CHAPTER XI

ittle had Mrs. Dashwood or her daughters imagined when

they first came into Devonshire, that so many

engagements would arise to occupy their time as shortly

presented themselves, or that they should have such frequent

invitations and such constant visitors as to leave them little leisure

for serious employment. Yet such was the case. When Marianne

was recovered, the schemes of amusement at home and abroad,

which Sir John had been previously forming, were put into

execution. The private balls at the park then began; and parties on

the water were made and accomplished as often as a showery

October would allow. In every meeting of the kind Willoughby was

included; and the ease and familiarity which naturally attended

these parties were exactly calculated to give increasing intimacy to

his acquaintance with the Dashwoods, to afford him opportunity of

witnessing the excellencies of Marianne, of marking his animated

admiration of her, and of receiving, in her behaviour to himself,

the most pointed assurance of her affection.

Elinor could not be surprised at their attachment. She only

wished that it were less openly shewn; and once or twice did

venture to suggest the propriety of some self-command to

Marianne. But Marianne abhorred all concealment where no real

disgrace could attend unreserve; and to aim at the restraint of

sentiments which were not in themselves illaudable, appeared to

her not merely an unnecessary effort, but a disgraceful subjection

of reason to common-place and mistaken notions. Willoughby

thought the same; and their behaviour at all times, was an

illustration of their opinions.

When he was present she had no eyes for any one else. Every

thing he did, was right. Every thing he said, was clever. If their

evenings at the park were concluded with cards, he cheated

himself and all the rest of the party to get her a good hand. If

dancing formed the amusement of the night, they were partners

for half the time; and when obliged to separate for a couple of

dances, were careful to stand together and scarcely spoke a word

to any body else. Such conduct made them of course most

exceedingly laughed at; but ridicule could not shame, and seemed

hardly to provoke them.

Mrs. Dashwood entered into all their feelings with a warmth

which left her no inclination for checking this excessive display of

them. To her it was but the natural consequence of a strong

affection in a young and ardent mind.

This was the season of happiness to Marianne. Her heart was

devoted to Willoughby, and the fond attachment to Norland,

which she brought with her from Sussex, was more likely to be

softened than she had thought it possible before, by the charms

which his society bestowed on her present home.

Elinor's happiness was not so great. Her heart was not so much

at ease, nor her satisfaction in their amusements so pure. They

afforded her no companion that could make amends for what she

had left behind, nor that could teach her to think of Norland with

less regret than ever. Neither Lady Middleton nor Mrs. Jennings

could supply to her the conversation she missed; although the

latter was an everlastingtalker, and from the first had regarded

her with a kindness which ensured her a large share of her

discourse. She had already repeated her own history to Elinor

three or four times; and had Elinor's memory been equal to her

means of improvement, she might have known very early in their

acquaintance all the particulars of Mr. Jenning's last illness, and

what he said to his wife a few minutes before he died. Lady

Middleton was more agreeable than her mother only in being

more silent. Elinor needed little observation to perceive that her

reserve was a mere calmness of manner with which sense had

nothing to do. Towards her husband and mother she was the same

as to them; and intimacy was therefore neither to be looked for

nor desired. She had nothing to say one day that she had not said

the day before. Her insipidity was invariable, for even her spirits

were always the same; and though she did not oppose the parties

arranged by her husband, provided every thing were conducted in

style and her two eldest children attended her, she never appeared

to receive more enjoyment from them than she might have

experienced in sitting at home;―and so little did her presence add

to the pleasure of the others, by any share in their conversation,

that they were sometimes only reminded of her being amongst

them by her solicitude about her troublesome boys.

In Colonel Brandon alone, of all her new acquaintance, did

Elinor find a person who could in any degree claim the respect of

abilities, excite the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a

companion. Willoughby was out of the question. Her admiration

and regard, even her sisterly regard, was all his own; but he was a

lover; his attentions were wholly Marianne's, and a far less

agreeable man might have been more generally pleasing. Colonel

Brandon, unfortunately for himself, had no such encouragement

to think only of Marianne, and in conversing with Elinor he found

the greatest consolation for the indifference of her sister.

Elinor's compassion for him increased, as she had reason to

suspect that the misery of disappointed love had already been

known to him. This suspicion was given by some words which

accidentally dropped from him one evening at the park, when they

were sitting down together by mutual consent, while the others

were dancing. His eyes were fixed on Marianne, and, after a

silence of some minutes, he said, with a faint smile, "Your sister, I

understand, does not approve of second attachments."

"No," replied Elinor, "her opinions are all romantic."

"Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible to exist."

"I believe she does. But how she contrives it without reflecting

on the character of her own father, who had himself two wives, I

know not. A few years however will settle her opinions on the

reasonable basis of common sense and observation; and then they

may be more easy to define and to justify than they now are, by

any body but herself."

"This will probably be the case," he replied; "and yet there is

something so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, that one

is sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general

opinions."

"I cannot agree with you there," said Elinor. "There are

inconveniences attending such feelings as Marianne's, which all

the charms of enthusiasm and ignorance of the world cannot atone

for. Her systems have all the unfortunate tendency of setting

propriety at nought; and a better acquaintance with the world is

what I look forward to as her greatest possible advantage."

After a short pause he resumed the conversation by saying―

"Does your sister make no distinction in her objections against

a second attachment? or is it equally criminal in every body? Are

those who have been disappointed in their first choice, whether

from the inconstancy of its object, or the perverseness of

circumstances, to be equally indifferent during the rest of their

lives?"

"Upon my word, I am not acquainted with the minutia of her

principles. I only know that I never yet heard her admit any

instance of a second attachment's being pardonable."

"This," said he, "cannot hold; but a change, a total change of

sentiments―No, no, do not desire it,―for when the romantic

refinements of a young mind are obliged to give way, how

frequently are they succeeded by such opinions as are but too

common, and too dangerous! I speak from experience. I once

knew a lady who in temper and mind greatly resembled your

sister, who thought and judged like her, but who from an inforced

change―from a series of unfortunate circumstances"―Here he

stopt suddenly; appeared to think that he had said too much, and

by his countenance gave rise to conjectures, which might not

otherwise have entered Elinor's head. The lady would probably

have passed without suspicion, had he not convinced Miss

Dashwood that what concerned her ought not to escape his lips.

As it was, it required but a slight effort of fancy to connect his

emotion with the tender recollection of past regard. Elinor

attempted no more. But Marianne, in her place, would not have

done so little. The whole story would have been speedily formed

under her active imagination; and every thing established in the

most melancholy order of disastrous love.
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