feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/sparknotes/Sense and Sensibility/section_5_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: Sense and Sensibility.chapters 23-27
feat_summary_id: chapters 23-27
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapters 23-27", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210123003206/https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/sensibility/section6/", "summary": "Elinor reflects on Lucy's news and reasons that her engagement to Edward must have been the product of youthful infatuation. She is certain that Edward could not possibly still love Lucy after four years of getting to know this frivolous and ignorant woman. She is also relieved that she does not have to share Lucy's news with her mother and sister, since she has been sworn to secrecy. She and Lucy converse at length about Edward Ferrars during a dinner party at Barton Park shortly thereafter. While Marianne is playing the piano and everyone else is absorbed in a card game, Elinor and Lucy sit rolling papers for a filigree basket for Lady Middleton's daughter, Annamaria. Lucy confesses to Elinor that she is a very jealous woman, but that she has no reason to suspect Edward of unfaithfulness. She states that it would be madness for her and Edward to marry while he has only two thousand pounds; they must wait until they inherit Mrs. Ferrars's wealth. If they were to announce their engagement while Mrs. Ferrars was still living, the headstrong woman would disinherit Edward and give all her money to her younger son Robert; thus, they must be patient and secretive. Following this conversation, Lucy loses no opportunity to speak to Elinor about her secret engagement, much to the latter's consternation. Lucy expresses disappointment that Elinor has no plans to come to London in the winter, but soon after this Mrs. Jennings invites the Dashwood sisters to join her at her home in town near Portman Square. At first, the girls decline her offer on the grounds that they cannot leave their mother alone at Barton, but Mrs. Dashwood assures them that it would give her great pleasure to allow her daughters to enjoy themselves in London. Marianne is overjoyed that she will get to see Willoughby at long last, but Elinor is apprehensive about the journey because she does not want to find herself in the company of both Lucy and Edward together. After a journey lasting three days in Mrs. Jennings' carriage, the Dashwood sisters arrive in London. Elinor immediately writes a letter to their mother, while Marianne composes a brief note announcing their arrival to John Willoughby. Marianne eagerly awaits Willoughby's visit, and is exceedingly disappointed that evening when Colonel Brandon shows up instead. Marianne leaves the room in frustration and Colonel Brandon delivers the message that Mrs. Palmer plans to arrive the next day. When Mrs. Palmer arrives, she goes shopping in town with the Dashwood sisters and Mrs. Jennings. Immediately upon their return home, Marianne rushes to see if she has received mail from Willoughby, but there are no letters for her. When Mrs. Jennings comments on the rainy weather, Marianne reasons that Willoughby must be stuck in the country on account of the rain. Sir John and Lady Middleton arrive in town and host a ball at their home for about twenty young people, including the Palmers and the Dashwoods. Because Willoughby is not in attendance, Marianne is dejected and withdrawn. When they return from the party, Mrs. Jennings informs them that Willoughby had been invited to the ball but declined the invitation. Marianne is astonished and miserable, and Elinor concludes that she must ask her mother to inquire into Marianne and Willoughby's status once and for all. Colonel Brandon arrives at Mrs. Jennings's London home to speak with Elinor. He asks her if it is true, as everyone claims, that Marianne and Willoughby are engaged. Elinor is surprised that so many people are discussing an engagement that has not been officially announced. She diplomatically informs Colonel Brandon that though she knows nothing of her sister's engagement, she has no doubt of their mutual affection. Brandon leaves after expressing his wish that Marianne be happy--and that Willoughby endeavor to deserve her.", "analysis": "Commentary Even when Lucy Steele is revealing her greatest secret to Elinor, she must do so in hushed tones and with an atmosphere of concealment. As the rest of the dinner party plays cards, Lucy whispers to Elinor the story of her long and secret engagement to Edward. Although Lucy describes the history of their relationship accurately, her claims about Edward's steadfast faithfulness and their mutual affection are as fabricated as the basket in her hands; Edward, as Elinor assures herself, has eyes for her alone. Marianne's name suits her well: like the Mariana of Shakespeare's Measure for Measure, who waits by the moated grange for her lover, Austen's heroine pines away for Willoughby and awaits his visit from the moment she first arrives in town with Mrs. Jennings and Elinor. Marianne's name is also a mirror image of Annamaria, Lady Middleton's spoiled young daughter, who will be \"miserable\" if her filigree basket is not completed before she goes to bed. By this close kinship of names, Austen suggests that Marianne's excessive sensibility and romanticism resembles the eagerness and impatience of a spoiled little girl. Willoughby does not appear in any of these chapters, yet he figures prominently in the thoughts of those characters who do. Mrs. Jennings implies that Marianne would welcome the opportunity to travel to town with her in the hope of seeing Willoughby, and Marianne is enthusiastic about the prospect for this very reason. When they arrive in town, she is increasingly wretched with each passing day that he does not visit. Elinor, too, thinks of Willoughby at length because she is concerned about her sister's welfare. Even Colonel Brandon calls on Elinor in order to discuss Marianne's relationship with Willoughby and to inform Elinor that everyone in town is discussing their engagement. These frequent references to Willoughby heighten our anxiety concerning the true nature of his commitment to Marianne, and enable us as readers to experience some of Marianne's longing for that which is never present. Though Willoughby does not appear, Marianne mistakes Colonel Brandon for him when the latter comes to visit the Dashwood sisters in London. This is one of many suggestions in the novel that people may be substituted for one another: Marianne had earlier mistaken Edward Ferrars on horseback for John Willoughby; Elinor mistakes Lucy's hair for her own in Edward's ring; and Elinor initially mistakes Robert for Edward as the object of Lucy's affections. These scenes in which some characters fail to recognize others provide subtext for a novel in which one young woman  thinks she is in love with one man but ends up loving someone else, and another young woman  becomes engaged to one brother but then decides to marry the other."}
text: 
  
  However small Elinor's general dependence on Lucy's veracity might be,
  it was impossible for her on serious reflection to suspect it in the
  present case, where no temptation could be answerable to the folly of
  inventing a falsehood of such a description.  What Lucy had asserted to
  be true, therefore, Elinor could not, dared not longer doubt; supported
  as it was too on every side by such probabilities and proofs, and
  contradicted by nothing but her own wishes.  Their opportunity of
  acquaintance in the house of Mr. Pratt was a foundation for the rest,
  at once indisputable and alarming; and Edward's visit near Plymouth,
  his melancholy state of mind, his dissatisfaction at his own prospects,
  his uncertain behaviour towards herself, the intimate knowledge of the
  Miss Steeles as to Norland and their family connections, which had
  often surprised her, the picture, the letter, the ring, formed
  altogether such a body of evidence, as overcame every fear of
  condemning him unfairly, and established as a fact, which no partiality
  could set aside, his ill-treatment of herself.--Her resentment of such
  behaviour, her indignation at having been its dupe, for a short time
  made her feel only for herself; but other ideas, other considerations,
  soon arose.  Had Edward been intentionally deceiving her?  Had he
  feigned a regard for her which he did not feel?  Was his engagement to
  Lucy an engagement of the heart?  No; whatever it might once have been,
  she could not believe it such at present.  His affection was all her
  own.  She could not be deceived in that.  Her mother, sisters, Fanny,
  all had been conscious of his regard for her at Norland; it was not an
  illusion of her own vanity.  He certainly loved her.  What a softener
  of the heart was this persuasion!  How much could it not tempt her to
  forgive!  He had been blamable, highly blamable, in remaining at
  Norland after he first felt her influence over him to be more than it
  ought to be.  In that, he could not be defended; but if he had injured
  her, how much more had he injured himself; if her case were pitiable,
  his was hopeless.  His imprudence had made her miserable for a while;
  but it seemed to have deprived himself of all chance of ever being
  otherwise.  She might in time regain tranquillity; but HE, what had he
  to look forward to?  Could he ever be tolerably happy with Lucy Steele;
  could he, were his affection for herself out of the question, with his
  integrity, his delicacy, and well-informed mind, be satisfied with a
  wife like her--illiterate, artful, and selfish?
  
  The youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally blind him to every
  thing but her beauty and good nature; but the four succeeding
  years--years, which if rationally spent, give such improvement to the
  understanding, must have opened his eyes to her defects of education,
  while the same period of time, spent on her side in inferior society
  and more frivolous pursuits, had perhaps robbed her of that simplicity
  which might once have given an interesting character to her beauty.
  
  If in the supposition of his seeking to marry herself, his difficulties
  from his mother had seemed great, how much greater were they now likely
  to be, when the object of his engagement was undoubtedly inferior in
  connections, and probably inferior in fortune to herself.  These
  difficulties, indeed, with a heart so alienated from Lucy, might not
  press very hard upon his patience; but melancholy was the state of the
  person by whom the expectation of family opposition and unkindness,
  could be felt as a relief!
  
  As these considerations occurred to her in painful succession, she wept
  for him, more than for herself.  Supported by the conviction of having
  done nothing to merit her present unhappiness, and consoled by the
  belief that Edward had done nothing to forfeit her esteem, she thought
  she could even now, under the first smart of the heavy blow, command
  herself enough to guard every suspicion of the truth from her mother
  and sisters.  And so well was she able to answer her own expectations,
  that when she joined them at dinner only two hours after she had first
  suffered the extinction of all her dearest hopes, no one would have
  supposed from the appearance of the sisters, that Elinor was mourning
  in secret over obstacles which must divide her for ever from the object
  of her love, and that Marianne was internally dwelling on the
  perfections of a man, of whose whole heart she felt thoroughly
  possessed, and whom she expected to see in every carriage which drove
  near their house.
  
  The necessity of concealing from her mother and Marianne, what had been
  entrusted in confidence to herself, though it obliged her to unceasing
  exertion, was no aggravation of Elinor's distress.  On the contrary it
  was a relief to her, to be spared the communication of what would give
  such affliction to them, and to be saved likewise from hearing that
  condemnation of Edward, which would probably flow from the excess of
  their partial affection for herself, and which was more than she felt
  equal to support.
  
  From their counsel, or their conversation, she knew she could receive
  no assistance, their tenderness and sorrow must add to her distress,
  while her self-command would neither receive encouragement from their
  example nor from their praise.  She was stronger alone, and her own
  good sense so well supported her, that her firmness was as unshaken,
  her appearance of cheerfulness as invariable, as with regrets so
  poignant and so fresh, it was possible for them to be.
  
  Much as she had suffered from her first conversation with Lucy on the
  subject, she soon felt an earnest wish of renewing it; and this for
  more reasons than one.  She wanted to hear many particulars of their
  engagement repeated again, she wanted more clearly to understand what
  Lucy really felt for Edward, whether there were any sincerity in her
  declaration of tender regard for him, and she particularly wanted to
  convince Lucy, by her readiness to enter on the matter again, and her
  calmness in conversing on it, that she was no otherwise interested in
  it than as a friend, which she very much feared her involuntary
  agitation, in their morning discourse, must have left at least
  doubtful.  That Lucy was disposed to be jealous of her appeared very
  probable: it was plain that Edward had always spoken highly in her
  praise, not merely from Lucy's assertion, but from her venturing to
  trust her on so short a personal acquaintance, with a secret so
  confessedly and evidently important.  And even Sir John's joking
  intelligence must have had some weight.  But indeed, while Elinor
  remained so well assured within herself of being really beloved by
  Edward, it required no other consideration of probabilities to make it
  natural that Lucy should be jealous; and that she was so, her very
  confidence was a proof.  What other reason for the disclosure of the
  affair could there be, but that Elinor might be informed by it of
  Lucy's superior claims on Edward, and be taught to avoid him in future?
  She had little difficulty in understanding thus much of her rival's
  intentions, and while she was firmly resolved to act by her as every
  principle of honour and honesty directed, to combat her own affection
  for Edward and to see him as little as possible; she could not deny
  herself the comfort of endeavouring to convince Lucy that her heart was
  unwounded.  And as she could now have nothing more painful to hear on
  the subject than had already been told, she did not mistrust her own
  ability of going through a repetition of particulars with composure.
  
  But it was not immediately that an opportunity of doing so could be
  commanded, though Lucy was as well disposed as herself to take
  advantage of any that occurred; for the weather was not often fine
  enough to allow of their joining in a walk, where they might most
  easily separate themselves from the others; and though they met at
  least every other evening either at the park or cottage, and chiefly at
  the former, they could not be supposed to meet for the sake of
  conversation.  Such a thought would never enter either Sir John or Lady
  Middleton's head; and therefore very little leisure was ever given for
  a general chat, and none at all for particular discourse.  They met for
  the sake of eating, drinking, and laughing together, playing at cards,
  or consequences, or any other game that was sufficiently noisy.
  
  One or two meetings of this kind had taken place, without affording
  Elinor any chance of engaging Lucy in private, when Sir John called at
  the cottage one morning, to beg, in the name of charity, that they
  would all dine with Lady Middleton that day, as he was obliged to
  attend the club at Exeter, and she would otherwise be quite alone,
  except her mother and the two Miss Steeles.  Elinor, who foresaw a
  fairer opening for the point she had in view, in such a party as this
  was likely to be, more at liberty among themselves under the tranquil
  and well-bred direction of Lady Middleton than when her husband united
  them together in one noisy purpose, immediately accepted the
  invitation; Margaret, with her mother's permission, was equally
  compliant, and Marianne, though always unwilling to join any of their
  parties, was persuaded by her mother, who could not bear to have her
  seclude herself from any chance of amusement, to go likewise.
  
  The young ladies went, and Lady Middleton was happily preserved from
  the frightful solitude which had threatened her.  The insipidity of the
  meeting was exactly such as Elinor had expected; it produced not one
  novelty of thought or expression, and nothing could be less interesting
  than the whole of their discourse both in the dining parlour and
  drawing room: to the latter, the children accompanied them, and while
  they remained there, she was too well convinced of the impossibility of
  engaging Lucy's attention to attempt it.  They quitted it only with the
  removal of the tea-things.  The card-table was then placed, and Elinor
  began to wonder at herself for having ever entertained a hope of
  finding time for conversation at the park.  They all rose up in
  preparation for a round game.
  
  "I am glad," said Lady Middleton to Lucy, "you are not going to finish
  poor little Annamaria's basket this evening; for I am sure it must hurt
  your eyes to work filigree by candlelight.  And we will make the dear
  little love some amends for her disappointment to-morrow, and then I
  hope she will not much mind it."
  
  This hint was enough, Lucy recollected herself instantly and replied,
  "Indeed you are very much mistaken, Lady Middleton; I am only waiting
  to know whether you can make your party without me, or I should have
  been at my filigree already.  I would not disappoint the little angel
  for all the world: and if you want me at the card-table now, I am
  resolved to finish the basket after supper."
  
  "You are very good, I hope it won't hurt your eyes--will you ring the
  bell for some working candles?  My poor little girl would be sadly
  disappointed, I know, if the basket was not finished tomorrow, for
  though I told her it certainly would not, I am sure she depends upon
  having it done."
  
  Lucy directly drew her work table near her and reseated herself with an
  alacrity and cheerfulness which seemed to infer that she could taste no
  greater delight than in making a filigree basket for a spoilt child.
  
  Lady Middleton proposed a rubber of Casino to the others.  No one made
  any objection but Marianne, who with her usual inattention to the forms
  of general civility, exclaimed, "Your Ladyship will have the goodness
  to excuse ME--you know I detest cards.  I shall go to the piano-forte;
  I have not touched it since it was tuned."  And without farther
  ceremony, she turned away and walked to the instrument.
  
  Lady Middleton looked as if she thanked heaven that SHE had never made
  so rude a speech.
  
  "Marianne can never keep long from that instrument you know, ma'am,"
  said Elinor, endeavouring to smooth away the offence; "and I do not
  much wonder at it; for it is the very best toned piano-forte I ever
  heard."
  
  The remaining five were now to draw their cards.
  
  "Perhaps," continued Elinor, "if I should happen to cut out, I may be
  of some use to Miss Lucy Steele, in rolling her papers for her; and
  there is so much still to be done to the basket, that it must be
  impossible I think for her labour singly, to finish it this evening.  I
  should like the work exceedingly, if she would allow me a share in it."
  
  "Indeed I shall be very much obliged to you for your help," cried Lucy,
  "for I find there is more to be done to it than I thought there was;
  and it would be a shocking thing to disappoint dear Annamaria after
  all."
  
  "Oh! that would be terrible, indeed," said Miss Steele-- "Dear little
  soul, how I do love her!"
  
  "You are very kind," said Lady Middleton to Elinor; "and as you really
  like the work, perhaps you will be as well pleased not to cut in till
  another rubber, or will you take your chance now?"
  
  Elinor joyfully profited by the first of these proposals, and thus by a
  little of that address which Marianne could never condescend to
  practise, gained her own end, and pleased Lady Middleton at the same
  time.  Lucy made room for her with ready attention, and the two fair
  rivals were thus seated side by side at the same table, and, with the
  utmost harmony, engaged in forwarding the same work.  The pianoforte at
  which Marianne, wrapped up in her own music and her own thoughts, had
  by this time forgotten that any body was in the room besides herself,
  was luckily so near them that Miss Dashwood now judged she might
  safely, under the shelter of its noise, introduce the interesting
  subject, without any risk of being heard at the card-table.
  
  
  
  
  In a firm, though cautious tone, Elinor thus began.
  
  "I should be undeserving of the confidence you have honoured me with,
  if I felt no desire for its continuance, or no farther curiosity on its
  subject.  I will not apologize therefore for bringing it forward again."
  
  "Thank you," cried Lucy warmly, "for breaking the ice; you have set my
  heart at ease by it; for I was somehow or other afraid I had offended
  you by what I told you that Monday."
  
  "Offended me! How could you suppose so? Believe me," and Elinor spoke
  it with the truest sincerity, "nothing could be farther from my
  intention than to give you such an idea.  Could you have a motive for
  the trust, that was not honourable and flattering to me?"
  
  "And yet I do assure you," replied Lucy, her little sharp eyes full of
  meaning, "there seemed to me to be a coldness and displeasure in your
  manner that made me quite uncomfortable.  I felt sure that you was
  angry with me; and have been quarrelling with myself ever since, for
  having took such a liberty as to trouble you with my affairs.  But I am
  very glad to find it was only my own fancy, and that you really do not
  blame me.  If you knew what a consolation it was to me to relieve my
  heart speaking to you of what I am always thinking of every moment of
  my life, your compassion would make you overlook every thing else I am
  sure."
  
  "Indeed, I can easily believe that it was a very great relief to you,
  to acknowledge your situation to me, and be assured that you shall
  never have reason to repent it.  Your case is a very unfortunate one;
  you seem to me to be surrounded with difficulties, and you will have
  need of all your mutual affection to support you under them.  Mr.
  Ferrars, I believe, is entirely dependent on his mother."
  
  "He has only two thousand pounds of his own; it would be madness to
  marry upon that, though for my own part, I could give up every prospect
  of more without a sigh.  I have been always used to a very small
  income, and could struggle with any poverty for him; but I love him too
  well to be the selfish means of robbing him, perhaps, of all that his
  mother might give him if he married to please her.  We must wait, it
  may be for many years.  With almost every other man in the world, it
  would be an alarming prospect; but Edward's affection and constancy
  nothing can deprive me of I know."
  
  "That conviction must be every thing to you; and he is undoubtedly
  supported by the same trust in your's.  If the strength of your
  reciprocal attachment had failed, as between many people, and under
  many circumstances it naturally would during a four years' engagement,
  your situation would have been pitiable, indeed."
  
  Lucy here looked up; but Elinor was careful in guarding her countenance
  from every expression that could give her words a suspicious tendency.
  
  "Edward's love for me," said Lucy, "has been pretty well put to the
  test, by our long, very long absence since we were first engaged, and
  it has stood the trial so well, that I should be unpardonable to doubt
  it now.  I can safely say that he has never gave me one moment's alarm
  on that account from the first."
  
  Elinor hardly knew whether to smile or sigh at this assertion.
  
  Lucy went on.  "I am rather of a jealous temper too by nature, and from
  our different situations in life, from his being so much more in the
  world than me, and our continual separation, I was enough inclined for
  suspicion, to have found out the truth in an instant, if there had been
  the slightest alteration in his behaviour to me when we met, or any
  lowness of spirits that I could not account for, or if he had talked
  more of one lady than another, or seemed in any respect less happy at
  Longstaple than he used to be.  I do not mean to say that I am
  particularly observant or quick-sighted in general, but in such a case
  I am sure I could not be deceived."
  
  "All this," thought Elinor, "is very pretty; but it can impose upon
  neither of us."
  
  "But what," said she after a short silence, "are your views? or have
  you none but that of waiting for Mrs. Ferrars's death, which is a
  melancholy and shocking extremity?--Is her son determined to submit to
  this, and to all the tediousness of the many years of suspense in which
  it may involve you, rather than run the risk of her displeasure for a
  while by owning the truth?"
  
  "If we could be certain that it would be only for a while!  But Mrs.
  Ferrars is a very headstrong proud woman, and in her first fit of anger
  upon hearing it, would very likely secure every thing to Robert, and
  the idea of that, for Edward's sake, frightens away all my inclination
  for hasty measures."
  
  "And for your own sake too, or you are carrying your disinterestedness
  beyond reason."
  
  Lucy looked at Elinor again, and was silent.
  
  "Do you know Mr. Robert Ferrars?" asked Elinor.
  
  "Not at all--I never saw him; but I fancy he is very unlike his
  brother--silly and a great coxcomb."
  
  "A great coxcomb!" repeated Miss Steele, whose ear had caught those
  words by a sudden pause in Marianne's music.-- "Oh, they are talking of
  their favourite beaux, I dare say."
  
  "No sister," cried Lucy, "you are mistaken there, our favourite beaux
  are NOT great coxcombs."
  
  "I can answer for it that Miss Dashwood's is not," said Mrs. Jennings,
  laughing heartily; "for he is one of the modestest, prettiest behaved
  young men I ever saw; but as for Lucy, she is such a sly little
  creature, there is no finding out who SHE likes."
  
  "Oh," cried Miss Steele, looking significantly round at them, "I dare
  say Lucy's beau is quite as modest and pretty behaved as Miss
  Dashwood's."
  
  Elinor blushed in spite of herself.  Lucy bit her lip, and looked
  angrily at her sister.  A mutual silence took place for some time.
  Lucy first put an end to it by saying in a lower tone, though Marianne
  was then giving them the powerful protection of a very magnificent
  concerto--
  
  "I will honestly tell you of one scheme which has lately come into my
  head, for bringing matters to bear; indeed I am bound to let you into
  the secret, for you are a party concerned.  I dare say you have seen
  enough of Edward to know that he would prefer the church to every other
  profession; now my plan is that he should take orders as soon as he
  can, and then through your interest, which I am sure you would be kind
  enough to use out of friendship for him, and I hope out of some regard
  to me, your brother might be persuaded to give him Norland living;
  which I understand is a very good one, and the present incumbent not
  likely to live a great while.  That would be enough for us to marry
  upon, and we might trust to time and chance for the rest."
  
  "I should always be happy," replied Elinor, "to show any mark of my
  esteem and friendship for Mr. Ferrars; but do you not perceive that my
  interest on such an occasion would be perfectly unnecessary?  He is
  brother to Mrs. John Dashwood--THAT must be recommendation enough to
  her husband."
  
  "But Mrs. John Dashwood would not much approve of Edward's going into
  orders."
  
  "Then I rather suspect that my interest would do very little."
  
  They were again silent for many minutes.  At length Lucy exclaimed with
  a deep sigh,
  
  "I believe it would be the wisest way to put an end to the business at
  once by dissolving the engagement.  We seem so beset with difficulties
  on every side, that though it would make us miserable for a time, we
  should be happier perhaps in the end.  But you will not give me your
  advice, Miss Dashwood?"
  
  "No," answered Elinor, with a smile, which concealed very agitated
  feelings, "on such a subject I certainly will not.  You know very well
  that my opinion would have no weight with you, unless it were on the
  side of your wishes."
  
  "Indeed you wrong me," replied Lucy, with great solemnity; "I know
  nobody of whose judgment I think so highly as I do of yours; and I do
  really believe, that if you was to say to me, 'I advise you by all
  means to put an end to your engagement with Edward Ferrars, it will be
  more for the happiness of both of you,' I should resolve upon doing it
  immediately."
  
  Elinor blushed for the insincerity of Edward's future wife, and
  replied, "This compliment would effectually frighten me from giving any
  opinion on the subject had I formed one.  It raises my influence much
  too high; the power of dividing two people so tenderly attached is too
  much for an indifferent person."
  
  "'Tis because you are an indifferent person," said Lucy, with some
  pique, and laying a particular stress on those words, "that your
  judgment might justly have such weight with me.  If you could be
  supposed to be biased in any respect by your own feelings, your opinion
  would not be worth having."
  
  Elinor thought it wisest to make no answer to this, lest they might
  provoke each other to an unsuitable increase of ease and unreserve; and
  was even partly determined never to mention the subject again.  Another
  pause therefore of many minutes' duration, succeeded this speech, and
  Lucy was still the first to end it.
  
  "Shall you be in town this winter, Miss Dashwood?" said she with all
  her accustomary complacency.
  
  "Certainly not."
  
  "I am sorry for that," returned the other, while her eyes brightened at
  the information, "it would have gave me such pleasure to meet you
  there!  But I dare say you will go for all that.  To be sure, your
  brother and sister will ask you to come to them."
  
  "It will not be in my power to accept their invitation if they do."
  
  "How unlucky that is! I had quite depended upon meeting you there.
  Anne and me are to go the latter end of January to some relations who
  have been wanting us to visit them these several years!  But I only go
  for the sake of seeing Edward.  He will be there in February, otherwise
  London would have no charms for me; I have not spirits for it."
  
  Elinor was soon called to the card-table by the conclusion of the first
  rubber, and the confidential discourse of the two ladies was therefore
  at an end, to which both of them submitted without any reluctance, for
  nothing had been said on either side to make them dislike each other
  less than they had done before; and Elinor sat down to the card table
  with the melancholy persuasion that Edward was not only without
  affection for the person who was to be his wife; but that he had not
  even the chance of being tolerably happy in marriage, which sincere
  affection on HER side would have given, for self-interest alone could
  induce a woman to keep a man to an engagement, of which she seemed so
  thoroughly aware that he was weary.
  
  From this time the subject was never revived by Elinor, and when
  entered on by Lucy, who seldom missed an opportunity of introducing it,
  and was particularly careful to inform her confidante, of her happiness
  whenever she received a letter from Edward, it was treated by the
  former with calmness and caution, and dismissed as soon as civility
  would allow; for she felt such conversations to be an indulgence which
  Lucy did not deserve, and which were dangerous to herself.
  
  The visit of the Miss Steeles at Barton Park was lengthened far beyond
  what the first invitation implied.  Their favour increased; they could
  not be spared; Sir John would not hear of their going; and in spite of
  their numerous and long arranged engagements in Exeter, in spite of the
  absolute necessity of returning to fulfill them immediately, which was
  in full force at the end of every week, they were prevailed on to stay
  nearly two months at the park, and to assist in the due celebration of
  that festival which requires a more than ordinary share of private
  balls and large dinners to proclaim its importance.
  
  
  
  
  Though Mrs. Jennings was in the habit of spending a large portion of
  the year at the houses of her children and friends, she was not without
  a settled habitation of her own.  Since the death of her husband, who
  had traded with success in a less elegant part of the town, she had
  resided every winter in a house in one of the streets near Portman
  Square.  Towards this home, she began on the approach of January to
  turn her thoughts, and thither she one day abruptly, and very
  unexpectedly by them, asked the elder Misses Dashwood to accompany her.
  Elinor, without observing the varying complexion of her sister, and the
  animated look which spoke no indifference to the plan, immediately gave
  a grateful but absolute denial for both, in which she believed herself
  to be speaking their united inclinations.  The reason alleged was their
  determined resolution of not leaving their mother at that time of the
  year.  Mrs. Jennings received the refusal with some surprise, and
  repeated her invitation immediately.
  
  "Oh, Lord! I am sure your mother can spare you very well, and I DO beg
  you will favour me with your company, for I've quite set my heart upon
  it.  Don't fancy that you will be any inconvenience to me, for I shan't
  put myself at all out of my way for you.  It will only be sending Betty
  by the coach, and I hope I can afford THAT.  We three shall be able to
  go very well in my chaise; and when we are in town, if you do not like
  to go wherever I do, well and good, you may always go with one of my
  daughters.  I am sure your mother will not object to it; for I have had
  such good luck in getting my own children off my hands that she will
  think me a very fit person to have the charge of you; and if I don't
  get one of you at least well married before I have done with you, it
  shall not be my fault.  I shall speak a good word for you to all the
  young men, you may depend upon it."
  
  "I have a notion," said Sir John, "that Miss Marianne would not object
  to such a scheme, if her elder sister would come into it.  It is very
  hard indeed that she should not have a little pleasure, because Miss
  Dashwood does not wish it.  So I would advise you two, to set off for
  town, when you are tired of Barton, without saying a word to Miss
  Dashwood about it."
  
  "Nay," cried Mrs. Jennings, "I am sure I shall be monstrous glad of
  Miss Marianne's company, whether Miss Dashwood will go or not, only the
  more the merrier say I, and I thought it would be more comfortable for
  them to be together; because, if they got tired of me, they might talk
  to one another, and laugh at my old ways behind my back.  But one or
  the other, if not both of them, I must have.  Lord bless me! how do you
  think I can live poking by myself, I who have been always used till
  this winter to have Charlotte with me.  Come, Miss Marianne, let us
  strike hands upon the bargain, and if Miss Dashwood will change her
  mind by and bye, why so much the better."
  
  "I thank you, ma'am, sincerely thank you," said Marianne, with warmth:
  "your invitation has insured my gratitude for ever, and it would give
  me such happiness, yes, almost the greatest happiness I am capable of,
  to be able to accept it.  But my mother, my dearest, kindest mother,--I
  feel the justice of what Elinor has urged, and if she were to be made
  less happy, less comfortable by our absence--Oh! no, nothing should
  tempt me to leave her.  It should not, must not be a struggle."
  
  Mrs. Jennings repeated her assurance that Mrs. Dashwood could spare
  them perfectly well; and Elinor, who now understood her sister, and saw
  to what indifference to almost every thing else she was carried by her
  eagerness to be with Willoughby again, made no farther direct
  opposition to the plan, and merely referred it to her mother's
  decision, from whom however she scarcely expected to receive any
  support in her endeavour to prevent a visit, which she could not
  approve of for Marianne, and which on her own account she had
  particular reasons to avoid.  Whatever Marianne was desirous of, her
  mother would be eager to promote--she could not expect to influence the
  latter to cautiousness of conduct in an affair respecting which she had
  never been able to inspire her with distrust; and she dared not explain
  the motive of her own disinclination for going to London.  That
  Marianne, fastidious as she was, thoroughly acquainted with Mrs.
  Jennings' manners, and invariably disgusted by them, should overlook
  every inconvenience of that kind, should disregard whatever must be
  most wounding to her irritable feelings, in her pursuit of one object,
  was such a proof, so strong, so full, of the importance of that object
  to her, as Elinor, in spite of all that had passed, was not prepared to
  witness.
  
  On being informed of the invitation, Mrs. Dashwood, persuaded that such
  an excursion would be productive of much amusement to both her
  daughters, and perceiving through all her affectionate attention to
  herself, how much the heart of Marianne was in it, would not hear of
  their declining the offer upon HER account; insisted on their both
  accepting it directly; and then began to foresee, with her usual
  cheerfulness, a variety of advantages that would accrue to them all,
  from this separation.
  
  "I am delighted with the plan," she cried, "it is exactly what I could
  wish.  Margaret and I shall be as much benefited by it as yourselves.
  When you and the Middletons are gone, we shall go on so quietly and
  happily together with our books and our music! You will find Margaret
  so improved when you come back again!  I have a little plan of
  alteration for your bedrooms too, which may now be performed without
  any inconvenience to any one.  It is very right that you SHOULD go to
  town; I would have every young woman of your condition in life
  acquainted with the manners and amusements of London.  You will be
  under the care of a motherly good sort of woman, of whose kindness to
  you I can have no doubt.  And in all probability you will see your
  brother, and whatever may be his faults, or the faults of his wife,
  when I consider whose son he is, I cannot bear to have you so wholly
  estranged from each other."
  
  "Though with your usual anxiety for our happiness," said Elinor, "you
  have been obviating every impediment to the present scheme which
  occurred to you, there is still one objection which, in my opinion,
  cannot be so easily removed."
  
  Marianne's countenance sunk.
  
  "And what," said Mrs. Dashwood, "is my dear prudent Elinor going to
  suggest?  What formidable obstacle is she now to bring forward?  Do let
  me hear a word about the expense of it."
  
  "My objection is this; though I think very well of Mrs. Jennings's
  heart, she is not a woman whose society can afford us pleasure, or
  whose protection will give us consequence."
  
  "That is very true," replied her mother, "but of her society,
  separately from that of other people, you will scarcely have any thing
  at all, and you will almost always appear in public with Lady
  Middleton."
  
  "If Elinor is frightened away by her dislike of Mrs. Jennings," said
  Marianne, "at least it need not prevent MY accepting her invitation.  I
  have no such scruples, and I am sure I could put up with every
  unpleasantness of that kind with very little effort."
  
  Elinor could not help smiling at this display of indifference towards
  the manners of a person, to whom she had often had difficulty in
  persuading Marianne to behave with tolerable politeness; and resolved
  within herself, that if her sister persisted in going, she would go
  likewise, as she did not think it proper that Marianne should be left
  to the sole guidance of her own judgment, or that Mrs. Jennings should
  be abandoned to the mercy of Marianne for all the comfort of her
  domestic hours.  To this determination she was the more easily
  reconciled, by recollecting that Edward Ferrars, by Lucy's account, was
  not to be in town before February; and that their visit, without any
  unreasonable abridgement, might be previously finished.
  
  "I will have you BOTH go," said Mrs. Dashwood; "these objections are
  nonsensical.  You will have much pleasure in being in London, and
  especially in being together; and if Elinor would ever condescend to
  anticipate enjoyment, she would foresee it there from a variety of
  sources; she would, perhaps, expect some from improving her
  acquaintance with her sister-in-law's family."
  
  Elinor had often wished for an opportunity of attempting to weaken her
  mother's dependence on the attachment of Edward and herself, that the
  shock might be less when the whole truth were revealed, and now on this
  attack, though almost hopeless of success, she forced herself to begin
  her design by saying, as calmly as she could, "I like Edward Ferrars
  very much, and shall always be glad to see him; but as to the rest of
  the family, it is a matter of perfect indifference to me, whether I am
  ever known to them or not."
  
  Mrs. Dashwood smiled, and said nothing.  Marianne lifted up her eyes in
  astonishment, and Elinor conjectured that she might as well have held
  her tongue.
  
  After very little farther discourse, it was finally settled that the
  invitation should be fully accepted.  Mrs. Jennings received the
  information with a great deal of joy, and many assurances of kindness
  and care; nor was it a matter of pleasure merely to her.  Sir John was
  delighted; for to a man, whose prevailing anxiety was the dread of
  being alone, the acquisition of two, to the number of inhabitants in
  London, was something.  Even Lady Middleton took the trouble of being
  delighted, which was putting herself rather out of her way; and as for
  the Miss Steeles, especially Lucy, they had never been so happy in
  their lives as this intelligence made them.
  
  Elinor submitted to the arrangement which counteracted her wishes with
  less reluctance than she had expected to feel.  With regard to herself,
  it was now a matter of unconcern whether she went to town or not, and
  when she saw her mother so thoroughly pleased with the plan, and her
  sister exhilarated by it in look, voice, and manner, restored to all
  her usual animation, and elevated to more than her usual gaiety, she
  could not be dissatisfied with the cause, and would hardly allow
  herself to distrust the consequence.
  
  Marianne's joy was almost a degree beyond happiness, so great was the
  perturbation of her spirits and her impatience to be gone.  Her
  unwillingness to quit her mother was her only restorative to calmness;
  and at the moment of parting her grief on that score was excessive.
  Her mother's affliction was hardly less, and Elinor was the only one of
  the three, who seemed to consider the separation as any thing short of
  eternal.
  
  Their departure took place in the first week in January.  The
  Middletons were to follow in about a week.  The Miss Steeles kept their
  station at the park, and were to quit it only with the rest of the
  family.
  
  
  
  
  Elinor could not find herself in the carriage with Mrs. Jennings, and
  beginning a journey to London under her protection, and as her guest,
  without wondering at her own situation, so short had their acquaintance
  with that lady been, so wholly unsuited were they in age and
  disposition, and so many had been her objections against such a measure
  only a few days before! But these objections had all, with that happy
  ardour of youth which Marianne and her mother equally shared, been
  overcome or overlooked; and Elinor, in spite of every occasional doubt
  of Willoughby's constancy, could not witness the rapture of delightful
  expectation which filled the whole soul and beamed in the eyes of
  Marianne, without feeling how blank was her own prospect, how cheerless
  her own state of mind in the comparison, and how gladly she would
  engage in the solicitude of Marianne's situation to have the same
  animating object in view, the same possibility of hope.  A short, a
  very short time however must now decide what Willoughby's intentions
  were; in all probability he was already in town.  Marianne's eagerness
  to be gone declared her dependence on finding him there; and Elinor was
  resolved not only upon gaining every new light as to his character
  which her own observation or the intelligence of others could give her,
  but likewise upon watching his behaviour to her sister with such
  zealous attention, as to ascertain what he was and what he meant,
  before many meetings had taken place.  Should the result of her
  observations be unfavourable, she was determined at all events to open
  the eyes of her sister; should it be otherwise, her exertions would be
  of a different nature--she must then learn to avoid every selfish
  comparison, and banish every regret which might lessen her satisfaction
  in the happiness of Marianne.
  
  They were three days on their journey, and Marianne's behaviour as they
  travelled was a happy specimen of what future complaisance and
  companionableness to Mrs. Jennings might be expected to be.  She sat in
  silence almost all the way, wrapt in her own meditations, and scarcely
  ever voluntarily speaking, except when any object of picturesque beauty
  within their view drew from her an exclamation of delight exclusively
  addressed to her sister.  To atone for this conduct therefore, Elinor
  took immediate possession of the post of civility which she had
  assigned herself, behaved with the greatest attention to Mrs. Jennings,
  talked with her, laughed with her, and listened to her whenever she
  could; and Mrs. Jennings on her side treated them both with all
  possible kindness, was solicitous on every occasion for their ease and
  enjoyment, and only disturbed that she could not make them choose their
  own dinners at the inn, nor extort a confession of their preferring
  salmon to cod, or boiled fowls to veal cutlets.  They reached town by
  three o'clock the third day, glad to be released, after such a journey,
  from the confinement of a carriage, and ready to enjoy all the luxury
  of a good fire.
  
  The house was handsome, and handsomely fitted up, and the young ladies
  were immediately put in possession of a very comfortable apartment.  It
  had formerly been Charlotte's, and over the mantelpiece still hung a
  landscape in coloured silks of her performance, in proof of her having
  spent seven years at a great school in town to some effect.
  
  As dinner was not to be ready in less than two hours from their
  arrival, Elinor determined to employ the interval in writing to her
  mother, and sat down for that purpose.  In a few moments Marianne did
  the same.  "I am writing home, Marianne," said Elinor; "had not you
  better defer your letter for a day or two?"
  
  "I am NOT going to write to my mother," replied Marianne, hastily, and
  as if wishing to avoid any farther inquiry.  Elinor said no more; it
  immediately struck her that she must then be writing to Willoughby; and
  the conclusion which as instantly followed was, that, however
  mysteriously they might wish to conduct the affair, they must be
  engaged.  This conviction, though not entirely satisfactory, gave her
  pleasure, and she continued her letter with greater alacrity.
  Marianne's was finished in a very few minutes; in length it could be no
  more than a note; it was then folded up, sealed, and directed with
  eager rapidity.  Elinor thought she could distinguish a large W in the
  direction; and no sooner was it complete than Marianne, ringing the
  bell, requested the footman who answered it to get that letter conveyed
  for her to the two-penny post.  This decided the matter at once.
  
  Her spirits still continued very high; but there was a flutter in them
  which prevented their giving much pleasure to her sister, and this
  agitation increased as the evening drew on.  She could scarcely eat any
  dinner, and when they afterwards returned to the drawing room, seemed
  anxiously listening to the sound of every carriage.
  
  It was a great satisfaction to Elinor that Mrs. Jennings, by being much
  engaged in her own room, could see little of what was passing.  The tea
  things were brought in, and already had Marianne been disappointed more
  than once by a rap at a neighbouring door, when a loud one was suddenly
  heard which could not be mistaken for one at any other house, Elinor
  felt secure of its announcing Willoughby's approach, and Marianne,
  starting up, moved towards the door.  Every thing was silent; this
  could not be borne many seconds; she opened the door, advanced a few
  steps towards the stairs, and after listening half a minute, returned
  into the room in all the agitation which a conviction of having heard
  him would naturally produce; in the ecstasy of her feelings at that
  instant she could not help exclaiming, "Oh, Elinor, it is Willoughby,
  indeed it is!" and seemed almost ready to throw herself into his arms,
  when Colonel Brandon appeared.
  
  It was too great a shock to be borne with calmness, and she immediately
  left the room.  Elinor was disappointed too; but at the same time her
  regard for Colonel Brandon ensured his welcome with her; and she felt
  particularly hurt that a man so partial to her sister should perceive
  that she experienced nothing but grief and disappointment in seeing
  him.  She instantly saw that it was not unnoticed by him, that he even
  observed Marianne as she quitted the room, with such astonishment and
  concern, as hardly left him the recollection of what civility demanded
  towards herself.
  
  "Is your sister ill?" said he.
  
  Elinor answered in some distress that she was, and then talked of
  head-aches, low spirits, and over fatigues; and of every thing to which
  she could decently attribute her sister's behaviour.
  
  He heard her with the most earnest attention, but seeming to recollect
  himself, said no more on the subject, and began directly to speak of
  his pleasure at seeing them in London, making the usual inquiries about
  their journey, and the friends they had left behind.
  
  In this calm kind of way, with very little interest on either side,
  they continued to talk, both of them out of spirits, and the thoughts
  of both engaged elsewhere.  Elinor wished very much to ask whether
  Willoughby were then in town, but she was afraid of giving him pain by
  any enquiry after his rival; and at length, by way of saying something,
  she asked if he had been in London ever since she had seen him last.
  "Yes," he replied, with some embarrassment, "almost ever since; I have
  been once or twice at Delaford for a few days, but it has never been in
  my power to return to Barton."
  
  This, and the manner in which it was said, immediately brought back to
  her remembrance all the circumstances of his quitting that place, with
  the uneasiness and suspicions they had caused to Mrs. Jennings, and she
  was fearful that her question had implied much more curiosity on the
  subject than she had ever felt.
  
  Mrs. Jennings soon came in.  "Oh! Colonel," said she, with her usual
  noisy cheerfulness, "I am monstrous glad to see you--sorry I could not
  come before--beg your pardon, but I have been forced to look about me a
  little, and settle my matters; for it is a long while since I have been
  at home, and you know one has always a world of little odd things to do
  after one has been away for any time; and then I have had Cartwright to
  settle with-- Lord, I have been as busy as a bee ever since dinner!
  But pray, Colonel, how came you to conjure out that I should be in town
  today?"
  
  "I had the pleasure of hearing it at Mr. Palmer's, where I have been
  dining."
  
  "Oh, you did; well, and how do they all do at their house?  How does
  Charlotte do?  I warrant you she is a fine size by this time."
  
  "Mrs. Palmer appeared quite well, and I am commissioned to tell you,
  that you will certainly see her to-morrow."
  
  "Ay, to be sure, I thought as much.  Well, Colonel, I have brought two
  young ladies with me, you see--that is, you see but one of them now,
  but there is another somewhere.  Your friend, Miss Marianne, too--which
  you will not be sorry to hear.  I do not know what you and Mr.
  Willoughby will do between you about her.  Ay, it is a fine thing to be
  young and handsome.  Well! I was young once, but I never was very
  handsome--worse luck for me.  However, I got a very good husband, and I
  don't know what the greatest beauty can do more.  Ah! poor man! he has
  been dead these eight years and better.  But Colonel, where have you
  been to since we parted?  And how does your business go on?  Come,
  come, let's have no secrets among friends."
  
  He replied with his accustomary mildness to all her inquiries, but
  without satisfying her in any.  Elinor now began to make the tea, and
  Marianne was obliged to appear again.
  
  After her entrance, Colonel Brandon became more thoughtful and silent
  than he had been before, and Mrs. Jennings could not prevail on him to
  stay long.  No other visitor appeared that evening, and the ladies were
  unanimous in agreeing to go early to bed.
  
  Marianne rose the next morning with recovered spirits and happy looks.
  The disappointment of the evening before seemed forgotten in the
  expectation of what was to happen that day.  They had not long finished
  their breakfast before Mrs. Palmer's barouche stopped at the door, and
  in a few minutes she came laughing into the room: so delighted to see
  them all, that it was hard to say whether she received most pleasure
  from meeting her mother or the Miss Dashwoods again.  So surprised at
  their coming to town, though it was what she had rather expected all
  along; so angry at their accepting her mother's invitation after having
  declined her own, though at the same time she would never have forgiven
  them if they had not come!
  
  "Mr. Palmer will be so happy to see you," said she; "What do you think
  he said when he heard of your coming with Mama?  I forget what it was
  now, but it was something so droll!"
  
  After an hour or two spent in what her mother called comfortable chat,
  or in other words, in every variety of inquiry concerning all their
  acquaintance on Mrs. Jennings's side, and in laughter without cause on
  Mrs. Palmer's, it was proposed by the latter that they should all
  accompany her to some shops where she had business that morning, to
  which Mrs. Jennings and Elinor readily consented, as having likewise
  some purchases to make themselves; and Marianne, though declining it at
  first was induced to go likewise.
  
  Wherever they went, she was evidently always on the watch.  In Bond
  Street especially, where much of their business lay, her eyes were in
  constant inquiry; and in whatever shop the party were engaged, her mind
  was equally abstracted from every thing actually before them, from all
  that interested and occupied the others.  Restless and dissatisfied
  every where, her sister could never obtain her opinion of any article
  of purchase, however it might equally concern them both: she received
  no pleasure from anything; was only impatient to be at home again, and
  could with difficulty govern her vexation at the tediousness of Mrs.
  Palmer, whose eye was caught by every thing pretty, expensive, or new;
  who was wild to buy all, could determine on none, and dawdled away her
  time in rapture and indecision.
  
  It was late in the morning before they returned home; and no sooner had
  they entered the house than Marianne flew eagerly up stairs, and when
  Elinor followed, she found her turning from the table with a sorrowful
  countenance, which declared that no Willoughby had been there.
  
  "Has no letter been left here for me since we went out?" said she to
  the footman who then entered with the parcels.  She was answered in the
  negative.  "Are you quite sure of it?" she replied.  "Are you certain
  that no servant, no porter has left any letter or note?"
  
  The man replied that none had.
  
  "How very odd!" said she, in a low and disappointed voice, as she
  turned away to the window.
  
  "How odd, indeed!" repeated Elinor within herself, regarding her sister
  with uneasiness.  "If she had not known him to be in town she would not
  have written to him, as she did; she would have written to Combe Magna;
  and if he is in town, how odd that he should neither come nor write!
  Oh! my dear mother, you must be wrong in permitting an engagement
  between a daughter so young, a man so little known, to be carried on in
  so doubtful, so mysterious a manner!  I long to inquire; and how will
  MY interference be borne."
  
  She determined, after some consideration, that if appearances continued
  many days longer as unpleasant as they now were, she would represent in
  the strongest manner to her mother the necessity of some serious
  enquiry into the affair.
  
  Mrs. Palmer and two elderly ladies of Mrs. Jennings's intimate
  acquaintance, whom she had met and invited in the morning, dined with
  them.  The former left them soon after tea to fulfill her evening
  engagements; and Elinor was obliged to assist in making a whist table
  for the others.  Marianne was of no use on these occasions, as she
  would never learn the game; but though her time was therefore at her
  own disposal, the evening was by no means more productive of pleasure
  to her than to Elinor, for it was spent in all the anxiety of
  expectation and the pain of disappointment.  She sometimes endeavoured
  for a few minutes to read; but the book was soon thrown aside, and she
  returned to the more interesting employment of walking backwards and
  forwards across the room, pausing for a moment whenever she came to the
  window, in hopes of distinguishing the long-expected rap.
  
  
  
  
  "If this open weather holds much longer," said Mrs. Jennings, when they
  met at breakfast the following morning, "Sir John will not like leaving
  Barton next week; 'tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a day's
  pleasure.  Poor souls!  I always pity them when they do; they seem to
  take it so much to heart."
  
  "That is true," cried Marianne, in a cheerful voice, and walking to the
  window as she spoke, to examine the day.  "I had not thought of that.
  This weather will keep many sportsmen in the country."
  
  It was a lucky recollection, all her good spirits were restored by it.
  "It is charming weather for THEM indeed," she continued, as she sat
  down to the breakfast table with a happy countenance.  "How much they
  must enjoy it! But" (with a little return of anxiety) "it cannot be
  expected to last long.  At this time of the year, and after such a
  series of rain, we shall certainly have very little more of it.  Frosts
  will soon set in, and in all probability with severity.  In another day
  or two perhaps; this extreme mildness can hardly last longer--nay,
  perhaps it may freeze tonight!"
  
  "At any rate," said Elinor, wishing to prevent Mrs. Jennings from
  seeing her sister's thoughts as clearly as she did, "I dare say we
  shall have Sir John and Lady Middleton in town by the end of next week."
  
  "Ay, my dear, I'll warrant you we do.  Mary always has her own way."
  
  "And now," silently conjectured Elinor, "she will write to Combe by
  this day's post."
  
  But if she DID, the letter was written and sent away with a privacy
  which eluded all her watchfulness to ascertain the fact.  Whatever the
  truth of it might be, and far as Elinor was from feeling thorough
  contentment about it, yet while she saw Marianne in spirits, she could
  not be very uncomfortable herself.  And Marianne was in spirits; happy
  in the mildness of the weather, and still happier in her expectation of
  a frost.
  
  The morning was chiefly spent in leaving cards at the houses of Mrs.
  Jennings's acquaintance to inform them of her being in town; and
  Marianne was all the time busy in observing the direction of the wind,
  watching the variations of the sky and imagining an alteration in the
  air.
  
  "Don't you find it colder than it was in the morning, Elinor? There
  seems to me a very decided difference.  I can hardly keep my hands warm
  even in my muff.  It was not so yesterday, I think.  The clouds seem
  parting too, the sun will be out in a moment, and we shall have a clear
  afternoon."
  
  Elinor was alternately diverted and pained; but Marianne persevered,
  and saw every night in the brightness of the fire, and every morning in
  the appearance of the atmosphere, the certain symptoms of approaching
  frost.
  
  The Miss Dashwoods had no greater reason to be dissatisfied with Mrs.
  Jennings's style of living, and set of acquaintance, than with her
  behaviour to themselves, which was invariably kind.  Every thing in her
  household arrangements was conducted on the most liberal plan, and
  excepting a few old city friends, whom, to Lady Middleton's regret, she
  had never dropped, she visited no one to whom an introduction could at
  all discompose the feelings of her young companions.  Pleased to find
  herself more comfortably situated in that particular than she had
  expected, Elinor was very willing to compound for the want of much real
  enjoyment from any of their evening parties, which, whether at home or
  abroad, formed only for cards, could have little to amuse her.
  
  Colonel Brandon, who had a general invitation to the house, was with
  them almost every day; he came to look at Marianne and talk to Elinor,
  who often derived more satisfaction from conversing with him than from
  any other daily occurrence, but who saw at the same time with much
  concern his continued regard for her sister.  She feared it was a
  strengthening regard.  It grieved her to see the earnestness with which
  he often watched Marianne, and his spirits were certainly worse than
  when at Barton.
  
  About a week after their arrival, it became certain that Willoughby was
  also arrived.  His card was on the table when they came in from the
  morning's drive.
  
  "Good God!" cried Marianne, "he has been here while we were out."
  Elinor, rejoiced to be assured of his being in London, now ventured to
  say, "Depend upon it, he will call again tomorrow."  But Marianne
  seemed hardly to hear her, and on Mrs. Jennings's entrance, escaped with
  the precious card.
  
  This event, while it raised the spirits of Elinor, restored to those of
  her sister all, and more than all, their former agitation.  From this
  moment her mind was never quiet; the expectation of seeing him every
  hour of the day, made her unfit for any thing.  She insisted on being
  left behind, the next morning, when the others went out.
  
  Elinor's thoughts were full of what might be passing in Berkeley Street
  during their absence; but a moment's glance at her sister when they
  returned was enough to inform her, that Willoughby had paid no second
  visit there.  A note was just then brought in, and laid on the table.
  
  "For me!" cried Marianne, stepping hastily forward.
  
  "No, ma'am, for my mistress."
  
  But Marianne, not convinced, took it instantly up.
  
  "It is indeed for Mrs. Jennings; how provoking!"
  
  "You are expecting a letter, then?" said Elinor, unable to be longer
  silent.
  
  "Yes, a little--not much."
  
  After a short pause.  "You have no confidence in me, Marianne."
  
  "Nay, Elinor, this reproach from YOU--you who have confidence in no
  one!"
  
  "Me!" returned Elinor in some confusion; "indeed, Marianne, I have
  nothing to tell."
  
  "Nor I," answered Marianne with energy, "our situations then are alike.
  We have neither of us any thing to tell; you, because you do not
  communicate, and I, because I conceal nothing."
  
  Elinor, distressed by this charge of reserve in herself, which she was
  not at liberty to do away, knew not how, under such circumstances, to
  press for greater openness in Marianne.
  
  Mrs. Jennings soon appeared, and the note being given her, she read it
  aloud.  It was from Lady Middleton, announcing their arrival in Conduit
  Street the night before, and requesting the company of her mother and
  cousins the following evening.  Business on Sir John's part, and a
  violent cold on her own, prevented their calling in Berkeley Street.
  The invitation was accepted; but when the hour of appointment drew
  near, necessary as it was in common civility to Mrs. Jennings, that
  they should both attend her on such a visit, Elinor had some difficulty
  in persuading her sister to go, for still she had seen nothing of
  Willoughby; and therefore was not more indisposed for amusement abroad,
  than unwilling to run the risk of his calling again in her absence.
  
  Elinor found, when the evening was over, that disposition is not
  materially altered by a change of abode, for although scarcely settled
  in town, Sir John had contrived to collect around him, nearly twenty
  young people, and to amuse them with a ball.  This was an affair,
  however, of which Lady Middleton did not approve.  In the country, an
  unpremeditated dance was very allowable; but in London, where the
  reputation of elegance was more important and less easily attained, it
  was risking too much for the gratification of a few girls, to have it
  known that Lady Middleton had given a small dance of eight or nine
  couple, with two violins, and a mere side-board collation.
  
  Mr. and Mrs. Palmer were of the party; from the former, whom they had
  not seen before since their arrival in town, as he was careful to avoid
  the appearance of any attention to his mother-in-law, and therefore
  never came near her, they received no mark of recognition on their
  entrance.  He looked at them slightly, without seeming to know who they
  were, and merely nodded to Mrs. Jennings from the other side of the
  room.  Marianne gave one glance round the apartment as she entered: it
  was enough--HE was not there--and she sat down, equally ill-disposed to
  receive or communicate pleasure.  After they had been assembled about
  an hour, Mr. Palmer sauntered towards the Miss Dashwoods to express his
  surprise on seeing them in town, though Colonel Brandon had been first
  informed of their arrival at his house, and he had himself said
  something very droll on hearing that they were to come.
  
  "I thought you were both in Devonshire," said he.
  
  "Did you?" replied Elinor.
  
  "When do you go back again?"
  
  "I do not know." And thus ended their discourse.
  
  Never had Marianne been so unwilling to dance in her life, as she was
  that evening, and never so much fatigued by the exercise.  She
  complained of it as they returned to Berkeley Street.
  
  "Aye, aye," said Mrs. Jennings, "we know the reason of all that very
  well; if a certain person who shall be nameless, had been there, you
  would not have been a bit tired: and to say the truth it was not very
  pretty of him not to give you the meeting when he was invited."
  
  "Invited!" cried Marianne.
  
  "So my daughter Middleton told me, for it seems Sir John met him
  somewhere in the street this morning." Marianne said no more, but
  looked exceedingly hurt.  Impatient in this situation to be doing
  something that might lead to her sister's relief, Elinor resolved to
  write the next morning to her mother, and hoped by awakening her fears
  for the health of Marianne, to procure those inquiries which had been
  so long delayed; and she was still more eagerly bent on this measure by
  perceiving after breakfast on the morrow, that Marianne was again
  writing to Willoughby, for she could not suppose it to be to any other
  person.
  
  About the middle of the day, Mrs. Jennings went out by herself on
  business, and Elinor began her letter directly, while Marianne, too
  restless for employment, too anxious for conversation, walked from one
  window to the other, or sat down by the fire in melancholy meditation.
  Elinor was very earnest in her application to her mother, relating all
  that had passed, her suspicions of Willoughby's inconstancy, urging her
  by every plea of duty and affection to demand from Marianne an account
  of her real situation with respect to him.
  
  Her letter was scarcely finished, when a rap foretold a visitor, and
  Colonel Brandon was announced.  Marianne, who had seen him from the
  window, and who hated company of any kind, left the room before he
  entered it.  He looked more than usually grave, and though expressing
  satisfaction at finding Miss Dashwood alone, as if he had somewhat in
  particular to tell her, sat for some time without saying a word.
  Elinor, persuaded that he had some communication to make in which her
  sister was concerned, impatiently expected its opening.  It was not the
  first time of her feeling the same kind of conviction; for, more than
  once before, beginning with the observation of "your sister looks
  unwell to-day," or "your sister seems out of spirits," he had appeared
  on the point, either of disclosing, or of inquiring, something
  particular about her.  After a pause of several minutes, their silence
  was broken, by his asking her in a voice of some agitation, when he was
  to congratulate her on the acquisition of a brother?  Elinor was not
  prepared for such a question, and having no answer ready, was obliged
  to adopt the simple and common expedient, of asking what he meant?  He
  tried to smile as he replied, "your sister's engagement to Mr.
  Willoughby is very generally known."
  
  "It cannot be generally known," returned Elinor, "for her own family do
  not know it."
  
  He looked surprised and said, "I beg your pardon, I am afraid my
  inquiry has been impertinent; but I had not supposed any secrecy
  intended, as they openly correspond, and their marriage is universally
  talked of."
  
  "How can that be? By whom can you have heard it mentioned?"
  
  "By many--by some of whom you know nothing, by others with whom you are
  most intimate, Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. Palmer, and the Middletons.  But
  still I might not have believed it, for where the mind is perhaps
  rather unwilling to be convinced, it will always find something to
  support its doubts, if I had not, when the servant let me in today,
  accidentally seen a letter in his hand, directed to Mr. Willoughby in
  your sister's writing.  I came to inquire, but I was convinced before I
  could ask the question.  Is every thing finally settled?  Is it
  impossible to-?  But I have no right, and I could have no chance of
  succeeding.  Excuse me, Miss Dashwood.  I believe I have been wrong in
  saying so much, but I hardly know what to do, and on your prudence I
  have the strongest dependence.  Tell me that it is all absolutely
  resolved on, that any attempt, that in short concealment, if
  concealment be possible, is all that remains."
  
  These words, which conveyed to Elinor a direct avowal of his love for
  her sister, affected her very much.  She was not immediately able to
  say anything, and even when her spirits were recovered, she debated for
  a short time, on the answer it would be most proper to give.  The real
  state of things between Willoughby and her sister was so little known
  to herself, that in endeavouring to explain it, she might be as liable
  to say too much as too little.  Yet as she was convinced that
  Marianne's affection for Willoughby, could leave no hope of Colonel
  Brandon's success, whatever the event of that affection might be, and
  at the same time wished to shield her conduct from censure, she thought
  it most prudent and kind, after some consideration, to say more than
  she really knew or believed.  She acknowledged, therefore, that though
  she had never been informed by themselves of the terms on which they
  stood with each other, of their mutual affection she had no doubt, and
  of their correspondence she was not astonished to hear.
  
  He listened to her with silent attention, and on her ceasing to speak,
  rose directly from his seat, and after saying in a voice of emotion,
  "to your sister I wish all imaginable happiness; to Willoughby that he
  may endeavour to deserve her,"--took leave, and went away.
  
  Elinor derived no comfortable feelings from this conversation, to
  lessen the uneasiness of her mind on other points; she was left, on the
  contrary, with a melancholy impression of Colonel Brandon's
  unhappiness, and was prevented even from wishing it removed, by her
  anxiety for the very event that must confirm it.
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Chapters 23-27
target: Elinor reflects on Lucy's news and reasons that her engagement to Edward must have been the product of youthful infatuation. She is certain that Edward could not possibly still love Lucy after four years of getting to know this frivolous and ignorant woman. She is also relieved that she does not have to share Lucy's news with her mother and sister, since she has been sworn to secrecy. She and Lucy converse at length about Edward Ferrars during a dinner party at Barton Park shortly thereafter. While Marianne is playing the piano and everyone else is absorbed in a card game, Elinor and Lucy sit rolling papers for a filigree basket for Lady Middleton's daughter, Annamaria. Lucy confesses to Elinor that she is a very jealous woman, but that she has no reason to suspect Edward of unfaithfulness. She states that it would be madness for her and Edward to marry while he has only two thousand pounds; they must wait until they inherit Mrs. Ferrars's wealth. If they were to announce their engagement while Mrs. Ferrars was still living, the headstrong woman would disinherit Edward and give all her money to her younger son Robert; thus, they must be patient and secretive. Following this conversation, Lucy loses no opportunity to speak to Elinor about her secret engagement, much to the latter's consternation. Lucy expresses disappointment that Elinor has no plans to come to London in the winter, but soon after this Mrs. Jennings invites the Dashwood sisters to join her at her home in town near Portman Square. At first, the girls decline her offer on the grounds that they cannot leave their mother alone at Barton, but Mrs. Dashwood assures them that it would give her great pleasure to allow her daughters to enjoy themselves in London. Marianne is overjoyed that she will get to see Willoughby at long last, but Elinor is apprehensive about the journey because she does not want to find herself in the company of both Lucy and Edward together. After a journey lasting three days in Mrs. Jennings' carriage, the Dashwood sisters arrive in London. Elinor immediately writes a letter to their mother, while Marianne composes a brief note announcing their arrival to John Willoughby. Marianne eagerly awaits Willoughby's visit, and is exceedingly disappointed that evening when Colonel Brandon shows up instead. Marianne leaves the room in frustration and Colonel Brandon delivers the message that Mrs. Palmer plans to arrive the next day. When Mrs. Palmer arrives, she goes shopping in town with the Dashwood sisters and Mrs. Jennings. Immediately upon their return home, Marianne rushes to see if she has received mail from Willoughby, but there are no letters for her. When Mrs. Jennings comments on the rainy weather, Marianne reasons that Willoughby must be stuck in the country on account of the rain. Sir John and Lady Middleton arrive in town and host a ball at their home for about twenty young people, including the Palmers and the Dashwoods. Because Willoughby is not in attendance, Marianne is dejected and withdrawn. When they return from the party, Mrs. Jennings informs them that Willoughby had been invited to the ball but declined the invitation. Marianne is astonished and miserable, and Elinor concludes that she must ask her mother to inquire into Marianne and Willoughby's status once and for all. Colonel Brandon arrives at Mrs. Jennings's London home to speak with Elinor. He asks her if it is true, as everyone claims, that Marianne and Willoughby are engaged. Elinor is surprised that so many people are discussing an engagement that has not been officially announced. She diplomatically informs Colonel Brandon that though she knows nothing of her sister's engagement, she has no doubt of their mutual affection. Brandon leaves after expressing his wish that Marianne be happy--and that Willoughby endeavor to deserve her.
feat_summary_analysis: Commentary Even when Lucy Steele is revealing her greatest secret to Elinor, she must do so in hushed tones and with an atmosphere of concealment. As the rest of the dinner party plays cards, Lucy whispers to Elinor the story of her long and secret engagement to Edward. Although Lucy describes the history of their relationship accurately, her claims about Edward's steadfast faithfulness and their mutual affection are as fabricated as the basket in her hands; Edward, as Elinor assures herself, has eyes for her alone. Marianne's name suits her well: like the Mariana of Shakespeare's Measure for Measure, who waits by the moated grange for her lover, Austen's heroine pines away for Willoughby and awaits his visit from the moment she first arrives in town with Mrs. Jennings and Elinor. Marianne's name is also a mirror image of Annamaria, Lady Middleton's spoiled young daughter, who will be "miserable" if her filigree basket is not completed before she goes to bed. By this close kinship of names, Austen suggests that Marianne's excessive sensibility and romanticism resembles the eagerness and impatience of a spoiled little girl. Willoughby does not appear in any of these chapters, yet he figures prominently in the thoughts of those characters who do. Mrs. Jennings implies that Marianne would welcome the opportunity to travel to town with her in the hope of seeing Willoughby, and Marianne is enthusiastic about the prospect for this very reason. When they arrive in town, she is increasingly wretched with each passing day that he does not visit. Elinor, too, thinks of Willoughby at length because she is concerned about her sister's welfare. Even Colonel Brandon calls on Elinor in order to discuss Marianne's relationship with Willoughby and to inform Elinor that everyone in town is discussing their engagement. These frequent references to Willoughby heighten our anxiety concerning the true nature of his commitment to Marianne, and enable us as readers to experience some of Marianne's longing for that which is never present. Though Willoughby does not appear, Marianne mistakes Colonel Brandon for him when the latter comes to visit the Dashwood sisters in London. This is one of many suggestions in the novel that people may be substituted for one another: Marianne had earlier mistaken Edward Ferrars on horseback for John Willoughby; Elinor mistakes Lucy's hair for her own in Edward's ring; and Elinor initially mistakes Robert for Edward as the object of Lucy's affections. These scenes in which some characters fail to recognize others provide subtext for a novel in which one young woman  thinks she is in love with one man but ends up loving someone else, and another young woman  becomes engaged to one brother but then decides to marry the other.