CHAPTER 32

     When the particulars of this conversation were repeated

by Miss Dashwood to her sister, as they very soon were,

the effect on her was not entirely such as the former

had hoped to see.  Not that Marianne appeared to distrust

the truth of any part of it, for she listened to it all

with the most steady and submissive attention, made neither

objection nor remark, attempted no vindication of Willoughby,

and seemed to shew by her tears that she felt it to

be impossible.  But though this behaviour assured Elinor

that the conviction of this guilt WAS carried home to

her mind, though she saw with satisfaction the effect of it,

in her no longer avoiding Colonel Brandon when he called,

in her speaking to him, even voluntarily speaking,

with a kind of compassionate respect, and though she

saw her spirits less violently irritated than before,

she did not see her less wretched.  Her mind did become

settled, but it was settled in a gloomy dejection.

She felt the loss of Willoughby's character yet more heavily

than she had felt the loss of his heart; his seduction and

desertion of Miss Williams, the misery of that poor girl,

and the doubt of what his designs might ONCE have been

on herself, preyed altogether so much on her spirits,

that she could not bring herself to speak of what she felt

even to Elinor; and, brooding over her sorrows in silence,

gave more pain to her sister than could have been communicated

by the most open and most frequent confession of them.
 
 

     To give the feelings or the language of Mrs. Dashwood

on receiving and answering Elinor's letter would be only

to give a repetition of what her daughters had already felt

and said; of a disappointment hardly less painful than

Marianne's, and an indignation even greater than Elinor's.

Long letters from her, quickly succeeding each other,

arrived to tell all that she suffered and thought;

to express her anxious solicitude for Marianne, and entreat

she would bear up with fortitude under this misfortune.

Bad indeed must the nature of Marianne's affliction be,

when her mother could talk of fortitude! mortifying

and humiliating must be the origin of those regrets,

which SHE could wish her not to indulge!
 
 

     Against the interest of her own individual comfort,

Mrs. Dashwood had determined that it would be better for

Marianne to be any where, at that time, than at Barton,

where every thing within her view would be bringing back

the past in the strongest and most afflicting manner,

by constantly placing Willoughby before her, such as

she had always seen him there.  She recommended it to

her daughters, therefore, by all means not to shorten their

visit to Mrs. Jennings; the length of which, though never

exactly fixed, had been expected by all to comprise at least

five or six weeks.  A variety of occupations, of objects,

and of company, which could not be procured at Barton,

would be inevitable there, and might yet, she hoped,

cheat Marianne, at times, into some interest beyond herself,

and even into some amusement, much as the ideas of both

might now be spurned by her.
 
 

     From all danger of seeing Willoughby again,

her mother considered her to be at least equally safe

in town as in the country, since his acquaintance must

now be dropped by all who called themselves her friends.

Design could never bring them in each other's way:

negligence could never leave them exposed to a surprise;

and chance had less in its favour in the crowd of London

than even in the retirement of Barton, where it might

force him before her while paying that visit at Allenham

on his marriage, which Mrs. Dashwood, from foreseeing at

first as a probable event, had brought herself to expect

as a certain one.
 
 

     She had yet another reason for wishing her children

to remain where they were; a letter from her son-in-law

had told her that he and his wife were to be in town

before the middle of February, and she judged it right

that they should sometimes see their brother.
 
 

     Marianne had promised to be guided by her mother's opinion,

and she submitted to it therefore without opposition,

though it proved perfectly different from what she wished

and expected, though she felt it to be entirely wrong,

formed on mistaken grounds, and that by requiring her

longer continuance in London it deprived her of the only

possible alleviation of her wretchedness, the personal

sympathy of her mother, and doomed her to such society and

such scenes as must prevent her ever knowing a moment's rest.
 
 

     But it was a matter of great consolation to her,

that what brought evil to herself would bring good to

her sister; and Elinor, on the other hand, suspecting that

it would not be in her power to avoid Edward entirely,

comforted herself by thinking, that though their longer

stay would therefore militate against her own happiness,

it would be better for Marianne than an immediate return

into Devonshire.
 
 

     Her carefulness in guarding her sister from ever

hearing Willoughby's name mentioned, was not thrown away.

Marianne, though without knowing it herself, reaped all

its advantage; for neither Mrs. Jennings, nor Sir John,

nor even Mrs. Palmer herself, ever spoke of him before her.

Elinor wished that the same forbearance could have extended

towards herself, but that was impossible, and she was

obliged to listen day after day to the indignation of them all.
 
 

     Sir John, could not have thought it possible.

"A man of whom he had always had such reason to think well!

Such a good-natured fellow!  He did not believe there was a

bolder rider in England!  It was an unaccountable business.

He wished him at the devil with all his heart.  He would

not speak another word to him, meet him where he might,

for all the world!  No, not if it were to be by the side

of Barton covert, and they were kept watching for two

hours together.  Such a scoundrel of a fellow! such

a deceitful dog!  It was only the last time they met

that he had offered him one of Folly's puppies! and this

was the end of it!"
 
 

     Mrs. Palmer, in her way, was equally angry.

"She was determined to drop his acquaintance immediately,

and she was very thankful that she had never been acquainted

with him at all.  She wished with all her heart Combe

Magna was not so near Cleveland; but it did not signify,

for it was a great deal too far off to visit; she hated

him so much that she was resolved never to mention

his name again, and she should tell everybody she saw,

how good-for-nothing he was."
 
 

     The rest of Mrs. Palmer's sympathy was shewn in procuring

all the particulars in her power of the approaching marriage,

and communicating them to Elinor.  She could soon tell

at what coachmaker's the new carriage was building,

by what painter Mr. Willoughby's portrait was drawn,

and at what warehouse Miss Grey's clothes might be seen.
 
 

     The calm and polite unconcern of Lady Middleton

on the occasion was a happy relief to Elinor's spirits,

oppressed as they often were by the clamorous kindness

of the others.  It was a great comfort to her to be sure

of exciting no interest in ONE person at least among their

circle of friends: a great comfort to know that there

was ONE who would meet her without feeling any curiosity

after particulars, or any anxiety for her sister's health.
 
 

     Every qualification is raised at times, by the

circumstances of the moment, to more than its real value;

and she was sometimes worried down by officious condolence

to rate good-breeding as more indispensable to comfort

than good-nature.
 
 

     Lady Middleton expressed her sense of the affair

about once every day, or twice, if the subject occurred

very often, by saying, "It is very shocking, indeed!"

and by the means of this continual though gentle vent,

was able not only to see the Miss Dashwoods from the

first without the smallest emotion, but very soon

to see them without recollecting a word of the matter;

and having thus supported the dignity of her own sex,

and spoken her decided censure of what was wrong

in the other, she thought herself at liberty to attend

to the interest of her own assemblies, and therefore

determined (though rather against the opinion of Sir John)

that as Mrs. Willoughby would at once be a woman of elegance

and fortune, to leave her card with her as soon as she married.
 
 

     Colonel Brandon's delicate, unobtrusive enquiries

were never unwelcome to Miss Dashwood.  He had abundantly

earned the privilege of intimate discussion of her

sister's disappointment, by the friendly zeal with

which he had endeavoured to soften it, and they always

conversed with confidence.  His chief reward for the

painful exertion of disclosing past sorrows and present

humiliations, was given in the pitying eye with which

Marianne sometimes observed him, and the gentleness

of her voice whenever (though it did not often happen)

she was obliged, or could oblige herself to speak to him.

THESE assured him that his exertion had produced an

increase of good-will towards himself, and THESE gave

Elinor hopes of its being farther augmented hereafter;

but Mrs. Jennings, who knew nothing of all this, who knew

only that the Colonel continued as grave as ever, and that

she could neither prevail on him to make the offer himself,

nor commission her to make it for him, began, at the

end of two days, to think that, instead of Midsummer,

they would not be married till Michaelmas, and by the

end of a week that it would not be a match at all.

The good understanding between the Colonel and Miss

Dashwood seemed rather to declare that the honours

of the mulberry-tree, the canal, and the yew arbour,

would all be made over to HER; and Mrs. Jennings had,

for some time ceased to think at all of Mrs. Ferrars.
 
 

     Early in February, within a fortnight from the

receipt of Willoughby's letter, Elinor had the painful

office of informing her sister that he was married.

She had taken care to have the intelligence conveyed

to herself, as soon as it was known that the ceremony

was over, as she was desirous that Marianne should not

receive the first notice of it from the public papers,

which she saw her eagerly examining every morning.
 
 

     She received the news with resolute composure;

made no observation on it, and at first shed no tears;

but after a short time they would burst out, and for the

rest of the day, she was in a state hardly less pitiable

than when she first learnt to expect the event.
 
 

     The Willoughbys left town as soon as they were married;

and Elinor now hoped, as there could be no danger

of her seeing either of them, to prevail on her sister,

who had never yet left the house since the blow first fell,

to go out again by degrees as she had done before.
 
 

     About this time the two Miss Steeles, lately arrived

at their cousin's house in Bartlett's Buildings,

Holburn, presented themselves again before their more

grand relations in Conduit and Berkeley Streets;

and were welcomed by them all with great cordiality.
 
 

     Elinor only was sorry to see them.  Their presence

always gave her pain, and she hardly knew how to make

a very gracious return to the overpowering delight of Lucy

in finding her STILL in town.
 
 

     "I should have been quite disappointed if I had not

found you here STILL," said she repeatedly, with a strong

emphasis on the word.  "But I always thought I SHOULD.

I was almost sure you would not leave London yet awhile;

though you TOLD me, you know, at Barton, that you should

not stay above a MONTH.  But I thought, at the time,

that you would most likely change your mind when it came

to the point.  It would have been such a great pity

to have went away before your brother and sister came.

And now to be sure you will be in no hurry to be gone.

I am amazingly glad you did not keep to YOUR WORD."
 
 

     Elinor perfectly understood her, and was forced

to use all her self-command to make it appear that she

did NOT.
 
 

     "Well, my dear," said Mrs. Jennings, "and how did

you travel?"
 
 

     "Not in the stage, I assure you," replied Miss Steele,

with quick exultation; "we came post all the way, and had

a very smart beau to attend us.  Dr. Davies was coming

to town, and so we thought we'd join him in a post-chaise;

and he behaved very genteelly, and paid ten or twelve

shillings more than we did."
 
 

     "Oh, oh!" cried Mrs. Jennings; "very pretty,

indeed! and the Doctor is a single man, I warrant you."
 
 

     "There now," said Miss Steele, affectedly simpering,

"everybody laughs at me so about the Doctor, and I

cannot think why.  My cousins say they are sure I have

made a conquest; but for my part I declare I never think

about him from one hour's end to another.  'Lord! here

comes your beau, Nancy,' my cousin said t'other day,

when she saw him crossing the street to the house.

My beau, indeed! said I--I cannot think who you mean.

The Doctor is no beau of mine."
 
 

     "Aye, aye, that is very pretty talking--but it won't do--

the Doctor is the man, I see."
 
 

     "No, indeed!" replied her cousin, with affected earnestness,

"and I beg you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of."
 
 

     Mrs. Jennings directly gave her the gratifying

assurance that she certainly would NOT, and Miss Steele

was made completely happy.
 
 

     "I suppose you will go and stay with your brother

and sister, Miss Dashwood, when they come to town,"

said Lucy, returning, after a cessation of hostile hints,

to the charge.
 
 

     "No, I do not think we shall."
 
 

     "Oh, yes, I dare say you will."
 
 

     Elinor would not humour her by farther opposition.
 
 

     "What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can

spare you both for so long a time together!"
 
 

     "Long a time, indeed!" interposed Mrs. Jennings.

"Why, their visit is but just begun!"
 
 

     Lucy was silenced.
 
 

     "I am sorry we cannot see your sister, Miss Dashwood,"

said Miss Steele.  "I am sorry she is not well--"

for Marianne had left the room on their arrival.
 
 

     "You are very good.  My sister will be equally

sorry to miss the pleasure of seeing you; but she has

been very much plagued lately with nervous head-aches,

which make her unfit for company or conversation."
 
 

     "Oh, dear, that is a great pity! but such old

friends as Lucy and me!--I think she might see US;

and I am sure we would not speak a word."
 
 

     Elinor, with great civility, declined the proposal.

Her sister was perhaps laid down upon the bed, or in her

dressing gown, and therefore not able to come to them.
 
 

     "Oh, if that's all," cried Miss Steele, "we can

just as well go and see HER."
 
 

     Elinor began to find this impertinence too much for

her temper; but she was saved the trouble of checking it,

by Lucy's sharp reprimand, which now, as on many occasions,

though it did not give much sweetness to the manners

of one sister, was of advantage in governing those of

the other.