Mrs. John Dashwood now installed herself mistress of Norland; and her
mother and sisters-in-law were degraded to the condition of visitors.
As such, however, they were treated by her with quiet civility; and by
her husband with as much kindness as he could feel towards anybody
beyond himself, his wife, and their child.  He really pressed them,
with some earnestness, to consider Norland as their home; and, as no
plan appeared so eligible to Mrs. Dashwood as remaining there till she
could accommodate herself with a house in the neighbourhood, his
invitation was accepted.

A continuance in a place where everything reminded her of former
delight, was exactly what suited her mind.  In seasons of cheerfulness,
no temper could be more cheerful than hers, or possess, in a greater
degree, that sanguine expectation of happiness which is happiness
itself.  But in sorrow she must be equally carried away by her fancy,
and as far beyond consolation as in pleasure she was beyond alloy.

Mrs. John Dashwood did not at all approve of what her husband intended
to do for his sisters.  To take three thousand pounds from the fortune
of their dear little boy would be impoverishing him to the most
dreadful degree.  She begged him to think again on the subject.  How
could he answer it to himself to rob his child, and his only child too,
of so large a sum?  And what possible claim could the Miss Dashwoods,
who were related to him only by half blood, which she considered as no
relationship at all, have on his generosity to so large an amount.  It
was very well known that no affection was ever supposed to exist
between the children of any man by different marriages; and why was he
to ruin himself, and their poor little Harry, by giving away all his
money to his half sisters?

"It was my father's last request to me," replied her husband, "that I
should assist his widow and daughters."

"He did not know what he was talking of, I dare say; ten to one but he
was light-headed at the time.  Had he been in his right senses, he
could not have thought of such a thing as begging you to give away half
your fortune from your own child."

"He did not stipulate for any particular sum, my dear Fanny; he only
requested me, in general terms, to assist them, and make their
situation more comfortable than it was in his power to do.  Perhaps it
would have been as well if he had left it wholly to myself.  He could
hardly suppose I should neglect them.  But as he required the promise,
I could not do less than give it; at least I thought so at the time.
The promise, therefore, was given, and must be performed.  Something
must be done for them whenever they leave Norland and settle in a new
home."

"Well, then, LET something be done for them; but THAT something need
not be three thousand pounds.  Consider," she added, "that when the
money is once parted with, it never can return.  Your sisters will
marry, and it will be gone for ever.  If, indeed, it could be restored
to our poor little boy--"

"Why, to be sure," said her husband, very gravely, "that would make
great difference.  The time may come when Harry will regret that so
large a sum was parted with.  If he should have a numerous family, for
instance, it would be a very convenient addition."

"To be sure it would."

"Perhaps, then, it would be better for all parties, if the sum were
diminished one half.--Five hundred pounds would be a prodigious
increase to their fortunes!"

"Oh! beyond anything great!  What brother on earth would do half so
much for his sisters, even if REALLY his sisters!  And as it is--only
half blood!--But you have such a generous spirit!"

"I would not wish to do any thing mean," he replied.  "One had rather,
on such occasions, do too much than too little.  No one, at least, can
think I have not done enough for them: even themselves, they can hardly
expect more."

"There is no knowing what THEY may expect," said the lady, "but we are
not to think of their expectations: the question is, what you can
afford to do."

"Certainly--and I think I may afford to give them five hundred pounds
a-piece.  As it is, without any addition of mine, they will each have
about three thousand pounds on their mother's death--a very comfortable
fortune for any young woman."

"To be sure it is; and, indeed, it strikes me that they can want no
addition at all.  They will have ten thousand pounds divided amongst
them.  If they marry, they will be sure of doing well, and if they do
not, they may all live very comfortably together on the interest of ten
thousand pounds."

"That is very true, and, therefore, I do not know whether, upon the
whole, it would not be more advisable to do something for their mother
while she lives, rather than for them--something of the annuity kind I
mean.--My sisters would feel the good effects of it as well as herself.
A hundred a year would make them all perfectly comfortable."

His wife hesitated a little, however, in giving her consent to this
plan.

"To be sure," said she, "it is better than parting with fifteen hundred
pounds at once.  But, then, if Mrs. Dashwood should live fifteen years
we shall be completely taken in."

"Fifteen years! my dear Fanny; her life cannot be worth half that
purchase."

"Certainly not; but if you observe, people always live for ever when
there is an annuity to be paid them; and she is very stout and healthy,
and hardly forty.  An annuity is a very serious business; it comes over
and over every year, and there is no getting rid of it.  You are not
aware of what you are doing.  I have known a great deal of the trouble
of annuities; for my mother was clogged with the payment of three to
old superannuated servants by my father's will, and it is amazing how
disagreeable she found it.  Twice every year these annuities were to be
paid; and then there was the trouble of getting it to them; and then
one of them was said to have died, and afterwards it turned out to be
no such thing.  My mother was quite sick of it.  Her income was not her
own, she said, with such perpetual claims on it; and it was the more
unkind in my father, because, otherwise, the money would have been
entirely at my mother's disposal, without any restriction whatever.  It
has given me such an abhorrence of annuities, that I am sure I would
not pin myself down to the payment of one for all the world."

"It is certainly an unpleasant thing," replied Mr. Dashwood, "to have
those kind of yearly drains on one's income.  One's fortune, as your
mother justly says, is NOT one's own.  To be tied down to the regular
payment of such a sum, on every rent day, is by no means desirable: it
takes away one's independence."

"Undoubtedly; and after all you have no thanks for it.  They think
themselves secure, you do no more than what is expected, and it raises
no gratitude at all.  If I were you, whatever I did should be done at
my own discretion entirely.  I would not bind myself to allow them any
thing yearly.  It may be very inconvenient some years to spare a
hundred, or even fifty pounds from our own expenses."

"I believe you are right, my love; it will be better that there should
be no annuity in the case; whatever I may give them occasionally will
be of far greater assistance than a yearly allowance, because they
would only enlarge their style of living if they felt sure of a larger
income, and would not be sixpence the richer for it at the end of the
year.  It will certainly be much the best way.  A present of fifty
pounds, now and then, will prevent their ever being distressed for
money, and will, I think, be amply discharging my promise to my father."

"To be sure it will.  Indeed, to say the truth, I am convinced within
myself that your father had no idea of your giving them any money at
all.  The assistance he thought of, I dare say, was only such as might
be reasonably expected of you; for instance, such as looking out for a
comfortable small house for them, helping them to move their things,
and sending them presents of fish and game, and so forth, whenever they
are in season.  I'll lay my life that he meant nothing farther; indeed,
it would be very strange and unreasonable if he did.  Do but consider,
my dear Mr. Dashwood, how excessively comfortable your mother-in-law
and her daughters may live on the interest of seven thousand pounds,
besides the thousand pounds belonging to each of the girls, which
brings them in fifty pounds a year a-piece, and, of course, they will
pay their mother for their board out of it.  Altogether, they will have
five hundred a-year amongst them, and what on earth can four women want
for more than that?--They will live so cheap! Their housekeeping will
be nothing at all.  They will have no carriage, no horses, and hardly
any servants; they will keep no company, and can have no expenses of
any kind!  Only conceive how comfortable they will be!  Five hundred a
year! I am sure I cannot imagine how they will spend half of it; and as
to your giving them more, it is quite absurd to think of it.  They will
be much more able to give YOU something."

"Upon my word," said Mr. Dashwood, "I believe you are perfectly right.
My father certainly could mean nothing more by his request to me than
what you say.  I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly fulfil
my engagement by such acts of assistance and kindness to them as you
have described.  When my mother removes into another house my services
shall be readily given to accommodate her as far as I can.  Some little
present of furniture too may be acceptable then."

"Certainly," returned Mrs. John Dashwood.  "But, however, ONE thing
must be considered.  When your father and mother moved to Norland,
though the furniture of Stanhill was sold, all the china, plate, and
linen was saved, and is now left to your mother.  Her house will
therefore be almost completely fitted up as soon as she takes it."

"That is a material consideration undoubtedly.  A valuable legacy
indeed! And yet some of the plate would have been a very pleasant
addition to our own stock here."

"Yes; and the set of breakfast china is twice as handsome as what
belongs to this house.  A great deal too handsome, in my opinion, for
any place THEY can ever afford to live in.  But, however, so it is.
Your father thought only of THEM.  And I must say this: that you owe no
particular gratitude to him, nor attention to his wishes; for we very
well know that if he could, he would have left almost everything in the
world to THEM."

This argument was irresistible.  It gave to his intentions whatever of
decision was wanting before; and he finally resolved, that it would be
absolutely unnecessary, if not highly indecorous, to do more for the
widow and children of his father, than such kind of neighbourly acts as
his own wife pointed out.

John ponders how much money to give the Dashwood women. He feels at first that three thousand pounds is a reasonable amount. His wife, however, is unwilling to see her herself and her child lose any money. She takes advantage of the fact that Henry Dashwood did not specify an exact sum in order to whittle down John's intended gift of three thousand pounds to nothing. She persuades John that Henry Dashwood intended John to give no money to the Dashwood women, and that John can discharge his duty to them, if indeed he has any, by doing them the occasional neighborly act


Mrs. Dashwood remained at Norland several months; not from any
disinclination to move when the sight of every well known spot ceased
to raise the violent emotion which it produced for a while; for when
her spirits began to revive, and her mind became capable of some other
exertion than that of heightening its affliction by melancholy
remembrances, she was impatient to be gone, and indefatigable in her
inquiries for a suitable dwelling in the neighbourhood of Norland; for
to remove far from that beloved spot was impossible.  But she could
hear of no situation that at once answered her notions of comfort and
ease, and suited the prudence of her eldest daughter, whose steadier
judgment rejected several houses as too large for their income, which
her mother would have approved.

Mrs. Dashwood had been informed by her husband of the solemn promise on
the part of his son in their favour, which gave comfort to his last
earthly reflections.  She doubted the sincerity of this assurance no
more than he had doubted it himself, and she thought of it for her
daughters' sake with satisfaction, though as for herself she was
persuaded that a much smaller provision than 7000L would support her in
affluence.  For their brother's sake, too, for the sake of his own
heart, she rejoiced; and she reproached herself for being unjust to his
merit before, in believing him incapable of generosity.  His attentive
behaviour to herself and his sisters convinced her that their welfare
was dear to him, and, for a long time, she firmly relied on the
liberality of his intentions.

The contempt which she had, very early in their acquaintance, felt for
her daughter-in-law, was very much increased by the farther knowledge
of her character, which half a year's residence in her family afforded;
and perhaps in spite of every consideration of politeness or maternal
affection on the side of the former, the two ladies might have found it
impossible to have lived together so long, had not a particular
circumstance occurred to give still greater eligibility, according to
the opinions of Mrs. Dashwood, to her daughters' continuance at Norland.

This circumstance was a growing attachment between her eldest girl and
the brother of Mrs. John Dashwood, a gentleman-like and pleasing young
man, who was introduced to their acquaintance soon after his sister's
establishment at Norland, and who had since spent the greatest part of
his time there.

Some mothers might have encouraged the intimacy from motives of
interest, for Edward Ferrars was the eldest son of a man who had died
very rich; and some might have repressed it from motives of prudence,
for, except a trifling sum, the whole of his fortune depended on the
will of his mother.  But Mrs. Dashwood was alike uninfluenced by either
consideration.  It was enough for her that he appeared to be amiable,
that he loved her daughter, and that Elinor returned the partiality.
It was contrary to every doctrine of hers that difference of fortune
should keep any couple asunder who were attracted by resemblance of
disposition; and that Elinor's merit should not be acknowledged by
every one who knew her, was to her comprehension impossible.

Edward Ferrars was not recommended to their good opinion by any
peculiar graces of person or address.  He was not handsome, and his
manners required intimacy to make them pleasing.  He was too diffident
to do justice to himself; but when his natural shyness was overcome,
his behaviour gave every indication of an open, affectionate heart.
His understanding was good, and his education had given it solid
improvement.  But he was neither fitted by abilities nor disposition to
answer the wishes of his mother and sister, who longed to see him
distinguished--as--they hardly knew what.  They wanted him to make a
fine figure in the world in some manner or other.  His mother wished to
interest him in political concerns, to get him into parliament, or to
see him connected with some of the great men of the day.  Mrs. John
Dashwood wished it likewise; but in the mean while, till one of these
superior blessings could be attained, it would have quieted her
ambition to see him driving a barouche.  But Edward had no turn for
great men or barouches.  All his wishes centered in domestic comfort
and the quiet of private life.  Fortunately he had a younger brother
who was more promising.

Edward had been staying several weeks in the house before he engaged
much of Mrs. Dashwood's attention; for she was, at that time, in such
affliction as rendered her careless of surrounding objects.  She saw
only that he was quiet and unobtrusive, and she liked him for it.  He
did not disturb the wretchedness of her mind by ill-timed conversation.
She was first called to observe and approve him farther, by a
reflection which Elinor chanced one day to make on the difference
between him and his sister.  It was a contrast which recommended him
most forcibly to her mother.

"It is enough," said she; "to say that he is unlike Fanny is enough.
It implies everything amiable.  I love him already."

"I think you will like him," said Elinor, "when you know more of him."

"Like him!" replied her mother with a smile.  "I feel no sentiment of
approbation inferior to love."

"You may esteem him."

"I have never yet known what it was to separate esteem and love."

Mrs. Dashwood now took pains to get acquainted with him.  Her manners
were attaching, and soon banished his reserve.  She speedily
comprehended all his merits; the persuasion of his regard for Elinor
perhaps assisted her penetration; but she really felt assured of his
worth: and even that quietness of manner, which militated against all
her established ideas of what a young man's address ought to be, was no
longer uninteresting when she knew his heart to be warm and his temper
affectionate.

No sooner did she perceive any symptom of love in his behaviour to
Elinor, than she considered their serious attachment as certain, and
looked forward to their marriage as rapidly approaching.

"In a few months, my dear Marianne." said she, "Elinor will, in all
probability be settled for life.  We shall miss her; but SHE will be
happy."

"Oh! Mama, how shall we do without her?"

"My love, it will be scarcely a separation.  We shall live within a few
miles of each other, and shall meet every day of our lives.  You will
gain a brother, a real, affectionate brother.  I have the highest
opinion in the world of Edward's heart.  But you look grave, Marianne;
do you disapprove your sister's choice?"

"Perhaps," said Marianne, "I may consider it with some surprise.
Edward is very amiable, and I love him tenderly.  But yet--he is not
the kind of young man--there is something wanting--his figure is not
striking; it has none of that grace which I should expect in the man
who could seriously attach my sister.  His eyes want all that spirit,
that fire, which at once announce virtue and intelligence.  And besides
all this, I am afraid, Mama, he has no real taste.  Music seems
scarcely to attract him, and though he admires Elinor's drawings very
much, it is not the admiration of a person who can understand their
worth.  It is evident, in spite of his frequent attention to her while
she draws, that in fact he knows nothing of the matter.  He admires as
a lover, not as a connoisseur.  To satisfy me, those characters must be
united.  I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every
point coincide with my own.  He must enter into all my feelings; the
same books, the same music must charm us both.  Oh! mama, how
spiritless, how tame was Edward's manner in reading to us last night!
I felt for my sister most severely.  Yet she bore it with so much
composure, she seemed scarcely to notice it.  I could hardly keep my
seat.  To hear those beautiful lines which have frequently almost
driven me wild, pronounced with such impenetrable calmness, such
dreadful indifference!"

"He would certainly have done more justice to simple and elegant prose.
I thought so at the time; but you WOULD give him Cowper."

"Nay, Mama, if he is not to be animated by Cowper!--but we must allow
for difference of taste.  Elinor has not my feelings, and therefore she
may overlook it, and be happy with him.  But it would have broke MY
heart, had I loved him, to hear him read with so little sensibility.
Mama, the more I know of the world, the more am I convinced that I
shall never see a man whom I can really love.  I require so much!  He
must have all Edward's virtues, and his person and manners must
ornament his goodness with every possible charm."

"Remember, my love, that you are not seventeen.  It is yet too early in
life to despair of such a happiness.  Why should you be less fortunate
than your mother?  In one circumstance only, my Marianne, may your
destiny be different from hers!"

Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters remain at Norland for several months, putting up with Fanny Dashwood as best they can while they look for a house to rent. Elinor dissuades her mother from choosing houses that are too expensive for their reduced circumstances. Mrs. Dashwood is still confident that John will come up with money to support them. To Mrs. Dashwood's joy, an attachment grows between Elinor and Edward Ferrars, the brother of Fanny Dashwood and the eldest son of a man who died rich. Edward is shy and unsuited to answer his mother's and sister's ambitions for him. They want him to achieve power and influence in the world, whereas he only wants a simple life. Marianne admits to being disappointed in Edward's lack of "sensibility," citing his unimpassioned reading of her favorite poetry


"What a pity it is, Elinor," said Marianne, "that Edward should have no
taste for drawing."

"No taste for drawing!" replied Elinor, "why should you think so? He
does not draw himself, indeed, but he has great pleasure in seeing the
performances of other people, and I assure you he is by no means
deficient in natural taste, though he has not had opportunities of
improving it.  Had he ever been in the way of learning, I think he
would have drawn very well.  He distrusts his own judgment in such
matters so much, that he is always unwilling to give his opinion on any
picture; but he has an innate propriety and simplicity of taste, which
in general direct him perfectly right."

Marianne was afraid of offending, and said no more on the subject; but
the kind of approbation which Elinor described as excited in him by the
drawings of other people, was very far from that rapturous delight,
which, in her opinion, could alone be called taste.  Yet, though
smiling within herself at the mistake, she honoured her sister for that
blind partiality to Edward which produced it.

"I hope, Marianne," continued Elinor, "you do not consider him as
deficient in general taste.  Indeed, I think I may say that you cannot,
for your behaviour to him is perfectly cordial, and if THAT were your
opinion, I am sure you could never be civil to him."

Marianne hardly knew what to say.  She would not wound the feelings of
her sister on any account, and yet to say what she did not believe was
impossible.  At length she replied:

"Do not be offended, Elinor, if my praise of him is not in every thing
equal to your sense of his merits.  I have not had so many
opportunities of estimating the minuter propensities of his mind, his
inclinations and tastes, as you have; but I have the highest opinion in
the world of his goodness and sense.  I think him every thing that is
worthy and amiable."

"I am sure," replied Elinor, with a smile, "that his dearest friends
could not be dissatisfied with such commendation as that.  I do not
perceive how you could express yourself more warmly."

Marianne was rejoiced to find her sister so easily pleased.

"Of his sense and his goodness," continued Elinor, "no one can, I
think, be in doubt, who has seen him often enough to engage him in
unreserved conversation.  The excellence of his understanding and his
principles can be concealed only by that shyness which too often keeps
him silent.  You know enough of him to do justice to his solid worth.
But of his minuter propensities, as you call them you have from
peculiar circumstances been kept more ignorant than myself.  He and I
have been at times thrown a good deal together, while you have been
wholly engrossed on the most affectionate principle by my mother.  I
have seen a great deal of him, have studied his sentiments and heard
his opinion on subjects of literature and taste; and, upon the whole, I
venture to pronounce that his mind is well-informed, enjoyment of books
exceedingly great, his imagination lively, his observation just and
correct, and his taste delicate and pure.  His abilities in every
respect improve as much upon acquaintance as his manners and person.
At first sight, his address is certainly not striking; and his person
can hardly be called handsome, till the expression of his eyes, which
are uncommonly good, and the general sweetness of his countenance, is
perceived.  At present, I know him so well, that I think him really
handsome; or at least, almost so.  What say you, Marianne?"

"I shall very soon think him handsome, Elinor, if I do not now.  When
you tell me to love him as a brother, I shall no more see imperfection
in his face, than I now do in his heart."

Elinor started at this declaration, and was sorry for the warmth she
had been betrayed into, in speaking of him.  She felt that Edward stood
very high in her opinion.  She believed the regard to be mutual; but
she required greater certainty of it to make Marianne's conviction of
their attachment agreeable to her.  She knew that what Marianne and her
mother conjectured one moment, they believed the next--that with them,
to wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect.  She tried to explain
the real state of the case to her sister.

"I do not attempt to deny," said she, "that I think very highly of
him--that I greatly esteem, that I like him."

Marianne here burst forth with indignation--

"Esteem him! Like him! Cold-hearted Elinor! Oh!  worse than
cold-hearted! Ashamed of being otherwise.  Use those words again, and I
will leave the room this moment."

Elinor could not help laughing.  "Excuse me," said she; "and be assured
that I meant no offence to you, by speaking, in so quiet a way, of my
own feelings.  Believe them to be stronger than I have declared;
believe them, in short, to be such as his merit, and the suspicion--the
hope of his affection for me may warrant, without imprudence or folly.
But farther than this you must not believe.  I am by no means assured
of his regard for me.  There are moments when the extent of it seems
doubtful; and till his sentiments are fully known, you cannot wonder at
my wishing to avoid any encouragement of my own partiality, by
believing or calling it more than it is.  In my heart I feel
little--scarcely any doubt of his preference.  But there are other
points to be considered besides his inclination.  He is very far from
being independent.  What his mother really is we cannot know; but, from
Fanny's occasional mention of her conduct and opinions, we have never
been disposed to think her amiable; and I am very much mistaken if
Edward is not himself aware that there would be many difficulties in
his way, if he were to wish to marry a woman who had not either a great
fortune or high rank."

Marianne was astonished to find how much the imagination of her mother
and herself had outstripped the truth.

"And you really are not engaged to him!" said she.  "Yet it certainly
soon will happen.  But two advantages will proceed from this delay.  I
shall not lose you so soon, and Edward will have greater opportunity of
improving that natural taste for your favourite pursuit which must be
so indispensably necessary to your future felicity.  Oh! if he should
be so far stimulated by your genius as to learn to draw himself, how
delightful it would be!"

Elinor had given her real opinion to her sister.  She could not
consider her partiality for Edward in so prosperous a state as Marianne
had believed it.  There was, at times, a want of spirits about him
which, if it did not denote indifference, spoke of something almost as
unpromising.  A doubt of her regard, supposing him to feel it, need not
give him more than inquietude.  It would not be likely to produce that
dejection of mind which frequently attended him.  A more reasonable
cause might be found in the dependent situation which forbade the
indulgence of his affection.  She knew that his mother neither behaved
to him so as to make his home comfortable at present, nor to give him
any assurance that he might form a home for himself, without strictly
attending to her views for his aggrandizement.  With such a knowledge
as this, it was impossible for Elinor to feel easy on the subject.  She
was far from depending on that result of his preference of her, which
her mother and sister still considered as certain.  Nay, the longer
they were together the more doubtful seemed the nature of his regard;
and sometimes, for a few painful minutes, she believed it to be no more
than friendship.

But, whatever might really be its limits, it was enough, when perceived
by his sister, to make her uneasy, and at the same time, (which was
still more common,) to make her uncivil.  She took the first
opportunity of affronting her mother-in-law on the occasion, talking to
her so expressively of her brother's great expectations, of Mrs.
Ferrars's resolution that both her sons should marry well, and of the
danger attending any young woman who attempted to DRAW HIM IN; that
Mrs. Dashwood could neither pretend to be unconscious, nor endeavor to
be calm.  She gave her an answer which marked her contempt, and
instantly left the room, resolving that, whatever might be the
inconvenience or expense of so sudden a removal, her beloved Elinor
should not be exposed another week to such insinuations.

In this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered to her from the
post, which contained a proposal particularly well timed.  It was the
offer of a small house, on very easy terms, belonging to a relation of
her own, a gentleman of consequence and property in Devonshire.  The
letter was from this gentleman himself, and written in the true spirit
of friendly accommodation.  He understood that she was in need of a
dwelling; and though the house he now offered her was merely a cottage,
he assured her that everything should be done to it which she might
think necessary, if the situation pleased her.  He earnestly pressed
her, after giving the particulars of the house and garden, to come with
her daughters to Barton Park, the place of his own residence, from
whence she might judge, herself, whether Barton Cottage, for the houses
were in the same parish, could, by any alteration, be made comfortable
to her.  He seemed really anxious to accommodate them and the whole of
his letter was written in so friendly a style as could not fail of
giving pleasure to his cousin; more especially at a moment when she was
suffering under the cold and unfeeling behaviour of her nearer
connections.  She needed no time for deliberation or inquiry.  Her
resolution was formed as she read.  The situation of Barton, in a
county so far distant from Sussex as Devonshire, which, but a few hours
before, would have been a sufficient objection to outweigh every
possible advantage belonging to the place, was now its first
recommendation.  To quit the neighbourhood of Norland was no longer an
evil; it was an object of desire; it was a blessing, in comparison of
the misery of continuing her daughter-in-law's guest; and to remove for
ever from that beloved place would be less painful than to inhabit or
visit it while such a woman was its mistress.  She instantly wrote Sir
John Middleton her acknowledgment of his kindness, and her acceptance
of his proposal; and then hastened to shew both letters to her
daughters, that she might be secure of their approbation before her
answer were sent.

Elinor had always thought it would be more prudent for them to settle
at some distance from Norland, than immediately amongst their present
acquaintance.  On THAT head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose
her mother's intention of removing into Devonshire.  The house, too, as
described by Sir John, was on so simple a scale, and the rent so
uncommonly moderate, as to leave her no right of objection on either
point; and, therefore, though it was not a plan which brought any charm
to her fancy, though it was a removal from the vicinity of Norland
beyond her wishes, she made no attempt to dissuade her mother from
sending a letter of acquiescence.

Elinor and Marianne discuss Edward. Elinor admits that she respects and likes him, but is unwilling to say the word "love" until she knows that he feels the same. Marianne indignantly accuses her of cold-heartedness. Elinor points out that Edward is not independent of his mother, and she suspects that Mrs. Ferrars wants him to marry a rich or high-ranking woman. Marianne is amazed to hear that Edward and Elinor are not already engaged. Fanny Dashwood notices her brother's liking for Elinor and warns Mrs. Dashwood that Mrs. Ferrars expects a prosperous match for Edward. Mrs. Dashwood is so offended by Fanny's rudeness that she is delighted to receive a letter from a distant relative, Sir John Middleton, offering at a reasonable rent a house called Barton Cottage on his estate in Devonshire. Mrs. Dashwood immediately accepts the offer


No sooner was her answer dispatched, than Mrs. Dashwood indulged herself
in the pleasure of announcing to her son-in-law and his wife that she
was provided with a house, and should incommode them no longer than till
every thing were ready for her inhabiting it. They heard her with
surprise. Mrs. John Dashwood said nothing; but her husband civilly hoped
that she would not be settled far from Norland. She had great
satisfaction in replying that she was going into Devonshire.--Edward
turned hastily towards her, on hearing this, and, in a voice of surprise
and concern, which required no explanation to her, repeated,
"Devonshire! Are you, indeed, going there? So far from hence! And to
what part of it?" She explained the situation. It was within four miles
northward of Exeter.

"It is but a cottage," she continued, "but I hope to see many of my
friends in it.  A room or two can easily be added; and if my friends
find no difficulty in travelling so far to see me, I am sure I will
find none in accommodating them."

She concluded with a very kind invitation to Mr. and Mrs. John Dashwood
to visit her at Barton; and to Edward she gave one with still greater
affection.  Though her late conversation with her daughter-in-law had
made her resolve on remaining at Norland no longer than was
unavoidable, it had not produced the smallest effect on her in that
point to which it principally tended.  To separate Edward and Elinor
was as far from being her object as ever; and she wished to show Mrs.
John Dashwood, by this pointed invitation to her brother, how totally
she disregarded her disapprobation of the match.

Mr. John Dashwood told his mother again and again how exceedingly sorry
he was that she had taken a house at such a distance from Norland as to
prevent his being of any service to her in removing her furniture.  He
really felt conscientiously vexed on the occasion; for the very
exertion to which he had limited the performance of his promise to his
father was by this arrangement rendered impracticable.-- The furniture
was all sent around by water.  It chiefly consisted of household linen,
plate, china, and books, with a handsome pianoforte of Marianne's.
Mrs. John Dashwood saw the packages depart with a sigh: she could not
help feeling it hard that as Mrs. Dashwood's income would be so
trifling in comparison with their own, she should have any handsome
article of furniture.

Mrs. Dashwood took the house for a twelvemonth; it was ready furnished,
and she might have immediate possession.  No difficulty arose on either
side in the agreement; and she waited only for the disposal of her
effects at Norland, and to determine her future household, before she
set off for the west; and this, as she was exceedingly rapid in the
performance of everything that interested her, was soon done.--The
horses which were left her by her husband had been sold soon after his
death, and an opportunity now offering of disposing of her carriage,
she agreed to sell that likewise at the earnest advice of her eldest
daughter.  For the comfort of her children, had she consulted only her
own wishes, she would have kept it; but the discretion of Elinor
prevailed.  HER wisdom too limited the number of their servants to
three; two maids and a man, with whom they were speedily provided from
amongst those who had formed their establishment at Norland.

The man and one of the maids were sent off immediately into Devonshire,
to prepare the house for their mistress's arrival; for as Lady
Middleton was entirely unknown to Mrs. Dashwood, she preferred going
directly to the cottage to being a visitor at Barton Park; and she
relied so undoubtingly on Sir John's description of the house, as to
feel no curiosity to examine it herself till she entered it as her own.
Her eagerness to be gone from Norland was preserved from diminution by
the evident satisfaction of her daughter-in-law in the prospect of her
removal; a satisfaction which was but feebly attempted to be concealed
under a cold invitation to her to defer her departure.  Now was the
time when her son-in-law's promise to his father might with particular
propriety be fulfilled.  Since he had neglected to do it on first
coming to the estate, their quitting his house might be looked on as
the most suitable period for its accomplishment.  But Mrs. Dashwood
began shortly to give over every hope of the kind, and to be convinced,
from the general drift of his discourse, that his assistance extended
no farther than their maintenance for six months at Norland.  He so
frequently talked of the increasing expenses of housekeeping, and of
the perpetual demands upon his purse, which a man of any consequence in
the world was beyond calculation exposed to, that he seemed rather to
stand in need of more money himself than to have any design of giving
money away.

In a very few weeks from the day which brought Sir John Middleton's
first letter to Norland, every thing was so far settled in their future
abode as to enable Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters to begin their
journey.

Many were the tears shed by them in their last adieus to a place so
much beloved.  "Dear, dear Norland!" said Marianne, as she wandered
alone before the house, on the last evening of their being there; "when
shall I cease to regret you!--when learn to feel a home elsewhere!--Oh!
happy house, could you know what I suffer in now viewing you from this
spot, from whence perhaps I may view you no more!--And you, ye
well-known trees!--but you will continue the same.--No leaf will decay
because we are removed, nor any branch become motionless although we
can observe you no longer!--No; you will continue the same; unconscious
of the pleasure or the regret you occasion, and insensible of any
change in those who walk under your shade!--But who will remain to
enjoy you?"

Edward voices dismay that Mrs. Dashwood and her family are moving so far away. In John and Fanny's hearing, Mrs. Dashwood pointedly invites him to stay with them in Devon whenever he wishes. Just before they depart for Devon, Marianne bids a sad farewell to Norland, reflecting that at least the trees will continue the same, even though she and her family have gone


The first part of their journey was performed in too melancholy a
disposition to be otherwise than tedious and unpleasant.  But as they
drew towards the end of it, their interest in the appearance of a
country which they were to inhabit overcame their dejection, and a view
of Barton Valley as they entered it gave them cheerfulness.  It was a
pleasant fertile spot, well wooded, and rich in pasture.  After winding
along it for more than a mile, they reached their own house.  A small
green court was the whole of its demesne in front; and a neat wicket
gate admitted them into it.

As a house, Barton Cottage, though small, was comfortable and compact;
but as a cottage it was defective, for the building was regular, the
roof was tiled, the window shutters were not painted green, nor were
the walls covered with honeysuckles.  A narrow passage led directly
through the house into the garden behind.  On each side of the entrance
was a sitting room, about sixteen feet square; and beyond them were the
offices and the stairs.  Four bed-rooms and two garrets formed the rest
of the house.  It had not been built many years and was in good repair.
In comparison of Norland, it was poor and small indeed!--but the tears
which recollection called forth as they entered the house were soon
dried away.  They were cheered by the joy of the servants on their
arrival, and each for the sake of the others resolved to appear happy.
It was very early in September; the season was fine, and from first
seeing the place under the advantage of good weather, they received an
impression in its favour which was of material service in recommending
it to their lasting approbation.

The situation of the house was good.  High hills rose immediately
behind, and at no great distance on each side; some of which were open
downs, the others cultivated and woody.  The village of Barton was
chiefly on one of these hills, and formed a pleasant view from the
cottage windows.  The prospect in front was more extensive; it
commanded the whole of the valley, and reached into the country beyond.
The hills which surrounded the cottage terminated the valley in that
direction; under another name, and in another course, it branched out
again between two of the steepest of them.

With the size and furniture of the house Mrs. Dashwood was upon the
whole well satisfied; for though her former style of life rendered many
additions to the latter indispensable, yet to add and improve was a
delight to her; and she had at this time ready money enough to supply
all that was wanted of greater elegance to the apartments.  "As for the
house itself, to be sure," said she, "it is too small for our family,
but we will make ourselves tolerably comfortable for the present, as it
is too late in the year for improvements.  Perhaps in the spring, if I
have plenty of money, as I dare say I shall, we may think about
building.  These parlors are both too small for such parties of our
friends as I hope to see often collected here; and I have some thoughts
of throwing the passage into one of them with perhaps a part of the
other, and so leave the remainder of that other for an entrance; this,
with a new drawing room which may be easily added, and a bed-chamber
and garret above, will make it a very snug little cottage.  I could
wish the stairs were handsome.  But one must not expect every thing;
though I suppose it would be no difficult matter to widen them.  I
shall see how much I am before-hand with the world in the spring, and
we will plan our improvements accordingly."

In the mean time, till all these alterations could be made from the
savings of an income of five hundred a-year by a woman who never saved
in her life, they were wise enough to be contented with the house as it
was; and each of them was busy in arranging their particular concerns,
and endeavoring, by placing around them books and other possessions, to
form themselves a home.  Marianne's pianoforte was unpacked and
properly disposed of; and Elinor's drawings were affixed to the walls
of their sitting room.

In such employments as these they were interrupted soon after breakfast
the next day by the entrance of their landlord, who called to welcome
them to Barton, and to offer them every accommodation from his own
house and garden in which theirs might at present be deficient.  Sir
John Middleton was a good looking man about forty.  He had formerly
visited at Stanhill, but it was too long for his young cousins to
remember him.  His countenance was thoroughly good-humoured; and his
manners were as friendly as the style of his letter.  Their arrival
seemed to afford him real satisfaction, and their comfort to be an
object of real solicitude to him.  He said much of his earnest desire
of their living in the most sociable terms with his family, and pressed
them so cordially to dine at Barton Park every day till they were
better settled at home, that, though his entreaties were carried to a
point of perseverance beyond civility, they could not give offence.
His kindness was not confined to words; for within an hour after he
left them, a large basket full of garden stuff and fruit arrived from
the park, which was followed before the end of the day by a present of
game.  He insisted, moreover, on conveying all their letters to and
from the post for them, and would not be denied the satisfaction of
sending them his newspaper every day.

Lady Middleton had sent a very civil message by him, denoting her
intention of waiting on Mrs. Dashwood as soon as she could be assured
that her visit would be no inconvenience; and as this message was
answered by an invitation equally polite, her ladyship was introduced
to them the next day.

They were, of course, very anxious to see a person on whom so much of
their comfort at Barton must depend; and the elegance of her appearance
was favourable to their wishes.  Lady Middleton was not more than six
or seven and twenty; her face was handsome, her figure tall and
striking, and her address graceful.  Her manners had all the elegance
which her husband's wanted.  But they would have been improved by some
share of his frankness and warmth; and her visit was long enough to
detract something from their first admiration, by shewing that, though
perfectly well-bred, she was reserved, cold, and had nothing to say for
herself beyond the most common-place inquiry or remark.

Conversation however was not wanted, for Sir John was very chatty, and
Lady Middleton had taken the wise precaution of bringing with her their
eldest child, a fine little boy about six years old, by which means
there was one subject always to be recurred to by the ladies in case of
extremity, for they had to enquire his name and age, admire his beauty,
and ask him questions which his mother answered for him, while he hung
about her and held down his head, to the great surprise of her
ladyship, who wondered at his being so shy before company, as he could
make noise enough at home.  On every formal visit a child ought to be
of the party, by way of provision for discourse.  In the present case
it took up ten minutes to determine whether the boy were most like his
father or mother, and in what particular he resembled either, for of
course every body differed, and every body was astonished at the
opinion of the others.

An opportunity was soon to be given to the Dashwoods of debating on the
rest of the children, as Sir John would not leave the house without
securing their promise of dining at the park the next day.

The Dashwood women arrive at Barton Cottage, and find it pleasant but small. Mrs. Dashwood has plans for extending it, though does not consider how she will afford to do so, considering that she has never saved money in her life. Sir John Middleton arrives to greet them. He warmly invites them to dine at his house, Barton Park, until they have settled in. He also sends over a basket of fruit, vegetables, and meat. The next day, Lady Middleton, Sir John's wife, visits the Dashwood women with her six-year-old son. She is elegant but lacks her husband's warmth. Lady Middleton is only interested in her children, who are her sole topic of conversation


Barton Park was about half a mile from the cottage.  The ladies had
passed near it in their way along the valley, but it was screened from
their view at home by the projection of a hill.  The house was large
and handsome; and the Middletons lived in a style of equal hospitality
and elegance.  The former was for Sir John's gratification, the latter
for that of his lady.  They were scarcely ever without some friends
staying with them in the house, and they kept more company of every
kind than any other family in the neighbourhood.  It was necessary to
the happiness of both; for however dissimilar in temper and outward
behaviour, they strongly resembled each other in that total want of
talent and taste which confined their employments, unconnected with
such as society produced, within a very narrow compass.  Sir John was a
sportsman, Lady Middleton a mother.  He hunted and shot, and she
humoured her children; and these were their only resources.  Lady
Middleton had the advantage of being able to spoil her children all the
year round, while Sir John's independent employments were in existence
only half the time.  Continual engagements at home and abroad, however,
supplied all the deficiencies of nature and education; supported the
good spirits of Sir John, and gave exercise to the good breeding of his
wife.

Lady Middleton piqued herself upon the elegance of her table, and of
all her domestic arrangements; and from this kind of vanity was her
greatest enjoyment in any of their parties.  But Sir John's
satisfaction in society was much more real; he delighted in collecting
about him more young people than his house would hold, and the noisier
they were the better was he pleased.  He was a blessing to all the
juvenile part of the neighbourhood, for in summer he was for ever
forming parties to eat cold ham and chicken out of doors, and in winter
his private balls were numerous enough for any young lady who was not
suffering under the unsatiable appetite of fifteen.

The arrival of a new family in the country was always a matter of joy
to him, and in every point of view he was charmed with the inhabitants
he had now procured for his cottage at Barton.  The Miss Dashwoods were
young, pretty, and unaffected.  It was enough to secure his good
opinion; for to be unaffected was all that a pretty girl could want to
make her mind as captivating as her person.  The friendliness of his
disposition made him happy in accommodating those, whose situation
might be considered, in comparison with the past, as unfortunate.  In
showing kindness to his cousins therefore he had the real satisfaction
of a good heart; and in settling a family of females only in his
cottage, he had all the satisfaction of a sportsman; for a sportsman,
though he esteems only those of his sex who are sportsmen likewise, is
not often desirous of encouraging their taste by admitting them to a
residence within his own manor.

Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters were met at the door of the house by
Sir John, who welcomed them to Barton Park with unaffected sincerity;
and as he attended them to the drawing room repeated to the young
ladies the concern which the same subject had drawn from him the day
before, at being unable to get any smart young men to meet them.  They
would see, he said, only one gentleman there besides himself; a
particular friend who was staying at the park, but who was neither very
young nor very gay.  He hoped they would all excuse the smallness of
the party, and could assure them it should never happen so again.  He
had been to several families that morning in hopes of procuring some
addition to their number, but it was moonlight and every body was full
of engagements.  Luckily Lady Middleton's mother had arrived at Barton
within the last hour, and as she was a very cheerful agreeable woman,
he hoped the young ladies would not find it so very dull as they might
imagine.  The young ladies, as well as their mother, were perfectly
satisfied with having two entire strangers of the party, and wished for
no more.

Mrs. Jennings, Lady Middleton's mother, was a good-humoured, merry,
fat, elderly woman, who talked a great deal, seemed very happy, and
rather vulgar.  She was full of jokes and laughter, and before dinner
was over had said many witty things on the subject of lovers and
husbands; hoped they had not left their hearts behind them in Sussex,
and pretended to see them blush whether they did or not.  Marianne was
vexed at it for her sister's sake, and turned her eyes towards Elinor
to see how she bore these attacks, with an earnestness which gave
Elinor far more pain than could arise from such common-place raillery
as Mrs. Jennings's.

Colonel Brandon, the friend of Sir John, seemed no more adapted by
resemblance of manner to be his friend, than Lady Middleton was to be
his wife, or Mrs. Jennings to be Lady Middleton's mother.  He was
silent and grave.  His appearance however was not unpleasing, in spite
of his being in the opinion of Marianne and Margaret an absolute old
bachelor, for he was on the wrong side of five and thirty; but though
his face was not handsome, his countenance was sensible, and his
address was particularly gentlemanlike.

There was nothing in any of the party which could recommend them as
companions to the Dashwoods; but the cold insipidity of Lady Middleton
was so particularly repulsive, that in comparison of it the gravity of
Colonel Brandon, and even the boisterous mirth of Sir John and his
mother-in-law was interesting.  Lady Middleton seemed to be roused to
enjoyment only by the entrance of her four noisy children after dinner,
who pulled her about, tore her clothes, and put an end to every kind of
discourse except what related to themselves.

In the evening, as Marianne was discovered to be musical, she was
invited to play.  The instrument was unlocked, every body prepared to
be charmed, and Marianne, who sang very well, at their request went
through the chief of the songs which Lady Middleton had brought into
the family on her marriage, and which perhaps had lain ever since in
the same position on the pianoforte, for her ladyship had celebrated
that event by giving up music, although by her mother's account, she
had played extremely well, and by her own was very fond of it.

Marianne's performance was highly applauded.  Sir John was loud in his
admiration at the end of every song, and as loud in his conversation
with the others while every song lasted.  Lady Middleton frequently
called him to order, wondered how any one's attention could be diverted
from music for a moment, and asked Marianne to sing a particular song
which Marianne had just finished.  Colonel Brandon alone, of all the
party, heard her without being in raptures.  He paid her only the
compliment of attention; and she felt a respect for him on the
occasion, which the others had reasonably forfeited by their shameless
want of taste.  His pleasure in music, though it amounted not to that
ecstatic delight which alone could sympathize with her own, was
estimable when contrasted against the horrible insensibility of the
others; and she was reasonable enough to allow that a man of five and
thirty might well have outlived all acuteness of feeling and every
exquisite power of enjoyment.  She was perfectly disposed to make every
allowance for the colonel's advanced state of life which humanity
required.

The following day, at Sir John's invitation, the Dashwood women go to dinner at Barton Park. The sociable Sir John is delighted with his new tenants. He is pleased that they are an all-female family, as a man might hunt the birds and animals on his estate, and he wants to keep all the hunting for himself. Also present are Mrs. Jennings, who is Lady Middleton's mother, and Colonel Brandon, who is a friend of Sir John. Marianne is invited to play the piano. Colonel Brandon is the only person who does not go into raptures about her performance, only listening with quiet attention. Marianne excuses him his lack of ecstasy on the grounds of his advanced age


Mrs. Jennings was a widow with an ample jointure.  She had only two
daughters, both of whom she had lived to see respectably married, and
she had now therefore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the
world.  In the promotion of this object she was zealously active, as
far as her ability reached; and missed no opportunity of projecting
weddings among all the young people of her acquaintance.  She was
remarkably quick in the discovery of attachments, and had enjoyed the
advantage of raising the blushes and the vanity of many a young lady by
insinuations of her power over such a young man; and this kind of
discernment enabled her soon after her arrival at Barton decisively to
pronounce that Colonel Brandon was very much in love with Marianne
Dashwood.  She rather suspected it to be so, on the very first evening
of their being together, from his listening so attentively while she
sang to them; and when the visit was returned by the Middletons' dining
at the cottage, the fact was ascertained by his listening to her again.
It must be so.  She was perfectly convinced of it.  It would be an
excellent match, for HE was rich, and SHE was handsome.  Mrs. Jennings
had been anxious to see Colonel Brandon well married, ever since her
connection with Sir John first brought him to her knowledge; and she
was always anxious to get a good husband for every pretty girl.

The immediate advantage to herself was by no means inconsiderable, for
it supplied her with endless jokes against them both.  At the park she
laughed at the colonel, and in the cottage at Marianne.  To the former
her raillery was probably, as far as it regarded only himself,
perfectly indifferent; but to the latter it was at first
incomprehensible; and when its object was understood, she hardly knew
whether most to laugh at its absurdity, or censure its impertinence,
for she considered it as an unfeeling reflection on the colonel's
advanced years, and on his forlorn condition as an old bachelor.

Mrs. Dashwood, who could not think a man five years younger than
herself, so exceedingly ancient as he appeared to the youthful fancy of
her daughter, ventured to clear Mrs. Jennings from the probability of
wishing to throw ridicule on his age.

"But at least, Mama, you cannot deny the absurdity of the accusation,
though you may not think it intentionally ill-natured.  Colonel Brandon
is certainly younger than Mrs. Jennings, but he is old enough to be MY
father; and if he were ever animated enough to be in love, must have
long outlived every sensation of the kind.  It is too ridiculous!  When
is a man to be safe from such wit, if age and infirmity will not
protect him?"

"Infirmity!" said Elinor, "do you call Colonel Brandon infirm?  I can
easily suppose that his age may appear much greater to you than to my
mother; but you can hardly deceive yourself as to his having the use of
his limbs!"

"Did not you hear him complain of the rheumatism?  and is not that the
commonest infirmity of declining life?"

"My dearest child," said her mother, laughing, "at this rate you must
be in continual terror of MY decay; and it must seem to you a miracle
that my life has been extended to the advanced age of forty."

"Mama, you are not doing me justice.  I know very well that Colonel
Brandon is not old enough to make his friends yet apprehensive of
losing him in the course of nature.  He may live twenty years longer.
But thirty-five has nothing to do with matrimony."

"Perhaps," said Elinor, "thirty-five and seventeen had better not have
any thing to do with matrimony together.  But if there should by any
chance happen to be a woman who is single at seven and twenty, I should
not think Colonel Brandon's being thirty-five any objection to his
marrying HER."

"A woman of seven and twenty," said Marianne, after pausing a moment,
"can never hope to feel or inspire affection again, and if her home be
uncomfortable, or her fortune small, I can suppose that she might bring
herself to submit to the offices of a nurse, for the sake of the
provision and security of a wife.  In his marrying such a woman
therefore there would be nothing unsuitable.  It would be a compact of
convenience, and the world would be satisfied.  In my eyes it would be
no marriage at all, but that would be nothing.  To me it would seem
only a commercial exchange, in which each wished to be benefited at the
expense of the other."

"It would be impossible, I know," replied Elinor, "to convince you that
a woman of seven and twenty could feel for a man of thirty-five
anything near enough to love, to make him a desirable companion to her.
But I must object to your dooming Colonel Brandon and his wife to the
constant confinement of a sick chamber, merely because he chanced to
complain yesterday (a very cold damp day) of a slight rheumatic feel in
one of his shoulders."

"But he talked of flannel waistcoats," said Marianne; "and with me a
flannel waistcoat is invariably connected with aches, cramps,
rheumatisms, and every species of ailment that can afflict the old and
the feeble."

"Had he been only in a violent fever, you would not have despised him
half so much.  Confess, Marianne, is not there something interesting to
you in the flushed cheek, hollow eye, and quick pulse of a fever?"

Soon after this, upon Elinor's leaving the room, "Mama," said
Marianne, "I have an alarm on the subject of illness which I cannot
conceal from you.  I am sure Edward Ferrars is not well.  We have now
been here almost a fortnight, and yet he does not come.  Nothing but
real indisposition could occasion this extraordinary delay.  What else
can detain him at Norland?"

"Had you any idea of his coming so soon?" said Mrs. Dashwood.  "I had
none.  On the contrary, if I have felt any anxiety at all on the
subject, it has been in recollecting that he sometimes showed a want of
pleasure and readiness in accepting my invitation, when I talked of his
coming to Barton.  Does Elinor expect him already?"

"I have never mentioned it to her, but of course she must."

"I rather think you are mistaken, for when I was talking to her
yesterday of getting a new grate for the spare bedchamber, she observed
that there was no immediate hurry for it, as it was not likely that the
room would be wanted for some time."

"How strange this is! what can be the meaning of it!  But the whole of
their behaviour to each other has been unaccountable! How cold, how
composed were their last adieus! How languid their conversation the
last evening of their being together! In Edward's farewell there was no
distinction between Elinor and me: it was the good wishes of an
affectionate brother to both.  Twice did I leave them purposely
together in the course of the last morning, and each time did he most
unaccountably follow me out of the room.  And Elinor, in quitting
Norland and Edward, cried not as I did.  Even now her self-command is
invariable.  When is she dejected or melancholy? When does she try to
avoid society, or appear restless and dissatisfied in it?"

Mrs. Jennings, whose main interest is matchmaking, decides that Colonel Brandon is in love with Marianne, and makes jokes to them both about the marriage she expects to occur. Marianne thinks the idea that the Colonel can be in love with her absurd, as he is so old. Marianne confesses to Mrs. Dashwood that she cannot understand why Edward has not visited Elinor in their new home at Barton Cottage. She also is baffled at the reserve of his behavior towards Elinor, and at Elinor's lack of sorrow at the loss of her admirer


The Dashwoods were now settled at Barton with tolerable comfort to
themselves.  The house and the garden, with all the objects surrounding
them, were now become familiar, and the ordinary pursuits which had
given to Norland half its charms were engaged in again with far greater
enjoyment than Norland had been able to afford, since the loss of their
father.  Sir John Middleton, who called on them every day for the first
fortnight, and who was not in the habit of seeing much occupation at
home, could not conceal his amazement on finding them always employed.

Their visitors, except those from Barton Park, were not many; for, in
spite of Sir John's urgent entreaties that they would mix more in the
neighbourhood, and repeated assurances of his carriage being always at
their service, the independence of Mrs. Dashwood's spirit overcame the
wish of society for her children; and she was resolute in declining to
visit any family beyond the distance of a walk.  There were but few who
could be so classed; and it was not all of them that were attainable.
About a mile and a half from the cottage, along the narrow winding
valley of Allenham, which issued from that of Barton, as formerly
described, the girls had, in one of their earliest walks, discovered an
ancient respectable looking mansion which, by reminding them a little
of Norland, interested their imagination and made them wish to be
better acquainted with it.  But they learnt, on enquiry, that its
possessor, an elderly lady of very good character, was unfortunately
too infirm to mix with the world, and never stirred from home.

The whole country about them abounded in beautiful walks.  The high
downs which invited them from almost every window of the cottage to
seek the exquisite enjoyment of air on their summits, were a happy
alternative when the dirt of the valleys beneath shut up their superior
beauties; and towards one of these hills did Marianne and Margaret one
memorable morning direct their steps, attracted by the partial sunshine
of a showery sky, and unable longer to bear the confinement which the
settled rain of the two preceding days had occasioned.  The weather was
not tempting enough to draw the two others from their pencil and their
book, in spite of Marianne's declaration that the day would be
lastingly fair, and that every threatening cloud would be drawn off
from their hills; and the two girls set off together.

They gaily ascended the downs, rejoicing in their own penetration at
every glimpse of blue sky; and when they caught in their faces the
animating gales of a high south-westerly wind, they pitied the fears
which had prevented their mother and Elinor from sharing such
delightful sensations.

"Is there a felicity in the world," said Marianne, "superior to
this?--Margaret, we will walk here at least two hours."

Margaret agreed, and they pursued their way against the wind, resisting
it with laughing delight for about twenty minutes longer, when suddenly
the clouds united over their heads, and a driving rain set full in
their face.-- Chagrined and surprised, they were obliged, though
unwillingly, to turn back, for no shelter was nearer than their own
house.  One consolation however remained for them, to which the
exigence of the moment gave more than usual propriety; it was that of
running with all possible speed down the steep side of the hill which
led immediately to their garden gate.

They set off.  Marianne had at first the advantage, but a false step
brought her suddenly to the ground; and Margaret, unable to stop
herself to assist her, was involuntarily hurried along, and reached the
bottom in safety.

A gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointers playing round him, was
passing up the hill and within a few yards of Marianne, when her
accident happened.  He put down his gun and ran to her assistance.  She
had raised herself from the ground, but her foot had been twisted in
her fall, and she was scarcely able to stand.  The gentleman offered
his services; and perceiving that her modesty declined what her
situation rendered necessary, took her up in his arms without farther
delay, and carried her down the hill.  Then passing through the garden,
the gate of which had been left open by Margaret, he bore her directly
into the house, whither Margaret was just arrived, and quitted not his
hold till he had seated her in a chair in the parlour.

Elinor and her mother rose up in amazement at their entrance, and while
the eyes of both were fixed on him with an evident wonder and a secret
admiration which equally sprung from his appearance, he apologized for
his intrusion by relating its cause, in a manner so frank and so
graceful that his person, which was uncommonly handsome, received
additional charms from his voice and expression.  Had he been even old,
ugly, and vulgar, the gratitude and kindness of Mrs. Dashwood would
have been secured by any act of attention to her child; but the
influence of youth, beauty, and elegance, gave an interest to the
action which came home to her feelings.

She thanked him again and again; and, with a sweetness of address which
always attended her, invited him to be seated.  But this he declined,
as he was dirty and wet.  Mrs. Dashwood then begged to know to whom she
was obliged.  His name, he replied, was Willoughby, and his present
home was at Allenham, from whence he hoped she would allow him the
honour of calling tomorrow to enquire after Miss Dashwood.  The honour
was readily granted, and he then departed, to make himself still more
interesting, in the midst of a heavy rain.

His manly beauty and more than common gracefulness were instantly the
theme of general admiration, and the laugh which his gallantry raised
against Marianne received particular spirit from his exterior
attractions.-- Marianne herself had seen less of his Mama the
rest, for the confusion which crimsoned over her face, on his lifting
her up, had robbed her of the power of regarding him after their
entering the house.  But she had seen enough of him to join in all the
admiration of the others, and with an energy which always adorned her
praise.  His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn
for the hero of a favourite story; and in his carrying her into the
house with so little previous formality, there was a rapidity of
thought which particularly recommended the action to her.  Every
circumstance belonging to him was interesting.  His name was good, his
residence was in their favourite village, and she soon found out that
of all manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming.  Her
imagination was busy, her reflections were pleasant, and the pain of a
sprained ankle was disregarded.

Sir John called on them as soon as the next interval of fair weather
that morning allowed him to get out of doors; and Marianne's accident
being related to him, he was eagerly asked whether he knew any
gentleman of the name of Willoughby at Allenham.

"Willoughby!" cried Sir John; "what, is HE in the country? That is good
news however; I will ride over tomorrow, and ask him to dinner on
Thursday."

"You know him then," said Mrs. Dashwood.

"Know him! to be sure I do.  Why, he is down here every year."

"And what sort of a young man is he?"

"As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you.  A very decent
shot, and there is not a bolder rider in England."

"And is that all you can say for him?" cried Marianne, indignantly.
"But what are his manners on more intimate acquaintance? What his
pursuits, his talents, and genius?"

Sir John was rather puzzled.

"Upon my soul," said he, "I do not know much about him as to all THAT.
But he is a pleasant, good humoured fellow, and has got the nicest
little black bitch of a pointer I ever saw.  Was she out with him
today?"

But Marianne could no more satisfy him as to the colour of Mr.
Willoughby's pointer, than he could describe to her the shades of his
mind.

"But who is he?" said Elinor.  "Where does he come from?  Has he a
house at Allenham?"

On this point Sir John could give more certain intelligence; and he
told them that Mr. Willoughby had no property of his own in the
country; that he resided there only while he was visiting the old lady
at Allenham Court, to whom he was related, and whose possessions he was
to inherit; adding, "Yes, yes, he is very well worth catching I can
tell you, Miss Dashwood; he has a pretty little estate of his own in
Somersetshire besides; and if I were you, I would not give him up to my
younger sister, in spite of all this tumbling down hills.  Miss
Marianne must not expect to have all the men to herself.  Brandon will
be jealous, if she does not take care."

"I do not believe," said Mrs. Dashwood, with a good humoured smile,
"that Mr. Willoughby will be incommoded by the attempts of either of MY
daughters towards what you call CATCHING him.  It is not an employment
to which they have been brought up.  Men are very safe with us, let
them be ever so rich.  I am glad to find, however, from what you say,
that he is a respectable young man, and one whose acquaintance will not
be ineligible."

"He is as good a sort of fellow, I believe, as ever lived," repeated
Sir John.  "I remember last Christmas at a little hop at the park, he
danced from eight o'clock till four, without once sitting down."

"Did he indeed?" cried Marianne with sparkling eyes, "and with
elegance, with spirit?"

"Yes; and he was up again at eight to ride to covert."

"That is what I like; that is what a young man ought to be.  Whatever
be his pursuits, his eagerness in them should know no moderation, and
leave him no sense of fatigue."

"Aye, aye, I see how it will be," said Sir John, "I see how it will be.
You will be setting your cap at him now, and never think of poor
Brandon."

"That is an expression, Sir John," said Marianne, warmly, "which I
particularly dislike.  I abhor every common-place phrase by which wit
is intended; and 'setting one's cap at a man,' or 'making a conquest,'
are the most odious of all.  Their tendency is gross and illiberal; and
if their construction could ever be deemed clever, time has long ago
destroyed all its ingenuity."

Sir John did not much understand this reproof; but he laughed as
heartily as if he did, and then replied,

"Ay, you will make conquests enough, I dare say, one way or other.
Poor Brandon! he is quite smitten already, and he is very well worth
setting your cap at, I can tell you, in spite of all this tumbling
about and spraining of ankles."

Marianne and Margaret ignore signs of bad weather and go for a walk. It begins to rain, and as the girls rush home, Marianne trips and falls, spraining her ankle. An unknown handsome man who is out shooting game with his dogs comes to her assistance, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her back to the house. Mrs. Dashwood is charmed by the man, who introduces himself as Mr. Willoughby, currently of Allenham. He is given permission to call tomorrow to find out how Marianne is. After he leaves, the Dashwood women discuss him with admiration. When Sir John visits, they ask him about Willoughby. All Sir John can say is that he shoots and rides well, has a good gundog, and shows stamina in dancing. He says that Willoughby has no property of his own but is the heir of Mrs. Smith, a distant relative who lives at nearby Allenham Court. He concludes that he is "well worth catching" for any young woman. He adds that poor Colonel Brandon will be forgotten. Marianne is offended by the suggestion that she would try to catch anyone


Marianne's preserver, as Margaret, with more elegance than precision,
styled Willoughby, called at the cottage early the next morning to make
his personal enquiries.  He was received by Mrs. Dashwood with more
than politeness; with a kindness which Sir John's account of him and
her own gratitude prompted; and every thing that passed during the
visit tended to assure him of the sense, elegance, mutual affection,
and domestic comfort of the family to whom accident had now introduced
him.  Of their personal charms he had not required a second interview
to be convinced.

Miss Dashwood had a delicate complexion, regular features, and a
remarkably pretty figure.  Marianne was still handsomer.  Her form,
though not so correct as her sister's, in having the advantage of
height, was more striking; and her face was so lovely, that when in the
common cant of praise, she was called a beautiful girl, truth was less
violently outraged than usually happens.  Her skin was very brown, but,
from its transparency, her complexion was uncommonly brilliant; her
features were all good; her smile was sweet and attractive; and in her
eyes, which were very dark, there was a life, a spirit, an eagerness,
which could hardily be seen without delight.  From Willoughby their
expression was at first held back, by the embarrassment which the
remembrance of his assistance created.  But when this passed away, when
her spirits became collected, when she saw that to the perfect
good-breeding of the gentleman, he united frankness and vivacity, and
above all, when she heard him declare, that of music and dancing he was
passionately fond, she gave him such a look of approbation as secured
the largest share of his discourse to herself for the rest of his stay.

It was only necessary to mention any favourite amusement to engage her
to talk.  She could not be silent when such points were introduced, and
she had neither shyness nor reserve in their discussion.  They speedily
discovered that their enjoyment of dancing and music was mutual, and
that it arose from a general conformity of judgment in all that related
to either.  Encouraged by this to a further examination of his
opinions, she proceeded to question him on the subject of books; her
favourite authors were brought forward and dwelt upon with so rapturous
a delight, that any young man of five and twenty must have been
insensible indeed, not to become an immediate convert to the excellence
of such works, however disregarded before.  Their taste was strikingly
alike.  The same books, the same passages were idolized by each--or if
any difference appeared, any objection arose, it lasted no longer than
till the force of her arguments and the brightness of her eyes could be
displayed.  He acquiesced in all her decisions, caught all her
enthusiasm; and long before his visit concluded, they conversed with
the familiarity of a long-established acquaintance.

"Well, Marianne," said Elinor, as soon as he had left them, "for ONE
morning I think you have done pretty well.  You have already
ascertained Mr. Willoughby's opinion in almost every matter of
importance.  You know what he thinks of Cowper and Scott; you are
certain of his estimating their beauties as he ought, and you have
received every assurance of his admiring Pope no more than is proper.
But how is your acquaintance to be long supported, under such
extraordinary despatch of every subject for discourse?  You will soon
have exhausted each favourite topic.  Another meeting will suffice to
explain his sentiments on picturesque beauty, and second marriages, and
then you can have nothing farther to ask."--

"Elinor," cried Marianne, "is this fair? is this just? are my ideas so
scanty?  But I see what you mean.  I have been too much at my ease, too
happy, too frank.  I have erred against every common-place notion of
decorum; I have been open and sincere where I ought to have been
reserved, spiritless, dull, and deceitful--had I talked only of the
weather and the roads, and had I spoken only once in ten minutes, this
reproach would have been spared."

"My love," said her mother, "you must not be offended with Elinor--she
was only in jest.  I should scold her myself, if she were capable of
wishing to check the delight of your conversation with our new
friend."-- Marianne was softened in a moment.

Willoughby, on his side, gave every proof of his pleasure in their
acquaintance, which an evident wish of improving it could offer.  He
came to them every day.  To enquire after Marianne was at first his
excuse; but the encouragement of his reception, to which every day gave
greater kindness, made such an excuse unnecessary before it had ceased
to be possible, by Marianne's perfect recovery.  She was confined for
some days to the house; but never had any confinement been less
irksome.  Willoughby was a young man of good abilities, quick
imagination, lively spirits, and open, affectionate manners.  He was
exactly formed to engage Marianne's heart, for with all this, he joined
not only a captivating person, but a natural ardour of mind which was
now roused and increased by the example of her own, and which
recommended him to her affection beyond every thing else.

His society became gradually her most exquisite enjoyment.  They read,
they talked, they sang together; his musical talents were considerable;
and he read with all the sensibility and spirit which Edward had
unfortunately wanted.

In Mrs. Dashwood's estimation he was as faultless as in Marianne's; and
Elinor saw nothing to censure in him but a propensity, in which he
strongly resembled and peculiarly delighted her sister, of saying too
much what he thought on every occasion, without attention to persons or
circumstances.  In hastily forming and giving his opinion of other
people, in sacrificing general politeness to the enjoyment of undivided
attention where his heart was engaged, and in slighting too easily the
forms of worldly propriety, he displayed a want of caution which Elinor
could not approve, in spite of all that he and Marianne could say in
its support.

Marianne began now to perceive that the desperation which had seized
her at sixteen and a half, of ever seeing a man who could satisfy her
ideas of perfection, had been rash and unjustifiable.  Willoughby was
all that her fancy had delineated in that unhappy hour and in every
brighter period, as capable of attaching her; and his behaviour
declared his wishes to be in that respect as earnest, as his abilities
were strong.

Her mother too, in whose mind not one speculative thought of their
marriage had been raised, by his prospect of riches, was led before the
end of a week to hope and expect it; and secretly to congratulate
herself on having gained two such sons-in-law as Edward and Willoughby.

Colonel Brandon's partiality for Marianne, which had so early been
discovered by his friends, now first became perceptible to Elinor, when
it ceased to be noticed by them.  Their attention and wit were drawn
off to his more fortunate rival; and the raillery which the other had
incurred before any partiality arose, was removed when his feelings
began really to call for the ridicule so justly annexed to sensibility.
Elinor was obliged, though unwillingly, to believe that the sentiments
which Mrs. Jennings had assigned him for her own satisfaction, were now
actually excited by her sister; and that however a general resemblance
of disposition between the parties might forward the affection of Mr.
Willoughby, an equally striking opposition of character was no
hindrance to the regard of Colonel Brandon.  She saw it with concern;
for what could a silent man of five and thirty hope, when opposed to a
very lively one of five and twenty? and as she could not even wish him
successful, she heartily wished him indifferent.  She liked him--in
spite of his gravity and reserve, she beheld in him an object of
interest.  His manners, though serious, were mild; and his reserve
appeared rather the result of some oppression of spirits than of any
natural gloominess of temper.  Sir John had dropped hints of past
injuries and disappointments, which justified her belief of his being
an unfortunate man, and she regarded him with respect and compassion.

Perhaps she pitied and esteemed him the more because he was slighted by
Willoughby and Marianne, who, prejudiced against him for being neither
lively nor young, seemed resolved to undervalue his merits.

"Brandon is just the kind of man," said Willoughby one day, when they
were talking of him together, "whom every body speaks well of, and
nobody cares about; whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers
to talk to."

"That is exactly what I think of him," cried Marianne.

"Do not boast of it, however," said Elinor, "for it is injustice in
both of you.  He is highly esteemed by all the family at the park, and
I never see him myself without taking pains to converse with him."

"That he is patronised by YOU," replied Willoughby, "is certainly in
his favour; but as for the esteem of the others, it is a reproach in
itself.  Who would submit to the indignity of being approved by such a
woman as Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings, that could command the
indifference of any body else?"

"But perhaps the abuse of such people as yourself and Marianne will
make amends for the regard of Lady Middleton and her mother.  If their
praise is censure, your censure may be praise, for they are not more
undiscerning, than you are prejudiced and unjust."

"In defence of your protege you can even be saucy."

"My protege, as you call him, is a sensible man; and sense will always
have attractions for me.  Yes, Marianne, even in a man between thirty
and forty.  He has seen a great deal of the world; has been abroad, has
read, and has a thinking mind.  I have found him capable of giving me
much information on various subjects; and he has always answered my
inquiries with readiness of good-breeding and good nature."

"That is to say," cried Marianne contemptuously, "he has told you, that
in the East Indies the climate is hot, and the mosquitoes are
troublesome."

"He WOULD have told me so, I doubt not, had I made any such inquiries,
but they happened to be points on which I had been previously informed."

"Perhaps," said Willoughby, "his observations may have extended to the
existence of nabobs, gold mohrs, and palanquins."

"I may venture to say that HIS observations have stretched much further
than your candour.  But why should you dislike him?"

"I do not dislike him.  I consider him, on the contrary, as a very
respectable man, who has every body's good word, and nobody's notice;
who, has more money than he can spend, more time than he knows how to
employ, and two new coats every year."

"Add to which," cried Marianne, "that he has neither genius, taste, nor
spirit.  That his understanding has no brilliancy, his feelings no
ardour, and his voice no expression."

"You decide on his imperfections so much in the mass," replied Elinor,
"and so much on the strength of your own imagination, that the
commendation I am able to give of him is comparatively cold and
insipid.  I can only pronounce him to be a sensible man, well-bred,
well-informed, of gentle address, and, I believe, possessing an amiable
heart."

"Miss Dashwood," cried Willoughby, "you are now using me unkindly.  You
are endeavouring to disarm me by reason, and to convince me against my
will.  But it will not do.  You shall find me as stubborn as you can be
artful.  I have three unanswerable reasons for disliking Colonel
Brandon; he threatened me with rain when I wanted it to be fine; he has
found fault with the hanging of my curricle, and I cannot persuade him
to buy my brown mare.  If it will be any satisfaction to you, however,
to be told, that I believe his character to be in other respects
irreproachable, I am ready to confess it.  And in return for an
acknowledgment, which must give me some pain, you cannot deny me the
privilege of disliking him as much as ever."

Willoughby calls at the cottage the next day to ask after Marianne. The two talk, and she is delighted to find that he shares her love of music and dancing, and her passion for certain authors. After he has left, Elinor expresses concern that Marianne has told Willoughby everything about herself and that there will be nothing left for future occasions. Marianne bridles at this, believing that Elinor is rebuking her for being too open. Marianne recovers. Willoughby continues to visit her every day, and they read, talk, and sing together. Marianne learns that he reads literature aloud with all the sensibility and passion that Edward sadly lacks. Elinor feels that he is too prone to speak his thoughts, without consideration of others or of the situation. Marianne feels that he is everything that she has always wished for in a man. Mrs. Dashwood now expects two marriages, between Marianne and Willoughby, and Elinor and Edward. Elinor notices that Colonel Brandon's spirits seem to be oppressed by past disappointments. Willoughby cruelly dismisses him as the kind of man "whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers to talk to," and Marianne agrees. She thinks he lacks "genius" and "spirit