Chương Chương 11 · Little had Mrs. Dashwood or her daughters imagined when they first came

. 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 shown; 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. Jennings’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 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 enforced 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.