the smallest point.

Marianne's feelings did not stop here. The cold insolence of Mrs.
Ferrars's general behaviour to her sister, seemed, to her, to foretell
such difficulties and distresses to Elinor, as her own wounded heart
taught her to think of with horror; and urged by a strong impulse of
affectionate sensibility, she moved after a moment, to her sister's
chair, and putting one arm round her neck, and one cheek close to hers,
said in a low, but eager, voice,

"Dear, dear Elinor, don't mind them. Don't let them make YOU unhappy. "

She could say no more; her spirits were quite overcome, and hiding her
face on Elinor's shoulder, she burst into tears. Every body's
attention was called, and almost every body was concerned. --Colonel
Brandon rose up and went to them without knowing what he did. --Mrs.
Jennings, with a very intelligent "Ah! poor dear," immediately gave her
her salts; and Sir John felt so desperately enraged against the author
of this nervous distress, that he instantly changed his seat to one
close by Lucy Steele, and gave her, in a whisper, a brief account of
the whole shocking affair.

In a few minutes, however, Marianne was recovered enough to put an end
to the bustle, and sit down among the rest; though her spirits retained
the impression of what had passed, the whole evening.

"Poor Marianne! " said her brother to Colonel Brandon, in a low voice,
as soon as he could secure his attention,-- "She has not such good
health as her sister,--she is very nervous,--she has not Elinor's
constitution;--and one must allow that there is something very trying
to a young woman who HAS BEEN a beauty in the loss of her personal
attractions. You would not think it perhaps, but Marianne WAS
remarkably handsome a few months ago; quite as handsome as Elinor. --
Now you see it is all gone. "



CHAPTER 35


Elinor's curiosity to see Mrs. Ferrars was satisfied. -- She had found
in her every thing that could tend to make a farther connection between
the families undesirable. -- She had seen enough of her pride, her
meanness, and her determined prejudice against herself, to comprehend
all the difficulties that must have perplexed the engagement, and
retarded the marriage, of Edward and herself, had he been otherwise
free;--and she had seen almost enough to be thankful for her OWN sake,
that one greater obstacle preserved her from suffering under any other
of Mrs. Ferrars's creation, preserved her from all dependence upon her
caprice, or any solicitude for her good opinion. Or at least, if she
did not bring herself quite to rejoice in Edward's being fettered to
Lucy, she determined, that had Lucy been more amiable, she OUGHT to
have rejoiced.

She wondered that Lucy's spirits could be so very much elevated by the
civility of Mrs. Ferrars;--that her interest and her vanity should so
very much blind her as to make the attention which seemed only paid her
because she was NOT ELINOR, appear a compliment to herself--or to allow
her to derive encouragement from a preference only given her, because
her real situation was unknown. But that it was so, had not only been
declared by Lucy's eyes at the time, but was declared over again the
next morning more openly, for at her particular desire, Lady Middleton
set her down in Berkeley Street on the chance of seeing Elinor alone,
to tell her how happy she was.

The chance proved a lucky one, for a message from Mrs. Palmer soon
after she arrived, carried Mrs. Jennings away.

"My dear friend," cried Lucy, as soon as they were by themselves, "I
come to talk to you of my happiness. Could anything be so flattering
as Mrs. Ferrars's way of treating me yesterday? So exceeding affable
as she was! --You know how I dreaded the thoughts of seeing her;--but
the very moment I was introduced, there was such an affability in her
behaviour as really should seem to say, she had quite took a fancy to
me. Now was not it so? -- You saw it all; and was not you quite struck
with it? "

"She was certainly very civil to you. "

"Civil! --Did you see nothing but only civility? -- I saw a vast deal
more. Such kindness as fell to the share of nobody but me! --No pride,
no hauteur, and your sister just the same--all sweetness and
affability! "

Elinor wished to talk of something else, but Lucy still pressed her to
own that she had reason for her happiness; and Elinor was obliged to go
on. --

"Undoubtedly, if they had known your engagement," said she, "nothing
could be more flattering than their treatment of you;--but as that was
not the case"--

"I guessed you would say so,"--replied Lucy quickly--"but there was no
reason in the world why Mrs. Ferrars should seem to like me, if she did
not, and her liking me is every thing. You shan't talk me out of my
satisfaction. I am sure it will all end well, and there will be no
difficulties at all, to what I used to think. Mrs. Ferrars is a
charming woman, and so is your sister. They are both delightful women,
indeed! --I wonder I should never hear you say how agreeable Mrs.
Dashwood was! "

To this Elinor had no answer to make, and did not attempt any.

"Are you ill, Miss Dashwood? --you seem low--you don't speak;--sure you
an't well. "

"I never was in better health. "

"I am glad of it with all my heart; but really you did not look it. I
should be sorry to have YOU ill; you, that have been the greatest
comfort to me in the world! --Heaven knows what I should have done
without your friendship. "--

Elinor tried to make a civil answer, though doubting her own success.
But it seemed to satisfy Lucy, for she directly replied,

"Indeed I am perfectly convinced of your regard for me, and next to
Edward's love, it is the greatest comfort I have. --Poor Edward! --But
now there is one good thing, we shall be able to meet, and meet pretty
often, for Lady Middleton's delighted with Mrs. Dashwood, so we shall
be a good deal in Harley Street, I dare say, and Edward spends half his
time with his sister--besides, Lady Middleton and Mrs. Ferrars will
visit now;--and Mrs. Ferrars and your sister were both so good to say
more than once, they should always be glad to see me. -- They are such
charming women! --I am sure if ever you tell your sister what I think of
her, you cannot speak too high. "

But Elinor would not give her any encouragement to hope that she SHOULD
tell her sister. Lucy continued.

"I am sure I should have seen it in a moment, if Mrs. Ferrars had took
a dislike to me. If she had only made me a formal courtesy, for
instance, without saying a word, and never after had took any notice of
me, and never looked at me in a pleasant way--you know what I mean--if
I had been treated in that forbidding sort of way, I should have gave
it all up in despair. I could not have stood it. For where she DOES
dislike, I know it is most violent. "

Elinor was prevented from making any reply to this civil triumph, by
the door's being thrown open, the servant's announcing Mr. Ferrars, and
Edward's immediately walking in.

It was a very awkward moment; and the countenance of each shewed that
it was so. They all looked exceedingly foolish; and Edward seemed to
have as great an inclination to walk out of the room again, as to
advance farther into it. The very circumstance, in its unpleasantest
form, which they would each have been most anxious to avoid, had fallen
on them. --They were not only all three together, but were together
without the relief of any other person. The ladies recovered
themselves first. It was not Lucy's business to put herself forward,
and the appearance of secrecy must still be kept up. She could
therefore only LOOK her tenderness, and after slightly addressing him,
said no more.

But Elinor had more to do; and so anxious was she, for his sake and her
own, to do it well, that she forced herself, after a moment's
recollection, to welcome him, with a look and manner that were almost
easy, and almost open; and another struggle, another effort still
improved them. She would not allow the presence of Lucy, nor the
consciousness of some injustice towards herself, to deter her from
saying that she was happy to see him, and that she had very much
regretted being from home, when he called before in Berkeley Street.
She would not be frightened from paying him those attentions which, as
a friend and almost a relation, were his due, by the observant eyes of
Lucy, though she soon perceived them to be narrowly watching her.

Her manners gave some re-assurance to Edward, and he had courage enough
to sit down; but his embarrassment still exceeded that of the ladies in
a proportion, which the case rendered reasonable, though his sex might
make it rare; for his heart had not the indifference of Lucy's, nor
could his conscience have quite the ease of Elinor's.

Lucy, with a demure and settled air, seemed determined to make no
contribution to the comfort of the others, and would not say a word;
and almost every thing that WAS said, proceeded from Elinor, who was
obliged to volunteer all the information about her mother's health,
their coming to town, &c. which Edward ought to have inquired about,
but never did.

Her exertions did not stop here; for she soon afterwards felt herself
so heroically disposed as to determine, under pretence of fetching
Marianne, to leave the others by themselves; and she really did it, and
THAT in the handsomest manner, for she loitered away several minutes on
the landing-place, with the most high-minded fortitude, before she went
to her sister. When that was once done, however, it was time for the
raptures of Edward to cease; for Marianne's joy hurried her into the
drawing-room immediately. Her pleasure in seeing him was like every
other of her feelings, strong in itself, and strongly spoken. She met
him with a hand that would be taken, and a voice that expressed the
affection of a sister.

"Dear Edward! " she cried, "this is a moment of great happiness! --This
would almost make amends for every thing! "

Edward tried to return her kindness as it deserved, but before such
witnesses he dared not say half what he really felt. Again they all
sat down, and for a moment or two all were silent; while Marianne was
looking with the most speaking tenderness, sometimes at Edward and
sometimes at Elinor, regretting only that their delight in each other
should be checked by Lucy's unwelcome presence. Edward was the first
to speak, and it was to notice Marianne's altered looks, and express
his fear of her not finding London agree with her.

"Oh, don't think of me! " she replied with spirited earnestness, though
her eyes were filled with tears as she spoke, "don't think of MY
health. Elinor is well, you see. That must be enough for us both. "

This remark was not calculated to make Edward or Elinor more easy, nor
to conciliate the good will of Lucy, who looked up at Marianne with no
very benignant expression.

"Do you like London? " said Edward, willing to say any thing that might
introduce another subject.

"Not at all. I expected much pleasure in it, but I have found none.
The sight of you, Edward, is the only comfort it has afforded; and
thank Heaven! you are what you always were! "

She paused--no one spoke.

"I think, Elinor," she presently added, "we must employ Edward to take
care of us in our return to Barton. In a week or two, I suppose, we
shall be going; and, I trust, Edward will not be very unwilling to
accept the charge. "

Poor Edward muttered something, but what it was, nobody knew, not even
himself. But Marianne, who saw his agitation, and could easily trace
it to whatever cause best pleased herself, was perfectly satisfied, and
soon talked of something else.

"We spent such a day, Edward, in Harley Street yesterday! So dull, so
wretchedly dull! --But I have much to say to you on that head, which
cannot be said now. "

And with this admirable discretion did she defer the assurance of her
finding their mutual relatives more disagreeable than ever, and of her
being particularly disgusted with his mother, till they were more in
private.

"But why were you not there, Edward? --Why did you not come? "

"I was engaged elsewhere. "

"Engaged! But what was that, when such friends were to be met? "

"Perhaps, Miss Marianne," cried Lucy, eager to take some revenge on
her, "you think young men never stand upon engagements, if they have no
mind to keep them, little as well as great. "

Elinor was very angry, but Marianne seemed entirely insensible of the
sting; for she calmly replied,

"Not so, indeed; for, seriously speaking, I am very sure that
conscience only kept Edward from Harley Street. And I really believe
he HAS the most delicate conscience in the world; the most scrupulous
in performing every engagement, however minute, and however it may make
against his interest or pleasure. He is the most fearful of giving
pain, of wounding expectation, and the most incapable of being selfish,
of any body I ever saw. Edward, it is so, and I will say it. What!
are you never to hear yourself praised! --Then you must be no friend of
mine; for those who will accept of my love and esteem, must submit to
my open commendation. "

The nature of her commendation, in the present case, however, happened
to be particularly ill-suited to the feelings of two thirds of her
auditors, and was so very unexhilarating to Edward, that he very soon
got up to go away.

"Going so soon! " said Marianne; "my dear Edward, this must not be. "

And drawing him a little aside, she whispered her persuasion that Lucy
could not stay much longer. But even this encouragement failed, for he
would go; and Lucy, who would have outstaid him, had his visit lasted
two hours, soon afterwards went away.

"What can bring her here so often? " said Marianne, on her leaving them.
"Could not she see that we wanted her gone! --how teazing to Edward! "

"Why so? --we were all his friends, and Lucy has been the longest known
to him of any. It is but natural that he should like to see her as
well as ourselves. "

Marianne looked at her steadily, and said, "You know, Elinor, that this
is a kind of talking which I cannot bear. If you only hope to have
your assertion contradicted, as I must suppose to be the case, you
ought to recollect that I am the last person in the world to do it. I
cannot descend to be tricked out of assurances, that are not really
wanted. "

She then left the room; and Elinor dared not follow her to say more,
for bound as she was by her promise of secrecy to Lucy, she could give
no information that would convince Marianne; and painful as the
consequences of her still continuing in an error might be, she was
obliged to submit to it. All that she could hope, was that Edward
would not often expose her or himself to the distress of hearing
Marianne's mistaken warmth, nor to the repetition of any other part of
the pain that had attended their recent meeting--and this she had every
reason to expect.



CHAPTER 36


Within a few days after this meeting, the newspapers announced to the
world, that the lady of Thomas Palmer, Esq. was safely delivered of a
son and heir; a very interesting and satisfactory paragraph, at least
to all those intimate connections who knew it before.

This event, highly important to Mrs. Jennings's happiness, produced a
temporary alteration in the disposal of her time, and influenced, in a
like degree, the engagements of her young friends; for as she wished to
be as much as possible with Charlotte, she went thither every morning as
soon as she was dressed, and did not return till late in the evening;
and the Miss Dashwoods, at the particular request of the Middletons,
spent the whole of every day in Conduit Street. For their own comfort
they would much rather have remained, at least all the morning, in Mrs.
Jennings's house; but it was not a thing to be urged against the wishes
of everybody. Their hours were therefore made over to Lady Middleton and
the two Miss Steeles, by whom their company, in fact was as little
valued, as it was professedly sought.

They had too much sense to be desirable companions to the former; and
by the latter they were considered with a jealous eye, as intruding on
THEIR ground, and sharing the kindness which they wanted to monopolize.
Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton's behaviour to
Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all. Because they
neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not believe them
good-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she fancied them
satirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to be satirical;
but THAT did not signify. It was censure in common use, and easily
given.

Their presence was a restraint both on her and on Lucy. It checked the
idleness of one, and the business of the other. Lady Middleton was
ashamed of doing nothing before them, and the flattery which Lucy was
proud to think of and administer at other times, she feared they would
despise her for offering. Miss Steele was the least discomposed of the
three, by their presence; and it was in their power to reconcile her to
it entirely. Would either of them only have given her a full and
minute account of the whole affair between Marianne and Mr. Willoughby,
she would have thought herself amply rewarded for the sacrifice of the
best place by the fire after dinner, which their arrival occasioned.
But this conciliation was not granted; for though she often threw out
expressions of pity for her sister to Elinor, and more than once dropt
a reflection on the inconstancy of beaux before Marianne, no effect was
produced, but a look of indifference from the former, or of disgust in
the latter. An effort even yet lighter might have made her their
friend. Would they only have laughed at her about the Doctor! But so
little were they, anymore than the others, inclined to oblige her, that
if Sir John dined from home, she might spend a whole day without
hearing any other raillery on the subject, than what she was kind
enough to bestow on herself.

All these jealousies and discontents, however, were so totally
unsuspected by Mrs. Jennings, that she thought it a delightful thing
for the girls to be together; and generally congratulated her young
friends every night, on having escaped the company of a stupid old
woman so long. She joined them sometimes at Sir John's, sometimes at
her own house; but wherever it was, she always came in excellent
spirits, full of delight and importance, attributing Charlotte's well
doing to her own care, and ready to give so exact, so minute a detail
of her situation, as only Miss Steele had curiosity enough to desire.
One thing DID disturb her; and of that she made her daily complaint.
Mr. Palmer maintained the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex,
of all infants being alike; and though she could plainly perceive, at
different times, the most striking resemblance between this baby and
every one of his relations on both sides, there was no convincing his
father of it; no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like
every other baby of the same age; nor could he even be brought to
acknowledge the simple proposition of its being the finest child in the
world.

I come now to the relation of a misfortune, which about this time
befell Mrs. John Dashwood. It so happened that while her two sisters
with Mrs. Jennings were first calling on her in Harley Street, another
of her acquaintance had dropt in--a circumstance in itself not
apparently likely to produce evil to her. But while the imaginations
of other people will carry them away to form wrong judgments of our
conduct, and to decide on it by slight appearances, one's happiness
must in some measure be always at the mercy of chance. In the present
instance, this last-arrived lady allowed her fancy to so far outrun
truth and probability, that on merely hearing the name of the Miss
Dashwoods, and understanding them to be Mr.
Dashwood's sisters, she
immediately concluded them to be staying in Harley Street; and this
misconstruction produced within a day or two afterwards, cards of
invitation for them as well as for their brother and sister, to a small
musical party at her house. The consequence of which was, that Mrs.
John Dashwood was obliged to submit not only to the exceedingly great
inconvenience of sending her carriage for the Miss Dashwoods, but, what
was still worse, must be subject to all the unpleasantness of appearing
to treat them with attention: and who could tell that they might not
expect to go out with her a second time? The power of disappointing
them, it was true, must always be hers. But that was not enough; for
when people are determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be
wrong, they feel injured by the expectation of any thing better from
them.

Marianne had now been brought by degrees, so much into the habit of
going out every day, that it was become a matter of indifference to
her, whether she went or not: and she prepared quietly and mechanically
for every evening's engagement, though without expecting the smallest
amusement from any, and very often without knowing, till the last
moment, where it was to take her.

To her dress and appearance she was grown so perfectly indifferent, as
not to bestow half the consideration on it, during the whole of her
toilet, which it received from Miss Steele in the first five minutes of
their being together, when it was finished. Nothing escaped HER minute
observation and general curiosity; she saw every thing, and asked every
thing; was never easy till she knew the price of every part of
Marianne's dress; could have guessed the number of her gowns altogether
with better judgment than Marianne herself, and was not without hopes
of finding out before they parted, how much her washing cost per week,
and how much she had every year to spend upon herself. The
impertinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally
concluded with a compliment, which though meant as its douceur, was
considered by Marianne as the greatest impertinence of all; for after
undergoing an examination into the value and make of her gown, the
colour of her shoes, and the arrangement of her hair, she was almost
sure of being told that upon "her word she looked vastly smart, and she
dared to say she would make a great many conquests. "

With such encouragement as this, was she dismissed on the present
occasion, to her brother's carriage; which they were ready to enter
five minutes after it stopped at the door, a punctuality not very
agreeable to their sister-in-law, who had preceded them to the house of
her acquaintance, and was there hoping for some delay on their part
that might inconvenience either herself or her coachman.

The events of this evening were not very remarkable. The party, like
other musical parties, comprehended a great many people who had real
taste for the performance, and a great many more who had none at all;
and the performers themselves were, as usual, in their own estimation,
and that of their immediate friends, the first private performers in
England.

As Elinor was neither musical, nor affecting to be so, she made no
scruple of turning her eyes from the grand pianoforte, whenever it
suited her, and unrestrained even by the presence of a harp, and
violoncello, would fix them at pleasure on any other object in the
room. In one of these excursive glances she perceived among a group of
young men, the very he, who had given them a lecture on toothpick-cases
at Gray's. She perceived him soon afterwards looking at herself, and
speaking familiarly to her brother; and had just determined to find out
his name from the latter, when they both came towards her, and Mr.
Dashwood introduced him to her as Mr. Robert Ferrars.

He addressed her with easy civility, and twisted his head into a bow
which assured her as plainly as words could have done, that he was
exactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by Lucy. Happy
had it been for her, if her regard for Edward had depended less on his
own merit, than on the merit of his nearest relations! For then his
brother's bow must have given the finishing stroke to what the
ill-humour of his mother and sister would have begun. But while she
wondered at the difference of the two young men, she did not find that
the emptiness of conceit of the one, put her out of all charity with
the modesty and worth of the other. Why they WERE different, Robert
exclaimed to her himself in the course of a quarter of an hour's
conversation; for, talking of his brother, and lamenting the extreme
GAUCHERIE which he really believed kept him from mixing in proper
society, he candidly and generously attributed it much less to any
natural deficiency, than to the misfortune of a private education;
while he himself, though probably without any particular, any material
superiority by nature, merely from the advantage of a public school,
was as well fitted to mix in the world as any other man.

"Upon my soul," he added, "I believe it is nothing more; and so I often
tell my mother, when she is grieving about it. 'My dear Madam,' I
always say to her, 'you must make yourself easy. The evil is now
irremediable, and it has been entirely your own doing. Why would you
be persuaded by my uncle, Sir Robert, against your own judgment, to
place Edward under private tuition, at the most critical time of his
life? If you had only sent him to Westminster as well as myself,
instead of sending him to Mr. Pratt's, all this would have been
prevented. ' This is the way in which I always consider the matter, and
my mother is perfectly convinced of her error. "

Elinor would not oppose his opinion, because, whatever might be her
general estimation of the advantage of a public school, she could not
think of Edward's abode in Mr. Pratt's family, with any satisfaction.

"You reside in Devonshire, I think,"--was his next observation, "in a
cottage near Dawlish. "

Elinor set him right as to its situation; and it seemed rather
surprising to him that anybody could live in Devonshire, without living
near Dawlish. He bestowed his hearty approbation however on their
species of house.

"For my own part," said he, "I am excessively fond of a cottage; there
is always so much comfort, so much elegance about them. And I protest,
if I had any money to spare, I should buy a little land and build one
myself, within a short distance of London, where I might drive myself
down at any time, and collect a few friends about me, and be happy. I
advise every body who is going to build, to build a cottage. My friend
Lord Courtland came to me the other day on purpose to ask my advice,
and laid before me three different plans of Bonomi's. I was to decide
on the best of them. 'My dear Courtland,' said I, immediately throwing
them all into the fire, 'do not adopt either of them, but by all means
build a cottage. ' And that I fancy, will be the end of it.

"Some people imagine that there can be no accommodations, no space in a
cottage; but this is all a mistake. I was last month at my friend
Elliott's, near Dartford. Lady Elliott wished to give a dance. 'But
how can it be done? ' said she; 'my dear Ferrars, do tell me how it is
to be managed. There is not a room in this cottage that will hold ten
couple, and where can the supper be? ' I immediately saw that there
could be no difficulty in it, so I said, 'My dear Lady Elliott, do not
be uneasy. The dining parlour will admit eighteen couple with ease;
card-tables may be placed in the drawing-room; the library may be open
for tea and other refreshments; and let the supper be set out in the
saloon. ' Lady Elliott was delighted with the thought. We measured the
dining-room, and found it would hold exactly eighteen couple, and the
affair was arranged precisely after my plan. So that, in fact, you
see, if people do but know how to set about it, every comfort may be as
well enjoyed in a cottage as in the most spacious dwelling. "

Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the
compliment of rational opposition.

As John Dashwood had no more pleasure in music than his eldest sister,
his mind was equally at liberty to fix on any thing else; and a thought
struck him during the evening, which he communicated to his wife, for
her approbation, when they got home. The consideration of Mrs.
Dennison's mistake, in supposing his sisters their guests, had
suggested the propriety of their being really invited to become such,
while Mrs. Jennings's engagements kept her from home. The expense would
be nothing, the inconvenience not more; and it was altogether an
attention which the delicacy of his conscience pointed out to be
requisite to its complete enfranchisement from his promise to his
father. Fanny was startled at the proposal.

"I do not see how it can be done," said she, "without affronting Lady
Middleton, for they spend every day with her; otherwise I should be
exceedingly glad to do it. You know I am always ready to pay them any
attention in my power, as my taking them out this evening shews. But
they are Lady Middleton's visitors. How can I ask them away from her? "

Her husband, but with great humility, did not see the force of her
objection. "They had already spent a week in this manner in Conduit
Street, and Lady Middleton could not be displeased at their giving the
same number of days to such near relations. "

Fanny paused a moment, and then, with fresh vigor, said,

"My love I would ask them with all my heart, if it was in my power.
But I had just settled within myself to ask the Miss Steeles to spend a
few days with us. They are very well behaved, good kind of girls; and
I think the attention is due to them, as their uncle did so very well
by Edward. We can ask your sisters some other year, you know; but the
Miss Steeles may not be in town any more. I am sure you will like
them; indeed, you DO like them, you know, very much already, and so
does my mother; and they are such favourites with Harry! "

Mr. Dashwood was convinced. He saw the necessity of inviting the Miss
Steeles immediately, and his conscience was pacified by the resolution
of inviting his sisters another year; at the same time, however, slyly
suspecting that another year would make the invitation needless, by
bringing Elinor to town as Colonel Brandon's wife, and Marianne as
THEIR visitor.

Fanny, rejoicing in her escape, and proud of the ready wit that had
procured it, wrote the next morning to Lucy, to request her company and
her sister's, for some days, in Harley Street, as soon as Lady
Middleton could spare them. This was enough to make Lucy really and
reasonably happy. Mrs. Dashwood seemed actually working for her,
herself; cherishing all her hopes, and promoting all her views! Such
an opportunity of being with Edward and his family was, above all
things, the most material to her interest, and such an invitation the
most gratifying to her feelings! It was an advantage that could not be
too gratefully acknowledged, nor too speedily made use of; and the
visit to Lady Middleton, which had not before had any precise limits,
was instantly discovered to have been always meant to end in two days'
time.

When the note was shown to Elinor, as it was within ten minutes after
its arrival, it gave her, for the first time, some share in the
expectations of Lucy; for such a mark of uncommon kindness, vouchsafed
on so short an acquaintance, seemed to declare that the good-will
towards her arose from something more than merely malice against
herself; and might be brought, by time and address, to do every thing
that Lucy wished. Her flattery had already subdued the pride of Lady
Middleton, and made an entry into the close heart of Mrs. John
Dashwood; and these were effects that laid open the probability of
greater.

The Miss Steeles removed to Harley Street, and all that reached Elinor
of their influence there, strengthened her expectation of the event.
Sir John, who called on them more than once, brought home such accounts
of the favour they were in, as must be universally striking. Mrs.
Dashwood had never been so much pleased with any young women in her
life, as she was with them; had given each of them a needle book made
by some emigrant; called Lucy by her Christian name; and did not know
whether she should ever be able to part with them.





[At this point in the first and second editions, Volume II ended. ]




CHAPTER 37


Mrs. Palmer was so well at the end of a fortnight, that her mother felt
it no longer necessary to give up the whole of her time to her; and,
contenting herself with visiting her once or twice a day, returned from
that period to her own home, and her own habits, in which she found the
Miss Dashwoods very ready to resume their former share.

About the third or fourth morning after their being thus resettled in
Berkeley Street, Mrs. Jennings, on returning from her ordinary visit to
Mrs. Palmer, entered the drawing-room, where Elinor was sitting by
herself, with an air of such hurrying importance as prepared her to
hear something wonderful; and giving her time only to form that idea,
began directly to justify it, by saying,

"Lord! my dear Miss Dashwood! have you heard the news? "

"No, ma'am. What is it? "

"Something so strange! But you shall hear it all. -- When I got to Mr.
Palmer's, I found Charlotte quite in a fuss about the child. She was
sure it was very ill--it cried, and fretted, and was all over pimples.
So I looked at it directly, and, 'Lord! my dear,' says I, 'it is
nothing in the world, but the red gum--' and nurse said just the same.
But Charlotte, she would not be satisfied, so Mr. Donavan was sent for;
and luckily he happened to just come in from Harley Street, so he
stepped over directly, and as soon as ever Mama, he said
just as we did, that it was nothing in the world but the red gum, and
then Charlotte was easy. And so, just as he was going away again, it
came into my head, I am sure I do not know how I happened to think of
it, but it came into my head to ask him if there was any news. So upon
that, he smirked, and simpered, and looked grave, and seemed to know
something or other, and at last he said in a whisper, 'For fear any
unpleasant report should reach the young ladies under your care as to
their sister's indisposition, I think it advisable to say, that I
believe there is no great reason for alarm; I hope Mrs. Dashwood will
do very well. '"

"What! is Fanny ill? "

"That is exactly what I said, my dear. 'Lord! ' says I, 'is Mrs.
Dashwood ill? ' So then it all came out; and the long and the short of
the matter, by all I can learn, seems to be this. Mr. Edward Ferrars,
the very young man I used to joke with you about (but however, as it
turns out, I am monstrous glad there was never any thing in it), Mr.
Edward Ferrars, it seems, has been engaged above this twelvemonth to my
cousin Lucy! --There's for you, my dear! --And not a creature knowing a
syllable of the matter, except Nancy! --Could you have believed such a
thing possible? -- There is no great wonder in their liking one another;
but that matters should be brought so forward between them, and nobody
suspect it! --THAT is strange! --I never happened to see them together,
or I am sure I should have found it out directly. Well, and so this
was kept a great secret, for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, and neither she nor
your brother or sister suspected a word of the matter;--till this very
morning, poor Nancy, who, you know, is a well-meaning creature, but no
conjurer, popt it all out. 'Lord! ' thinks she to herself, 'they are
all so fond of Lucy, to be sure they will make no difficulty about it;'
and so, away she went to your sister, who was sitting all alone at her
carpet-work, little suspecting what was to come--for she had just been
saying to your brother, only five minutes before, that she thought to
make a match between Edward and some Lord's daughter or other, I forget
who. So you may think what a blow it was to all her vanity and pride.
She fell into violent hysterics immediately, with such screams as
reached your brother's ears, as he was sitting in his own dressing-room
down stairs, thinking about writing a letter to his steward in the
country. So up he flew directly, and a terrible scene took place, for
Lucy was come to them by that time, little dreaming what was going on.
Poor soul! I pity HER. And I must say, I think she was used very
hardly; for your sister scolded like any fury, and soon drove her into
a fainting fit. Nancy, she fell upon her knees, and cried bitterly;
and your brother, he walked about the room, and said he did not know
what to do. Mrs. Dashwood declared they should not stay a minute
longer in the house, and your brother was forced to go down upon HIS
knees too, to persuade her to let them stay till they had packed up
their clothes. THEN she fell into hysterics again, and he was so
frightened that he would send for Mr. Donavan, and Mr. Donavan found
the house in all this uproar. The carriage was at the door ready to
take my poor cousins away, and they were just stepping in as he came
off; poor Lucy in such a condition, he says, she could hardly walk; and
Nancy, she was almost as bad. I declare, I have no patience with your
sister; and I hope, with all my heart, it will be a match in spite of
her. Lord! what a taking poor Mr. Edward will be in when he hears of
it! To have his love used so scornfully! for they say he is monstrous
fond of her, as well he may. I should not wonder, if he was to be in
the greatest passion! --and Mr. Donavan thinks just the same. He and I
had a great deal of talk about it; and the best of all is, that he is
gone back again to Harley Street, that he may be within call when Mrs.
Ferrars is told of it, for she was sent for as soon as ever my cousins
left the house, for your sister was sure SHE would be in hysterics too;
and so she may, for what I care. I have no pity for either of them. I
have no notion of people's making such a to-do about money and
greatness. There is no reason on earth why Mr. Edward and Lucy should
not marry; for I am sure Mrs. Ferrars may afford to do very well by her
son, and though Lucy has next to nothing herself, she knows better than
any body how to make the most of every thing; I dare say, if Mrs.
Ferrars would only allow him five hundred a-year, she would make as
good an appearance with it as any body else would with eight. Lord!
how snug they might live in such another cottage as yours--or a little
bigger--with two maids, and two men; and I believe I could help them to
a housemaid, for my Betty has a sister out of place, that would fit
them exactly. "

Here Mrs. Jennings ceased, and as Elinor had had time enough to collect
her thoughts, she was able to give such an answer, and make such
observations, as the subject might naturally be supposed to produce.
Happy to find that she was not suspected of any extraordinary interest
in it; that Mrs. Jennings (as she had of late often hoped might be the
case) had ceased to imagine her at all attached to Edward; and happy
above all the rest, in the absence of Marianne, she felt very well able
to speak of the affair without embarrassment, and to give her judgment,
as she believed, with impartiality on the conduct of every one
concerned in it.

She could hardly determine what her own expectation of its event really
was; though she earnestly tried to drive away the notion of its being
possible to end otherwise at last, than in the marriage of Edward and
Lucy. What Mrs. Ferrars would say and do, though there could not be a
doubt of its nature, she was anxious to hear; and still more anxious to
know how Edward would conduct himself. For HIM she felt much
compassion;--for Lucy very little--and it cost her some pains to
procure that little;--for the rest of the party none at all.

As Mrs. Jennings could talk on no other subject, Elinor soon saw the
necessity of preparing Marianne for its discussion. No time was to be
lost in undeceiving her, in making her acquainted with the real truth,
and in endeavouring to bring her to hear it talked of by others,
without betraying that she felt any uneasiness for her sister, or any
resentment against Edward.

Elinor's office was a painful one. --She was going to remove what she
really believed to be her sister's chief consolation,--to give such
particulars of Edward as she feared would ruin him for ever in her good
opinion,-and to make Marianne, by a resemblance in their situations,
which to HER fancy would seem strong, feel all her own disappointment
over again. But unwelcome as such a task must be, it was necessary to
be done, and Elinor therefore hastened to perform it.

She was very far from wishing to dwell on her own feelings, or to
represent herself as suffering much, any otherwise than as the
self-command she had practised since her first knowledge of Edward's
engagement, might suggest a hint of what was practicable to Marianne.
Her narration was clear and simple; and though it could not be given
without emotion, it was not accompanied by violent agitation, nor
impetuous grief. --THAT belonged rather to the hearer, for Marianne
listened with horror, and cried excessively. Elinor was to be the
comforter of others in her own distresses, no less than in theirs; and
all the comfort that could be given by assurances of her own composure
of mind, and a very earnest vindication of Edward from every charge but
of imprudence, was readily offered.

But Marianne for some time would give credit to neither. Edward seemed
a second Willoughby; and acknowledging as Elinor did, that she HAD
loved him most sincerely, could she feel less than herself! As for
Lucy Steele, she considered her so totally unamiable, so absolutely
incapable of attaching a sensible man, that she could not be persuaded
at first to believe, and afterwards to pardon, any former affection of
Edward for her. She would not even admit it to have been natural; and
Elinor left her to be convinced that it was so, by that which only
could convince her, a better knowledge of mankind.

Her first communication had reached no farther than to state the fact
of the engagement, and the length of time it had existed. --Marianne's
feelings had then broken in, and put an end to all regularity of
detail; and for some time all that could be done was to soothe her
distress, lessen her alarms, and combat her resentment. The first
question on her side, which led to farther particulars, was,--

"How long has this been known to you, Elinor? has he written to you? "

"I have known it these four months. When Lucy first came to Barton
Park last November, she told me in confidence of her engagement. "

At these words, Marianne's eyes expressed the astonishment which her
lips could not utter. After a pause of wonder, she exclaimed--

"Four months! --Have you known of this four months? "

Elinor confirmed it.

"What! --while attending me in all my misery, has this been on your
heart? --And I have reproached you for being happy! "--

"It was not fit that you should then know how much I was the reverse! "

"Four months! "--cried Marianne again. --"So calm! --so cheerful! --how
have you been supported?