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SENSE AND SENSIBILITY
by Jane Austen (1811)
Chapter 14
The sudden termination of Colonel Brandon's
visit at the park, with his steadiness in
concealing its cause, filled the mind, and
raised the wonder of Mrs. Jennings for two
or three days; she was a great wonderer, as
every one must be who takes a very lively
interest in all the comings and goings of
all their acquaintance.
She wondered, with little intermission what
could be the reason of it; was sure there
must be some bad news, and thought over
every kind of distress that could have
befallen him, with a fixed determination
that he should not escape them all.
"Something very melancholy must be the
matter, I am sure," said she.
"I could see it in his face.
Poor man!
I am afraid his circumstances may be bad.
The estate at Delaford was never reckoned
more than two thousand a year, and his
brother left everything sadly involved.
I do think he must have been sent for about
money matters, for what else can it be?
I wonder whether it is so.
I would give anything to know the truth of
it.
Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by
the bye, I dare say it is, because he
looked so conscious when I mentioned her.
May be she is ill in town; nothing in the
world more likely, for I have a notion she
is always rather sickly.
I would lay any wager it is about Miss
Williams.
It is not so very likely he should be
distressed in his circumstances NOW, for he
is a very prudent man, and to be sure must
have cleared the estate by this time.
I wonder what it can be!
May be his sister is worse at Avignon, and
has sent for him over.
His setting off in such a hurry seems very
like it.
Well, I wish him out of all his trouble
with all my heart, and a good wife into the
bargain."
So wondered, so talked Mrs. Jennings.
Her opinion varying with every fresh
conjecture, and all seeming equally
probable as they arose.
Elinor, though she felt really interested
in the welfare of Colonel Brandon, could
not bestow all the wonder on his going so
suddenly away, which Mrs. Jennings was
desirous of her feeling; for besides that
the circumstance did not in her opinion
justify such lasting amazement or variety
of speculation, her wonder was otherwise
disposed of.
It was engrossed by the extraordinary
silence of her sister and Willoughby on the
subject, which they must know to be
peculiarly interesting to them all.
As this silence continued, every day made
it appear more strange and more
incompatible with the disposition of both.
Why they should not openly acknowledge to
her mother and herself, what their constant
behaviour to each other declared to have
taken place, Elinor could not imagine.
She could easily conceive that marriage
might not be immediately in their power;
for though Willoughby was independent,
there was no reason to believe him rich.
His estate had been rated by Sir John at
about six or seven hundred a year; but he
lived at an expense to which that income
could hardly be equal, and he had himself
often complained of his poverty.
But for this strange kind of secrecy
maintained by them relative to their
engagement, which in fact concealed nothing
at all, she could not account; and it was
so wholly contradictory to their general
opinions and practice, that a doubt
sometimes entered her mind of their being
really engaged, and this doubt was enough
to prevent her making any inquiry of
Marianne.
Nothing could be more expressive of
attachment to them all, than Willoughby's
behaviour.
To Marianne it had all the distinguishing
tenderness which a lover's heart could
give, and to the rest of the family it was
the affectionate attention of a son and a
brother.
The cottage seemed to be considered and
loved by him as his home; many more of his
hours were spent there than at Allenham;
and if no general engagement collected them
at the park, the exercise which called him
out in the morning was almost certain of
ending there, where the rest of the day was
spent by himself at the side of Marianne,
and by his favourite pointer at her feet.
One evening in particular, about a week
after Colonel Brandon left the country, his
heart seemed more than usually open to
every feeling of attachment to the objects
around him; and on Mrs. Dashwood's
happening to mention her design of
improving the cottage in the spring, he
warmly opposed every alteration of a place
which affection had established as perfect
with him.
"What!" he exclaimed--"Improve this dear
cottage!
No. THAT I will never consent to.
Not a stone must be added to its walls, not
an inch to its size, if my feelings are
regarded."
"Do not be alarmed," said Miss Dashwood,
"nothing of the kind will be done; for my
mother will never have money enough to
attempt it."
"I am heartily glad of it," he cried.
"May she always be poor, if she can employ
her riches no better."
"Thank you, Willoughby.
But you may be assured that I would not
sacrifice one sentiment of local attachment
of yours, or of any one whom I loved, for
all the improvements in the world.
Depend upon it that whatever unemployed sum
may remain, when I make up my accounts in
the spring, I would even rather lay it
uselessly by than dispose of it in a manner
so painful to you.
But are you really so attached to this
place as to see no defect in it?"
"I am," said he.
"To me it is faultless.
Nay, more, I consider it as the only form
of building in which happiness is
attainable, and were I rich enough I would
instantly pull Combe down, and build it up
again in the exact plan of this cottage."
"With dark narrow stairs and a kitchen that
smokes, I suppose," said Elinor.
"Yes," cried he in the same eager tone,
"with all and every thing belonging to it;-
-in no one convenience or INconvenience
about it, should the least variation be
perceptible.
Then, and then only, under such a roof, I
might perhaps be as happy at Combe as I
have been at Barton."
"I flatter myself," replied Elinor, "that
even under the disadvantage of better rooms
and a broader staircase, you will hereafter
find your own house as faultless as you now
do this."
"There certainly are circumstances," said
Willoughby, "which might greatly endear it
to me; but this place will always have one
claim of my affection, which no other can
possibly share."
Mrs. Dashwood looked with pleasure at
Marianne, whose fine eyes were fixed so
expressively on Willoughby, as plainly
denoted how well she understood him.
"How often did I wish," added he, "when I
was at Allenham this time twelvemonth, that
Barton cottage were inhabited!
I never passed within view of it without
admiring its situation, and grieving that
no one should live in it.
How little did I then think that the very
first news I should hear from Mrs. Smith,
when I next came into the country, would be
that Barton cottage was taken: and I felt
an immediate satisfaction and interest in
the event, which nothing but a kind of
prescience of what happiness I should
experience from it, can account for.
Must it not have been so, Marianne?"
speaking to her in a lowered voice.
Then continuing his former tone, he said,
"And yet this house you would spoil, Mrs.
Dashwood?
You would rob it of its simplicity by
imaginary improvement! and this dear
parlour in which our acquaintance first
began, and in which so many happy hours
have been since spent by us together, you
would degrade to the condition of a common
entrance, and every body would be eager to
pass through the room which has hitherto
contained within itself more real
accommodation and comfort than any other
apartment of the handsomest dimensions in
the world could possibly afford."
Mrs. Dashwood again assured him that no
alteration of the kind should be attempted.
"You are a good woman," he warmly replied.
"Your promise makes me easy.
Extend it a little farther, and it will
make me happy.
Tell me that not only your house will
remain the same, but that I shall ever find
you and yours as unchanged as your
dwelling; and that you will always consider
me with the kindness which has made
everything belonging to you so dear to me."
The promise was readily given, and
Willoughby's behaviour during the whole of
the evening declared at once his affection
and happiness.
"Shall we see you tomorrow to dinner?" said
Mrs. Dashwood, when he was leaving them.
"I do not ask you to come in the morning,
for we must walk to the park, to call on
Lady Middleton."
He engaged to be with them by four o'clock.