第 三十六 章 · Within a few days after this meeting, the newspapers announced to the

. Within a few days after this meeting, the newspapers announced to the

world, that the lady of Thomas Palmer, Esq. was safely delivered of a

son and heir; a very interesting and satisfactory paragraph, at least

to all those intimate connections who knew it before.

This event, highly important to Mrs. Jennings’s happiness, produced a

temporary alteration in the disposal of her time, and influenced, in a

like degree, the engagements of her young friends; for as she wished to

be as much as possible with Charlotte, she went thither every morning

as soon as she was dressed, and did not return till late in the

evening; and the Miss Dashwoods, at the particular request of the

Middletons, spent the whole of every day in Conduit Street. For their

own comfort they would much rather have remained, at least all the

morning, in Mrs. Jennings’s house; but it was not a thing to be urged

against the wishes of everybody. Their hours were therefore made over

to Lady Middleton and the two Miss Steeles, by whom their company, in

fact was as little valued, as it was professedly sought.

They had too much sense to be desirable companions to the former; and

by the latter they were considered with a jealous eye, as intruding on

_their_ ground, and sharing the kindness which they wanted to

monopolize. Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton’s

behaviour to Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all.

Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not

believe them good-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she

fancied them satirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to

be satirical; but _that_ did not signify. It was censure in common use,

and easily given.

Their presence was a restraint both on her and on Lucy. It checked the

idleness of one, and the business of the other. Lady Middleton was

ashamed of doing nothing before them, and the flattery which Lucy was

proud to think of and administer at other times, she feared they would

despise her for offering. Miss Steele was the least discomposed of the

three, by their presence; and it was in their power to reconcile her to

it entirely. Would either of them only have given her a full and minute

account of the whole affair between Marianne and Mr. Willoughby, she

would have thought herself amply rewarded for the sacrifice of the best

place by the fire after dinner, which their arrival occasioned. But

this conciliation was not granted; for though she often threw out

expressions of pity for her sister to Elinor, and more than once dropt

a reflection on the inconstancy of beaux before Marianne, no effect was

produced, but a look of indifference from the former, or of disgust in

the latter. An effort even yet lighter might have made her their

friend. Would they only have laughed at her about the Doctor! But so

little were they, any more than the others, inclined to oblige her,

that if Sir John dined from home, she might spend a whole day without

hearing any other raillery on the subject, than what she was kind

enough to bestow on herself.

All these jealousies and discontents, however, were so totally

unsuspected by Mrs. Jennings, that she thought it a delightful thing

for the girls to be together; and generally congratulated her young

friends every night, on having escaped the company of a stupid old

woman so long. She joined them sometimes at Sir John’s, sometimes at

her own house; but wherever it was, she always came in excellent

spirits, full of delight and importance, attributing Charlotte’s well

doing to her own care, and ready to give so exact, so minute a detail

of her situation, as only Miss Steele had curiosity enough to desire.

One thing _did_ disturb her; and of that she made her daily complaint.

Mr. Palmer maintained the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex,

of all infants being alike; and though she could plainly perceive, at

different times, the most striking resemblance between this baby and

every one of his relations on both sides, there was no convincing his

father of it; no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like

every other baby of the same age; nor could he even be brought to

acknowledge the simple proposition of its being the finest child in the

world.

I come now to the relation of a misfortune, which about this time

befell Mrs. John Dashwood. It so happened that while her two sisters

with Mrs. Jennings were first calling on her in Harley Street, another

of her acquaintance had dropt in—a circumstance in itself not

apparently likely to produce evil to her. But while the imaginations of

other people will carry them away to form wrong judgments of our

conduct, and to decide on it by slight appearances, one’s happiness

must in some measure be always at the mercy of chance. In the present

instance, this last-arrived lady allowed her fancy to so far outrun

truth and probability, that on merely hearing the name of the Miss

Dashwoods, and understanding them to be Mr. Dashwood’s sisters, she

immediately concluded them to be staying in Harley Street; and this

misconstruction produced within a day or two afterwards, cards of

invitation for them as well as for their brother and sister, to a small

musical party at her house. The consequence of which was, that Mrs.

John Dashwood was obliged to submit not only to the exceedingly great

inconvenience of sending her carriage for the Miss Dashwoods, but, what

was still worse, must be subject to all the unpleasantness of appearing

to treat them with attention: and who could tell that they might not

expect to go out with her a second time? The power of disappointing

them, it was true, must always be hers. But that was not enough; for

when people are determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be

wrong, they feel injured by the expectation of any thing better from

them.

Marianne had now been brought by degrees, so much into the habit of

going out every day, that it was become a matter of indifference to

her, whether she went or not: and she prepared quietly and mechanically

for every evening’s engagement, though without expecting the smallest

amusement from any, and very often without knowing, till the last

moment, where it was to take her.

To her dress and appearance she was grown so perfectly indifferent, as

not to bestow half the consideration on it, during the whole of her

toilet, which it received from Miss Steele in the first five minutes of

their being together, when it was finished. Nothing escaped _her_

minute observation and general curiosity; she saw every thing, and

asked every thing; was never easy till she knew the price of every part

of Marianne’s dress; could have guessed the number of her gowns

altogether with better judgment than Marianne herself, and was not

without hopes of finding out before they parted, how much her washing

cost per week, and how much she had every year to spend upon herself.

The impertinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally

concluded with a compliment, which though meant as its douceur, was

considered by Marianne as the greatest impertinence of all; for after

undergoing an examination into the value and make of her gown, the

colour of her shoes, and the arrangement of her hair, she was almost

sure of being told that upon “her word she looked vastly smart, and she

dared to say she would make a great many conquests.”

With such encouragement as this, was she dismissed on the present

occasion, to her brother’s carriage; which they were ready to enter

five minutes after it stopped at the door, a punctuality not very

agreeable to their sister-in-law, who had preceded them to the house of

her acquaintance, and was there hoping for some delay on their part

that might inconvenience either herself or her coachman.

The events of this evening were not very remarkable. The party, like

other musical parties, comprehended a great many people who had real

taste for the performance, and a great many more who had none at all;

and the performers themselves were, as usual, in their own estimation,

and that of their immediate friends, the first private performers in

England.

As Elinor was neither musical, nor affecting to be so, she made no

scruple of turning her eyes from the grand pianoforte, whenever it

suited her, and unrestrained even by the presence of a harp, and

violoncello, would fix them at pleasure on any other object in the

room. In one of these excursive glances she perceived among a group of

young men, the very he, who had given them a lecture on toothpick-cases

at Gray’s. She perceived him soon afterwards looking at herself, and

speaking familiarly to her brother; and had just determined to find out

his name from the latter, when they both came towards her, and Mr.

Dashwood introduced him to her as Mr. Robert Ferrars.

He addressed her with easy civility, and twisted his head into a bow

which assured her as plainly as words could have done, that he was

exactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by Lucy. Happy

had it been for her, if her regard for Edward had depended less on his

own merit, than on the merit of his nearest relations! For then his

brother’s bow must have given the finishing stroke to what the

ill-humour of his mother and sister would have begun. But while she

wondered at the difference of the two young men, she did not find that

the emptiness and conceit of the one, put her out of all charity with

the modesty and worth of the other. Why they _were_ different, Robert

explained to her himself in the course of a quarter of an hour’s

conversation; for, talking of his brother, and lamenting the extreme

_gaucherie_ which he really believed kept him from mixing in proper

society, he candidly and generously attributed it much less to any

natural deficiency, than to the misfortune of a private education;

while he himself, though probably without any particular, any material

superiority by nature, merely from the advantage of a public school,

was as well fitted to mix in the world as any other man.

“Upon my soul,” he added, “I believe it is nothing more; and so I often

tell my mother, when she is grieving about it. ‘My dear Madam,’ I

always say to her, ‘you must make yourself easy. The evil is now

irremediable, and it has been entirely your own doing. Why would you be

persuaded by my uncle, Sir Robert, against your own judgment, to place

Edward under private tuition, at the most critical time of his life? If

you had only sent him to Westminster as well as myself, instead of

sending him to Mr. Pratt’s, all this would have been prevented.’ This

is the way in which I always consider the matter, and my mother is

perfectly convinced of her error.”

Elinor would not oppose his opinion, because, whatever might be her

general estimation of the advantage of a public school, she could not

think of Edward’s abode in Mr. Pratt’s family, with any satisfaction.

“You reside in Devonshire, I think,”—was his next observation, “in a

cottage near Dawlish.”

Elinor set him right as to its situation; and it seemed rather

surprising to him that anybody could live in Devonshire, without living

near Dawlish. He bestowed his hearty approbation however on their

species of house.

“For my own part,” said he, “I am excessively fond of a cottage; there

is always so much comfort, so much elegance about them. And I protest,

if I had any money to spare, I should buy a little land and build one

myself, within a short distance of London, where I might drive myself

down at any time, and collect a few friends about me, and be happy. I

advise every body who is going to build, to build a cottage. My friend

Lord Courtland came to me the other day on purpose to ask my advice,

and laid before me three different plans of Bonomi’s. I was to decide

on the best of them. ‘My dear Courtland,’ said I, immediately throwing

them all into the fire, ‘do not adopt either of them, but by all means

build a cottage.’ And that I fancy, will be the end of it.

“Some people imagine that there can be no accommodations, no space in a

cottage; but this is all a mistake. I was last month at my friend

Elliott’s, near Dartford. Lady Elliott wished to give a dance. ‘But how

can it be done?’ said she; ‘my dear Ferrars, do tell me how it is to be

managed. There is not a room in this cottage that will hold ten couple,

and where can the supper be?’ _I_ immediately saw that there could be

no difficulty in it, so I said, ‘My dear Lady Elliott, do not be

uneasy. The dining parlour will admit eighteen couple with ease;

card-tables may be placed in the drawing-room; the library may be open

for tea and other refreshments; and let the supper be set out in the

saloon.’ Lady Elliott was delighted with the thought. We measured the

dining-room, and found it would hold exactly eighteen couple, and the

affair was arranged precisely after my plan. So that, in fact, you see,

if people do but know how to set about it, every comfort may be as well

enjoyed in a cottage as in the most spacious dwelling.”

Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the

compliment of rational opposition.

As John Dashwood had no more pleasure in music than his eldest sister,

his mind was equally at liberty to fix on any thing else; and a thought

struck him during the evening, which he communicated to his wife, for

her approbation, when they got home. The consideration of Mrs.

Dennison’s mistake, in supposing his sisters their guests, had

suggested the propriety of their being really invited to become such,

while Mrs. Jennings’s engagements kept her from home. The expense would

be nothing, the inconvenience not more; and it was altogether an

attention which the delicacy of his conscience pointed out to be

requisite to its complete enfranchisement from his promise to his

father. Fanny was startled at the proposal.

“I do not see how it can be done,” said she, “without affronting Lady

Middleton, for they spend every day with her; otherwise I should be

exceedingly glad to do it. You know I am always ready to pay them any

attention in my power, as my taking them out this evening shows. But

they are Lady Middleton’s visitors. How can I ask them away from her?”

Her husband, but with great humility, did not see the force of her

objection. “They had already spent a week in this manner in Conduit

Street, and Lady Middleton could not be displeased at their giving the

same number of days to such near relations.”

Fanny paused a moment, and then, with fresh vigor, said,

“My love, I would ask them with all my heart, if it was in my power.

But I had just settled within myself to ask the Miss Steeles to spend a

few days with us. They are very well behaved, good kind of girls; and I

think the attention is due to them, as their uncle did so very well by

Edward. We can ask your sisters some other year, you know; but the Miss

Steeles may not be in town any more. I am sure you will like them;

indeed, you _do_ like them, you know, very much already, and so does my

mother; and they are such favourites with Harry!”

Mr. Dashwood was convinced. He saw the necessity of inviting the Miss

Steeles immediately, and his conscience was pacified by the resolution

of inviting his sisters another year; at the same time, however, slyly

suspecting that another year would make the invitation needless, by

bringing Elinor to town as Colonel Brandon’s wife, and Marianne as

_their_ visitor.

Fanny, rejoicing in her escape, and proud of the ready wit that had

procured it, wrote the next morning to Lucy, to request her company and

her sister’s, for some days, in Harley Street, as soon as Lady

Middleton could spare them. This was enough to make Lucy really and

reasonably happy. Mrs. Dashwood seemed actually working for her,

herself; cherishing all her hopes, and promoting all her views! Such an

opportunity of being with Edward and his family was, above all things,

the most material to her interest, and such an invitation the most

gratifying to her feelings! It was an advantage that could not be too

gratefully acknowledged, nor too speedily made use of; and the visit to

Lady Middleton, which had not before had any precise limits, was

instantly discovered to have been always meant to end in two days’

time.

When the note was shown to Elinor, as it was within ten minutes after

its arrival, it gave her, for the first time, some share in the

expectations of Lucy; for such a mark of uncommon kindness, vouchsafed

on so short an acquaintance, seemed to declare that the good-will

towards her arose from something more than merely malice against

herself; and might be brought, by time and address, to do every thing

that Lucy wished. Her flattery had already subdued the pride of Lady

Middleton, and made an entry into the close heart of Mrs. John

Dashwood; and these were effects that laid open the probability of

greater.

The Miss Steeles removed to Harley Street, and all that reached Elinor

of their influence there, strengthened her expectation of the event.

Sir John, who called on them more than once, brought home such accounts

of the favour they were in, as must be universally striking. Mrs.

Dashwood had never been so much pleased with any young women in her

life, as she was with them; had given each of them a needle book made

by some emigrant; called Lucy by her Christian name; and did not know

whether she should ever be able to part with them.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME