When the particulars of this conversation were repeated by Miss
Dashwood to her sister, as they very soon were, the effect on her was
not entirely such as the former had hoped to see.  Not that Marianne
appeared to distrust the truth of any part of it, for she listened to
it all with the most steady and submissive attention, made neither
objection nor remark, attempted no vindication of Willoughby, and
seemed to shew by her tears that she felt it to be impossible.  But
though this behaviour assured Elinor that the conviction of this guilt
WAS carried home to her mind, though she saw with satisfaction the
effect of it, in her no longer avoiding Colonel Brandon when he called,
in her speaking to him, even voluntarily speaking, with a kind of
compassionate respect, and though she saw her spirits less violently
irritated than before, she did not see her less wretched.  Her mind did
become settled, but it was settled in a gloomy dejection.  She felt the
loss of Willoughby's character yet more heavily than she had felt the
loss of his heart; his seduction and desertion of Miss Williams, the
misery of that poor girl, and the doubt of what his designs might ONCE
have been on herself, preyed altogether so much on her spirits, that
she could not bring herself to speak of what she felt even to Elinor;
and, brooding over her sorrows in silence, gave more pain to her sister
than could have been communicated by the most open and most frequent
confession of them.

To give the feelings or the language of Mrs. Dashwood on receiving and
answering Elinor's letter would be only to give a repetition of what
her daughters had already felt and said; of a disappointment hardly
less painful than Marianne's, and an indignation even greater than
Elinor's.  Long letters from her, quickly succeeding each other,
arrived to tell all that she suffered and thought; to express her
anxious solicitude for Marianne, and entreat she would bear up with
fortitude under this misfortune.  Bad indeed must the nature of
Marianne's affliction be, when her mother could talk of fortitude!
mortifying and humiliating must be the origin of those regrets, which
SHE could wish her not to indulge!

Against the interest of her own individual comfort, Mrs. Dashwood had
determined that it would be better for Marianne to be any where, at
that time, than at Barton, where every thing within her view would be
bringing back the past in the strongest and most afflicting manner, by
constantly placing Willoughby before her, such as she had always seen
him there.  She recommended it to her daughters, therefore, by all
means not to shorten their visit to Mrs. Jennings; the length of which,
though never exactly fixed, had been expected by all to comprise at
least five or six weeks.  A variety of occupations, of objects, and of
company, which could not be procured at Barton, would be inevitable
there, and might yet, she hoped, cheat Marianne, at times, into some
interest beyond herself, and even into some amusement, much as the
ideas of both might now be spurned by her.

From all danger of seeing Willoughby again, her mother considered her
to be at least equally safe in town as in the country, since his
acquaintance must now be dropped by all who called themselves her
friends.  Design could never bring them in each other's way: negligence
could never leave them exposed to a surprise; and chance had less in
its favour in the crowd of London than even in the retirement of
Barton, where it might force him before her while paying that visit at
Allenham on his marriage, which Mrs. Dashwood, from foreseeing at first
as a probable event, had brought herself to expect as a certain one.

She had yet another reason for wishing her children to remain where
they were; a letter from her son-in-law had told her that he and his
wife were to be in town before the middle of February, and she judged
it right that they should sometimes see their brother.

Marianne had promised to be guided by her mother's opinion, and she
submitted to it therefore without opposition, though it proved
perfectly different from what she wished and expected, though she felt
it to be entirely wrong, formed on mistaken grounds, and that by
requiring her longer continuance in London it deprived her of the only
possible alleviation of her wretchedness, the personal sympathy of her
mother, and doomed her to such society and such scenes as must prevent
her ever knowing a moment's rest.

But it was a matter of great consolation to her, that what brought evil
to herself would bring good to her sister; and Elinor, on the other
hand, suspecting that it would not be in her power to avoid Edward
entirely, comforted herself by thinking, that though their longer stay
would therefore militate against her own happiness, it would be better
for Marianne than an immediate return into Devonshire.

Her carefulness in guarding her sister from ever hearing Willoughby's
name mentioned, was not thrown away.  Marianne, though without knowing
it herself, reaped all its advantage; for neither Mrs. Jennings, nor
Sir John, nor even Mrs. Palmer herself, ever spoke of him before her.
Elinor wished that the same forbearance could have extended towards
herself, but that was impossible, and she was obliged to listen day
after day to the indignation of them all.

Sir John, could not have thought it possible.  "A man of whom he had
always had such reason to think well!  Such a good-natured fellow!  He
did not believe there was a bolder rider in England!  It was an
unaccountable business.  He wished him at the devil with all his heart.
He would not speak another word to him, meet him where he might, for
all the world!  No, not if it were to be by the side of Barton covert,
and they were kept watching for two hours together.  Such a scoundrel
of a fellow! such a deceitful dog!  It was only the last time they met
that he had offered him one of Folly's puppies! and this was the end of
it!"

Mrs. Palmer, in her way, was equally angry.  "She was determined to
drop his acquaintance immediately, and she was very thankful that she
had never been acquainted with him at all.  She wished with all her
heart Combe Magna was not so near Cleveland; but it did not signify,
for it was a great deal too far off to visit; she hated him so much
that she was resolved never to mention his name again, and she should
tell everybody she saw, how good-for-nothing he was."

The rest of Mrs. Palmer's sympathy was shewn in procuring all the
particulars in her power of the approaching marriage, and communicating
them to Elinor.  She could soon tell at what coachmaker's the new
carriage was building, by what painter Mr. Willoughby's portrait was
drawn, and at what warehouse Miss Grey's clothes might be seen.

The calm and polite unconcern of Lady Middleton on the occasion was a
happy relief to Elinor's spirits, oppressed as they often were by the
clamorous kindness of the others.  It was a great comfort to her to be
sure of exciting no interest in ONE person at least among their circle
of friends: a great comfort to know that there was ONE who would meet
her without feeling any curiosity after particulars, or any anxiety for
her sister's health.

Every qualification is raised at times, by the circumstances of the
moment, to more than its real value; and she was sometimes worried down
by officious condolence to rate good-breeding as more indispensable to
comfort than good-nature.

Lady Middleton expressed her sense of the affair about once every day,
or twice, if the subject occurred very often, by saying, "It is very
shocking, indeed!" and by the means of this continual though gentle
vent, was able not only to see the Miss Dashwoods from the first
without the smallest emotion, but very soon to see them without
recollecting a word of the matter; and having thus supported the
dignity of her own sex, and spoken her decided censure of what was
wrong in the other, she thought herself at liberty to attend to the
interest of her own assemblies, and therefore determined (though rather
against the opinion of Sir John) that as Mrs. Willoughby would at once
be a woman of elegance and fortune, to leave her card with her as soon
as she married.

Colonel Brandon's delicate, unobtrusive enquiries were never unwelcome
to Miss Dashwood.  He had abundantly earned the privilege of intimate
discussion of her sister's disappointment, by the friendly zeal with
which he had endeavoured to soften it, and they always conversed with
confidence.  His chief reward for the painful exertion of disclosing
past sorrows and present humiliations, was given in the pitying eye
with which Marianne sometimes observed him, and the gentleness of her
voice whenever (though it did not often happen) she was obliged, or
could oblige herself to speak to him.  THESE assured him that his
exertion had produced an increase of good-will towards himself, and
THESE gave Elinor hopes of its being farther augmented hereafter; but
Mrs. Jennings, who knew nothing of all this, who knew only that the
Colonel continued as grave as ever, and that she could neither prevail
on him to make the offer himself, nor commission her to make it for
him, began, at the end of two days, to think that, instead of
Midsummer, they would not be married till Michaelmas, and by the end of
a week that it would not be a match at all.  The good understanding
between the Colonel and Miss Dashwood seemed rather to declare that the
honours of the mulberry-tree, the canal, and the yew arbour, would all
be made over to HER; and Mrs. Jennings had, for some time ceased to
think at all of Mrs. Ferrars.

Early in February, within a fortnight from the receipt of Willoughby's
letter, Elinor had the painful office of informing her sister that he
was married.  She had taken care to have the intelligence conveyed to
herself, as soon as it was known that the ceremony was over, as she was
desirous that Marianne should not receive the first notice of it from
the public papers, which she saw her eagerly examining every morning.

She received the news with resolute composure; made no observation on
it, and at first shed no tears; but after a short time they would burst
out, and for the rest of the day, she was in a state hardly less
pitiable than when she first learnt to expect the event.

The Willoughbys left town as soon as they were married; and Elinor now
hoped, as there could be no danger of her seeing either of them, to
prevail on her sister, who had never yet left the house since the blow
first fell, to go out again by degrees as she had done before.

About this time the two Miss Steeles, lately arrived at their cousin's
house in Bartlett's Buildings, Holburn, presented themselves again
before their more grand relations in Conduit and Berkeley Streets; and
were welcomed by them all with great cordiality.

Elinor only was sorry to see them.  Their presence always gave her
pain, and she hardly knew how to make a very gracious return to the
overpowering delight of Lucy in finding her STILL in town.

"I should have been quite disappointed if I had not found you here
STILL," said she repeatedly, with a strong emphasis on the word.  "But
I always thought I SHOULD.  I was almost sure you would not leave
London yet awhile; though you TOLD me, you know, at Barton, that you
should not stay above a MONTH.  But I thought, at the time, that you
would most likely change your mind when it came to the point.  It would
have been such a great pity to have went away before your brother and
sister came.  And now to be sure you will be in no hurry to be gone.  I
am amazingly glad you did not keep to YOUR WORD."

Elinor perfectly understood her, and was forced to use all her
self-command to make it appear that she did NOT.

"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Jennings, "and how did you travel?"

"Not in the stage, I assure you," replied Miss Steele, with quick
exultation; "we came post all the way, and had a very smart beau to
attend us.  Dr. Davies was coming to town, and so we thought we'd join
him in a post-chaise; and he behaved very genteelly, and paid ten or
twelve shillings more than we did."

"Oh, oh!" cried Mrs. Jennings; "very pretty, indeed! and the Doctor is
a single man, I warrant you."

"There now," said Miss Steele, affectedly simpering, "everybody laughs
at me so about the Doctor, and I cannot think why.  My cousins say they
are sure I have made a conquest; but for my part I declare I never
think about him from one hour's end to another.  'Lord! here comes your
beau, Nancy,' my cousin said t'other day, when she saw him crossing the
street to the house.  My beau, indeed! said I--I cannot think who you
mean.  The Doctor is no beau of mine."

"Aye, aye, that is very pretty talking--but it won't do--the Doctor is
the man, I see."

"No, indeed!" replied her cousin, with affected earnestness, "and I beg
you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of."

Mrs. Jennings directly gave her the gratifying assurance that she
certainly would NOT, and Miss Steele was made completely happy.

"I suppose you will go and stay with your brother and sister, Miss
Dashwood, when they come to town," said Lucy, returning, after a
cessation of hostile hints, to the charge.

"No, I do not think we shall."

"Oh, yes, I dare say you will."

Elinor would not humour her by farther opposition.

"What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can spare you both for
so long a time together!"

"Long a time, indeed!" interposed Mrs. Jennings.  "Why, their visit is
but just begun!"

Lucy was silenced.

"I am sorry we cannot see your sister, Miss Dashwood," said Miss
Steele.  "I am sorry she is not well--" for Marianne had left the room
on their arrival.

"You are very good.  My sister will be equally sorry to miss the
pleasure of seeing you; but she has been very much plagued lately with
nervous head-aches, which make her unfit for company or conversation."

"Oh, dear, that is a great pity! but such old friends as Lucy and
me!--I think she might see US; and I am sure we would not speak a word."

Elinor, with great civility, declined the proposal.  Her sister was
perhaps laid down upon the bed, or in her dressing gown, and therefore
not able to come to them.

"Oh, if that's all," cried Miss Steele, "we can just as well go and see
HER."

Elinor began to find this impertinence too much for her temper; but she
was saved the trouble of checking it, by Lucy's sharp reprimand, which
now, as on many occasions, though it did not give much sweetness to the
manners of one sister, was of advantage in governing those of the other.

After some opposition, Marianne yielded to her sister's entreaties, and
consented to go out with her and Mrs. Jennings one morning for half an
hour. She expressly conditioned, however, for paying no visits, and
would do no more than accompany them to Gray's in Sackville Street,
where Elinor was carrying on a negotiation for the exchange of a few
old-fashioned jewels of her mother.

When they stopped at the door, Mrs. Jennings recollected that there was
a lady at the other end of the street on whom she ought to call; and as
she had no business at Gray's, it was resolved, that while her young
friends transacted their's, she should pay her visit and return for
them.

On ascending the stairs, the Miss Dashwoods found so many people before
them in the room, that there was not a person at liberty to tend to
their orders; and they were obliged to wait.  All that could be done
was, to sit down at that end of the counter which seemed to promise the
quickest succession; one gentleman only was standing there, and it is
probable that Elinor was not without hope of exciting his politeness to
a quicker despatch.  But the correctness of his eye, and the delicacy
of his taste, proved to be beyond his politeness.  He was giving orders
for a toothpick-case for himself, and till its size, shape, and
ornaments were determined, all of which, after examining and debating
for a quarter of an hour over every toothpick-case in the shop, were
finally arranged by his own inventive fancy, he had no leisure to
bestow any other attention on the two ladies, than what was comprised
in three or four very broad stares; a kind of notice which served to
imprint on Elinor the remembrance of a person and face, of strong,
natural, sterling insignificance, though adorned in the first style of
fashion.

Marianne was spared from the troublesome feelings of contempt and
resentment, on this impertinent examination of their features, and on
the puppyism of his manner in deciding on all the different horrors of
the different toothpick-cases presented to his inspection, by remaining
unconscious of it all; for she was as well able to collect her thoughts
within herself, and be as ignorant of what was passing around her, in
Mr. Gray's shop, as in her own bedroom.

At last the affair was decided.  The ivory, the gold, and the pearls,
all received their appointment, and the gentleman having named the last
day on which his existence could be continued without the possession of
the toothpick-case, drew on his gloves with leisurely care, and
bestowing another glance on the Miss Dashwoods, but such a one as
seemed rather to demand than express admiration, walked off with a
happy air of real conceit and affected indifference.

Elinor lost no time in bringing her business forward, was on the point
of concluding it, when another gentleman presented himself at her side.
She turned her eyes towards his face, and found him with some surprise
to be her brother.

Their affection and pleasure in meeting was just enough to make a very
creditable appearance in Mr. Gray's shop.  John Dashwood was really far
from being sorry to see his sisters again; it rather gave them
satisfaction; and his inquiries after their mother were respectful and
attentive.

Elinor found that he and Fanny had been in town two days.

"I wished very much to call upon you yesterday," said he, "but it was
impossible, for we were obliged to take Harry to see the wild beasts at
Exeter Exchange; and we spent the rest of the day with Mrs. Ferrars.
Harry was vastly pleased.  THIS morning I had fully intended to call on
you, if I could possibly find a spare half hour, but one has always so
much to do on first coming to town.  I am come here to bespeak Fanny a
seal.  But tomorrow I think I shall certainly be able to call in
Berkeley Street, and be introduced to your friend Mrs. Jennings.  I
understand she is a woman of very good fortune.  And the Middletons
too, you must introduce me to THEM.  As my mother-in-law's relations, I
shall be happy to show them every respect.  They are excellent
neighbours to you in the country, I understand."

"Excellent indeed.  Their attention to our comfort, their friendliness
in every particular, is more than I can express."

"I am extremely glad to hear it, upon my word; extremely glad indeed.
But so it ought to be; they are people of large fortune, they are
related to you, and every civility and accommodation that can serve to
make your situation pleasant might be reasonably expected.  And so you
are most comfortably settled in your little cottage and want for
nothing!  Edward brought us a most charming account of the place: the
most complete thing of its kind, he said, that ever was, and you all
seemed to enjoy it beyond any thing.  It was a great satisfaction to us
to hear it, I assure you."

Elinor did feel a little ashamed of her brother; and was not sorry to
be spared the necessity of answering him, by the arrival of Mrs.
Jennings's servant, who came to tell her that his mistress waited for
them at the door.

Mr. Dashwood attended them down stairs, was introduced to Mrs. Jennings
at the door of her carriage, and repeating his hope of being able to
call on them the next day, took leave.

His visit was duly paid.  He came with a pretence at an apology from
their sister-in-law, for not coming too; "but she was so much engaged
with her mother, that really she had no leisure for going any where."
Mrs. Jennings, however, assured him directly, that she should not stand
upon ceremony, for they were all cousins, or something like it, and she
should certainly wait on Mrs. John Dashwood very soon, and bring her
sisters to see her.  His manners to THEM, though calm, were perfectly
kind; to Mrs. Jennings, most attentively civil; and on Colonel
Brandon's coming in soon after himself, he eyed him with a curiosity
which seemed to say, that he only wanted to know him to be rich, to be
equally civil to HIM.

After staying with them half an hour, he asked Elinor to walk with him
to Conduit Street, and introduce him to Sir John and Lady Middleton.
The weather was remarkably fine, and she readily consented.  As soon as
they were out of the house, his enquiries began.

"Who is Colonel Brandon?  Is he a man of fortune?"

"Yes; he has very good property in Dorsetshire."

"I am glad of it.  He seems a most gentlemanlike man; and I think,
Elinor, I may congratulate you on the prospect of a very respectable
establishment in life."

"Me, brother! what do you mean?"

"He likes you.  I observed him narrowly, and am convinced of it.  What
is the amount of his fortune?"

"I believe about two thousand a year."

"Two thousand a-year;" and then working himself up to a pitch of
enthusiastic generosity, he added, "Elinor, I wish with all my heart it
were TWICE as much, for your sake."

"Indeed I believe you," replied Elinor; "but I am very sure that
Colonel Brandon has not the smallest wish of marrying ME."

"You are mistaken, Elinor; you are very much mistaken.  A very little
trouble on your side secures him.  Perhaps just at present he may be
undecided; the smallness of your fortune may make him hang back; his
friends may all advise him against it.  But some of those little
attentions and encouragements which ladies can so easily give will fix
him, in spite of himself.  And there can be no reason why you should
not try for him.  It is not to be supposed that any prior attachment on
your side--in short, you know as to an attachment of that kind, it is
quite out of the question, the objections are insurmountable--you have
too much sense not to see all that.  Colonel Brandon must be the man;
and no civility shall be wanting on my part to make him pleased with
you and your family.  It is a match that must give universal
satisfaction.  In short, it is a kind of thing that"--lowering his
voice to an important whisper--"will be exceedingly welcome to ALL
PARTIES." Recollecting himself, however, he added, "That is, I mean to
say--your friends are all truly anxious to see you well settled; Fanny
particularly, for she has your interest very much at heart, I assure
you.  And her mother too, Mrs. Ferrars, a very good-natured woman, I am
sure it would give her great pleasure; she said as much the other day."

Elinor would not vouchsafe any answer.

"It would be something remarkable, now," he continued, "something
droll, if Fanny should have a brother and I a sister settling at the
same time.  And yet it is not very unlikely."

"Is Mr. Edward Ferrars," said Elinor, with resolution, "going to be
married?"

"It is not actually settled, but there is such a thing in agitation.
He has a most excellent mother.  Mrs. Ferrars, with the utmost
liberality, will come forward, and settle on him a thousand a year, if
the match takes place.  The lady is the Hon. Miss Morton, only daughter
of the late Lord Morton, with thirty thousand pounds.  A very desirable
connection on both sides, and I have not a doubt of its taking place in
time.  A thousand a-year is a great deal for a mother to give away, to
make over for ever; but Mrs. Ferrars has a noble spirit.  To give you
another instance of her liberality:--The other day, as soon as we came
to town, aware that money could not be very plenty with us just now,
she put bank-notes into Fanny's hands to the amount of two hundred
pounds.  And extremely acceptable it is, for we must live at a great
expense while we are here."

He paused for her assent and compassion; and she forced herself to say,

"Your expenses both in town and country must certainly be considerable;
but your income is a large one."

"Not so large, I dare say, as many people suppose.  I do not mean to
complain, however; it is undoubtedly a comfortable one, and I hope will
in time be better.  The enclosure of Norland Common, now carrying on,
is a most serious drain.  And then I have made a little purchase within
this half year; East Kingham Farm, you must remember the place, where
old Gibson used to live.  The land was so very desirable for me in
every respect, so immediately adjoining my own property, that I felt it
my duty to buy it.  I could not have answered it to my conscience to
let it fall into any other hands.  A man must pay for his convenience;
and it HAS cost me a vast deal of money."

"More than you think it really and intrinsically worth."

"Why, I hope not that.  I might have sold it again, the next day, for
more than I gave: but, with regard to the purchase-money, I might have
been very unfortunate indeed; for the stocks were at that time so low,
that if I had not happened to have the necessary sum in my banker's
hands, I must have sold out to very great loss."

Elinor could only smile.

"Other great and inevitable expenses too we have had on first coming to
Norland.  Our respected father, as you well know, bequeathed all the
Stanhill effects that remained at Norland (and very valuable they were)
to your mother.  Far be it from me to repine at his doing so; he had an
undoubted right to dispose of his own property as he chose, but, in
consequence of it, we have been obliged to make large purchases of
linen, china, &c. to supply the place of what was taken away.  You may
guess, after all these expenses, how very far we must be from being
rich, and how acceptable Mrs. Ferrars's kindness is."

"Certainly," said Elinor; "and assisted by her liberality, I hope you
may yet live to be in easy circumstances."

"Another year or two may do much towards it," he gravely replied; "but
however there is still a great deal to be done.  There is not a stone
laid of Fanny's green-house, and nothing but the plan of the
flower-garden marked out."

"Where is the green-house to be?"

"Upon the knoll behind the house.  The old walnut trees are all come
down to make room for it.  It will be a very fine object from many
parts of the park, and the flower-garden will slope down just before
it, and be exceedingly pretty.  We have cleared away all the old thorns
that grew in patches over the brow."

Elinor kept her concern and her censure to herself; and was very
thankful that Marianne was not present, to share the provocation.

Having now said enough to make his poverty clear, and to do away the
necessity of buying a pair of ear-rings for each of his sisters, in his
next visit at Gray's his thoughts took a cheerfuller turn, and he began
to congratulate Elinor on having such a friend as Mrs. Jennings.

"She seems a most valuable woman indeed--Her house, her style of
living, all bespeak an exceeding good income; and it is an acquaintance
that has not only been of great use to you hitherto, but in the end may
prove materially advantageous.--Her inviting you to town is certainly a
vast thing in your favour; and indeed, it speaks altogether so great a
regard for you, that in all probability when she dies you will not be
forgotten.-- She must have a great deal to leave."

"Nothing at all, I should rather suppose; for she has only her
jointure, which will descend to her children."

"But it is not to be imagined that she lives up to her income.  Few
people of common prudence will do THAT; and whatever she saves, she
will be able to dispose of."

"And do you not think it more likely that she should leave it to her
daughters, than to us?"

"Her daughters are both exceedingly well married, and therefore I
cannot perceive the necessity of her remembering them farther.
Whereas, in my opinion, by her taking so much notice of you, and
treating you in this kind of way, she has given you a sort of claim on
her future consideration, which a conscientious woman would not
disregard.  Nothing can be kinder than her behaviour; and she can
hardly do all this, without being aware of the expectation it raises."

"But she raises none in those most concerned.  Indeed, brother, your
anxiety for our welfare and prosperity carries you too far."

"Why, to be sure," said he, seeming to recollect himself, "people have
little, have very little in their power.  But, my dear Elinor, what is
the matter with Marianne?-- she looks very unwell, has lost her colour,
and is grown quite thin.  Is she ill?"

"She is not well, she has had a nervous complaint on her for several
weeks."

"I am sorry for that.  At her time of life, any thing of an illness
destroys the bloom for ever!  Hers has been a very short one!  She was
as handsome a girl last September, as I ever saw; and as likely to
attract the man.  There was something in her style of beauty, to please
them particularly.  I remember Fanny used to say that she would marry
sooner and better than you did; not but what she is exceedingly fond of
YOU, but so it happened to strike her.  She will be mistaken, however.
I question whether Marianne NOW, will marry a man worth more than five
or six hundred a-year, at the utmost, and I am very much deceived if
YOU do not do better.  Dorsetshire!  I know very little of Dorsetshire;
but, my dear Elinor, I shall be exceedingly glad to know more of it;
and I think I can answer for your having Fanny and myself among the
earliest and best pleased of your visitors."

Elinor tried very seriously to convince him that there was no
likelihood of her marrying Colonel Brandon; but it was an expectation
of too much pleasure to himself to be relinquished, and he was really
resolved on seeking an intimacy with that gentleman, and promoting the
marriage by every possible attention.  He had just compunction enough
for having done nothing for his sisters himself, to be exceedingly
anxious that everybody else should do a great deal; and an offer from
Colonel Brandon, or a legacy from Mrs. Jennings, was the easiest means
of atoning for his own neglect.

They were lucky enough to find Lady Middleton at home, and Sir John
came in before their visit ended.  Abundance of civilities passed on
all sides.  Sir John was ready to like anybody, and though Mr. Dashwood
did not seem to know much about horses, he soon set him down as a very
good-natured fellow: while Lady Middleton saw enough of fashion in his
appearance to think his acquaintance worth having; and Mr. Dashwood
went away delighted with both.

"I shall have a charming account to carry to Fanny," said he, as he
walked back with his sister.  "Lady Middleton is really a most elegant
woman!  Such a woman as I am sure Fanny will be glad to know.  And Mrs.
Jennings too, an exceedingly well-behaved woman, though not so elegant
as her daughter.  Your sister need not have any scruple even of
visiting HER, which, to say the truth, has been a little the case, and
very naturally; for we only knew that Mrs. Jennings was the widow of a
man who had got all his money in a low way; and Fanny and Mrs. Ferrars
were both strongly prepossessed, that neither she nor her daughters
were such kind of women as Fanny would like to associate with.  But now
I can carry her a most satisfactory account of both."

When Elinor told Marianne about Willoughby's shocking behavior, she "felt the loss of Willoughby's character yet more heavily than she had felt the loss of his heart." But she was kinder to Colonel Brandon, "even voluntarily speaking, with a kind of compassionate respect." Mrs. Dashwood, on learning the truth from Elinor's letter, was miserable; however, she advised them not to shorten their visit to Mrs. Jennings, for the distraction would do Marianne good. Mrs. Palmer, Sir John, and Lady Middleton were all indignant about Willoughby's behavior and swore they would have nothing more to do with him, although, seeing the future Mrs. Willoughby would be a lady of fashion, Lady Middleton planned to leave her card with her. Two weeks after Marianne received Willoughby's letter, Elinor had to break the news of his marriage. At first Marianne received it "with resolute composure," but for the rest of the day was in a pitiable state. The Misses Steele arrived in town and paid a call, behaving with their usual vulgarity. Lucy insinuated that Elinor had stayed in town to see Edward, and it took all Elinor's civility to remain composed in front of the girl. One day Marianne yielded to Elinor's urging and went shopping with her and Mrs. Jennings. Mrs. Jennings left them to do some business in Gray's jewelry shop while she paid a short call on a friend. While waiting to be served, Elinor and Marianne were diverted by a foppish young man who was buying a toothpick case and calling attention to himself. Finally he decided on his purchase, and the girls were served. Just as they finished their business, a gentleman appeared at their side. It was their stepbrother, John, who promised to call on them the next day. John was punctual and, after exchanging civilities with Mrs. Jennings and Colonel Brandon, went with Elinor to call on Sir John and Lady Middleton. On the way, John questioned her about Colonel Brandon and despite her protests insisted on believing that the colonel was interested in Elinor. He mentioned a prior attachment of Elinor's, saying it was out of the question and, alluding to an engagement for Edward, told her, "It is not actually settled, but there is such a thing in agitation." Guiltily he tried to persuade his half-sister that, because of his many expenses, he was "very far . . . from being rich" and inquired about Mrs. Jennings, hinting that because of her kindness to Elinor and Marianne, they might well have "expectations" from her. Elinor protested again. He then asked, "What is the matter with Marianne? She looks very unwell, has lost her colour, and is grown quite thin." Elinor told him that Marianne was suffering from a "nervous complaint." John seemed to fear she would lose her looks and thus the chance of a good marriage. John was well pleased with his visit to Sir John and Lady Middleton and went off satisfied that he would have "a charming account to carry to Fanny." He had feared they would be low-class due to Mrs. Jennings' low connections. But he was much impressed by Lady Middleton's elegance and Sir John's amiability.

Some of Jane Austen's most humorous writing is found in these chapters, especially in the reactions of Mrs. Palmer, Sir John, and Fanny to the news of Willoughby's faithlessness. Mrs. Palmer "was determined to drop his acquaintance immediately, and she was very thankful that she had never been acquainted with him at all." Sir John is appalled by the fact that he had ever offered Willoughby a puppy. Lady Middleton expressed her shock daily and "was able not only to see the Miss Dashwoods from the first without the smallest emotion, but very soon to see them without recollecting a word of the matter." The description of the stranger in Mr. Gray's shop is a masterpiece of satiric humor -- "a person and face of strong, natural, sterling insignificance." In Austen's novels, good looks are invariably associated with good health, and a "sickly" girl has no allure for the male. John Dashwood is thus alarmed to see Marianne looking so poorly. John is anxious for his half-sisters to marry as soon and as well as possible to relieve him of the guilt he feels for not having provided for them. However, any pangs of conscience he does feel are quickly assuaged by his rationalizations concerning his own expenses, the Dashwoods' complacency at Barton, and their expectations for good marriages and a possible inheritance from someone as unlikely as Mrs. Jennings.


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.

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.]

The following morning, Lucy Steele called to see Elinor and asked her, "Could anything be so flattering as Mrs. Ferrars' way of treating me yesterday?" When Elinor suggested that Lucy's anticipation of favor should wait until Mrs. Ferrars' awareness of the nature of Lucy's connection to Edward, Lucy insinuated that Elinor was jealous and said that shouldn't change things at all. An awkward situation arose when a servant suddenly announced the arrival of Edward Ferrars. Everybody felt very foolish, but Elinor welcomed him so kindly that "he had courage enough to sit down." On pretext of finding Marianne, Elinor left Edward and Lucy together. When the sisters came back, Marianne greeted Edward with profuse affection. Not knowing of the secret engagement, she behaved as if Edward were in love with Elinor, much to everyone's discomfort. Edward left very soon, "and Lucy, who would have outstayed him had his visit lasted two hours, soon afterwards went away. A few days later, Charlotte Palmer's baby was born. As Mrs. Jennings spent much time with her daughter, Elinor and Marianne were invited daily to Lady Middleton's. They were also invited to parties by people who believed them to be staying with their sister-in-law. At one musical parry, Elinor noticed the young man whom they had seen in Mr. Gray's jewelry shop. John Dashwood introduced him as Mr. Robert Ferrars, and Elinor found him "exactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by Lucy." John Dashwood suggested to his wife that he might invite his sisters to stay with them, but Fanny persuaded him that they could do that another year. Instead, she invited the Misses Steele, leading Lucy to believe that Mrs. Dashwood approved of a possible marriage between herself and Edward.

When dealing with characters who are not sensible, Austen almost invariably uses direct speech, and the characters reveal themselves the more clearly because of it. We learn a lot about Robert Ferrars when he talks so insincerely to Elinor about the advantages of living in a cottage. Lucy Steele's speech is equally self-revealing. Not only her lack of education but her innate vulgarity is exposed. She makes such mistakes in grammar as "She had quite took a fancy to me." Her short, simple sentences seem to reflect her emptiness of mind. Robert Ferrars seems the opposite of his brother. Robert attributes his own superiority to an education in the "public" schools , which reinforced all his natural tendency towards snobbery.


"Well, Miss Dashwood," said Mrs. Jennings, sagaciously smiling, as soon
as the gentleman had withdrawn, "I do not ask you what the Colonel has
been saying to you; for though, upon my honour, I TRIED to keep out of
hearing, I could not help catching enough to understand his business.
And I assure you I never was better pleased in my life, and I wish you
joy of it with all my heart."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Elinor.  "It is a matter of great joy to me;
and I feel the goodness of Colonel Brandon most sensibly.  There are
not many men who would act as he has done.  Few people who have so
compassionate a heart!  I never was more astonished in my life."

"Lord! my dear, you are very modest.  I an't the least astonished at it
in the world, for I have often thought of late, there was nothing more
likely to happen."

"You judged from your knowledge of the Colonel's general benevolence;
but at least you could not foresee that the opportunity would so very
soon occur."

"Opportunity!" repeated Mrs. Jennings--"Oh! as to that, when a man has
once made up his mind to such a thing, somehow or other he will soon
find an opportunity.  Well, my dear, I wish you joy of it again and
again; and if ever there was a happy couple in the world, I think I
shall soon know where to look for them."

"You mean to go to Delaford after them I suppose," said Elinor, with a
faint smile.

"Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed.  And as to the house being a bad one,
I do not know what the Colonel would be at, for it is as good a one as
ever I saw."

"He spoke of its being out of repair."

"Well, and whose fault is that? why don't he repair it?--who should do
it but himself?"

They were interrupted by the servant's coming in to announce the
carriage being at the door; and Mrs. Jennings immediately preparing to
go, said,--

"Well, my dear, I must be gone before I have had half my talk out.
But, however, we may have it all over in the evening; for we shall be
quite alone.  I do not ask you to go with me, for I dare say your mind
is too full of the matter to care for company; and besides, you must
long to tell your sister all about it."

Marianne had left the room before the conversation began.

"Certainly, ma'am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall not mention
it at present to any body else."

"Oh! very well," said Mrs. Jennings rather disappointed.  "Then you
would not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of going as far as
Holborn to-day."

"No, ma'am, not even Lucy if you please.  One day's delay will not be
very material; and till I have written to Mr. Ferrars, I think it ought
not to be mentioned to any body else.  I shall do THAT directly.  It is
of importance that no time should be lost with him, for he will of
course have much to do relative to his ordination."

This speech at first puzzled Mrs. Jennings exceedingly.  Why Mr.
Ferrars was to have been written to about it in such a hurry, she could
not immediately comprehend.  A few moments' reflection, however,
produced a very happy idea, and she exclaimed;--

"Oh, ho!--I understand you.  Mr. Ferrars is to be the man.  Well, so
much the better for him.  Ay, to be sure, he must be ordained in
readiness; and I am very glad to find things are so forward between
you.  But, my dear, is not this rather out of character?  Should not
the Colonel write himself?--sure, he is the proper person."

Elinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings's
speech, neither did she think it worth inquiring into; and therefore
only replied to its conclusion.

"Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather wished any one to
announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself."

"And so YOU are forced to do it.  Well THAT is an odd kind of delicacy!
However, I will not disturb you (seeing her preparing to write.)  You
know your own concerns best.  So goodby, my dear.  I have not heard of
any thing to please me so well since Charlotte was brought to bed."

And away she went; but returning again in a moment,

"I have just been thinking of Betty's sister, my dear.  I should be
very glad to get her so good a mistress.  But whether she would do for
a lady's maid, I am sure I can't tell.  She is an excellent housemaid,
and works very well at her needle.  However, you will think of all that
at your leisure."

"Certainly, ma'am," replied Elinor, not hearing much of what she said,
and more anxious to be alone, than to be mistress of the subject.

How she should begin--how she should express herself in her note to
Edward, was now all her concern.  The particular circumstances between
them made a difficulty of that which to any other person would have
been the easiest thing in the world; but she equally feared to say too
much or too little, and sat deliberating over her paper, with the pen
in her hand, till broken in on by the entrance of Edward himself.

He had met Mrs. Jennings at the door in her way to the carriage, as he
came to leave his farewell card; and she, after apologising for not
returning herself, had obliged him to enter, by saying that Miss
Dashwood was above, and wanted to speak with him on very particular
business.

Elinor had just been congratulating herself, in the midst of her
perplexity, that however difficult it might be to express herself
properly by letter, it was at least preferable to giving the
information by word of mouth, when her visitor entered, to force her
upon this greatest exertion of all.  Her astonishment and confusion
were very great on his so sudden appearance.  She had not seen him
before since his engagement became public, and therefore not since his
knowing her to be acquainted with it; which, with the consciousness of
what she had been thinking of, and what she had to tell him, made her
feel particularly uncomfortable for some minutes.  He too was much
distressed; and they sat down together in a most promising state of
embarrassment.--Whether he had asked her pardon for his intrusion on
first coming into the room, he could not recollect; but determining to
be on the safe side, he made his apology in form as soon as he could
say any thing, after taking a chair.

"Mrs. Jennings told me," said he, "that you wished to speak with me, at
least I understood her so--or I certainly should not have intruded on
you in such a manner; though at the same time, I should have been
extremely sorry to leave London without seeing you and your sister;
especially as it will most likely be some time--it is not probable that
I should soon have the pleasure of meeting you again.  I go to Oxford
tomorrow."

"You would not have gone, however," said Elinor, recovering herself,
and determined to get over what she so much dreaded as soon as
possible, "without receiving our good wishes, even if we had not been
able to give them in person.  Mrs. Jennings was quite right in what she
said.  I have something of consequence to inform you of, which I was on
the point of communicating by paper.  I am charged with a most
agreeable office (breathing rather faster than usual as she spoke.)
Colonel Brandon, who was here only ten minutes ago, has desired me to
say, that understanding you mean to take orders, he has great pleasure
in offering you the living of Delaford now just vacant, and only wishes
it were more valuable.  Allow me to congratulate you on having so
respectable and well-judging a friend, and to join in his wish that the
living--it is about two hundred a-year--were much more considerable,
and such as might better enable you to--as might be more than a
temporary accommodation to yourself--such, in short, as might establish
all your views of happiness."

What Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it cannot be expected
that any one else should say for him.  He LOOKED all the astonishment
which such unexpected, such unthought-of information could not fail of
exciting; but he said only these two words,

"Colonel Brandon!"

"Yes," continued Elinor, gathering more resolution, as some of the
worst was over, "Colonel Brandon means it as a testimony of his concern
for what has lately passed--for the cruel situation in which the
unjustifiable conduct of your family has placed you--a concern which I
am sure Marianne, myself, and all your friends, must share; and
likewise as a proof of his high esteem for your general character, and
his particular approbation of your behaviour on the present occasion."

"Colonel Brandon give ME a living!--Can it be possible?"

"The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find
friendship any where."

"No," replied he, with sudden consciousness, "not to find it in YOU;
for I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your goodness, I owe it
all.--I feel it--I would express it if I could--but, as you well know,
I am no orator."

"You are very much mistaken.  I do assure you that you owe it entirely,
at least almost entirely, to your own merit, and Colonel Brandon's
discernment of it.  I have had no hand in it.  I did not even know,
till I understood his design, that the living was vacant; nor had it
ever occurred to me that he might have had such a living in his gift.
As a friend of mine, of my family, he may, perhaps--indeed I know he
HAS, still greater pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my word, you owe
nothing to my solicitation."

Truth obliged her to acknowledge some small share in the action, but
she was at the same time so unwilling to appear as the benefactress of
Edward, that she acknowledged it with hesitation; which probably
contributed to fix that suspicion in his mind which had recently
entered it.  For a short time he sat deep in thought, after Elinor had
ceased to speak;--at last, and as if it were rather an effort, he said,

"Colonel Brandon seems a man of great worth and respectability.  I have
always heard him spoken of as such, and your brother I know esteems him
highly.  He is undoubtedly a sensible man, and in his manners perfectly
the gentleman."

"Indeed," replied Elinor, "I believe that you will find him, on farther
acquaintance, all that you have heard him to be, and as you will be
such very near neighbours (for I understand the parsonage is almost
close to the mansion-house,) it is particularly important that he
SHOULD be all this."

Edward made no answer; but when she had turned away her head, gave her
a look so serious, so earnest, so uncheerful, as seemed to say, that he
might hereafter wish the distance between the parsonage and the
mansion-house much greater.

"Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street," said he, soon
afterwards, rising from his chair.

Elinor told him the number of the house.

"I must hurry away then, to give him those thanks which you will not
allow me to give YOU; to assure him that he has made me a very--an
exceedingly happy man."

Elinor did not offer to detain him; and they parted, with a very
earnest assurance on HER side of her unceasing good wishes for his
happiness in every change of situation that might befall him; on HIS,
with rather an attempt to return the same good will, than the power of
expressing it.

"When I see him again," said Elinor to herself, as the door shut him
out, "I shall see him the husband of Lucy."

And with this pleasing anticipation, she sat down to reconsider the
past, recall the words and endeavour to comprehend all the feelings of
Edward; and, of course, to reflect on her own with discontent.

When Mrs. Jennings came home, though she returned from seeing people
whom she had never seen before, and of whom therefore she must have a
great deal to say, her mind was so much more occupied by the important
secret in her possession, than by anything else, that she reverted to
it again as soon as Elinor appeared.

"Well, my dear," she cried, "I sent you up the young man.  Did not I
do right?--And I suppose you had no great difficulty--You did not find
him very unwilling to accept your proposal?"

"No, ma'am; THAT was not very likely."

"Well, and how soon will he be ready?--For it seems all to depend upon
that."

"Really," said Elinor, "I know so little of these kind of forms, that I
can hardly even conjecture as to the time, or the preparation
necessary; but I suppose two or three months will complete his
ordination."

"Two or three months!" cried Mrs. Jennings; "Lord! my dear, how calmly
you talk of it; and can the Colonel wait two or three months! Lord
bless me!--I am sure it would put ME quite out of patience!--And though
one would be very glad to do a kindness by poor Mr. Ferrars, I do think
it is not worth while to wait two or three months for him.  Sure
somebody else might be found that would do as well; somebody that is in
orders already."

"My dear ma'am," said Elinor, "what can you be thinking of?-- Why,
Colonel Brandon's only object is to be of use to Mr. Ferrars."

"Lord bless you, my dear!--Sure you do not mean to persuade me that the
Colonel only marries you for the sake of giving ten guineas to Mr.
Ferrars!"

The deception could not continue after this; and an explanation
immediately took place, by which both gained considerable amusement for
the moment, without any material loss of happiness to either, for Mrs.
Jennings only exchanged one form of delight for another, and still
without forfeiting her expectation of the first.

"Aye, aye, the parsonage is but a small one," said she, after the first
ebullition of surprise and satisfaction was over, "and very likely MAY
be out of repair; but to hear a man apologising, as I thought, for a
house that to my knowledge has five sitting rooms on the ground-floor,
and I think the housekeeper told me could make up fifteen beds!--and to
you too, that had been used to live in Barton cottage!-- It seems quite
ridiculous.  But, my dear, we must touch up the Colonel to do some
thing to the parsonage, and make it comfortable for them, before Lucy
goes to it."

"But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of the living's
being enough to allow them to marry."

"The Colonel is a ninny, my dear; because he has two thousand a-year
himself, he thinks that nobody else can marry on less.  Take my word
for it, that, if I am alive, I shall be paying a visit at Delaford
Parsonage before Michaelmas; and I am sure I shan't go if Lucy an't
there."

Elinor was quite of her opinion, as to the probability of their not
waiting for any thing more.

Edward, having carried his thanks to Colonel Brandon, proceeded with
his happiness to Lucy; and such was the excess of it by the time he
reached Bartlett's Buildings, that she was able to assure Mrs.
Jennings, who called on her again the next day with her
congratulations, that she had never seen him in such spirits before in
her life.

Her own happiness, and her own spirits, were at least very certain; and
she joined Mrs. Jennings most heartily in her expectation of their
being all comfortably together in Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas.
So far was she, at the same time, from any backwardness to give Elinor
that credit which Edward WOULD give her, that she spoke of her
friendship for them both with the most grateful warmth, was ready to
own all their obligation to her, and openly declared that no exertion
for their good on Miss Dashwood's part, either present or future, would
ever surprise her, for she believed her capable of doing any thing in
the world for those she really valued.  As for Colonel Brandon, she was
not only ready to worship him as a saint, but was moreover truly
anxious that he should be treated as one in all worldly concerns;
anxious that his tithes should be raised to the utmost; and scarcely
resolved to avail herself, at Delaford, as far as she possibly could,
of his servants, his carriage, his cows, and his poultry.

It was now above a week since John Dashwood had called in Berkeley
Street, and as since that time no notice had been taken by them of his
wife's indisposition, beyond one verbal enquiry, Elinor began to feel
it necessary to pay her a visit.--This was an obligation, however,
which not only opposed her own inclination, but which had not the
assistance of any encouragement from her companions.  Marianne, not
contented with absolutely refusing to go herself, was very urgent to
prevent her sister's going at all; and Mrs. Jennings, though her
carriage was always at Elinor's service, so very much disliked Mrs.
John Dashwood, that not even her curiosity to see how she looked after
the late discovery, nor her strong desire to affront her by taking
Edward's part, could overcome her unwillingness to be in her company
again.  The consequence was, that Elinor set out by herself to pay a
visit, for which no one could really have less inclination, and to run
the risk of a tete-a-tete with a woman, whom neither of the others had
so much reason to dislike.

Mrs. Dashwood was denied; but before the carriage could turn from the
house, her husband accidentally came out.  He expressed great pleasure
in meeting Elinor, told her that he had been just going to call in
Berkeley Street, and, assuring her that Fanny would be very glad to see
her, invited her to come in.

They walked up stairs in to the drawing-room.--Nobody was there.

"Fanny is in her own room, I suppose," said he:--"I will go to her
presently, for I am sure she will not have the least objection in the
world to seeing YOU.-- Very far from it, indeed.  NOW especially there
cannot be--but however, you and Marianne were always great
favourites.--Why would not Marianne come?"--

Elinor made what excuse she could for her.

"I am not sorry to see you alone," he replied, "for I have a good deal
to say to you.  This living of Colonel Brandon's--can it be true?--has
he really given it to Edward?--I heard it yesterday by chance, and was
coming to you on purpose to enquire farther about it."

"It is perfectly true.--Colonel Brandon has given the living of
Delaford to Edward."

"Really!--Well, this is very astonishing!--no relationship!--no
connection between them!--and now that livings fetch such a
price!--what was the value of this?"

"About two hundred a year."

"Very well--and for the next presentation to a living of that
value--supposing the late incumbent to have been old and sickly, and
likely to vacate it soon--he might have got I dare say--fourteen
hundred pounds.  And how came he not to have settled that matter before
this person's death?--NOW indeed it would be too late to sell it, but a
man of Colonel Brandon's sense!--I wonder he should be so improvident
in a point of such common, such natural, concern!--Well, I am convinced
that there is a vast deal of inconsistency in almost every human
character.  I suppose, however--on recollection--that the case may
probably be THIS.  Edward is only to hold the living till the person to
whom the Colonel has really sold the presentation, is old enough to
take it.--Aye, aye, that is the fact, depend upon it."

Elinor contradicted it, however, very positively; and by relating that
she had herself been employed in conveying the offer from Colonel
Brandon to Edward, and, therefore, must understand the terms on which
it was given, obliged him to submit to her authority.

"It is truly astonishing!"--he cried, after hearing what she
said--"what could be the Colonel's motive?"

"A very simple one--to be of use to Mr. Ferrars."

"Well, well; whatever Colonel Brandon may be, Edward is a very lucky
man.--You will not mention the matter to Fanny, however, for though I
have broke it to her, and she bears it vastly well,--she will not like
to hear it much talked of."

Elinor had some difficulty here to refrain from observing, that she
thought Fanny might have borne with composure, an acquisition of wealth
to her brother, by which neither she nor her child could be possibly
impoverished.

"Mrs. Ferrars," added he, lowering his voice to the tone becoming so
important a subject, "knows nothing about it at present, and I believe
it will be best to keep it entirely concealed from her as long as may
be.-- When the marriage takes place, I fear she must hear of it all."

"But why should such precaution be used?--Though it is not to be
supposed that Mrs. Ferrars can have the smallest satisfaction in
knowing that her son has money enough to live upon,--for THAT must be
quite out of the question; yet why, upon her late behaviour, is she
supposed to feel at all?--She has done with her son, she cast him off
for ever, and has made all those over whom she had any influence, cast
him off likewise.  Surely, after doing so, she cannot be imagined
liable to any impression of sorrow or of joy on his account--she cannot
be interested in any thing that befalls him.-- She would not be so weak
as to throw away the comfort of a child, and yet retain the anxiety of
a parent!"

"Ah! Elinor," said John, "your reasoning is very good, but it is
founded on ignorance of human nature.  When Edward's unhappy match
takes place, depend upon it his mother will feel as much as if she had
never discarded him; and, therefore every circumstance that may
accelerate that dreadful event, must be concealed from her as much as
possible.  Mrs. Ferrars can never forget that Edward is her son."

"You surprise me; I should think it must nearly have escaped her memory
by THIS time."

"You wrong her exceedingly.  Mrs. Ferrars is one of the most
affectionate mothers in the world."

Elinor was silent.

"We think NOW,"--said Mr. Dashwood, after a short pause, "of ROBERT'S
marrying Miss Morton."

Elinor, smiling at the grave and decisive importance of her brother's
tone, calmly replied,

"The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair."

"Choice!--how do you mean?"

"I only mean that I suppose, from your manner of speaking, it must be
the same to Miss Morton whether she marry Edward or Robert."

"Certainly, there can be no difference; for Robert will now to all
intents and purposes be considered as the eldest son;--and as to any
thing else, they are both very agreeable young men: I do not know that
one is superior to the other."

Elinor said no more, and John was also for a short time silent.--His
reflections ended thus.

"Of ONE thing, my dear sister," kindly taking her hand, and speaking in
an awful whisper,--"I may assure you;--and I WILL do it, because I know
it must gratify you.  I have good reason to think--indeed I have it
from the best authority, or I should not repeat it, for otherwise it
would be very wrong to say any thing about it--but I have it from the
very best authority--not that I ever precisely heard Mrs. Ferrars say
it herself--but her daughter DID, and I have it from her--That in
short, whatever objections there might be against a certain--a certain
connection--you understand me--it would have been far preferable to
her, it would not have given her half the vexation that THIS does.  I
was exceedingly pleased to hear that Mrs. Ferrars considered it in that
light--a very gratifying circumstance you know to us all.  'It would
have been beyond comparison,' she said, 'the least evil of the two, and
she would be glad to compound NOW for nothing worse.' But however, all
that is quite out of the question--not to be thought of or
mentioned--as to any attachment you know--it never could be--all that
is gone by.  But I thought I would just tell you of this, because I
knew how much it must please you.  Not that you have any reason to
regret, my dear Elinor.  There is no doubt of your doing exceedingly
well--quite as well, or better, perhaps, all things considered.  Has
Colonel Brandon been with you lately?"

Elinor had heard enough, if not to gratify her vanity, and raise her
self-importance, to agitate her nerves and fill her mind;--and she was
therefore glad to be spared from the necessity of saying much in reply
herself, and from the danger of hearing any thing more from her
brother, by the entrance of Mr. Robert Ferrars.  After a few moments'
chat, John Dashwood, recollecting that Fanny was yet uninformed of her
sister's being there, quitted the room in quest of her; and Elinor was
left to improve her acquaintance with Robert, who, by the gay
unconcern, the happy self-complacency of his manner while enjoying so
unfair a division of his mother's love and liberality, to the prejudice
of his banished brother, earned only by his own dissipated course of
life, and that brother's integrity, was confirming her most
unfavourable opinion of his head and heart.

They had scarcely been two minutes by themselves, before he began to
speak of Edward; for he, too, had heard of the living, and was very
inquisitive on the subject.  Elinor repeated the particulars of it, as
she had given them to John; and their effect on Robert, though very
different, was not less striking than it had been on HIM.  He laughed
most immoderately.  The idea of Edward's being a clergyman, and living
in a small parsonage-house, diverted him beyond measure;--and when to
that was added the fanciful imagery of Edward reading prayers in a
white surplice, and publishing the banns of marriage between John Smith
and Mary Brown, he could conceive nothing more ridiculous.

Elinor, while she waited in silence and immovable gravity, the
conclusion of such folly, could not restrain her eyes from being fixed
on him with a look that spoke all the contempt it excited.  It was a
look, however, very well bestowed, for it relieved her own feelings,
and gave no intelligence to him.  He was recalled from wit to wisdom,
not by any reproof of hers, but by his own sensibility.

"We may treat it as a joke," said he, at last, recovering from the
affected laugh which had considerably lengthened out the genuine gaiety
of the moment--"but, upon my soul, it is a most serious business.  Poor
Edward!  he is ruined for ever.  I am extremely sorry for it--for I
know him to be a very good-hearted creature; as well-meaning a fellow
perhaps, as any in the world.  You must not judge of him, Miss
Dashwood, from YOUR slight acquaintance.--Poor Edward!--His manners are
certainly not the happiest in nature.--But we are not all born, you
know, with the same powers,--the same address.-- Poor fellow!--to see
him in a circle of strangers!--to be sure it was pitiable enough!--but
upon my soul, I believe he has as good a heart as any in the kingdom;
and I declare and protest to you I never was so shocked in my life, as
when it all burst forth.  I could not believe it.-- My mother was the
first person who told me of it; and I, feeling myself called on to act
with resolution, immediately said to her, 'My dear madam, I do not know
what you may intend to do on the occasion, but as for myself, I must
say, that if Edward does marry this young woman, I never will see him
again.' That was what I said immediately.-- I was most uncommonly
shocked, indeed!--Poor Edward!--he has done for himself
completely--shut himself out for ever from all decent society!--but, as
I directly said to my mother, I am not in the least surprised at it;
from his style of education, it was always to be expected.  My poor
mother was half frantic."

"Have you ever seen the lady?"

"Yes; once, while she was staying in this house, I happened to drop in
for ten minutes; and I saw quite enough of her.  The merest awkward
country girl, without style, or elegance, and almost without beauty.--
I remember her perfectly.  Just the kind of girl I should suppose
likely to captivate poor Edward.  I offered immediately, as soon as my
mother related the affair to me, to talk to him myself, and dissuade
him from the match; but it was too late THEN, I found, to do any thing,
for unluckily, I was not in the way at first, and knew nothing of it
till after the breach had taken place, when it was not for me, you
know, to interfere.  But had I been informed of it a few hours
earlier--I think it is most probable--that something might have been
hit on.  I certainly should have represented it to Edward in a very
strong light.  'My dear fellow,' I should have said, 'consider what you
are doing.  You are making a most disgraceful connection, and such a
one as your family are unanimous in disapproving.' I cannot help
thinking, in short, that means might have been found.  But now it is
all too late.  He must be starved, you know;--that is certain;
absolutely starved."

He had just settled this point with great composure, when the entrance
of Mrs. John Dashwood put an end to the subject.  But though SHE never
spoke of it out of her own family, Elinor could see its influence on
her mind, in the something like confusion of countenance with which she
entered, and an attempt at cordiality in her behaviour to herself.  She
even proceeded so far as to be concerned to find that Elinor and her
sister were so soon to leave town, as she had hoped to see more of
them;--an exertion in which her husband, who attended her into the
room, and hung enamoured over her accents, seemed to distinguish every
thing that was most affectionate and graceful.

Mrs. Jennings questioned Elinor about her talk with Colonel Brandon, and the two women were soon at cross purposes. Mrs. Jennings was left with the impression that Elinor and the colonel wanted Edward to perform their wedding ceremony. Before she learned the truth, Edward called and was greatly surprised to learn from Elinor of the colonel's offer of the Delaford living. He was most grateful, naturally concluding that Elinor had played some part in the offer. When he left to go and thank the colonel, Mrs. Jennings returned. During a talk with Elinor, they both realized her misunderstanding about the engagement and were much amused. Edward thanked the colonel and proceeded to tell Lucy his news. She was "able to reassure Mrs. Jennings, who called on her again the next day with her congratulations, that she had never seen him in such spirits before in her life." Elinor, out of courtesy, went to call on her sister-in-law and found her half-brother at home. He told her that she would be pleased to know that Mrs. Ferrars would have even preferred Elinor to Lucy Steele. When Elinor made no comment, John again alluded to a match between her and Colonel Brandon. While Elinor was still there, Robert Ferrars turned up, and his patronizing and unfeeling attitude towards Edward confirmed "her most unfavourable opinion of his head and heart."

Country squires like Colonel Brandon, who had the power to bestow livings, often accepted money from those who wished to be given a living on the death of the incumbent. As John Dashwood said, they sometimes received as much as fourteen hundred pounds. Sometimes parents or guardians bought a living for a young man, and a clergyman was employed temporarily until the youth was grown up and ordained. Elinor again shows her strength of character by visiting the "ailing" Mrs. Dashwood, who has treated her so badly. Robert is confirmed as the shallow fop he appeared to be on their first meeting at Gray's. He has no sympathy for his brother, finding Edward's sad situation a source of laughter and contempt.