“I am sure I should have seen it in a moment, if Mrs. Ferrars had took a dislike to me.If she had only made me a formal courtesy, for instance, without saying a word,and never after had took any notice of me,and never looked at me in a pleasant way—you know what I mean—if I had been treated in that forbidding sort of way,I should have gave it all up in despair. I could not have stood it. For where she _does_ dislike, I know it is most violent.”
Elinor was prevented from making any reply to this civil triumph, by the door’s being thrown open,the servant’s announcing Mr. Ferrars, and Edward’s immediately walking in.
It was a very awkward moment; and the countenance of each showed that it was so.They all looked exceedingly foolish; and Edward seemed to have as great an inclination to walk out of the room again,as to advance farther into it. The very circumstance, in its unpleasantest form,which they would each have been most anxious to avoid,had fallen on them.—They were not only all three together,but were together without the relief of any other person. The ladies recovered themselves first.It was not Lucy’s business to put herself forward,and the appearance of secrecy must still be kept up.She could therefore only _look_ her tenderness, and after slightly addressing him, said no more.
But Elinor had more to do; and so anxious was she, for his sake and her own, to do it well,that she forced herself, after a moment’s recollection, to welcome him,with a look and manner that were almost easy, and almost open; and another struggle,another effort still improved them. She would not allow the presence of Lucy,nor the consciousness of some injustice towards herself,to deter her from saying that she was happy to see him,and that she had very much regretted being from home, when he called before in Berkeley Street.She would not be frightened from paying him those attentions which,as a friend and almost a relation, were his due, by the observant eyes of Lucy,though she soon perceived them to be narrowly watching her.
Her manners gave some re-assurance to Edward, and he had courage enough to sit down;but his embarrassment still exceeded that of the ladies in a proportion,which the case rendered reasonable, though his sex might make it rare;for his heart had not the indifference of Lucy’s,nor could his conscience have quite the ease of Elinor’s.
Lucy, with a demure and settled air, seemed determined to make no contribution to the comfort of the others,and would not say a word; and almost every thing that _was_ said, proceeded from Elinor,who was obliged to volunteer all the information about her mother’s health, their coming to town,&c. which Edward ought to have inquired about, but never did.
Her exertions did not stop here; for she soon afterwards felt herself so heroically disposed as to determine,under pretence of fetching Marianne, to leave the others by themselves; and she really did it,and _that_ in the handsomest manner, for she loitered away several minutes on the landing-place,with the most high-minded fortitude, before she went to her sister. When that was once done,however, it was time for the raptures of Edward to cease;for Marianne’s joy hurried her into the drawing-room immediately.Her pleasure in seeing him was like every other of her feelings, strong in itself,and strongly spoken. She met him with a hand that would be taken,and a voice that expressed the affection of a sister.
“Dear Edward!” she cried, “this is a moment of great happiness!—This would almost make amends for every thing!”
Edward tried to return her kindness as it deserved,but before such witnesses he dared not say half what he really felt. Again they all sat down,and for a moment or two all were silent;while Marianne was looking with the most speaking tenderness,sometimes at Edward and sometimes at Elinor,regretting only that their delight in each other should be checked by Lucy’s unwelcome presence.Edward was the first to speak, and it was to notice Marianne’s altered looks,and express his fear of her not finding London agree with her.
“Oh, don’t think of me!” she replied with spirited earnestness, though her eyes were filled with tears as she spoke,“don’t think of _my_ health. Elinor is well, you see. That must be enough for us both.”
This remark was not calculated to make Edward or Elinor more easy,nor to conciliate the good will of Lucy,who looked up at Marianne with no very benignant expression.
“Do you like London?” said Edward, willing to say any thing that might introduce another subject.
“Not at all. I expected much pleasure in it, but I have found none. The sight of you, Edward,is the only comfort it has afforded; and thank Heaven!you are what you always were!”
She paused—no one spoke.
“I think, Elinor,” she presently added, “we must employ Edward to take care of us in our return to Barton.In a week or two, I suppose, we shall be going; and, I trust,Edward will not be very unwilling to accept the charge.”
Poor Edward muttered something, but what it was, nobody knew, not even himself. But Marianne,who saw his agitation, and could easily trace it to whatever cause best pleased herself,was perfectly satisfied, and soon talked of something else.
“We spent such a day, Edward, in Harley Street yesterday!So dull, so wretchedly dull!—But I have much to say to you on that head, which cannot be said now.”
And with this admirable discretion did she defer the assurance of her finding their mutual relatives more disagreeable than ever,and of her being particularly disgusted with his mother, till they were more in private.
“But why were you not there, Edward?—Why did you not come?”
“I was engaged elsewhere.”
“Engaged!But what was that, when such friends were to be met?”
“Perhaps, Miss Marianne,” cried Lucy, eager to take some revenge on her,“you think young men never stand upon engagements, if they have no mind to keep them, little as well as great.”
Elinor was very angry, but Marianne seemed entirely insensible of the sting; for she calmly replied,
“Not so, indeed; for, seriously speaking,I am very sure that conscience only kept Edward from Harley Street.And I really believe he _has_ the most delicate conscience in the world;the most scrupulous in performing every engagement, however minute,and however it may make against his interest or pleasure. He is the most fearful of giving pain,of wounding expectation, and the most incapable of being selfish, of any body I ever saw. Edward, it is so, and I will say it. What!are you never to hear yourself praised!—Then you must be no friend of mine; for those who will accept of my love and esteem, must submit to my open commendation.”
The nature of her commendation, in the present case, however,happened to be particularly ill-suited to the feelings of two thirds of her auditors,and was so very unexhilarating to Edward, that he very soon got up to go away.
“Going so soon!” said Marianne; “my dear Edward, this must not be.”
And drawing him a little aside, she whispered her persuasion that Lucy could not stay much longer.But even this encouragement failed, for he would go; and Lucy, who would have outstaid him,had his visit lasted two hours, soon afterwards went away.
“What can bring her here so often?” said Marianne, on her leaving them. “Could not she see that we wanted her gone!—how teazing to Edward!”
“Why so?—we were all his friends, and Lucy has been the longest known to him of any.It is but natural that he should like to see her as well as ourselves.”
Marianne looked at her steadily, and said, “You know, Elinor,that this is a kind of talking which I cannot bear.If you only hope to have your assertion contradicted, as I must suppose to be the case,you ought to recollect that I am the last person in the world to do it.I cannot descend to be tricked out of assurances, that are not really wanted.”
She then left the room; and Elinor dared not follow her to say more,for bound as she was by her promise of secrecy to Lucy,she could give no information that would convince Marianne;and painful as the consequences of her still continuing in an error might be,she was obliged to submit to it. All that she could hope,was that Edward would not often expose her or himself to the distress of hearing Marianne’s mistaken warmth,nor to the repetition of any other part of the pain that had attended their recent meeting—and this she had every reason to expect.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Within a few days after this meeting, the newspapers announced to the world,that the lady of Thomas Palmer, Esq. was safely delivered of a son and heir;a very interesting and satisfactory paragraph,at least to all those intimate connections who knew it before.
This event, highly important to Mrs. Jennings’s happiness,produced a temporary alteration in the disposal of her time, and influenced, in a like degree,the engagements of her young friends; for as she wished to be as much as possible with Charlotte,she went thither every morning as soon as she was dressed,and did not return till late in the evening; and the Miss Dashwoods,at the particular request of the Middletons, spent the whole of every day in Conduit Street.For their own comfort they would much rather have remained, at least all the morning, in Mrs.Jennings’s house; but it was not a thing to be urged against the wishes of everybody.Their hours were therefore made over to Lady Middleton and the two Miss Steeles,by whom their company, in fact was as little valued, as it was professedly sought.
They had too much sense to be desirable companions to the former;and by the latter they were considered with a jealous eye, as intruding on _their_ ground,and sharing the kindness which they wanted to monopolize.Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton’s behaviour to Elinor and Marianne,she did not really like them at all. Because they neither flattered herself nor her children,she could not believe them good-natured; and because they were fond of reading,she fancied them satirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to be satirical;but _that_ did not signify. It was censure in common use, and easily given.
Their presence was a restraint both on her and on Lucy. It checked the idleness of one,and the business of the other. Lady Middleton was ashamed of doing nothing before them,and the flattery which Lucy was proud to think of and administer at other times,she feared they would despise her for offering. Miss Steele was the least discomposed of the three,by their presence; and it was in their power to reconcile her to it entirely.Would either of them only have given her a full and minute account of the whole affair between Marianne and Mr.Willoughby, she would have thought herself amply rewarded for the sacrifice of the best place by the fire after dinner,which their arrival occasioned. But this conciliation was not granted;for though she often threw out expressions of pity for her sister to Elinor,and more than once dropt a reflection on the inconstancy of beaux before Marianne,no effect was produced, but a look of indifference from the former, or of disgust in the latter.An effort even yet lighter might have made her their friend.Would they only have laughed at her about the Doctor!But so little were they, any more than the others, inclined to oblige her,that if Sir John dined from home, she might spend a whole day without hearing any other raillery on the subject,than what she was kind enough to bestow on herself.
All these jealousies and discontents, however, were so totally unsuspected by Mrs. Jennings,that she thought it a delightful thing for the girls to be together;and generally congratulated her young friends every night,on having escaped the company of a stupid old woman so long.She joined them sometimes at Sir John’s, sometimes at her own house; but wherever it was,she always came in excellent spirits, full of delight and importance,attributing Charlotte’s well doing to her own care, and ready to give so exact,so minute a detail of her situation, as only Miss Steele had curiosity enough to desire.One thing _did_ disturb her; and of that she made her daily complaint. Mr.Palmer maintained the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex, of all infants being alike;and though she could plainly perceive, at different times,the most striking resemblance between this baby and every one of his relations on both sides,there was no convincing his father of it;no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like every other baby of the same age;nor could he even be brought to acknowledge the simple proposition of its being the finest child in the world.
I come now to the relation of a misfortune, which about this time befell Mrs. John Dashwood.It so happened that while her two sisters with Mrs.Jennings were first calling on her in Harley Street,another of her acquaintance had dropt in—a circumstance in itself not apparently likely to produce evil to her.But while the imaginations of other people will carry them away to form wrong judgments of our conduct,and to decide on it by slight appearances,one’s happiness must in some measure be always at the mercy of chance. In the present instance,this last-arrived lady allowed her fancy to so far outrun truth and probability,that on merely hearing the name of the Miss Dashwoods, and understanding them to be Mr.Dashwood’s sisters, she immediately concluded them to be staying in Harley Street;and this misconstruction produced within a day or two afterwards,cards of invitation for them as well as for their brother and sister,to a small musical party at her house. The consequence of which was, that Mrs.John Dashwood was obliged to submit not only to the exceedingly great inconvenience of sending her carriage for the Miss Dashwoods,but, what was still worse, must be subject to all the unpleasantness of appearing to treat them with attention:and who could tell that they might not expect to go out with her a second time?The power of disappointing them, it was true, must always be hers. But that was not enough;for when people are determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be wrong,they feel injured by the expectation of any thing better from them.
Marianne had now been brought by degrees, so much into the habit of going out every day,that it was become a matter of indifference to her, whether she went or not:and she prepared quietly and mechanically for every evening’s engagement,though without expecting the smallest amusement from any, and very often without knowing,till the last moment, where it was to take her.
To her dress and appearance she was grown so perfectly indifferent,as not to bestow half the consideration on it, during the whole of her toilet,which it received from Miss Steele in the first five minutes of their being together,when it was finished. Nothing escaped _her_ minute observation and general curiosity;she saw every thing, and asked every thing;was never easy till she knew the price of every part of Marianne’s dress;could have guessed the number of her gowns altogether with better judgment than Marianne herself,and was not without hopes of finding out before they parted, how much her washing cost per week,and how much she had every year to spend upon herself.The impertinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally concluded with a compliment,which though meant as its douceur, was considered by Marianne as the greatest impertinence of all;for after undergoing an examination into the value and make of her gown, the colour of her shoes,and the arrangement of her hair, she was almost sure of being told that upon “her word she looked vastly smart,and she dared to say she would make a great many conquests.”
With such encouragement as this, was she dismissed on the present occasion,to her brother’s carriage; which they were ready to enter five minutes after it stopped at the door,a punctuality not very agreeable to their sister-in-law,who had preceded them to the house of her acquaintance,and was there hoping for some delay on their part that might inconvenience either herself or her coachman.
The events of this evening were not very remarkable. The party, like other musical parties,comprehended a great many people who had real taste for the performance,and a great many more who had none at all; and the performers themselves were, as usual,in their own estimation, and that of their immediate friends,the first private performers in England.
As Elinor was neither musical, nor affecting to be so,she made no scruple of turning her eyes from the grand pianoforte, whenever it suited her,and unrestrained even by the presence of a harp, and violoncello,would fix them at pleasure on any other object in the room.In one of these excursive glances she perceived among a group of young men, the very he,who had given them a lecture on toothpick-cases at Gray’s.She perceived him soon afterwards looking at herself, and speaking familiarly to her brother;and had just determined to find out his name from the latter, when they both came towards her,and Mr. Dashwood introduced him to her as Mr. Robert Ferrars.
He addressed her with easy civility, and twisted his head into a bow which assured her as plainly as words could have done,that he was exactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by Lucy.Happy had it been for her, if her regard for Edward had depended less on his own merit,than on the merit of his nearest relations!For then his brother’s bow must have given the finishing stroke to what the ill-humour of his mother and sister would have begun.But while she wondered at the difference of the two young men,she did not find that the emptiness and conceit of the one,put her out of all charity with the modesty and worth of the other. Why they _were_ different,Robert explained to her himself in the course of a quarter of an hour’s conversation; for,talking of his brother, and lamenting the extreme _gaucherie_ which he really believed kept him from mixing in proper society,he candidly and generously attributed it much less to any natural deficiency,than to the misfortune of a private education; while he himself,though probably without any particular, any material superiority by nature,merely from the advantage of a public school,was as well fitted to mix in the world as any other man.
“Upon my soul,” he added, “I believe it is nothing more; and so I often tell my mother,when she is grieving about it. ‘My dear Madam,’ I always say to her, ‘you must make yourself easy.The evil is now irremediable, and it has been entirely your own doing.Why would you be persuaded by my uncle, Sir Robert, against your own judgment,to place Edward under private tuition, at the most critical time of his life?If you had only sent him to Westminster as well as myself, instead of sending him to Mr. Pratt’s,all this would have been prevented.’ This is the way in which I always consider the matter,and my mother is perfectly convinced of her error.”
Elinor would not oppose his opinion, because,whatever might be her general estimation of the advantage of a public school,she could not think of Edward’s abode in Mr. Pratt’s family, with any satisfaction.
“You reside in Devonshire, I think,”—was his next observation, “in a cottage near Dawlish.”
Elinor set him right as to its situation;and it seemed rather surprising to him that anybody could live in Devonshire,without living near Dawlish. He bestowed his hearty approbation however on their species of house.
“For my own part,” said he, “I am excessively fond of a cottage; there is always so much comfort,so much elegance about them. And I protest, if I had any money to spare,I should buy a little land and build one myself, within a short distance of London,where I might drive myself down at any time, and collect a few friends about me, and be happy.I advise every body who is going to build, to build a cottage.My friend Lord Courtland came to me the other day on purpose to ask my advice,and laid before me three different plans of Bonomi’s. I was to decide on the best of them.‘My dear Courtland,’ said I, immediately throwing them all into the fire,‘do not adopt either of them, but by all means build a cottage.’ And that I fancy, will be the end of it.
“Some people imagine that there can be no accommodations, no space in a cottage;but this is all a mistake. I was last month at my friend Elliott’s, near Dartford.Lady Elliott wished to give a dance. ‘But how can it be done?’ said she; ‘my dear Ferrars, do tell me how it is to be managed.There is not a room in this cottage that will hold ten couple, and where can the supper be?’ _I_ immediately saw that there could be no difficulty in it, so I said, ‘My dear Lady Elliott,do not be uneasy. The dining parlour will admit eighteen couple with ease;card-tables may be placed in the drawing-room;the library may be open for tea and other refreshments;and let the supper be set out in the saloon.’ Lady Elliott was delighted with the thought.We measured the dining-room, and found it would hold exactly eighteen couple,and the affair was arranged precisely after my plan. So that, in fact, you see,if people do but know how to set about it,every comfort may be as well enjoyed in a cottage as in the most spacious dwelling.”
Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the compliment of rational opposition.
As John Dashwood had no more pleasure in music than his eldest sister,his mind was equally at liberty to fix on any thing else;and a thought struck him during the evening, which he communicated to his wife,for her approbation, when they got home. The consideration of Mrs. Dennison’s mistake,in supposing his sisters their guests, had suggested the propriety of their being really invited to become such,while Mrs. Jennings’s engagements kept her from home. The expense would be nothing,the inconvenience not more; and it was altogether an attention which the delicacy of his conscience pointed out to be requisite to its complete enfranchisement from his promise to his father. Fanny was startled at the proposal.
“I do not see how it can be done,” said she, “without affronting Lady Middleton,for they spend every day with her; otherwise I should be exceedingly glad to do it.You know I am always ready to pay them any attention in my power,as my taking them out this evening shows. But they are Lady Middleton’s visitors. How can I ask them away from her?”
Her husband, but with great humility, did not see the force of her objection.“They had already spent a week in this manner in Conduit Street,and Lady Middleton could not be displeased at their giving the same number of days to such near relations. ”
Fanny paused a moment, and then, with fresh vigor, said,
“My love, I would ask them with all my heart, if it was in my power.But I had just settled within myself to ask the Miss Steeles to spend a few days with us.They are very well behaved, good kind of girls; and I think the attention is due to them,as their uncle did so very well by Edward. We can ask your sisters some other year, you know;but the Miss Steeles may not be in town any more. I am sure you will like them; indeed,you _do_ like them, you know, very much already, and so does my mother;and they are such favourites with Harry!”
Mr. Dashwood was convinced. He saw the necessity of inviting the Miss Steeles immediately,and his conscience was pacified by the resolution of inviting his sisters another year;at the same time, however, slyly suspecting that another year would make the invitation needless,by bringing Elinor to town as Colonel Brandon’s wife, and Marianne as _their_ visitor.
Fanny, rejoicing in her escape, and proud of the ready wit that had procured it,wrote the next morning to Lucy, to request her company and her sister’s, for some days,in Harley Street, as soon as Lady Middleton could spare them.This was enough to make Lucy really and reasonably happy. Mrs.Dashwood seemed actually working for her, herself; cherishing all her hopes, and promoting all her views!Such an opportunity of being with Edward and his family was, above all things,the most material to her interest, and such an invitation the most gratifying to her feelings!It was an advantage that could not be too gratefully acknowledged, nor too speedily made use of;and the visit to Lady Middleton, which had not before had any precise limits,was instantly discovered to have been always meant to end in two days’ time.
When the note was shown to Elinor, as it was within ten minutes after its arrival, it gave her,for the first time, some share in the expectations of Lucy; for such a mark of uncommon kindness,vouchsafed on so short an acquaintance,seemed to declare that the good-will towards her arose from something more than merely malice against herself;and might be brought, by time and address, to do every thing that Lucy wished.Her flattery had already subdued the pride of Lady Middleton,and made an entry into the close heart of Mrs. John Dashwood;and these were effects that laid open the probability of greater.
The Miss Steeles removed to Harley Street, and all that reached Elinor of their influence there,strengthened her expectation of the event. Sir John, who called on them more than once,brought home such accounts of the favour they were in, as must be universally striking. Mrs.Dashwood had never been so much pleased with any young women in her life, as she was with them;had given each of them a needle book made by some emigrant; called Lucy by her Christian name;and did not know whether she should ever be able to part with them.
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME
CHAPTER XXXVII.
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 he saw the child, 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?”