Chương Chương 28 · Nothing occurred during the next three or four days, to make Elinor

. Nothing occurred during the next three or four days, to make Elinor

regret what she had done, in applying to her mother; for Willoughby

neither came nor wrote. They were engaged about the end of that time to

attend Lady Middleton to a party, from which Mrs. Jennings was kept

away by the indisposition of her youngest daughter; and for this party,

Marianne, wholly dispirited, careless of her appearance, and seeming

equally indifferent whether she went or staid, prepared, without one

look of hope or one expression of pleasure. She sat by the drawing-room

fire after tea, till the moment of Lady Middleton’s arrival, without

once stirring from her seat, or altering her attitude, lost in her own

thoughts, and insensible of her sister’s presence; and when at last

they were told that Lady Middleton waited for them at the door, she

started as if she had forgotten that any one was expected.

They arrived in due time at the place of destination, and as soon as

the string of carriages before them would allow, alighted, ascended the

stairs, heard their names announced from one landing-place to another

in an audible voice, and entered a room splendidly lit up, quite full

of company, and insufferably hot. When they had paid their tribute of

politeness by curtsying to the lady of the house, they were permitted

to mingle in the crowd, and take their share of the heat and

inconvenience, to which their arrival must necessarily add. After some

time spent in saying little or doing less, Lady Middleton sat down to

Cassino, and as Marianne was not in spirits for moving about, she and

Elinor luckily succeeding to chairs, placed themselves at no great

distance from the table.

They had not remained in this manner long, before Elinor perceived

Willoughby, standing within a few yards of them, in earnest

conversation with a very fashionable looking young woman. She soon

caught his eye, and he immediately bowed, but without attempting to

speak to her, or to approach Marianne, though he could not but see her;

and then continued his discourse with the same lady. Elinor turned

involuntarily to Marianne, to see whether it could be unobserved by

her. At that moment she first perceived him, and her whole countenance

glowing with sudden delight, she would have moved towards him

instantly, had not her sister caught hold of her.

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed, “he is there—he is there—Oh! why does he

not look at me? why cannot I speak to him?”

“Pray, pray be composed,” cried Elinor, “and do not betray what you

feel to every body present. Perhaps he has not observed you yet.”

This however was more than she could believe herself; and to be

composed at such a moment was not only beyond the reach of Marianne, it

was beyond her wish. She sat in an agony of impatience which affected

every feature.

At last he turned round again, and regarded them both; she started up,

and pronouncing his name in a tone of affection, held out her hand to

him. He approached, and addressing himself rather to Elinor than

Marianne, as if wishing to avoid her eye, and determined not to observe

her attitude, inquired in a hurried manner after Mrs. Dashwood, and

asked how long they had been in town. Elinor was robbed of all presence

of mind by such an address, and was unable to say a word. But the

feelings of her sister were instantly expressed. Her face was crimsoned

over, and she exclaimed, in a voice of the greatest emotion, “Good God!

Willoughby, what is the meaning of this? Have you not received my

letters? Will you not shake hands with me?”

He could not then avoid it, but her touch seemed painful to him, and he

held her hand only for a moment. During all this time he was evidently

struggling for composure. Elinor watched his countenance and saw its

expression becoming more tranquil. After a moment’s pause, he spoke

with calmness.

“I did myself the honour of calling in Berkeley Street last Tuesday,

and very much regretted that I was not fortunate enough to find

yourselves and Mrs. Jennings at home. My card was not lost, I hope.”

“But have you not received my notes?” cried Marianne in the wildest

anxiety. “Here is some mistake I am sure—some dreadful mistake. What

can be the meaning of it? Tell me, Willoughby; for heaven’s sake tell

me, what is the matter?”

He made no reply; his complexion changed and all his embarrassment

returned; but as if, on catching the eye of the young lady with whom he

had been previously talking, he felt the necessity of instant exertion,

he recovered himself again, and after saying, “Yes, I had the pleasure

of receiving the information of your arrival in town, which you were so

good as to send me,” turned hastily away with a slight bow and joined

his friend.

Marianne, now looking dreadfully white, and unable to stand, sunk into

her chair, and Elinor, expecting every moment to see her faint, tried

to screen her from the observation of others, while reviving her with

lavender water.

“Go to him, Elinor,” she cried, as soon as she could speak, “and force

him to come to me. Tell him I must see him again—must speak to him

instantly.—I cannot rest—I shall not have a moment’s peace till this is

explained—some dreadful misapprehension or other. Oh, go to him this

moment.”

“How can that be done? No, my dearest Marianne, you must wait. This is

not the place for explanations. Wait only till tomorrow.”

With difficulty however could she prevent her from following him

herself; and to persuade her to check her agitation, to wait, at least,

with the appearance of composure, till she might speak to him with more

privacy and more effect, was impossible; for Marianne continued

incessantly to give way in a low voice to the misery of her feelings,

by exclamations of wretchedness. In a short time Elinor saw Willoughby

quit the room by the door towards the staircase, and telling Marianne

that he was gone, urged the impossibility of speaking to him again that

evening, as a fresh argument for her to be calm. She instantly begged

her sister would entreat Lady Middleton to take them home, as she was

too miserable to stay a minute longer.

Lady Middleton, though in the middle of a rubber, on being informed

that Marianne was unwell, was too polite to object for a moment to her

wish of going away, and making over her cards to a friend, they

departed as soon as the carriage could be found. Scarcely a word was

spoken during their return to Berkeley Street. Marianne was in a silent

agony, too much oppressed even for tears; but as Mrs. Jennings was

luckily not come home, they could go directly to their own room, where

hartshorn restored her a little to herself. She was soon undressed and

in bed, and as she seemed desirous of being alone, her sister then left

her, and while she waited the return of Mrs. Jennings, had leisure

enough for thinking over the past.

That some kind of engagement had subsisted between Willoughby and

Marianne she could not doubt, and that Willoughby was weary of it,

seemed equally clear; for however Marianne might still feed her own

wishes, _she_ could not attribute such behaviour to mistake or

misapprehension of any kind. Nothing but a thorough change of sentiment

could account for it. Her indignation would have been still stronger

than it was, had she not witnessed that embarrassment which seemed to

speak a consciousness of his own misconduct, and prevented her from

believing him so unprincipled as to have been sporting with the

affections of her sister from the first, without any design that would

bear investigation. Absence might have weakened his regard, and

convenience might have determined him to overcome it, but that such a

regard had formerly existed she could not bring herself to doubt.

As for Marianne, on the pangs which so unhappy a meeting must already

have given her, and on those still more severe which might await her in

its probable consequence, she could not reflect without the deepest

concern. Her own situation gained in the comparison; for while she

could _esteem_ Edward as much as ever, however they might be divided in

future, her mind might be always supported. But every circumstance that

could embitter such an evil seemed uniting to heighten the misery of

Marianne in a final separation from Willoughby—in an immediate and

irreconcilable rupture with him.