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

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

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

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

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

"What! is Fanny ill?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elinor confirmed it.

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

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

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

"By feeling that I was doing my duty.--My promise to Lucy, obliged me
to be secret.  I owed it to her, therefore, to avoid giving any hint of
the truth; and I owed it to my family and friends, not to create in
them a solicitude about me, which it could not be in my power to
satisfy."

Marianne seemed much struck.

"I have very often wished to undeceive yourself and my mother," added
Elinor; "and once or twice I have attempted it;--but without betraying
my trust, I never could have convinced you."

"Four months!--and yet you loved him!"--

"Yes. But I did not love only him;--and while the comfort of others was
dear to me, I was glad to spare them from knowing how much I felt.
Now, I can think and speak of it with little emotion.  I would not have
you suffer on my account; for I assure you I no longer suffer
materially myself.  I have many things to support me.  I am not
conscious of having provoked the disappointment by any imprudence of my
own, I have borne it as much as possible without spreading it farther.
I acquit Edward of essential misconduct.  I wish him very happy; and I
am so sure of his always doing his duty, that though now he may harbour
some regret, in the end he must become so.  Lucy does not want sense,
and that is the foundation on which every thing good may be built.--And
after all, Marianne, after all that is bewitching in the idea of a
single and constant attachment, and all that can be said of one's
happiness depending entirely on any particular person, it is not
meant--it is not fit--it is not possible that it should be so.-- Edward
will marry Lucy; he will marry a woman superior in person and
understanding to half her sex; and time and habit will teach him to
forget that he ever thought another superior to HER."--

"If such is your way of thinking," said Marianne, "if the loss of what
is most valued is so easily to be made up by something else, your
resolution, your self-command, are, perhaps, a little less to be
wondered at.--They are brought more within my comprehension."

"I understand you.--You do not suppose that I have ever felt much.--For
four months, Marianne, I have had all this hanging on my mind, without
being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature; knowing that it
would make you and my mother most unhappy whenever it were explained to
you, yet unable to prepare you for it in the least.-- It was told
me,--it was in a manner forced on me by the very person herself, whose
prior engagement ruined all my prospects; and told me, as I thought,
with triumph.-- This person's suspicions, therefore, I have had to
oppose, by endeavouring to appear indifferent where I have been most
deeply interested;--and it has not been only once;--I have had her
hopes and exultation to listen to again and again.-- I have known
myself to be divided from Edward for ever, without hearing one
circumstance that could make me less desire the connection.--Nothing
has proved him unworthy; nor has anything declared him indifferent to
me.-- I have had to contend against the unkindness of his sister, and
the insolence of his mother; and have suffered the punishment of an
attachment, without enjoying its advantages.-- And all this has been
going on at a time, when, as you know too well, it has not been my only
unhappiness.-- If you can think me capable of ever feeling--surely you
may suppose that I have suffered NOW.  The composure of mind with which
I have brought myself at present to consider the matter, the
consolation that I have been willing to admit, have been the effect of
constant and painful exertion;--they did not spring up of
themselves;--they did not occur to relieve my spirits at first.-- No,
Marianne.--THEN, if I had not been bound to silence, perhaps nothing
could have kept me entirely--not even what I owed to my dearest
friends--from openly shewing that I was VERY unhappy."--

Marianne was quite subdued.--

"Oh! Elinor," she cried, "you have made me hate myself for ever.--How
barbarous have I been to you!--you, who have been my only comfort, who
have borne with me in all my misery, who have seemed to be only
suffering for me!--Is this my gratitude?--Is this the only return I can
make you?--Because your merit cries out upon myself, I have been trying
to do it away."

The tenderest caresses followed this confession.  In such a frame of
mind as she was now in, Elinor had no difficulty in obtaining from her
whatever promise she required; and at her request, Marianne engaged
never to speak of the affair to any one with the least appearance of
bitterness;--to meet Lucy without betraying the smallest increase of
dislike to her;--and even to see Edward himself, if chance should bring
them together, without any diminution of her usual cordiality.-- These
were great concessions;--but where Marianne felt that she had injured,
no reparation could be too much for her to make.

She performed her promise of being discreet, to admiration.--She
attended to all that Mrs. Jennings had to say upon the subject, with an
unchanging complexion, dissented from her in nothing, and was heard
three times to say, "Yes, ma'am."--She listened to her praise of Lucy
with only moving from one chair to another, and when Mrs. Jennings
talked of Edward's affection, it cost her only a spasm in her
throat.--Such advances towards heroism in her sister, made Elinor feel
equal to any thing herself.

The next morning brought a farther trial of it, in a visit from their
brother, who came with a most serious aspect to talk over the dreadful
affair, and bring them news of his wife.

"You have heard, I suppose," said he with great solemnity, as soon as
he was seated, "of the very shocking discovery that took place under
our roof yesterday."

They all looked their assent; it seemed too awful a moment for speech.

"Your sister," he continued, "has suffered dreadfully.  Mrs. Ferrars
too--in short it has been a scene of such complicated distress--but I
will hope that the storm may be weathered without our being any of us
quite overcome.  Poor Fanny! she was in hysterics all yesterday.  But I
would not alarm you too much.  Donavan says there is nothing materially
to be apprehended; her constitution is a good one, and her resolution
equal to any thing.  She has borne it all, with the fortitude of an
angel!  She says she never shall think well of anybody again; and one
cannot wonder at it, after being so deceived!--meeting with such
ingratitude, where so much kindness had been shewn, so much confidence
had been placed!  It was quite out of the benevolence of her heart,
that she had asked these young women to her house; merely because she
thought they deserved some attention, were harmless, well-behaved
girls, and would be pleasant companions; for otherwise we both wished
very much to have invited you and Marianne to be with us, while your
kind friend there, was attending her daughter.  And now to be so
rewarded!  'I wish, with all my heart,' says poor Fanny in her
affectionate way, 'that we had asked your sisters instead of them.'"

Here he stopped to be thanked; which being done, he went on.

"What poor Mrs. Ferrars suffered, when first Fanny broke it to her, is
not to be described.  While she with the truest affection had been
planning a most eligible connection for him, was it to be supposed that
he could be all the time secretly engaged to another person!--such a
suspicion could never have entered her head!  If she suspected ANY
prepossession elsewhere, it could not be in THAT quarter.  'THERE, to
be sure,' said she, 'I might have thought myself safe.' She was quite
in an agony.  We consulted together, however, as to what should be
done, and at last she determined to send for Edward.  He came.  But I
am sorry to relate what ensued.  All that Mrs. Ferrars could say to
make him put an end to the engagement, assisted too as you may well
suppose by my arguments, and Fanny's entreaties, was of no avail.
Duty, affection, every thing was disregarded.  I never thought Edward
so stubborn, so unfeeling before.  His mother explained to him her
liberal designs, in case of his marrying Miss Morton; told him she
would settle on him the Norfolk estate, which, clear of land-tax,
brings in a good thousand a-year; offered even, when matters grew
desperate, to make it twelve hundred; and in opposition to this, if he
still persisted in this low connection, represented to him the certain
penury that must attend the match.  His own two thousand pounds she
protested should be his all; she would never see him again; and so far
would she be from affording him the smallest assistance, that if he
were to enter into any profession with a view of better support, she
would do all in her power to prevent him advancing in it."

Here Marianne, in an ecstasy of indignation, clapped her hands
together, and cried, "Gracious God!  can this be possible!"

"Well may you wonder, Marianne," replied her brother, "at the obstinacy
which could resist such arguments as these.  Your exclamation is very
natural."

Marianne was going to retort, but she remembered her promises, and
forbore.

"All this, however," he continued, "was urged in vain.  Edward said
very little; but what he did say, was in the most determined manner.
Nothing should prevail on him to give up his engagement.  He would
stand to it, cost him what it might."

"Then," cried Mrs. Jennings with blunt sincerity, no longer able to be
silent, "he has acted like an honest man! I beg your pardon, Mr.
Dashwood, but if he had done otherwise, I should have thought him a
rascal.  I have some little concern in the business, as well as
yourself, for Lucy Steele is my cousin, and I believe there is not a
better kind of girl in the world, nor one who more deserves a good
husband."

John Dashwood was greatly astonished; but his nature was calm, not open
to provocation, and he never wished to offend anybody, especially
anybody of good fortune.  He therefore replied, without any resentment,

"I would by no means speak disrespectfully of any relation of yours,
madam.  Miss Lucy Steele is, I dare say, a very deserving young woman,
but in the present case you know, the connection must be impossible.
And to have entered into a secret engagement with a young man under her
uncle's care, the son of a woman especially of such very large fortune
as Mrs. Ferrars, is perhaps, altogether a little extraordinary. In
short, I do not mean to reflect upon the behaviour of any person whom
you have a regard for, Mrs. Jennings.  We all wish her extremely happy;
and Mrs. Ferrars's conduct throughout the whole, has been such as every
conscientious, good mother, in like circumstances, would adopt.  It has
been dignified and liberal.  Edward has drawn his own lot, and I fear
it will be a bad one."

Marianne sighed out her similar apprehension; and Elinor's heart wrung
for the feelings of Edward, while braving his mother's threats, for a
woman who could not reward him.

"Well, sir," said Mrs. Jennings, "and how did it end?"

"I am sorry to say, ma'am, in a most unhappy rupture:-- Edward is
dismissed for ever from his mother's notice.  He left her house
yesterday, but where he is gone, or whether he is still in town, I do
not know; for WE of course can make no inquiry."

"Poor young man!--and what is to become of him?"

"What, indeed, ma'am!  It is a melancholy consideration.  Born to the
prospect of such affluence!  I cannot conceive a situation more
deplorable.  The interest of two thousand pounds--how can a man live on
it?--and when to that is added the recollection, that he might, but for
his own folly, within three months have been in the receipt of two
thousand, five hundred a-year (for Miss Morton has thirty thousand
pounds,) I cannot picture to myself a more wretched condition.  We must
all feel for him; and the more so, because it is totally out of our
power to assist him."

"Poor young man!" cried Mrs. Jennings, "I am sure he should be very
welcome to bed and board at my house; and so I would tell him if I
could see him.  It is not fit that he should be living about at his own
charge now, at lodgings and taverns."

Elinor's heart thanked her for such kindness towards Edward, though she
could not forbear smiling at the form of it.

"If he would only have done as well by himself," said John Dashwood,
"as all his friends were disposed to do by him, he might now have been
in his proper situation, and would have wanted for nothing.  But as it
is, it must be out of anybody's power to assist him.  And there is one
thing more preparing against him, which must be worse than all--his
mother has determined, with a very natural kind of spirit, to settle
THAT estate upon Robert immediately, which might have been Edward's, on
proper conditions.  I left her this morning with her lawyer, talking
over the business."

"Well!" said Mrs. Jennings, "that is HER revenge.  Everybody has a way
of their own.  But I don't think mine would be, to make one son
independent, because another had plagued me."

Marianne got up and walked about the room.

"Can anything be more galling to the spirit of a man," continued John,
"than to see his younger brother in possession of an estate which might
have been his own?  Poor Edward!  I feel for him sincerely."

A few minutes more spent in the same kind of effusion, concluded his
visit; and with repeated assurances to his sisters that he really
believed there was no material danger in Fanny's indisposition, and
that they need not therefore be very uneasy about it, he went away;
leaving the three ladies unanimous in their sentiments on the present
occasion, as far at least as it regarded Mrs. Ferrars's conduct, the
Dashwoods', and Edward's.

Marianne's indignation burst forth as soon as he quitted the room; and
as her vehemence made reserve impossible in Elinor, and unnecessary in
Mrs. Jennings, they all joined in a very spirited critique upon the
party.

Mrs. Jennings was very warm in her praise of Edward's conduct, but only
Elinor and Marianne understood its true merit.  THEY only knew how
little he had had to tempt him to be disobedient, and how small was the
consolation, beyond the consciousness of doing right, that could remain
to him in the loss of friends and fortune.  Elinor gloried in his
integrity; and Marianne forgave all his offences in compassion for his
punishment.  But though confidence between them was, by this public
discovery, restored to its proper state, it was not a subject on which
either of them were fond of dwelling when alone.  Elinor avoided it
upon principle, as tending to fix still more upon her thoughts, by the
too warm, too positive assurances of Marianne, that belief of Edward's
continued affection for herself which she rather wished to do away; and
Marianne's courage soon failed her, in trying to converse upon a topic
which always left her more dissatisfied with herself than ever, by the
comparison it necessarily produced between Elinor's conduct and her own.

She felt all the force of that comparison; but not as her sister had
hoped, to urge her to exertion now; she felt it with all the pain of
continual self-reproach, regretted most bitterly that she had never
exerted herself before; but it brought only the torture of penitence,
without the hope of amendment.  Her mind was so much weakened that she
still fancied present exertion impossible, and therefore it only
dispirited her more.

Nothing new was heard by them, for a day or two afterwards, of affairs
in Harley Street, or Bartlett's Buildings.  But though so much of the
matter was known to them already, that Mrs. Jennings might have had
enough to do in spreading that knowledge farther, without seeking after
more, she had resolved from the first to pay a visit of comfort and
inquiry to her cousins as soon as she could; and nothing but the
hindrance of more visitors than usual, had prevented her going to them
within that time.

The third day succeeding their knowledge of the particulars, was so
fine, so beautiful a Sunday as to draw many to Kensington Gardens,
though it was only the second week in March.  Mrs. Jennings and Elinor
were of the number; but Marianne, who knew that the Willoughbys were
again in town, and had a constant dread of meeting them, chose rather
to stay at home, than venture into so public a place.

An intimate acquaintance of Mrs. Jennings joined them soon after they
entered the Gardens, and Elinor was not sorry that by her continuing
with them, and engaging all Mrs. Jennings's conversation, she was
herself left to quiet reflection.  She saw nothing of the Willoughbys,
nothing of Edward, and for some time nothing of anybody who could by
any chance whether grave or gay, be interesting to her.  But at last
she found herself with some surprise, accosted by Miss Steele, who,
though looking rather shy, expressed great satisfaction in meeting
them, and on receiving encouragement from the particular kindness of
Mrs. Jennings, left her own party for a short time, to join their's.
Mrs. Jennings immediately whispered to Elinor,

"Get it all out of her, my dear.  She will tell you any thing if you
ask.  You see I cannot leave Mrs. Clarke."

It was lucky, however, for Mrs. Jennings's curiosity and Elinor's too,
that she would tell any thing WITHOUT being asked; for nothing would
otherwise have been learnt.

"I am so glad to meet you;" said Miss Steele, taking her familiarly by
the arm--"for I wanted to see you of all things in the world."  And
then lowering her voice, "I suppose Mrs. Jennings has heard all about
it.  Is she angry?"

"Not at all, I believe, with you."

"That is a good thing.  And Lady Middleton, is SHE angry?"

"I cannot suppose it possible that she should be."

"I am monstrous glad of it.  Good gracious!  I have had such a time of
it!  I never saw Lucy in such a rage in my life.  She vowed at first
she would never trim me up a new bonnet, nor do any thing else for me
again, so long as she lived; but now she is quite come to, and we are
as good friends as ever.  Look, she made me this bow to my hat, and put
in the feather last night.  There now, YOU are going to laugh at me
too.  But why should not I wear pink ribbons?  I do not care if it IS
the Doctor's favourite colour.  I am sure, for my part, I should never
have known he DID like it better than any other colour, if he had not
happened to say so.  My cousins have been so plaguing me!  I declare
sometimes I do not know which way to look before them."

She had wandered away to a subject on which Elinor had nothing to say,
and therefore soon judged it expedient to find her way back again to
the first.

"Well, but Miss Dashwood," speaking triumphantly, "people may say what
they chuse about Mr. Ferrars's declaring he would not have Lucy, for it
is no such thing I can tell you; and it is quite a shame for such
ill-natured reports to be spread abroad.  Whatever Lucy might think
about it herself, you know, it was no business of other people to set
it down for certain."

"I never heard any thing of the kind hinted at before, I assure you,"
said Elinor.

"Oh, did not you?  But it WAS said, I know, very well, and by more than
one; for Miss Godby told Miss Sparks, that nobody in their senses could
expect Mr. Ferrars to give up a woman like Miss Morton, with thirty
thousand pounds to her fortune, for Lucy Steele that had nothing at
all; and I had it from Miss Sparks myself.  And besides that, my cousin
Richard said himself, that when it came to the point he was afraid Mr.
Ferrars would be off; and when Edward did not come near us for three
days, I could not tell what to think myself; and I believe in my heart
Lucy gave it up all for lost; for we came away from your brother's
Wednesday, and we saw nothing of him not all Thursday, Friday, and
Saturday, and did not know what was become of him.  Once Lucy thought
to write to him, but then her spirits rose against that.  However this
morning he came just as we came home from church; and then it all came
out, how he had been sent for Wednesday to Harley Street, and been
talked to by his mother and all of them, and how he had declared before
them all that he loved nobody but Lucy, and nobody but Lucy would he
have.  And how he had been so worried by what passed, that as soon as
he had went away from his mother's house, he had got upon his horse,
and rid into the country, some where or other; and how he had stayed
about at an inn all Thursday and Friday, on purpose to get the better
of it.  And after thinking it all over and over again, he said, it
seemed to him as if, now he had no fortune, and no nothing at all, it
would be quite unkind to keep her on to the engagement, because it must
be for her loss, for he had nothing but two thousand pounds, and no
hope of any thing else; and if he was to go into orders, as he had some
thoughts, he could get nothing but a curacy, and how was they to live
upon that?--He could not bear to think of her doing no better, and so
he begged, if she had the least mind for it, to put an end to the
matter directly, and leave him shift for himself.  I heard him say all
this as plain as could possibly be.  And it was entirely for HER sake,
and upon HER account, that he said a word about being off, and not upon
his own.  I will take my oath he never dropt a syllable of being tired
of her, or of wishing to marry Miss Morton, or any thing like it.  But,
to be sure, Lucy would not give ear to such kind of talking; so she
told him directly (with a great deal about sweet and love, you know,
and all that--Oh, la! one can't repeat such kind of things you
know)--she told him directly, she had not the least mind in the world
to be off, for she could live with him upon a trifle, and how little so
ever he might have, she should be very glad to have it all, you know,
or something of the kind.  So then he was monstrous happy, and talked
on some time about what they should do, and they agreed he should take
orders directly, and they must wait to be married till he got a living.
And just then I could not hear any more, for my cousin called from
below to tell me Mrs. Richardson was come in her coach, and would take
one of us to Kensington Gardens; so I was forced to go into the room
and interrupt them, to ask Lucy if she would like to go, but she did
not care to leave Edward; so I just run up stairs and put on a pair of
silk stockings and came off with the Richardsons."

"I do not understand what you mean by interrupting them," said Elinor;
"you were all in the same room together, were not you?"

"No, indeed, not us.  La! Miss Dashwood, do you think people make love
when any body else is by?  Oh, for shame!--To be sure you must know
better than that.  (Laughing affectedly.)--No, no; they were shut up in
the drawing-room together, and all I heard was only by listening at the
door."

"How!" cried Elinor; "have you been repeating to me what you only
learnt yourself by listening at the door?  I am sorry I did not know it
before; for I certainly would not have suffered you to give me
particulars of a conversation which you ought not to have known
yourself.  How could you behave so unfairly by your sister?"

"Oh, la! there is nothing in THAT.  I only stood at the door, and heard
what I could.  And I am sure Lucy would have done just the same by me;
for a year or two back, when Martha Sharpe and I had so many secrets
together, she never made any bones of hiding in a closet, or behind a
chimney-board, on purpose to hear what we said."

Elinor tried to talk of something else; but Miss Steele could not be
kept beyond a couple of minutes, from what was uppermost in her mind.

"Edward talks of going to Oxford soon," said she; "but now he is
lodging at No. --, Pall Mall.  What an ill-natured woman his mother is,
an't she? And your brother and sister were not very kind! However, I
shan't say anything against them to YOU; and to be sure they did send
us home in their own chariot, which was more than I looked for.  And
for my part, I was all in a fright for fear your sister should ask us
for the huswifes she had gave us a day or two before; but, however,
nothing was said about them, and I took care to keep mine out of sight.
Edward have got some business at Oxford, he says; so he must go there
for a time; and after THAT, as soon as he can light upon a Bishop, he
will be ordained.  I wonder what curacy he will get!--Good gracious!
(giggling as she spoke) I'd lay my life I know what my cousins will
say, when they hear of it.  They will tell me I should write to the
Doctor, to get Edward the curacy of his new living.  I know they will;
but I am sure I would not do such a thing for all the world.-- 'La!' I
shall say directly, 'I wonder how you could think of such a thing?  I
write to the Doctor, indeed!'"

"Well," said Elinor, "it is a comfort to be prepared against the worst.
You have got your answer ready."

Miss Steele was going to reply on the same subject, but the approach of
her own party made another more necessary.

"Oh, la! here come the Richardsons.  I had a vast deal more to say to
you, but I must not stay away from them not any longer.  I assure you
they are very genteel people.  He makes a monstrous deal of money, and
they keep their own coach.  I have not time to speak to Mrs. Jennings
about it myself, but pray tell her I am quite happy to hear she is not
in anger against us, and Lady Middleton the same; and if anything
should happen to take you and your sister away, and Mrs. Jennings
should want company, I am sure we should be very glad to come and stay
with her for as long a time as she likes.  I suppose Lady Middleton
won't ask us any more this bout.  Good-by; I am sorry Miss Marianne was
not here.  Remember me kindly to her.  La! if you have not got your
spotted muslin on!--I wonder you was not afraid of its being torn."

Such was her parting concern; for after this, she had time only to pay
her farewell compliments to Mrs. Jennings, before her company was
claimed by Mrs. Richardson; and Elinor was left in possession of
knowledge which might feed her powers of reflection some time, though
she had learnt very little more than what had been already foreseen and
foreplanned in her own mind.  Edward's marriage with Lucy was as firmly
determined on, and the time of its taking place remained as absolutely
uncertain, as she had concluded it would be;--every thing depended,
exactly after her expectation, on his getting that preferment, of
which, at present, there seemed not the smallest chance.

As soon as they returned to the carriage, Mrs. Jennings was eager for
information; but as Elinor wished to spread as little as possible
intelligence that had in the first place been so unfairly obtained, she
confined herself to the brief repetition of such simple particulars, as
she felt assured that Lucy, for the sake of her own consequence, would
choose to have known.  The continuance of their engagement, and the
means that were able to be taken for promoting its end, was all her
communication; and this produced from Mrs. Jennings the following
natural remark.

"Wait for his having a living!--ay, we all know how THAT will
end:--they will wait a twelvemonth, and finding no good comes of it,
will set down upon a curacy of fifty pounds a-year, with the interest
of his two thousand pounds, and what little matter Mr. Steele and Mr.
Pratt can give her.--Then they will have a child every year! and Lord
help 'em! how poor they will be!--I must see what I can give them
towards furnishing their house.  Two maids and two men, indeed!--as I
talked of t'other day.--No, no, they must get a stout girl of all
works.-- Betty's sister would never do for them NOW."

The next morning brought Elinor a letter by the two-penny post from
Lucy herself.  It was as follows:

                    "Bartlett's Building, March.

     "I hope my dear Miss Dashwood will excuse the
     liberty I take of writing to her; but I know your
     friendship for me will make you pleased to hear such
     a good account of myself and my dear Edward, after
     all the troubles we have went through lately,
     therefore will make no more apologies, but proceed
     to say that, thank God! though we have suffered
     dreadfully, we are both quite well now, and as happy
     as we must always be in one another's love.  We have
     had great trials, and great persecutions, but
     however, at the same time, gratefully acknowledge
     many friends, yourself not the least among them,
     whose great kindness I shall always thankfully
     remember, as will Edward too, who I have told of
     it.  I am sure you will be glad to hear, as likewise
     dear Mrs. Jennings, I spent two happy hours with
     him yesterday afternoon, he would not hear of our
     parting, though earnestly did I, as I thought my
     duty required, urge him to it for prudence sake,
     and would have parted for ever on the spot, would
     he consent to it; but he said it should never be,
     he did not regard his mother's anger, while he could
     have my affections; our prospects are not very
     bright, to be sure, but we must wait, and hope for
     the best; he will be ordained shortly; and should
     it ever be in your power to recommend him to any
     body that has a living to bestow, am very sure you
     will not forget us, and dear Mrs. Jennings too,
     trust she will speak a good word for us to Sir John,
     or Mr. Palmer, or any friend that may be able to
     assist us.--Poor Anne was much to blame for what
     she did, but she did it for the best, so I say
     nothing; hope Mrs. Jennings won't think it too much
     trouble to give us a call, should she come this way
     any morning, 'twould be a great kindness, and my
     cousins would be proud to know her.--My paper reminds
     me to conclude; and begging to be most gratefully
     and respectfully remembered to her, and to Sir John,
     and Lady Middleton, and the dear children, when you
     chance to see them, and love to Miss Marianne,

                                      "I am, &c."

As soon as Elinor had finished it, she performed what she concluded to
be its writer's real design, by placing it in the hands of Mrs.
Jennings, who read it aloud with many comments of satisfaction and
praise.

"Very well indeed!--how prettily she writes!--aye, that was quite
proper to let him be off if he would.  That was just like Lucy.--Poor
soul! I wish I COULD get him a living, with all my heart.--She calls me
dear Mrs. Jennings, you see.  She is a good-hearted girl as ever
lived.--Very well upon my word.  That sentence is very prettily turned.
Yes, yes, I will go and see her, sure enough.  How attentive she is, to
think of every body!--Thank you, my dear, for shewing it me.  It is as
pretty a letter as ever I saw, and does Lucy's head and heart great
credit."

The Miss Dashwoods had now been rather more than two months in town,
and Marianne's impatience to be gone increased every day.  She sighed
for the air, the liberty, the quiet of the country; and fancied that if
any place could give her ease, Barton must do it.  Elinor was hardly
less anxious than herself for their removal, and only so much less bent
on its being effected immediately, as that she was conscious of the
difficulties of so long a journey, which Marianne could not be brought
to acknowledge.  She began, however, seriously to turn her thoughts
towards its accomplishment, and had already mentioned their wishes to
their kind hostess, who resisted them with all the eloquence of her
good-will, when a plan was suggested, which, though detaining them from
home yet a few weeks longer, appeared to Elinor altogether much more
eligible than any other. The Palmers were to remove to Cleveland about
the end of March, for the Easter holidays; and Mrs. Jennings, with both
her friends, received a very warm invitation from Charlotte to go with
them.  This would not, in itself, have been sufficient for the delicacy
of Miss Dashwood;--but it was inforced with so much real politeness by
Mr. Palmer himself, as, joined to the very great amendment of his
manners towards them since her sister had been known to be unhappy,
induced her to accept it with pleasure.

When she told Marianne what she had done, however, her first reply was
not very auspicious.

"Cleveland!"--she cried, with great agitation.  "No, I cannot go to
Cleveland."--

"You forget," said Elinor gently, "that its situation is not...that it
is not in the neighbourhood of..."

"But it is in Somersetshire.--I cannot go into Somersetshire.--There,
where I looked forward to going...No, Elinor, you cannot expect me to
go there."

Elinor would not argue upon the propriety of overcoming such
feelings;--she only endeavoured to counteract them by working on
others;--represented it, therefore, as a measure which would fix the
time of her returning to that dear mother, whom she so much wished to
see, in a more eligible, more comfortable manner, than any other plan
could do, and perhaps without any greater delay.  From Cleveland, which
was within a few miles of Bristol, the distance to Barton was not
beyond one day, though a long day's journey; and their mother's servant
might easily come there to attend them down; and as there could be no
occasion of their staying above a week at Cleveland, they might now be
at home in little more than three weeks' time.  As Marianne's affection
for her mother was sincere, it must triumph with little difficulty,
over the imaginary evils she had started.

Mrs. Jennings was so far from being weary of her guests, that she
pressed them very earnestly to return with her again from Cleveland.
Elinor was grateful for the attention, but it could not alter her
design; and their mother's concurrence being readily gained, every
thing relative to their return was arranged as far as it could be;--and
Marianne found some relief in drawing up a statement of the hours that
were yet to divide her from Barton.

"Ah! Colonel, I do not know what you and I shall do without the Miss
Dashwoods;"--was Mrs. Jennings's address to him when he first called on
her, after their leaving her was settled--"for they are quite resolved
upon going home from the Palmers;--and how forlorn we shall be, when I
come back!--Lord! we shall sit and gape at one another as dull as two
cats."

Perhaps Mrs. Jennings was in hopes, by this vigorous sketch of their
future ennui, to provoke him to make that offer, which might give
himself an escape from it;--and if so, she had soon afterwards good
reason to think her object gained; for, on Elinor's moving to the
window to take more expeditiously the dimensions of a print, which she
was going to copy for her friend, he followed her to it with a look of
particular meaning, and conversed with her there for several minutes.
The effect of his discourse on the lady too, could not escape her
observation, for though she was too honorable to listen, and had even
changed her seat, on purpose that she might NOT hear, to one close by
the piano forte on which Marianne was playing, she could not keep
herself from seeing that Elinor changed colour, attended with
agitation, and was too intent on what he said to pursue her
employment.-- Still farther in confirmation of her hopes, in the
interval of Marianne's turning from one lesson to another, some words
of the Colonel's inevitably reached her ear, in which he seemed to be
apologising for the badness of his house.  This set the matter beyond a
doubt.  She wondered, indeed, at his thinking it necessary to do so;
but supposed it to be the proper etiquette.  What Elinor said in reply
she could not distinguish, but judged from the motion of her lips, that
she did not think THAT any material objection;--and Mrs. Jennings
commended her in her heart for being so honest.  They then talked on
for a few minutes longer without her catching a syllable, when another
lucky stop in Marianne's performance brought her these words in the
Colonel's calm voice,--

"I am afraid it cannot take place very soon."

Astonished and shocked at so unlover-like a speech, she was almost
ready to cry out, "Lord! what should hinder it?"--but checking her
desire, confined herself to this silent ejaculation.

"This is very strange!--sure he need not wait to be older."

This delay on the Colonel's side, however, did not seem to offend or
mortify his fair companion in the least, for on their breaking up the
conference soon afterwards, and moving different ways, Mrs. Jennings
very plainly heard Elinor say, and with a voice which shewed her to
feel what she said,

"I shall always think myself very much obliged to you."

Mrs. Jennings was delighted with her gratitude, and only wondered that
after hearing such a sentence, the Colonel should be able to take leave
of them, as he immediately did, with the utmost sang-froid, and go away
without making her any reply!--She had not thought her old friend could
have made so indifferent a suitor.

What had really passed between them was to this effect.

"I have heard," said he, with great compassion, "of the injustice your
friend Mr. Ferrars has suffered from his family; for if I understand
the matter right, he has been entirely cast off by them for persevering
in his engagement with a very deserving young woman.-- Have I been
rightly informed?--Is it so?--"

Elinor told him that it was.

"The cruelty, the impolitic cruelty,"--he replied, with great
feeling,--"of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young people long
attached to each other, is terrible.-- Mrs. Ferrars does not know what
she may be doing--what she may drive her son to.  I have seen Mr.
Ferrars two or three times in Harley Street, and am much pleased with
him.  He is not a young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted
in a short time, but I have seen enough of him to wish him well for his
own sake, and as a friend of yours, I wish it still more.  I understand
that he intends to take orders.  Will you be so good as to tell him
that the living of Delaford, now just vacant, as I am informed by this
day's post, is his, if he think it worth his acceptance--but THAT,
perhaps, so unfortunately circumstanced as he is now, it may be
nonsense to appear to doubt; I only wish it were more  valuable.-- It
is a rectory, but a small one; the late incumbent, I believe, did not
make more than 200 L per annum, and though it is certainly capable of
improvement, I fear, not to such an amount as to afford him a very
comfortable income.  Such as it is, however, my pleasure in presenting
it to him, will be very great.  Pray assure him of it."

Elinor's astonishment at this commission could hardly have been
greater, had the Colonel been really making her an offer of his hand.
The preferment, which only two days before she had considered as
hopeless for Edward, was already provided to enable him to marry;--and
SHE, of all people in the world, was fixed on to bestow it!--Her
emotion was such as Mrs. Jennings had attributed to a very different
cause;--but whatever minor feelings less pure, less pleasing, might
have a share in that emotion, her esteem for the general benevolence,
and her gratitude for the particular friendship, which together
prompted Colonel Brandon to this act, were strongly felt, and warmly
expressed.  She thanked him for it with all her heart, spoke of
Edward's principles and disposition with that praise which she knew
them to deserve; and promised to undertake the commission with
pleasure, if it were really his wish to put off so agreeable an office
to another.  But at the same time, she could not help thinking that no
one could so well perform it as himself.  It was an office in short,
from which, unwilling to give Edward the pain of receiving an
obligation from HER, she would have been very glad to be spared
herself;-- but Colonel Brandon, on motives of equal delicacy, declining
it likewise, still seemed so desirous of its being given through her
means, that she would not on any account make farther opposition.
Edward, she believed, was still in town, and fortunately she had heard
his address from Miss Steele.  She could undertake therefore to inform
him of it, in the course of the day.  After this had been settled,
Colonel Brandon began to talk of his own advantage in securing so
respectable and agreeable a neighbour, and THEN it was that he
mentioned with regret, that the house was small and indifferent;--an
evil which Elinor, as Mrs. Jennings had supposed her to do, made very
light of, at least as far as regarded its size.

"The smallness of the house," said she, "I cannot imagine any
inconvenience to them, for it will be in proportion to their family and
income."

By which the Colonel was surprised to find that SHE was considering Mr.
Ferrars's marriage as the certain consequence of the presentation; for
he did not suppose it possible that Delaford living could supply such
an income, as anybody in his style of life would venture to settle
on--and he said so.

"This little rectory CAN do no more than make Mr. Ferrars comfortable
as a bachelor; it cannot enable him to marry.  I am sorry to say that
my patronage ends with this; and my interest is hardly more extensive.
If, however, by an unforeseen chance it should be in my power to serve
him farther, I must think very differently of him from what I now do,
if I am not as ready to be useful to him then as I sincerely wish I
could be at present.  What I am now doing indeed, seems nothing at all,
since it can advance him so little towards what must be his principal,
his only object of happiness.  His marriage must still be a distant
good;--at least, I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.--"

Such was the sentence which, when misunderstood, so justly offended the
delicate feelings of Mrs. Jennings; but after this narration of what
really passed between Colonel Brandon and Elinor, while they stood at
the window, the gratitude expressed by the latter on their parting, may
perhaps appear in general, not less reasonably excited, nor less
properly worded than if it had arisen from an offer of marriage.

"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 returns home from a visit to Mrs. Palmer with the shocking news that Lucy Steele and Edward Ferrars have been engaged to one another for over a year. Elinor, upon hearing that their engagement has at last become public, shares the news with her sister. Marianne cannot believe that Elinor has known of Edward's secret engagement for four months, for her sister has remained calm and composed throughout the entire period. John Dashwood visits his sisters at Mrs. Jennings's home and informs them that Fanny is in hysterics on account of the news. He also relates that Mrs. Ferrars has insisted that Edward must extricate himself from the attachment, or she will disown and disinherit him. The following Sunday, during a visit with Mrs. Jennings to Kensington Gardens, Elinor learns from Miss Anne Steele that Edward has refused to break off his engagement with Lucy. His mother has therefore transferred her estate to Edward's younger brother, Robert. As Miss Steele relates, Edward has informed Lucy that without his mother's inheritance, he will have to obtain a curacy and live modestly, but Lucy has proclaimed her devotion to him regardless of his economic situation. This information is confirmed in a letter from Lucy expressing to Elinor her commitment to Edward. Elinor and Marianne, anxious to leave London and return home, arrange to depart with the Palmers and visit them in Cleveland before heading back to Barton. Before they leave, Colonel Brandon visits Elinor and tells her that he has decided to offer his living at the Delaford rectory to Edward as a means of supporting himself. The Colonel asks Elinor to inform Edward of his offer, and Elinor finds herself in the rather uncomfortable position of facilitating the marriage of the man she loves to another woman. She begins writing a letter to Edward when Mrs. Jennings suddenly welcomes him into her home and she is afforded the opportunity to speak with him directly. Edward is astonished and deeply moved by the Colonel's generosity. Elinor goes off to visit Fanny Dashwood, who has not been feeling well since the news of Edward and Lucy's engagement. She is greeted at the door by John Dashwood, who shares the news that Robert Ferrars will inherit his mother's estate in place of his brother. Just then, Robert Ferrars arrives and expresses his pity for his older brother. John leaves them to inform his wife of Elinor's presence, and Fanny Dashwood, upon receiving Elinor, expresses her regret that the Dashwood sisters will be leaving town so soon.

Commentary When Miss Steele accidentally lets slip the secret of her sister's engagement to Edward Ferrars, their relationship becomes no longer an "attachment" but a "connection." An attachment is an emotional association between two people; to form an attachment is to fall in love. In contrast, a connection is the public bond involving a range of associations between individuals and their families. When Lucy and Edward were attached to one another, they were simply secretly in love with one another; once Miss Steele makes their engagement public, their families become heavily involved in an ever-widening circle of legal and economic implications. For example, Mrs. Ferrars announces that she will disinherit her son if he marries Lucy instead of the wealthy heiress Miss Morton, and Colonel Brandon offers Edward a living to support his wife. Thus, when the attachment becomes a connection, the number of individuals involved in the relationship increases considerably. Connections link family members to one another in concern for their mutual welfare. These bonds are so strong that it is unusual to find people behaving warmly and generously toward those they are not related to. Thus, John Dashwood cannot understand why Colonel Brandon offers Edward a living  Brandon, we know, is acting solely on the basis of voluntary fellow-feeling. He empathizes with Edward because he, too, has known the pain of love accompanied by tremendous emotional distress. Furthermore, he respects Edward because he knows that Edward has Elinor's admiration. Therefore, he offers Edward a means of supporting a wife in spite of his disinheritance. But for John Dashwood, only family ties could provide the grounds for such a kind and generous gesture.