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SENSE AND SENSIBILITY
by Jane Austen (1811)
Chapter 35
Elinor's curiosity to see Mrs. Ferrars was
satisfied.-- She had found in her every
thing that could tend to make a farther
connection between the families
undesirable.-- She had seen enough of her
pride, her meanness, and her determined
prejudice against herself, to comprehend
all the difficulties that must have
perplexed the engagement, and retarded the
marriage, of Edward and herself, had he
been otherwise free;--and she had seen
almost enough to be thankful for her OWN
sake, that one greater obstacle preserved
her from suffering under any other of Mrs.
Ferrars's creation, preserved her from all
dependence upon her caprice, or any
solicitude for her good opinion.
Or at least, if she did not bring herself
quite to rejoice in Edward's being fettered
to Lucy, she determined, that had Lucy been
more amiable, she OUGHT to have rejoiced.
She wondered that Lucy's spirits could be
so very much elevated by the civility of
Mrs. Ferrars;--that her interest and her
vanity should so very much blind her as to
make the attention which seemed only paid
her because she was NOT ELINOR, appear a
compliment to herself--or to allow her to
derive encouragement from a preference only
given her, because her real situation was
unknown.
But that it was so, had not only been
declared by Lucy's eyes at the time, but
was declared over again the next morning
more openly, for at her particular desire,
Lady Middleton set her down in Berkeley
Street on the chance of seeing Elinor
alone, to tell her how happy she was.
The chance proved a lucky one, for a
message from Mrs. Palmer soon after she
arrived, carried Mrs. Jennings away.
"My dear friend," cried Lucy, as soon as
they were by themselves, "I come to talk to
you of my happiness.
Could anything be so flattering as Mrs.
Ferrars's way of treating me yesterday?
So exceeding affable as she was!--You know
how I dreaded the thoughts of seeing her;--
but the very moment I was introduced, there
was such an affability in her behaviour as
really should seem to say, she had quite
took a fancy to me.
Now was not it so?-- You saw it all; and
was not you quite struck with it?"
"She was certainly very civil to you."
"Civil!--Did you see nothing but only
civility?-- I saw a vast deal more.
Such kindness as fell to the share of
nobody but me!--No pride, no hauteur, and
your sister just the same--all sweetness
and affability!"
Elinor wished to talk of something else,
but Lucy still pressed her to own that she
had reason for her happiness; and Elinor
was obliged to go on.--
"Undoubtedly, if they had known your
engagement," said she, "nothing could be
more flattering than their treatment of
you;--but as that was not the case"--
"I guessed you would say so,"--replied Lucy
quickly--"but there was no reason in the
world why Mrs. Ferrars should seem to like
me, if she did not, and her liking me is
every thing.
You shan't talk me out of my satisfaction.
I am sure it will all end well, and there
will be no difficulties at all, to what I
used to think.
Mrs. Ferrars is a charming woman, and so is
your sister.
They are both delightful women, indeed!--I
wonder I should never hear you say how
agreeable Mrs. Dashwood was!"
To this Elinor had no answer to make, and
did not attempt any.
"Are you ill, Miss Dashwood?--you seem low-
-you don't speak;--sure you an't well."
"I never was in better health."
"I am glad of it with all my heart; but
really you did not look it.
I should be sorry to have YOU ill; you,
that have been the greatest comfort to me
in the world!--Heaven knows what I should
have done without your friendship."--
Elinor tried to make a civil answer, though
doubting her own success.
But it seemed to satisfy Lucy, for she
directly replied,
"Indeed I am perfectly convinced of your
regard for me, and next to Edward's love,
it is the greatest comfort I have.--Poor
Edward!--But now there is one good thing,
we shall be able to meet, and meet pretty
often, for Lady Middleton's delighted with
Mrs. Dashwood, so we shall be a good deal
in Harley Street, I dare say, and Edward
spends half his time with his sister--
besides, Lady Middleton and Mrs. Ferrars
will visit now;--and Mrs. Ferrars and your
sister were both so good to say more than
once, they should always be glad to see
me.-- They are such charming women!--I am
sure if ever you tell your sister what I
think of her, you cannot speak too high."
But Elinor would not give her any
encouragement to hope that she SHOULD tell
her sister.
Lucy continued.
"I am sure I should have seen it in a
moment, if Mrs. Ferrars had took a dislike
to me.
If she had only made me a formal courtesy,
for instance, without saying a word, and
never after had took any notice of me, and
never looked at me in a pleasant way--you
know what I mean--if I had been treated in
that forbidding sort of way, I should have
gave it all up in despair.
I could not have stood it.
For where she DOES dislike, I know it is
most violent."
Elinor was prevented from making any reply
to this civil triumph, by the door's being
thrown open, the servant's announcing Mr.
Ferrars, and Edward's immediately walking
in.
It was a very awkward moment; and the
countenance of each shewed that it was so.
They all looked exceedingly foolish; and
Edward seemed to have as great an
inclination to walk out of the room again,
as to advance farther into it.
The very circumstance, in its unpleasantest
form, which they would each have been most
anxious to avoid, had fallen on them.--They
were not only all three together, but were
together without the relief of any other
person.
The ladies recovered themselves first.
It was not Lucy's business to put herself
forward, and the appearance of secrecy must
still be kept up.
She could therefore only LOOK her
tenderness, and after slightly addressing
him, said no more.
But Elinor had more to do; and so anxious
was she, for his sake and her own, to do it
well, that she forced herself, after a
moment's recollection, to welcome him, with
a look and manner that were almost easy,
and almost open; and another struggle,
another effort still improved them.
She would not allow the presence of Lucy,
nor the consciousness of some injustice
towards herself, to deter her from saying
that she was happy to see him, and that she
had very much regretted being from home,
when he called before in Berkeley Street.
She would not be frightened from paying him
those attentions which, as a friend and
almost a relation, were his due, by the
observant eyes of Lucy, though she soon
perceived them to be narrowly watching her.
Her manners gave some re-assurance to
Edward, and he had courage enough to sit
down; but his embarrassment still exceeded
that of the ladies in a proportion, which
the case rendered reasonable, though his
sex might make it rare; for his heart had
not the indifference of Lucy's, nor could
his conscience have quite the ease of
Elinor's.
Lucy, with a demure and settled air, seemed
determined to make no contribution to the
comfort of the others, and would not say a
word; and almost every thing that WAS said,
proceeded from Elinor, who was obliged to
volunteer all the information about her
mother's health, their coming to town, &c.
which Edward ought to have inquired about,
but never did.
Her exertions did not stop here; for she
soon afterwards felt herself so heroically
disposed as to determine, under pretence of
fetching Marianne, to leave the others by
themselves; and she really did it, and THAT
in the handsomest manner, for she loitered
away several minutes on the landing-place,
with the most high-minded fortitude, before
she went to her sister.
When that was once done, however, it was
time for the raptures of Edward to cease;
for Marianne's joy hurried her into the
drawing-room immediately.
Her pleasure in seeing him was like every
other of her feelings, strong in itself,
and strongly spoken.
She met him with a hand that would be
taken, and a voice that expressed the
affection of a sister.
"Dear Edward!" she cried, "this is a moment
of great happiness!--This would almost make
amends for every thing?"
Edward tried to return her kindness as it
deserved, but before such witnesses he
dared not say half what he really felt.
Again they all sat down, and for a moment
or two all were silent; while Marianne was
looking with the most speaking tenderness,
sometimes at Edward and sometimes at
Elinor, regretting only that their delight
in each other should be checked by Lucy's
unwelcome presence.
Edward was the first to speak, and it was
to notice Marianne's altered looks, and
express his fear of her not finding London
agree with her.
"Oh, don't think of me!" she replied with
spirited earnestness, though her eyes were
filled with tears as she spoke, "don't
think of MY health.
Elinor is well, you see.
That must be enough for us both."
This remark was not calculated to make
Edward or Elinor more easy, nor to
conciliate the good will of Lucy, who
looked up at Marianne with no very
benignant expression.
"Do you like London?" said Edward, willing
to say any thing that might introduce
another subject.
"Not at all.
I expected much pleasure in it, but I have
found none.
The sight of you, Edward, is the only
comfort it has afforded; and thank Heaven!
you are what you always were!"
She paused--no one spoke.
"I think, Elinor," she presently added, "we
must employ Edward to take care of us in
our return to Barton.
In a week or two, I suppose, we shall be
going; and, I trust, Edward will not be
very unwilling to accept the charge."
Poor Edward muttered something, but what it
was, nobody knew, not even himself.
But Marianne, who saw his agitation, and
could easily trace it to whatever cause
best pleased herself, was perfectly
satisfied, and soon talked of something
else.
"We spent such a day, Edward, in Harley
Street yesterday!
So dull, so wretchedly dull!--But I have
much to say to you on that head, which
cannot be said now."
And with this admirable discretion did she
defer the assurance of her finding their
mutual relatives more disagreeable than
ever, and of her being particularly
disgusted with his mother, till they were
more in private.
"But why were you not there, Edward?--Why
did you not come?"
"I was engaged elsewhere."
"Engaged!
But what was that, when such friends were
to be met?"
"Perhaps, Miss Marianne," cried Lucy, eager
to take some revenge on her, "you think
young men never stand upon engagements, if
they have no mind to keep them, little as
well as great."
Elinor was very angry, but Marianne seemed
entirely insensible of the sting; for she
calmly replied,
"Not so, indeed; for, seriously speaking, I
am very sure that conscience only kept
Edward from Harley Street.
And I really believe he HAS the most
delicate conscience in the world; the most
scrupulous in performing every engagement,
however minute, and however it may make
against his interest or pleasure.
He is the most fearful of giving pain, of
wounding expectation, and the most
incapable of being selfish, of any body I
ever saw.
Edward, it is so, and I will say it.
What! are you never to hear yourself
praised!--Then you must be no friend of
mine; for those who will accept of my love
and esteem, must submit to my open
commendation."
The nature of her commendation, in the
present case, however, happened to be
particularly ill-suited to the feelings of
two thirds of her auditors, and was so very
unexhilarating to Edward, that he very soon
got up to go away.
"Going so soon!" said Marianne; "my dear
Edward, this must not be."
And drawing him a little aside, she
whispered her persuasion that Lucy could
not stay much longer.
But even this encouragement failed, for he
would go; and Lucy, who would have outstaid
him, had his visit lasted two hours, soon
afterwards went away.
"What can bring her here so often?" said
Marianne, on her leaving them.
"Could not she see that we wanted her
gone!--how teazing to Edward!"
"Why so?--we were all his friends, and Lucy
has been the longest known to him of any.
It is but natural that he should like to
see her as well as ourselves."
Marianne looked at her steadily, and said,
"You know, Elinor, that this is a kind of
talking which I cannot bear.
If you only hope to have your assertion
contradicted, as I must suppose to be the
case, you ought to recollect that I am the
last person in the world to do it.
I cannot descend to be tricked out of
assurances, that are not really wanted."
She then left the room; and Elinor dared
not follow her to say more, for bound as
she was by her promise of secrecy to Lucy,
she could give no information that would
convince Marianne; and painful as the
consequences of her still continuing in an
error might be, she was obliged to submit
to it.
All that she could hope, was that Edward
would not often expose her or himself to
the distress of hearing Marianne's mistaken
warmth, nor to the repetition of any other
part of the pain that had attended their
recent meeting--and this she had every
reason to expect.