CHAPTER XIII

linor'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 curtsey,

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" title="n.回忆；追想；记忆力">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-

mindedfortitude, 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 speakingtenderness,

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 admirablediscretion 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.
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