Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen

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In this calm kind of way, with very little interest
on either side, they continued to talk, both of them out
of spirits, and the thoughts of both engaged elsewhere.
Elinor wished very much to ask whether Willoughby were
then in town, but she was afraid of giving him pain
by any enquiry after his rival; and at length, by way
of saying something, she asked if he had been in London
ever since she had seen him last. "Yes," he replied,
with some embarrassment, "almost ever since; I have been
once or twice at Delaford for a few days, but it has never
been in my power to return to Barton."

This, and the manner in which it was said,
immediately brought back to her remembrance all the
circumstances of his quitting that place, with the
uneasiness and suspicions they had caused to Mrs. Jennings,
and she was fearful that her question had implied
much more curiosity on the subject than she had ever felt.

Mrs. Jennings soon came in. "Oh! Colonel," said she,
with her usual noisy cheerfulness, "I am monstrous glad
to see you--sorry I could not come before--beg your
pardon, but I have been forced to look about me a little,
and settle my matters; for it is a long while since I
have been at home, and you know one has always a world
of little odd things to do after one has been away for
any time; and then I have had Cartwright to settle with--
Lord, I have been as busy as a bee ever since dinner!
But pray, Colonel, how came you to conjure out that I should
be in town today?"

"I had the pleasure of hearing it at Mr. Palmer's,
where I have been dining."

"Oh, you did; well, and how do they all do at their
house? How does Charlotte do? I warrant you she is a fine
size by this time."

"Mrs. Palmer appeared quite well, and I am commissioned
to tell you, that you will certainly see her to-morrow."

"Ay, to be sure, I thought as much. Well, Colonel,
I have brought two young ladies with me, you see--that is,
you see but one of them now, but there is another somewhere.
Your friend, Miss Marianne, too--which you will not be
sorry to hear. I do not know what you and Mr. Willoughby
will do between you about her. Ay, it is a fine thing
to be young and handsome. Well! I was young once, but I
never was very handsome--worse luck for me. However, I got
a very good husband, and I don't know what the greatest
beauty can do more. Ah! poor man! he has been dead
these eight years and better. But Colonel, where have
you been to since we parted? And how does your business
go on? Come, come, let's have no secrets among friends."

He replied with his accustomary mildness to all
her inquiries, but without satisfying her in any.
Elinor now began to make the tea, and Marianne was
obliged to appear again.

After her entrance, Colonel Brandon became
more thoughtful and silent than he had been before,
and Mrs. Jennings could not prevail on him to stay long.
No other visitor appeared that evening, and the ladies
were unanimous in agreeing to go early to bed.

Marianne rose the next morning with recovered spirits
and happy looks. The disappointment of the evening before
seemed forgotten in the expectation of what was to happen
that day. They had not long finished their breakfast before
Mrs. Palmer's barouche stopped at the door, and in a few
minutes she came laughing into the room: so delighted
to see them all, that it was hard to say whether she
received most pleasure from meeting her mother or the Miss
Dashwoods again. So surprised at their coming to town,
though it was what she had rather expected all along;
so angry at their accepting her mother's invitation
after having declined her own, though at the same time
she would never have forgiven them if they had not come!

"Mr. Palmer will be so happy to see you,"
said she; "What do you think he said when he heard
of your coming with Mamma? I forget what it was now,
but it was something so droll!"

After an hour or two spent in what her mother called
comfortable chat, or in other words, in every variety of inquiry
concerning all their acquaintance on Mrs. Jennings's side,
and in laughter without cause on Mrs. Palmer's, it was
proposed by the latter that they should all accompany
her to some shops where she had business that morning,
to which Mrs. Jennings and Elinor readily consented,
as having likewise some purchases to make themselves;
and Marianne, though declining it at first was induced
to go likewise.

Wherever they went, she was evidently always on
the watch. In Bond Street especially, where much of
their business lay, her eyes were in constant inquiry;
and in whatever shop the party were engaged, her mind was
equally abstracted from every thing actually before them,
from all that interested and occupied the others.
Restless and dissatisfied every where, her sister could
never obtain her opinion of any article of purchase,
however it might equally concern them both: she received
no pleasure from anything; was only impatient to be at
home again, and could with difficulty govern her vexation
at the tediousness of Mrs. Palmer, whose eye was caught
by every thing pretty, expensive, or new; who was wild
to buy all, could determine on none, and dawdled away her
time in rapture and indecision.

It was late in the morning before they returned home;
and no sooner had they entered the house than Marianne flew
eagerly up stairs, and when Elinor followed, she found
her turning from the table with a sorrowful countenance,
which declared that no Willoughby had been there.

"Has no letter been left here for me since we went out?"
said she to the footman who then entered with the parcels.
She was answered in the negative. "Are you quite sure
of it?" she replied. "Are you certain that no servant,
no porter has left any letter or note?"

The man replied that none had.

"How very odd!" said she, in a low and disappointed
voice, as she turned away to the window.

"How odd, indeed!" repeated Elinor within herself,
regarding her sister with uneasiness. "If she had not
known him to be in town she would not have written to him,
as she did; she would have written to Combe Magna;
and if he is in town, how odd that he should neither
come nor write! Oh! my dear mother, you must be wrong
in permitting an engagement between a daughter so young,
a man so little known, to be carried on in so doubtful,
so mysterious a manner! I long to inquire; and how will MY
interference be borne."

She determined, after some consideration, that if
appearances continued many days longer as unpleasant as they
now were, she would represent in the strongest manner
to her mother the necessity of some serious enquiry into the affair.

Mrs. Palmer and two elderly ladies of Mrs. Jennings's
intimate acquaintance, whom she had met and invited
in the morning, dined with them. The former left them
soon after tea to fulfill her evening engagements;
and Elinor was obliged to assist in making a whist table
for the others. Marianne was of no use on these occasions,
as she would never learn the game; but though her time
was therefore at her own disposal, the evening was by no
means more productive of pleasure to her than to Elinor,
for it was spent in all the anxiety of expectation and the
pain of disappointment. She sometimes endeavoured for a
few minutes to read; but the book was soon thrown aside,
and she returned to the more interesting employment
of walking backwards and forwards across the room,
pausing for a moment whenever she came to the window,
in hopes of distinguishing the long-expected rap.

CHAPTER 27

"If this open weather holds much longer," said Mrs. Jennings,
when they met at breakfast the following morning,
"Sir John will not like leaving Barton next week;
'tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a day's pleasure.
Poor souls! I always pity them when they do; they seem
to take it so much to heart."

"That is true," cried Marianne, in a cheerful voice,
and walking to the window as she spoke, to examine the day.
"I had not thought of that. This weather will keep many
sportsmen in the country."

It was a lucky recollection, all her good spirits were
restored by it. "It is charming weather for THEM indeed,"
she continued, as she sat down to the breakfast table
with a happy countenance. "How much they must enjoy
it! But" (with a little return of anxiety) "it cannot
be expected to last long. At this time of the year,
and after such a series of rain, we shall certainly
have very little more of it. Frosts will soon set in,
and in all probability with severity. In another day
or two perhaps; this extreme mildness can hardly last
longer--nay, perhaps it may freeze tonight!"

"At any rate," said Elinor, wishing to prevent
Mrs. Jennings from seeing her sister's thoughts as clearly
as she did, "I dare say we shall have Sir John and Lady
Middleton in town by the end of next week."

"Ay, my dear, I'll warrant you we do. Mary always
has her own way."

"And now," silently conjectured Elinor, "she will
write to Combe by this day's post."

But if she DID, the letter was written and sent away
with a privacy which eluded all her watchfulness to ascertain
the fact. Whatever the truth of it might be, and far
as Elinor was from feeling thorough contentment about it,
yet while she saw Marianne in spirits, she could not be
very uncomfortable herself. And Marianne was in spirits;
happy in the mildness of the weather, and still happier
in her expectation of a frost.

The morning was chiefly spent in leaving cards at
the houses of Mrs. Jennings's acquaintance to inform
them of her being in town; and Marianne was all the time
busy in observing the direction of the wind, watching the
variations of the sky and imagining an alteration in the air.

"Don't you find it colder than it was in the morning,
Elinor? There seems to me a very decided difference.
I can hardly keep my hands warm even in my muff. It was
not so yesterday, I think. The clouds seem parting too,
the sun will be out in a moment, and we shall have a
clear afternoon."

Elinor was alternately diverted and pained;
but Marianne persevered, and saw every night in the
brightness of the fire, and every morning in the appearance
of the atmosphere, the certain symptoms of approaching frost.

The Miss Dashwoods had no greater reason to be
dissatisfied with Mrs. Jennings's style of living, and set
of acquaintance, than with her behaviour to themselves,
which was invariably kind. Every thing in her household
arrangements was conducted on the most liberal plan,
and excepting a few old city friends, whom, to Lady
Middleton's regret, she had never dropped, she visited
no one to whom an introduction could at all discompose
the feelings of her young companions. Pleased to find
herself more comfortably situated in that particular than
she had expected, Elinor was very willing to compound
for the want of much real enjoyment from any of their
evening parties, which, whether at home or abroad,
formed only for cards, could have little to amuse her.

Colonel Brandon, who had a general invitation
to the house, was with them almost every day; he came
to look at Marianne and talk to Elinor, who often derived
more satisfaction from conversing with him than from any
other daily occurrence, but who saw at the same time
with much concern his continued regard for her sister.
She feared it was a strengthening regard. It grieved her
to see the earnestness with which he often watched Marianne,
and his spirits were certainly worse than when at Barton.

About a week after their arrival, it became
certain that Willoughby was also arrived. His card
was on the table when they came in from the morning's drive.

"Good God!" cried Marianne, "he has been here while
we were out." Elinor, rejoiced to be assured of his
being in London, now ventured to say, "Depend upon it,
he will call again tomorrow." But Marianne seemed
hardly to hear her, and on Mrs. Jenning's entrance,
escaped with the precious card.

This event, while it raised the spirits of Elinor,
restored to those of her sister all, and more than all,
their former agitation. From this moment her mind was
never quiet; the expectation of seeing him every hour
of the day, made her unfit for any thing. She insisted
on being left behind, the next morning, when the others
went out.

Elinor's thoughts were full of what might be passing
in Berkeley Street during their absence; but a moment's
glance at her sister when they returned was enough to
inform her, that Willoughby had paid no second visit there.
A note was just then brought in, and laid on the table,

"For me!" cried Marianne, stepping hastily forward.

"No, ma'am, for my mistress."

But Marianne, not convinced, took it instantly up.

"It is indeed for Mrs. Jennings; how provoking!"

"You are expecting a letter, then?" said Elinor,
unable to be longer silent.

"Yes, a little--not much."

After a short pause. "You have no confidence
in me, Marianne."

"Nay, Elinor, this reproach from YOU--you who have
confidence in no one!"

"Me!" returned Elinor in some confusion; "indeed,
Marianne, I have nothing to tell."

"Nor I," answered Marianne with energy, "our situations
then are alike. We have neither of us any thing to tell;
you, because you do not communicate, and I, because
I conceal nothing."

Elinor, distressed by this charge of reserve in herself,
which she was not at liberty to do away, knew not how,
under such circumstances, to press for greater openness
in Marianne.

Mrs. Jennings soon appeared, and the note being
given her, she read it aloud. It was from Lady Middleton,
announcing their arrival in Conduit Street the night before,
and requesting the company of her mother and cousins
the following evening. Business on Sir John's part,
and a violent cold on her own, prevented their calling
in Berkeley Street. The invitation was accepted;
but when the hour of appointment drew near, necessary as
it was in common civility to Mrs. Jennings, that they
should both attend her on such a visit, Elinor had some
difficulty in persuading her sister to go, for still
she had seen nothing of Willoughby; and therefore was
not more indisposed for amusement abroad, than unwilling
to run the risk of his calling again in her absence.

Elinor found, when the evening was over,
that disposition is not materially altered by a change
of abode, for although scarcely settled in town,
Sir John had contrived to collect around him, nearly twenty
young people, and to amuse them with a ball. This was
an affair, however, of which Lady Middleton did not approve.
In the country, an unpremeditated dance was very allowable;
but in London, where the reputation of elegance was more
important and less easily attained, it was risking too much
for the gratification of a few girls, to have it known that
Lady Middleton had given a small dance of eight or nine couple,
with two violins, and a mere side-board collation.

Mr. and Mrs. Palmer were of the party; from the former,
whom they had not seen before since their arrival in town,
as he was careful to avoid the appearance of any attention
to his mother-in-law, and therefore never came near her,
they received no mark of recognition on their entrance.
He looked at them slightly, without seeming to know
who they were, and merely nodded to Mrs. Jennings from
the other side of the room. Marianne gave one glance
round the apartment as she entered: it was enough--HE
was not there--and she sat down, equally ill-disposed
to receive or communicate pleasure. After they had been
assembled about an hour, Mr. Palmer sauntered towards
the Miss Dashwoods to express his surprise on seeing them
in town, though Colonel Brandon had been first informed
of their arrival at his house, and he had himself said
something very droll on hearing that they were to come.

"I thought you were both in Devonshire," said he.

"Did you?" replied Elinor.

"When do you go back again?"

"I do not know." And thus ended their discourse.

Never had Marianne been so unwilling to dance
in her life, as she was that evening, and never so much
fatigued by the exercise. She complained of it
as they returned to Berkeley Street.

"Aye, aye," said Mrs. Jennings, "we know the reason
of all that very well; if a certain person who shall
be nameless, had been there, you would not have been a
bit tired: and to say the truth it was not very pretty
of him not to give you the meeting when he was invited."

"Invited!" cried Marianne.

"So my daughter Middleton told me, for it seems Sir
John met him somewhere in the street this morning."
Marianne said no more, but looked exceedingly hurt.
Impatient in this situation to be doing something
that might lead to her sister's relief, Elinor resolved
to write the next morning to her mother, and hoped
by awakening her fears for the health of Marianne,
to procure those inquiries which had been so long delayed;
and she was still more eagerly bent on this measure
by perceiving after breakfast on the morrow, that Marianne
was again writing to Willoughby, for she could not suppose
it to be to any other person.

About the middle of the day, Mrs. Jennings went out by
herself on business, and Elinor began her letter directly,
while Marianne, too restless for employment, too anxious
for conversation, walked from one window to the other,
or sat down by the fire in melancholy meditation.
Elinor was very earnest in her application to her mother,
relating all that had passed, her suspicions of
Willoughby's inconstancy, urging her by every plea
of duty and affection to demand from Marianne an account
of her real situation with respect to him.

Her letter was scarcely finished, when a rap
foretold a visitor, and Colonel Brandon was announced.
Marianne, who had seen him from the window, and who hated
company of any kind, left the room before he entered it.
He looked more than usually grave, and though expressing
satisfaction at finding Miss Dashwood alone, as if he
had somewhat in particular to tell her, sat for some
time without saying a word. Elinor, persuaded that he
had some communication to make in which her sister
was concerned, impatiently expected its opening.
It was not the first time of her feeling the same kind
of conviction; for, more than once before, beginning with
the observation of "your sister looks unwell to-day,"
or "your sister seems out of spirits," he had appeared
on the point, either of disclosing, or of inquiring,
something particular about her. After a pause of several
minutes, their silence was broken, by his asking her
in a voice of some agitation, when he was to congratulate
her on the acquisition of a brother? Elinor was not
prepared for such a question, and having no answer ready,
was obliged to adopt the simple and common expedient,
of asking what he meant? He tried to smile as he replied,
"your sister's engagement to Mr. Willoughby is very generally known."

"It cannot be generally known," returned Elinor,
"for her own family do not know it."

He looked surprised and said, "I beg your pardon,
I am afraid my inquiry has been impertinent; but I had not
supposed any secrecy intended, as they openly correspond,
and their marriage is universally talked of."

"How can that be? By whom can you have heard
it mentioned?"

"By many--by some of whom you know nothing, by others
with whom you are most intimate, Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. Palmer,
and the Middletons. But still I might not have believed it,
for where the mind is perhaps rather unwilling to
be convinced, it will always find something to support
its doubts, if I had not, when the servant let me in today,
accidentally seen a letter in his hand, directed to
Mr. Willoughby in your sister's writing. I came to inquire,
but I was convinced before I could ask the question.
Is every thing finally settled? Is it impossible to-?
But I have no right, and I could have no chance of succeeding.
Excuse me, Miss Dashwood. I believe I have been wrong
in saying so much, but I hardly know what to do, and on
your prudence I have the strongest dependence. Tell me
that it is all absolutely resolved on, that any attempt,
that in short concealment, if concealment be possible,
is all that remains."

These words, which conveyed to Elinor a direct avowal
of his love for her sister, affected her very much.
She was not immediately able to say anything, and even
when her spirits were recovered, she debated for a short
time, on the answer it would be most proper to give.
The real state of things between Willoughby and her sister
was so little known to herself, that in endeavouring
to explain it, she might be as liable to say too much
as too little. Yet as she was convinced that Marianne's
affection for Willoughby, could leave no hope of Colonel
Brandon's success, whatever the event of that affection
might be, and at the same time wished to shield her conduct
from censure, she thought it most prudent and kind,
after some consideration, to say more than she really knew
or believed. She acknowledged, therefore, that though
she had never been informed by themselves of the terms
on which they stood with each other, of their mutual
affection she had no doubt, and of their correspondence
she was not astonished to hear.

He listened to her with silent attention, and on
her ceasing to speak, rose directly from his seat,
and after saying in a voice of emotion, "to your sister
I wish all imaginable happiness; to Willoughby that he
may endeavour to deserve her,"--took leave, and went away.

Elinor derived no comfortable feelings from this
conversation, to lessen the uneasiness of her mind on
other points; she was left, on the contrary, with a
melancholy impression of Colonel Brandon's unhappiness,
and was prevented even from wishing it removed,
by her anxiety for the very event that must confirm it.

CHAPTER 28

Nothing occurred during the next three or four days,
to make Elinor regret what she had done, in applying
to her mother; for Willoughby neither came nor wrote.
They were engaged about the end of that time to attend
Lady Middleton to a party, from which Mrs. Jennings was
kept away by the indisposition of her youngest daughter;
and for this party, Marianne, wholly dispirited,
careless of her appearance, and seeming equally indifferent
whether she went or staid, prepared, without one look
of hope or one expression of pleasure. She sat by the
drawing-room fire after tea, till the moment of Lady
Middleton's arrival, without once stirring from her seat,
or altering her attitude, lost in her own thoughts,
and insensible of her sister's presence; and when at
last they were told that Lady Middleton waited for them
at the door, she started as if she had forgotten that
any one was expected.

They arrived in due time at the place of destination,
and as soon as the string of carriages before them
would allow, alighted, ascended the stairs, heard their
names announced from one landing-place to another in an
audible voice, and entered a room splendidly lit up,
quite full of company, and insufferably hot. When they had
paid their tribute of politeness by curtsying to the lady
of the house, they were permitted to mingle in the crowd,
and take their share of the heat and inconvenience, to
which their arrival must necessarily add. After some time
spent in saying little or doing less, Lady Middleton sat
down to Cassino, and as Marianne was not in spirits for
moving about, she and Elinor luckily succeeding to chairs,
placed themselves at no great distance from the table.

They had not remained in this manner long, before Elinor
perceived Willoughby, standing within a few yards
of them, in earnest conversation with a very fashionable
looking young woman. She soon caught his eye, and he
immediately bowed, but without attempting to speak to her,
or to approach Marianne, though he could not but see her;
and then continued his discourse with the same lady.
Elinor turned involuntarily to Marianne, to see whether
it could be unobserved by her. At that moment she first
perceived him, and her whole countenance glowing with
sudden delight, she would have moved towards him instantly,
had not her sister caught hold of her.

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, "he is there--he
is there--Oh! why does he not look at me? why cannot
I speak to him?"

"Pray, pray be composed," cried Elinor, "and do
not betray what you feel to every body present.
Perhaps he has not observed you yet."

This however was more than she could believe herself;
and to be composed at such a moment was not only beyond
the reach of Marianne, it was beyond her wish. She sat
in an agony of impatience which affected every feature.

At last he turned round again, and regarded them both;
she started up, and pronouncing his name in a tone
of affection, held out her hand to him. He approached,
and addressing himself rather to Elinor than Marianne,
as if wishing to avoid her eye, and determined not to
observe her attitude, inquired in a hurried manner after
Mrs. Dashwood, and asked how long they had been in town.
Elinor was robbed of all presence of mind by such an address,
and was unable to say a word. But the feelings of her sister
were instantly expressed. Her face was crimsoned over,
and she exclaimed, in a voice of the greatest emotion,
"Good God! Willoughby, what is the meaning of this?
Have you not received my letters? Will you not shake
hands with me?"

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