CHAPTER 11

     Little 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 everlasting talker, 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 accidently 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 minutiae

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.