feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/sparknotes/Sense and Sensibility/section_2_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: Sense and Sensibility.chapters 11-15
feat_summary_id: chapters 11-15
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapters 11-15", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210123003206/https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/sensibility/section3/", "summary": "The Dashwoods are surprised by the many invitations they receive in Devonshire, including several private balls at Barton Park. Marianne spends almost all of her time with Sir John Willoughby, who seems to have eyes for her alone. Elinor, however, is concerned by how open her sister is in her affections. She, unlike her sister, has no one whose company she truly enjoys, with the exception of Colonel Brandon. He, disappointed by Marianne's ardor for Willoughby, asks Elinor if her sister believes in \"second attachments.\" Elinor must confess that Marianne's romantic sensibility seems bent on the ideal of love at first sight. One morning, while Elinor and Marianne are out walking, the younger sister reveals that Willoughby offered her a horse, as a gift. The offer thrills Marianne, but Elinor gently reminds her sister how inconvenient and expensive the horse would be to maintain. She also tells Marianne that she doubts the propriety of receiving such a generous gift from a man she has known so briefly. Marianne insists that it does not necessarily take a long time for people to get to know each other well, though she ultimately concedes that owning a horse would be too much of a burden on their mother, who manages the household. The next day, Margaret reports to Elinor that she saw Willoughby cut off a lock of Marianne's hair and kiss it, a sure sign of the pair's engagement. Elinor, nonetheless, warns her little sister not to jump to any conclusions. Mrs. Jennings somehow learns that Elinor had affections for someone back at Norland. The old busybody tries to get Elinor to reveal the name of this \"favourite,\" but Elinor insists that she had no such attachment. Finally, however, Margaret confirms that there was such a man, he was of no particular profession, and his name began with an 'F'. Elinor is extremely embarrassed by her sister's indiscretion. The Dashwoods, Colonel Brandon, Willoughby, and the Middletons plan an excursion to Whitwell, an estate twelve miles from Barton belonging to Colonel Brandon's brother-in-law. However, just as they are about to set off, the Colonel receives an urgent letter calling him to town immediately. This disappoints the other members of the party; they encourage Brandon to postpone his trip, but he insists on leaving right away. He refuses to reveal the reason for his sudden departure, though Mrs. Jennings whispers to Elinor that she suspects he must attend to Miss Williams, whom she identifies as his natural daughter. Since they cannot go to Whitwell without Colonel Brandon, the party instead decides to drive about the country in carriages. Marianne later confesses that during this excursion, Willoughby took her to his home at Allenham while his elderly relative, Mrs. Smith, was out. Elinor is appalled by the impropriety of such a visit, and she chastises her sister accordingly. One day while visiting Barton Cottage, Willoughby proclaims his utter fondness for the little house and makes Mrs. Dashwood promise that she will never change a single inch of stone in the structure. The Dashwood women invite him to come to dinner the next day, and he agrees. However, when Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood return home that afternoon, they discover Marianne in tears and Willoughby on his way out the door. Willoughby informs them that he has been sent to London on business and will probably not return to Devonshire for the rest of the year. Mrs. Dashwood, suspecting that he and Marianne are secretly engaged, tries to convince herself that Willoughby had to leave so that Mrs. Smith would not learn of the attachment, but Elinor remains more skeptical and reminds her mother that they do not know if there is any such understanding between the two. Marianne, meanwhile, remains overcome by grief and cannot speak or eat.", "analysis": "Commentary Elinor and Colonel Brandon's discussion of \"second attachments\" is ironic in light of the eventual developments of the novel, for nearly every character except Elinor will ultimately fall in love more than once: Marianne has fallen for John Willoughby but will grow to love the more sensible and constant Colonel; the Colonel loves Marianne because, as we will soon learn, she reminds him of a woman he loved before; Edward Ferrars will marry Elinor only after a long engagement to Lucy Steele; John Willoughby professes his devotion to Marianne but then marries the wealthy Miss Sophia Grey; and even Mr. Henry Dashwood had two wives. In her discussion with the Colonel, Elinor seems to have no problem with second attachments, yet it is only she who marries the very first man she knows and loves. When Marianne uses the term \"attachment,\" she is referring to the deeply individualized, subjective feeling of falling in love, a term closely linked to the novel's notion of \"sensibility.\" The counterpart of this term is \"connection,\" which refers to a public bond that also entails an emotional \"attachment,\" and is closely linked to the notion of \"sense.\" Marianne's relationship with Willoughby is described as an \"attachment,\" whereas, when Elinor speaks of her relationship to Edward, she points out the lack of any formal \"connection\" between them. As in all of Austen's novels, marriage here is closely bound up with financial considerations. When reflecting on her sister's relationship with Willoughby, Elinor realizes that \"marriage might not be immediately in  power.\" This preoccupation with money in relation to marriage was highly warranted in Austen's day; marriage was for life, and insurance and social security did not exist; a couple needed a guaranteed source of income before they could settle down together. Jane Austen understood this problem personally. Her older sister Cassandra's engagement stretched on for several years because the marriage was postponed for lack of money. Although Willoughby ultimately marries for money, he seems oblivious to all practical concerns in the early days of his relationship with Marianne. He offers her the gift of a horse even though, as Elinor reminds her sister, there is no way the Dashwoods can afford its upkeep. The horse is named Queen Mab, a reference to the fanciful \"fairies' midwife\" from Romeo and Juliet , who supposedly rides her chariot across lovers' brains to create their magical dreams. These dreams, however, according to Shakespeare's Mercutio, are \"begot of nothing but fantasy\" and are \"more inconstant than the wind,\" just as Marianne's dream of owning the horse can never come true and her Willoughby will prove a mercurial and inconstant lover. Given Willoughby's unfaithfulness, it is ironic that he insists that Mrs. Dashwood promise never to alter a single stone in Barton Cottage; a man who abandons one lover for another has hardly the right to demand that a building remain unchanged. These chapters serve as a lens through which to study one of the most important themes in the novel, the role of appearances in the assessment and judgment of character. Elinor consistently and fiercely refrains from judging other characters on the basis of appearances alone. Although Mrs. Jennings claims early on that Colonel Brandon is interested in Marianne, Elinor is not convinced of this fact until Brandon approaches her directly to discuss Marianne's romantic proclivities. Similarly, although Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret conclude that Marianne and Willoughby are engaged, Elinor remains skeptical so long as the two refrain from formally announcing their engagement. Her discussion with her mother about Marianne's relationship to Willoughby in Chapter 15 reveals that while Mrs. Dashwood readily bases her faith on looks and gestures, Elinor requires that feelings be explicitly articulated. Mrs. Dashwood draws conclusions based on appearances alone, while Elinor suspends judgment until these appearances are confirmed by words. This is yet another example of the dichotomy in the novel's title."}
text: 
  
  Little had Mrs. Dashwood or her daughters imagined when they first came
  into Devonshire, that so many engagements would arise to occupy their
  time as shortly presented themselves, or that they should have such
  frequent invitations and such constant visitors as to leave them little
  leisure for serious employment.  Yet such was the case.  When Marianne
  was recovered, the schemes of amusement at home and abroad, which Sir
  John had been previously forming, were put into execution.  The private
  balls at the park then began; and parties on the water were made and
  accomplished as often as a showery October would allow.  In every
  meeting of the kind Willoughby was included; and the ease and
  familiarity which naturally attended these parties were exactly
  calculated to give increasing intimacy to his acquaintance with the
  Dashwoods, to afford him opportunity of witnessing the excellencies of
  Marianne, of marking his animated admiration of her, and of receiving,
  in her behaviour to himself, the most pointed assurance of her
  affection.
  
  Elinor could not be surprised at their attachment.  She only wished
  that it were less openly shewn; and once or twice did venture to
  suggest the propriety of some self-command to Marianne.  But Marianne
  abhorred all concealment where no real disgrace could attend unreserve;
  and to aim at the restraint of sentiments which were not in themselves
  illaudable, appeared to her not merely an unnecessary effort, but a
  disgraceful subjection of reason to common-place and mistaken notions.
  Willoughby thought the same; and their behaviour at all times, was an
  illustration of their opinions.
  
  When he was present she had no eyes for any one else.  Every thing he
  did, was right.  Every thing he said, was clever.  If their evenings at
  the park were concluded with cards, he cheated himself and all the rest
  of the party to get her a good hand.  If dancing formed the amusement
  of the night, they were partners for half the time; and when obliged to
  separate for a couple of dances, were careful to stand together and
  scarcely spoke a word to any body else.  Such conduct made them of
  course most exceedingly laughed at; but ridicule could not shame, and
  seemed hardly to provoke them.
  
  Mrs. Dashwood entered into all their feelings with a warmth which left
  her no inclination for checking this excessive display of them.  To her
  it was but the natural consequence of a strong affection in a young and
  ardent mind.
  
  This was the season of happiness to Marianne.  Her heart was devoted to
  Willoughby, and the fond attachment to Norland, which she brought with
  her from Sussex, was more likely to be softened than she had thought it
  possible before, by the charms which his society bestowed on her
  present home.
  
  Elinor's happiness was not so great.  Her heart was not so much at
  ease, nor her satisfaction in their amusements so pure.  They afforded
  her no companion that could make amends for what she had left behind,
  nor that could teach her to think of Norland with less regret than
  ever.  Neither Lady Middleton nor Mrs. Jennings could supply to her the
  conversation she missed; although the latter was an everlasting talker,
  and from the first had regarded her with a kindness which ensured her a
  large share of her discourse.  She had already repeated her own history
  to Elinor three or four times; and had Elinor's memory been equal to
  her means of improvement, she might have known very early in their
  acquaintance all the particulars of Mr. Jennings's last illness, and
  what he said to his wife a few minutes before he died.  Lady Middleton
  was more agreeable than her mother only in being more silent.  Elinor
  needed little observation to perceive that her reserve was a mere
  calmness of manner with which sense had nothing to do.  Towards her
  husband and mother she was the same as to them; and intimacy was
  therefore neither to be looked for nor desired.  She had nothing to say
  one day that she had not said the day before.  Her insipidity was
  invariable, for even her spirits were always the same; and though she
  did not oppose the parties arranged by her husband, provided every
  thing were conducted in style and her two eldest children attended her,
  she never appeared to receive more enjoyment from them than she might
  have experienced in sitting at home;--and so little did her presence
  add to the pleasure of the others, by any share in their conversation,
  that they were sometimes only reminded of her being amongst them by her
  solicitude about her troublesome boys.
  
  In Colonel Brandon alone, of all her new acquaintance, did Elinor find
  a person who could in any degree claim the respect of abilities, excite
  the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion.
  Willoughby was out of the question.  Her admiration and regard, even
  her sisterly regard, was all his own; but he was a lover; his
  attentions were wholly Marianne's, and a far less agreeable man might
  have been more generally pleasing.  Colonel Brandon, unfortunately for
  himself, had no such encouragement to think only of Marianne, and in
  conversing with Elinor he found the greatest consolation for the
  indifference of her sister.
  
  Elinor's compassion for him increased, as she had reason to suspect
  that the misery of disappointed love had already been known to him.
  This suspicion was given by some words which accidentally dropped from
  him one evening at the park, when they were sitting down together by
  mutual consent, while the others were dancing.  His eyes were fixed on
  Marianne, and, after a silence of some minutes, he said, with a faint
  smile, "Your sister, I understand, does not approve of second
  attachments."
  
  "No," replied Elinor, "her opinions are all romantic."
  
  "Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible to exist."
  
  "I believe she does.  But how she contrives it without reflecting on
  the character of her own father, who had himself two wives, I know not.
  A few years however will settle her opinions on the reasonable basis of
  common sense and observation; and then they may be more easy to define
  and to justify than they now are, by any body but herself."
  
  "This will probably be the case," he replied; "and yet there is
  something so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, that one is
  sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions."
  
  "I cannot agree with you there," said Elinor.  "There are
  inconveniences attending such feelings as Marianne's, which all the
  charms of enthusiasm and ignorance of the world cannot atone for.  Her
  systems have all the unfortunate tendency of setting propriety at
  nought; and a better acquaintance with the world is what I look forward
  to as her greatest possible advantage."
  
  After a short pause he resumed the conversation by saying,--
  
  "Does your sister make no distinction in her objections against a
  second attachment? or is it equally criminal in every body?  Are those
  who have been disappointed in their first choice, whether from the
  inconstancy of its object, or the perverseness of circumstances, to be
  equally indifferent during the rest of their lives?"
  
  "Upon my word, I am not acquainted with the minutiae of her principles.
  I only know that I never yet heard her admit any instance of a second
  attachment's being pardonable."
  
  "This," said he, "cannot hold; but a change, a total change of
  sentiments--No, no, do not desire it; for when the romantic refinements
  of a young mind are obliged to give way, how frequently are they
  succeeded by such opinions as are but too common, and too dangerous!  I
  speak from experience.  I once knew a lady who in temper and mind
  greatly resembled your sister, who thought and judged like her, but who
  from an inforced change--from a series of unfortunate circumstances"--
  Here he stopt suddenly; appeared to think that he had said too much,
  and by his countenance gave rise to conjectures, which might not
  otherwise have entered Elinor's head.  The lady would probably have
  passed without suspicion, had he not convinced Miss Dashwood that what
  concerned her ought not to escape his lips.  As it was, it required but
  a slight effort of fancy to connect his emotion with the tender
  recollection of past regard.  Elinor attempted no more.  But Marianne,
  in her place, would not have done so little.  The whole story would
  have been speedily formed under her active imagination; and every thing
  established in the most melancholy order of disastrous love.
  
  
  
  
  As Elinor and Marianne were walking together the next morning the
  latter communicated a piece of news to her sister, which in spite of
  all that she knew before of Marianne's imprudence and want of thought,
  surprised her by its extravagant testimony of both.  Marianne told her,
  with the greatest delight, that Willoughby had given her a horse, one
  that he had bred himself on his estate in Somersetshire, and which was
  exactly calculated to carry a woman.  Without considering that it was
  not in her mother's plan to keep any horse, that if she were to alter
  her resolution in favour of this gift, she must buy another for the
  servant, and keep a servant to ride it, and after all, build a stable
  to receive them, she had accepted the present without hesitation, and
  told her sister of it in raptures.
  
  "He intends to send his groom into Somersetshire immediately for it,"
  she added, "and when it arrives we will ride every day.  You shall
  share its use with me.  Imagine to yourself, my dear Elinor, the
  delight of a gallop on some of these downs."
  
  Most unwilling was she to awaken from such a dream of felicity to
  comprehend all the unhappy truths which attended the affair; and for
  some time she refused to submit to them.  As to an additional servant,
  the expense would be a trifle; Mama she was sure would never object to
  it; and any horse would do for HIM; he might always get one at the
  park; as to a stable, the merest shed would be sufficient.  Elinor then
  ventured to doubt the propriety of her receiving such a present from a
  man so little, or at least so lately known to her.  This was too much.
  
  "You are mistaken, Elinor," said she warmly, "in supposing I know very
  little of Willoughby.  I have not known him long indeed, but I am much
  better acquainted with him, than I am with any other creature in the
  world, except yourself and mama.  It is not time or opportunity that is
  to determine intimacy;--it is disposition alone.  Seven years would be
  insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven
  days are more than enough for others.  I should hold myself guilty of
  greater impropriety in accepting a horse from my brother, than from
  Willoughby.  Of John I know very little, though we have lived together
  for years; but of Willoughby my judgment has long been formed."
  
  Elinor thought it wisest to touch that point no more.  She knew her
  sister's temper.  Opposition on so tender a subject would only attach
  her the more to her own opinion.  But by an appeal to her affection for
  her mother, by representing the inconveniences which that indulgent
  mother must draw on herself, if (as would probably be the case) she
  consented to this increase of establishment, Marianne was shortly
  subdued; and she promised not to tempt her mother to such imprudent
  kindness by mentioning the offer, and to tell Willoughby when she saw
  him next, that it must be declined.
  
  She was faithful to her word; and when Willoughby called at the
  cottage, the same day, Elinor heard her express her disappointment to
  him in a low voice, on being obliged to forego the acceptance of his
  present.  The reasons for this alteration were at the same time
  related, and they were such as to make further entreaty on his side
  impossible.  His concern however was very apparent; and after
  expressing it with earnestness, he added, in the same low voice,--"But,
  Marianne, the horse is still yours, though you cannot use it now.  I
  shall keep it only till you can claim it.  When you leave Barton to
  form your own establishment in a more lasting home, Queen Mab shall
  receive you."
  
  This was all overheard by Miss Dashwood; and in the whole of the
  sentence, in his manner of pronouncing it, and in his addressing her
  sister by her Christian name alone, she instantly saw an intimacy so
  decided, a meaning so direct, as marked a perfect agreement between
  them.  From that moment she doubted not of their being engaged to each
  other; and the belief of it created no other surprise than that she, or
  any of their friends, should be left by tempers so frank, to discover
  it by accident.
  
  Margaret related something to her the next day, which placed this
  matter in a still clearer light.  Willoughby had spent the preceding
  evening with them, and Margaret, by being left some time in the parlour
  with only him and Marianne, had had opportunity for observations,
  which, with a most important face, she communicated to her eldest
  sister, when they were next by themselves.
  
  "Oh, Elinor!" she cried, "I have such a secret to tell you about
  Marianne.  I am sure she will be married to Mr. Willoughby very soon."
  
  "You have said so," replied Elinor, "almost every day since they first
  met on High-church Down; and they had not known each other a week, I
  believe, before you were certain that Marianne wore his picture round
  her neck; but it turned out to be only the miniature of our great
  uncle."
  
  "But indeed this is quite another thing.  I am sure they will be
  married very soon, for he has got a lock of her hair."
  
  "Take care, Margaret.  It may be only the hair of some great uncle of
  HIS."
  
  "But, indeed, Elinor, it is Marianne's. I am almost sure it is, for I
  saw him cut it off.  Last night after tea, when you and mama went out
  of the room, they were whispering and talking together as fast as could
  be, and he seemed to be begging something of her, and presently he took
  up her scissors and cut off a long lock of her hair, for it was all
  tumbled down her back; and he kissed it, and folded it up in a piece of
  white paper; and put it into his pocket-book."
  
  For such particulars, stated on such authority, Elinor could not
  withhold her credit; nor was she disposed to it, for the circumstance
  was in perfect unison with what she had heard and seen herself.
  
  Margaret's sagacity was not always displayed in a way so satisfactory
  to her sister.  When Mrs. Jennings attacked her one evening at the
  park, to give the name of the young man who was Elinor's particular
  favourite, which had been long a matter of great curiosity to her,
  Margaret answered by looking at her sister, and saying, "I must not
  tell, may I, Elinor?"
  
  This of course made every body laugh; and Elinor tried to laugh too.
  But the effort was painful.  She was convinced that Margaret had fixed
  on a person whose name she could not bear with composure to become a
  standing joke with Mrs. Jennings.
  
  Marianne felt for her most sincerely; but she did more harm than good
  to the cause, by turning very red and saying in an angry manner to
  Margaret,
  
  "Remember that whatever your conjectures may be, you have no right to
  repeat them."
  
  "I never had any conjectures about it," replied Margaret; "it was you
  who told me of it yourself."
  
  This increased the mirth of the company, and Margaret was eagerly
  pressed to say something more.
  
  "Oh! pray, Miss Margaret, let us know all about it," said Mrs.
  Jennings.  "What is the gentleman's name?"
  
  "I must not tell, ma'am. But I know very well what it is; and I know
  where he is too."
  
  "Yes, yes, we can guess where he is; at his own house at Norland to be
  sure.  He is the curate of the parish I dare say."
  
  "No, THAT he is not.  He is of no profession at all."
  
  "Margaret," said Marianne with great warmth, "you know that all this is
  an invention of your own, and that there is no such person in
  existence."
  
  "Well, then, he is lately dead, Marianne, for I am sure there was such
  a man once, and his name begins with an F."
  
  Most grateful did Elinor feel to Lady Middleton for observing, at this
  moment, "that it rained very hard," though she believed the
  interruption to proceed less from any attention to her, than from her
  ladyship's great dislike of all such inelegant subjects of raillery as
  delighted her husband and mother.  The idea however started by her, was
  immediately pursued by Colonel Brandon, who was on every occasion
  mindful of the feelings of others; and much was said on the subject of
  rain by both of them.  Willoughby opened the piano-forte, and asked
  Marianne to sit down to it; and thus amidst the various endeavours of
  different people to quit the topic, it fell to the ground.  But not so
  easily did Elinor recover from the alarm into which it had thrown her.
  
  A party was formed this evening for going on the following day to see a
  very fine place about twelve miles from Barton, belonging to a
  brother-in-law of Colonel Brandon, without whose interest it could not
  be seen, as the proprietor, who was then abroad, had left strict orders
  on that head.  The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful, and
  Sir John, who was particularly warm in their praise, might be allowed
  to be a tolerable judge, for he had formed parties to visit them, at
  least, twice every summer for the last ten years.  They contained a
  noble piece of water; a sail on which was to a form a great part of the
  morning's amusement; cold provisions were to be taken, open carriages
  only to be employed, and every thing conducted in the usual style of a
  complete party of pleasure.
  
  To some few of the company it appeared rather a bold undertaking,
  considering the time of year, and that it had rained every day for the
  last fortnight;--and Mrs. Dashwood, who had already a cold, was
  persuaded by Elinor to stay at home.
  
  
  
  
  Their intended excursion to Whitwell turned out very different from
  what Elinor had expected.  She was prepared to be wet through,
  fatigued, and frightened; but the event was still more unfortunate, for
  they did not go at all.
  
  By ten o'clock the whole party was assembled at the park, where they
  were to breakfast.  The morning was rather favourable, though it had
  rained all night, as the clouds were then dispersing across the sky,
  and the sun frequently appeared.  They were all in high spirits and
  good humour, eager to be happy, and determined to submit to the
  greatest inconveniences and hardships rather than be otherwise.
  
  While they were at breakfast the letters were brought in.  Among the
  rest there was one for Colonel Brandon;--he took it, looked at the
  direction, changed colour, and immediately left the room.
  
  "What is the matter with Brandon?" said Sir John.
  
  Nobody could tell.
  
  "I hope he has had no bad news," said Lady Middleton.  "It must be
  something extraordinary that could make Colonel Brandon leave my
  breakfast table so suddenly."
  
  In about five minutes he returned.
  
  "No bad news, Colonel, I hope;" said Mrs. Jennings, as soon as he
  entered the room.
  
  "None at all, ma'am, I thank you."
  
  "Was it from Avignon?  I hope it is not to say that your sister is
  worse."
  
  "No, ma'am. It came from town, and is merely a letter of business."
  
  "But how came the hand to discompose you so much, if it was only a
  letter of business?  Come, come, this won't do, Colonel; so let us hear
  the truth of it."
  
  "My dear madam," said Lady Middleton, "recollect what you are saying."
  
  "Perhaps it is to tell you that your cousin Fanny is married?" said
  Mrs. Jennings, without attending to her daughter's reproof.
  
  "No, indeed, it is not."
  
  "Well, then, I know who it is from, Colonel.  And I hope she is well."
  
  "Whom do you mean, ma'am?" said he, colouring a little.
  
  "Oh! you know who I mean."
  
  "I am particularly sorry, ma'am," said he, addressing Lady Middleton,
  "that I should receive this letter today, for it is on business which
  requires my immediate attendance in town."
  
  "In town!" cried Mrs. Jennings.  "What can you have to do in town at
  this time of year?"
  
  "My own loss is great," he continued, "in being obliged to leave so
  agreeable a party; but I am the more concerned, as I fear my presence
  is necessary to gain your admittance at Whitwell."
  
  What a blow upon them all was this!
  
  "But if you write a note to the housekeeper, Mr. Brandon," said
  Marianne, eagerly, "will it not be sufficient?"
  
  He shook his head.
  
  "We must go," said Sir John.--"It shall not be put off when we are so
  near it.  You cannot go to town till tomorrow, Brandon, that is all."
  
  "I wish it could be so easily settled.  But it is not in my power to
  delay my journey for one day!"
  
  "If you would but let us know what your business is," said Mrs.
  Jennings, "we might see whether it could be put off or not."
  
  "You would not be six hours later," said Willoughby, "if you were to
  defer your journey till our return."
  
  "I cannot afford to lose ONE hour."--
  
  Elinor then heard Willoughby say, in a low voice to Marianne, "There
  are some people who cannot bear a party of pleasure.  Brandon is one of
  them.  He was afraid of catching cold I dare say, and invented this
  trick for getting out of it.  I would lay fifty guineas the letter was
  of his own writing."
  
  "I have no doubt of it," replied Marianne.
  
  "There is no persuading you to change your mind, Brandon, I know of
  old," said Sir John, "when once you are determined on anything.  But,
  however, I hope you will think better of it.  Consider, here are the
  two Miss Careys come over from Newton, the three Miss Dashwoods walked
  up from the cottage, and Mr. Willoughby got up two hours before his
  usual time, on purpose to go to Whitwell."
  
  Colonel Brandon again repeated his sorrow at being the cause of
  disappointing the party; but at the same time declared it to be
  unavoidable.
  
  "Well, then, when will you come back again?"
  
  "I hope we shall see you at Barton," added her ladyship, "as soon as
  you can conveniently leave town; and we must put off the party to
  Whitwell till you return."
  
  "You are very obliging.  But it is so uncertain, when I may have it in
  my power to return, that I dare not engage for it at all."
  
  "Oh! he must and shall come back," cried Sir John.  "If he is not here
  by the end of the week, I shall go after him."
  
  "Ay, so do, Sir John," cried Mrs. Jennings, "and then perhaps you may
  find out what his business is."
  
  "I do not want to pry into other men's concerns.  I suppose it is
  something he is ashamed of."
  
  Colonel Brandon's horses were announced.
  
  "You do not go to town on horseback, do you?" added Sir John.
  
  "No. Only to Honiton.  I shall then go post."
  
  "Well, as you are resolved to go, I wish you a good journey.  But you
  had better change your mind."
  
  "I assure you it is not in my power."
  
  He then took leave of the whole party.
  
  "Is there no chance of my seeing you and your sisters in town this
  winter, Miss Dashwood?"
  
  "I am afraid, none at all."
  
  "Then I must bid you farewell for a longer time than I should wish to
  do."
  
  To Marianne, he merely bowed and said nothing.
  
  "Come Colonel," said Mrs. Jennings, "before you go, do let us know what
  you are going about."
  
  He wished her a good morning, and, attended by Sir John, left the room.
  
  The complaints and lamentations which politeness had hitherto
  restrained, now burst forth universally; and they all agreed again and
  again how provoking it was to be so disappointed.
  
  "I can guess what his business is, however," said Mrs. Jennings
  exultingly.
  
  "Can you, ma'am?" said almost every body.
  
  "Yes; it is about Miss Williams, I am sure."
  
  "And who is Miss Williams?" asked Marianne.
  
  "What! do not you know who Miss Williams is? I am sure you must have
  heard of her before.  She is a relation of the Colonel's, my dear; a
  very near relation.  We will not say how near, for fear of shocking the
  young ladies." Then, lowering her voice a little, she said to Elinor,
  "She is his natural daughter."
  
  "Indeed!"
  
  "Oh, yes; and as like him as she can stare.  I dare say the Colonel
  will leave her all his fortune."
  
  When Sir John returned, he joined most heartily in the general regret
  on so unfortunate an event; concluding however by observing, that as
  they were all got together, they must do something by way of being
  happy; and after some consultation it was agreed, that although
  happiness could only be enjoyed at Whitwell, they might procure a
  tolerable composure of mind by driving about the country.  The
  carriages were then ordered; Willoughby's was first, and Marianne never
  looked happier than when she got into it.  He drove through the park
  very fast, and they were soon out of sight; and nothing more of them
  was seen till their return, which did not happen till after the return
  of all the rest.  They both seemed delighted with their drive; but said
  only in general terms that they had kept in the lanes, while the others
  went on the downs.
  
  It was settled that there should be a dance in the evening, and that
  every body should be extremely merry all day long.  Some more of the
  Careys came to dinner, and they had the pleasure of sitting down nearly
  twenty to table, which Sir John observed with great contentment.
  Willoughby took his usual place between the two elder Miss Dashwoods.
  Mrs. Jennings sat on Elinor's right hand; and they had not been long
  seated, before she leant behind her and Willoughby, and said to
  Marianne, loud enough for them both to hear, "I have found you out in
  spite of all your tricks.  I know where you spent the morning."
  
  Marianne coloured, and replied very hastily, "Where, pray?"--
  
  "Did not you know," said Willoughby, "that we had been out in my
  curricle?"
  
  "Yes, yes, Mr. Impudence, I know that very well, and I was determined
  to find out WHERE you had been to.-- I hope you like your house, Miss
  Marianne.  It is a very large one, I know; and when I come to see you,
  I hope you will have new-furnished it, for it wanted it very much when
  I was there six years ago."
  
  Marianne turned away in great confusion.  Mrs. Jennings laughed
  heartily; and Elinor found that in her resolution to know where they
  had been, she had actually made her own woman enquire of Mr.
  Willoughby's groom; and that she had by that method been informed that
  they had gone to Allenham, and spent a considerable time there in
  walking about the garden and going all over the house.
  
  Elinor could hardly believe this to be true, as it seemed very unlikely
  that Willoughby should propose, or Marianne consent, to enter the house
  while Mrs. Smith was in it, with whom Marianne had not the smallest
  acquaintance.
  
  As soon as they left the dining-room, Elinor enquired of her about it;
  and great was her surprise when she found that every circumstance
  related by Mrs. Jennings was perfectly true.  Marianne was quite angry
  with her for doubting it.
  
  "Why should you imagine, Elinor, that we did not go there, or that we
  did not see the house?  Is not it what you have often wished to do
  yourself?"
  
  "Yes, Marianne, but I would not go while Mrs. Smith was there, and with
  no other companion than Mr. Willoughby."
  
  "Mr. Willoughby however is the only person who can have a right to shew
  that house; and as he went in an open carriage, it was impossible to
  have any other companion.  I never spent a pleasanter morning in my
  life."
  
  "I am afraid," replied Elinor, "that the pleasantness of an employment
  does not always evince its propriety."
  
  "On the contrary, nothing can be a stronger proof of it, Elinor; for if
  there had been any real impropriety in what I did, I should have been
  sensible of it at the time, for we always know when we are acting
  wrong, and with such a conviction I could have had no pleasure."
  
  "But, my dear Marianne, as it has already exposed you to some very
  impertinent remarks, do you not now begin to doubt the discretion of
  your own conduct?"
  
  "If the impertinent remarks of Mrs. Jennings are to be the proof of
  impropriety in conduct, we are all offending every moment of our lives.
  I value not her censure any more than I should do her commendation.  I
  am not sensible of having done anything wrong in walking over Mrs.
  Smith's grounds, or in seeing her house.  They will one day be Mr.
  Willoughby's, and--"
  
  "If they were one day to be your own, Marianne, you would not be
  justified in what you have done."
  
  She blushed at this hint; but it was even visibly gratifying to her;
  and after a ten minutes' interval of earnest thought, she came to her
  sister again, and said with great good humour, "Perhaps, Elinor, it WAS
  rather ill-judged in me to go to Allenham; but Mr. Willoughby wanted
  particularly to shew me the place; and it is a charming house, I assure
  you.--There is one remarkably pretty sitting room up stairs; of a nice
  comfortable size for constant use, and with modern furniture it would
  be delightful.  It is a corner room, and has windows on two sides.  On
  one side you look across the bowling-green, behind the house, to a
  beautiful hanging wood, and on the other you have a view of the church
  and village, and, beyond them, of those fine bold hills that we have so
  often admired.  I did not see it to advantage, for nothing could be
  more forlorn than the furniture,--but if it were newly fitted up--a
  couple of hundred pounds, Willoughby says, would make it one of the
  pleasantest summer-rooms in England."
  
  Could Elinor have listened to her without interruption from the others,
  she would have described every room in the house with equal delight.
  
  
  
  
  The sudden termination of Colonel Brandon's visit at the park, with his
  steadiness in concealing its cause, filled the mind, and raised the
  wonder of Mrs. Jennings for two or three days; she was a great
  wonderer, as every one must be who takes a very lively interest in all
  the comings and goings of all their acquaintance.  She wondered, with
  little intermission what could be the reason of it; was sure there must
  be some bad news, and thought over every kind of distress that could
  have befallen him, with a fixed determination that he should not escape
  them all.
  
  "Something very melancholy must be the matter, I am sure," said she.
  "I could see it in his face.  Poor man!  I am afraid his circumstances
  may be bad.  The estate at Delaford was never reckoned more than two
  thousand a year, and his brother left everything sadly involved.  I do
  think he must have been sent for about money matters, for what else can
  it be?  I wonder whether it is so.  I would give anything to know the
  truth of it.  Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by the bye, I dare
  say it is, because he looked so conscious when I mentioned her.  May be
  she is ill in town; nothing in the world more likely, for I have a
  notion she is always rather sickly.  I would lay any wager it is about
  Miss Williams.  It is not so very likely he should be distressed in his
  circumstances NOW, for he is a very prudent man, and to be sure must
  have cleared the estate by this time.  I wonder what it can be!  May be
  his sister is worse at Avignon, and has sent for him over.  His setting
  off in such a hurry seems very like it.  Well, I wish him out of all
  his trouble with all my heart, and a good wife into the bargain."
  
  So wondered, so talked Mrs. Jennings.  Her opinion varying with every
  fresh conjecture, and all seeming equally probable as they arose.
  Elinor, though she felt really interested in the welfare of Colonel
  Brandon, could not bestow all the wonder on his going so suddenly away,
  which Mrs. Jennings was desirous of her feeling; for besides that the
  circumstance did not in her opinion justify such lasting amazement or
  variety of speculation, her wonder was otherwise disposed of.  It was
  engrossed by the extraordinary silence of her sister and Willoughby on
  the subject, which they must know to be peculiarly interesting to them
  all.  As this silence continued, every day made it appear more strange
  and more incompatible with the disposition of both.  Why they should
  not openly acknowledge to her mother and herself, what their constant
  behaviour to each other declared to have taken place, Elinor could not
  imagine.
  
  She could easily conceive that marriage might not be immediately in
  their power; for though Willoughby was independent, there was no reason
  to believe him rich.  His estate had been rated by Sir John at about
  six or seven hundred a year; but he lived at an expense to which that
  income could hardly be equal, and he had himself often complained of
  his poverty.  But for this strange kind of secrecy maintained by them
  relative to their engagement, which in fact concealed nothing at all,
  she could not account; and it was so wholly contradictory to their
  general opinions and practice, that a doubt sometimes entered her mind
  of their being really engaged, and this doubt was enough to prevent her
  making any inquiry of Marianne.
  
  Nothing could be more expressive of attachment to them all, than
  Willoughby's behaviour.  To Marianne it had all the distinguishing
  tenderness which a lover's heart could give, and to the rest of the
  family it was the affectionate attention of a son and a brother.  The
  cottage seemed to be considered and loved by him as his home; many more
  of his hours were spent there than at Allenham; and if no general
  engagement collected them at the park, the exercise which called him
  out in the morning was almost certain of ending there, where the rest
  of the day was spent by himself at the side of Marianne, and by his
  favourite pointer at her feet.
  
  One evening in particular, about a week after Colonel Brandon left the
  country, his heart seemed more than usually open to every feeling of
  attachment to the objects around him; and on Mrs. Dashwood's happening
  to mention her design of improving the cottage in the spring, he warmly
  opposed every alteration of a place which affection had established as
  perfect with him.
  
  "What!" he exclaimed--"Improve this dear cottage!  No. THAT I will
  never consent to.  Not a stone must be added to its walls, not an inch
  to its size, if my feelings are regarded."
  
  "Do not be alarmed," said Miss Dashwood, "nothing of the kind will be
  done; for my mother will never have money enough to attempt it."
  
  "I am heartily glad of it," he cried.  "May she always be poor, if she
  can employ her riches no better."
  
  "Thank you, Willoughby.  But you may be assured that I would not
  sacrifice one sentiment of local attachment of yours, or of any one
  whom I loved, for all the improvements in the world.  Depend upon it
  that whatever unemployed sum may remain, when I make up my accounts in
  the spring, I would even rather lay it uselessly by than dispose of it
  in a manner so painful to you.  But are you really so attached to this
  place as to see no defect in it?"
  
  "I am," said he.  "To me it is faultless.  Nay, more, I consider it as
  the only form of building in which happiness is attainable, and were I
  rich enough I would instantly pull Combe down, and build it up again in
  the exact plan of this cottage."
  
  "With dark narrow stairs and a kitchen that smokes, I suppose," said
  Elinor.
  
  "Yes," cried he in the same eager tone, "with all and every thing
  belonging to it;--in no one convenience or INconvenience about it,
  should the least variation be perceptible.  Then, and then only, under
  such a roof, I might perhaps be as happy at Combe as I have been at
  Barton."
  
  "I flatter myself," replied Elinor, "that even under the disadvantage
  of better rooms and a broader staircase, you will hereafter find your
  own house as faultless as you now do this."
  
  "There certainly are circumstances," said Willoughby, "which might
  greatly endear it to me; but this place will always have one claim of
  my affection, which no other can possibly share."
  
  Mrs. Dashwood looked with pleasure at Marianne, whose fine eyes were
  fixed so expressively on Willoughby, as plainly denoted how well she
  understood him.
  
  "How often did I wish," added he, "when I was at Allenham this time
  twelvemonth, that Barton cottage were inhabited!  I never passed within
  view of it without admiring its situation, and grieving that no one
  should live in it.  How little did I then think that the very first
  news I should hear from Mrs. Smith, when I next came into the country,
  would be that Barton cottage was taken: and I felt an immediate
  satisfaction and interest in the event, which nothing but a kind of
  prescience of what happiness I should experience from it, can account
  for.  Must it not have been so, Marianne?" speaking to her in a lowered
  voice.  Then continuing his former tone, he said, "And yet this house
  you would spoil, Mrs. Dashwood?  You would rob it of its simplicity by
  imaginary improvement! and this dear parlour in which our acquaintance
  first began, and in which so many happy hours have been since spent by
  us together, you would degrade to the condition of a common entrance,
  and every body would be eager to pass through the room which has
  hitherto contained within itself more real accommodation and comfort
  than any other apartment of the handsomest dimensions in the world
  could possibly afford."
  
  Mrs. Dashwood again assured him that no alteration of the kind should
  be attempted.
  
  "You are a good woman," he warmly replied.  "Your promise makes me
  easy.  Extend it a little farther, and it will make me happy.  Tell me
  that not only your house will remain the same, but that I shall ever
  find you and yours as unchanged as your dwelling; and that you will
  always consider me with the kindness which has made everything
  belonging to you so dear to me."
  
  The promise was readily given, and Willoughby's behaviour during the
  whole of the evening declared at once his affection and happiness.
  
  "Shall we see you tomorrow to dinner?" said Mrs. Dashwood, when he was
  leaving them.  "I do not ask you to come in the morning, for we must
  walk to the park, to call on Lady Middleton."
  
  He engaged to be with them by four o'clock.
  
  
  
  
  Mrs. Dashwood's visit to Lady Middleton took place the next day, and
  two of her daughters went with her; but Marianne excused herself from
  being of the party, under some trifling pretext of employment; and her
  mother, who concluded that a promise had been made by Willoughby the
  night before of calling on her while they were absent, was perfectly
  satisfied with her remaining at home.
  
  On their return from the park they found Willoughby's curricle and
  servant in waiting at the cottage, and Mrs. Dashwood was convinced that
  her conjecture had been just.  So far it was all as she had foreseen;
  but on entering the house she beheld what no foresight had taught her
  to expect.  They were no sooner in the passage than Marianne came
  hastily out of the parlour apparently in violent affliction, with her
  handkerchief at her eyes; and without noticing them ran up stairs.
  Surprised and alarmed they proceeded directly into the room she had
  just quitted, where they found only Willoughby, who was leaning against
  the mantel-piece with his back towards them.  He turned round on their
  coming in, and his countenance shewed that he strongly partook of the
  emotion which over-powered Marianne.
  
  "Is anything the matter with her?" cried Mrs. Dashwood as she
  entered--"is she ill?"
  
  "I hope not," he replied, trying to look cheerful; and with a forced
  smile presently added, "It is I who may rather expect to be ill--for I
  am now suffering under a very heavy disappointment!"
  
  "Disappointment?"
  
  "Yes, for I am unable to keep my engagement with you.  Mrs. Smith has
  this morning exercised the privilege of riches upon a poor dependent
  cousin, by sending me on business to London.  I have just received my
  dispatches, and taken my farewell of Allenham; and by way of
  exhilaration I am now come to take my farewell of you."
  
  "To London!--and are you going this morning?"
  
  "Almost this moment."
  
  "This is very unfortunate.  But Mrs. Smith must be obliged;--and her
  business will not detain you from us long I hope."
  
  He coloured as he replied, "You are very kind, but I have no idea of
  returning into Devonshire immediately.  My visits to Mrs. Smith are
  never repeated within the twelvemonth."
  
  "And is Mrs. Smith your only friend?  Is Allenham the only house in the
  neighbourhood to which you will be welcome?  For shame, Willoughby, can
  you wait for an invitation here?"
  
  His colour increased; and with his eyes fixed on the ground he only
  replied, "You are too good."
  
  Mrs. Dashwood looked at Elinor with surprise.  Elinor felt equal
  amazement.  For a few moments every one was silent.  Mrs. Dashwood
  first spoke.
  
  "I have only to add, my dear Willoughby, that at Barton cottage you
  will always be welcome; for I will not press you to return here
  immediately, because you only can judge how far THAT might be pleasing
  to Mrs. Smith; and on this head I shall be no more disposed to question
  your judgment than to doubt your inclination."
  
  "My engagements at present," replied Willoughby, confusedly, "are of
  such a nature--that--I dare not flatter myself"--
  
  He stopt.  Mrs. Dashwood was too much astonished to speak, and another
  pause succeeded.  This was broken by Willoughby, who said with a faint
  smile, "It is folly to linger in this manner.  I will not torment
  myself any longer by remaining among friends whose society it is
  impossible for me now to enjoy."
  
  He then hastily took leave of them all and left the room.  They saw him
  step into his carriage, and in a minute it was out of sight.
  
  Mrs. Dashwood felt too much for speech, and instantly quitted the
  parlour to give way in solitude to the concern and alarm which this
  sudden departure occasioned.
  
  Elinor's uneasiness was at least equal to her mother's.  She thought of
  what had just passed with anxiety and distrust.  Willoughby's behaviour
  in taking leave of them, his embarrassment, and affectation of
  cheerfulness, and, above all, his unwillingness to accept her mother's
  invitation, a backwardness so unlike a lover, so unlike himself,
  greatly disturbed her.  One moment she feared that no serious design
  had ever been formed on his side; and the next that some unfortunate
  quarrel had taken place between him and her sister;--the distress in
  which Marianne had quitted the room was such as a serious quarrel could
  most reasonably account for, though when she considered what Marianne's
  love for him was, a quarrel seemed almost impossible.
  
  But whatever might be the particulars of their separation, her sister's
  affliction was indubitable; and she thought with the tenderest
  compassion of that violent sorrow which Marianne was in all probability
  not merely giving way to as a relief, but feeding and encouraging as a
  duty.
  
  In about half an hour her mother returned, and though her eyes were
  red, her countenance was not uncheerful.
  
  "Our dear Willoughby is now some miles from Barton, Elinor," said she,
  as she sat down to work, "and with how heavy a heart does he travel?"
  
  "It is all very strange.  So suddenly to be gone! It seems but the work
  of a moment.  And last night he was with us so happy, so cheerful, so
  affectionate?  And now, after only ten minutes notice--Gone too without
  intending to return!--Something more than what he owned to us must have
  happened.  He did not speak, he did not behave like himself.  YOU must
  have seen the difference as well as I.  What can it be?  Can they have
  quarrelled?  Why else should he have shewn such unwillingness to accept
  your invitation here?"--
  
  "It was not inclination that he wanted, Elinor; I could plainly see
  THAT.  He had not the power of accepting it.  I have thought it all
  over I assure you, and I can perfectly account for every thing that at
  first seemed strange to me as well as to you."
  
  "Can you, indeed!"
  
  "Yes. I have explained it to myself in the most satisfactory way;--but
  you, Elinor, who love to doubt where you can--it will not satisfy YOU,
  I know; but you shall not talk ME out of my trust in it.  I am
  persuaded that Mrs. Smith suspects his regard for Marianne, disapproves
  of it, (perhaps because she has other views for him,) and on that
  account is eager to get him away;--and that the business which she
  sends him off to transact is invented as an excuse to dismiss him.
  This is what I believe to have happened.  He is, moreover, aware that
  she DOES disapprove the connection, he dares not therefore at present
  confess to her his engagement with Marianne, and he feels himself
  obliged, from his dependent situation, to give into her schemes, and
  absent himself from Devonshire for a while.  You will tell me, I know,
  that this may or may NOT have happened; but I will listen to no cavil,
  unless you can point out any other method of understanding the affair
  as satisfactory at this.  And now, Elinor, what have you to say?"
  
  "Nothing, for you have anticipated my answer."
  
  "Then you would have told me, that it might or might not have happened.
  Oh, Elinor, how incomprehensible are your feelings!  You had rather
  take evil upon credit than good.  You had rather look out for misery
  for Marianne, and guilt for poor Willoughby, than an apology for the
  latter.  You are resolved to think him blameable, because he took leave
  of us with less affection than his usual behaviour has shewn.  And is
  no allowance to be made for inadvertence, or for spirits depressed by
  recent disappointment?  Are no probabilities to be accepted, merely
  because they are not certainties?  Is nothing due to the man whom we
  have all such reason to love, and no reason in the world to think ill
  of?  To the possibility of motives unanswerable in themselves, though
  unavoidably secret for a while?  And, after all, what is it you suspect
  him of?"
  
  "I can hardly tell myself.  But suspicion of something unpleasant is
  the inevitable consequence of such an alteration as we just witnessed
  in him.  There is great truth, however, in what you have now urged of
  the allowances which ought to be made for him, and it is my wish to be
  candid in my judgment of every body.  Willoughby may undoubtedly have
  very sufficient reasons for his conduct, and I will hope that he has.
  But it would have been more like Willoughby to acknowledge them at
  once.  Secrecy may be advisable; but still I cannot help wondering at
  its being practiced by him."
  
  "Do not blame him, however, for departing from his character, where the
  deviation is necessary.  But you really do admit the justice of what I
  have said in his defence?--I am happy--and he is acquitted."
  
  "Not entirely.  It may be proper to conceal their engagement (if they
  ARE engaged) from Mrs. Smith--and if that is the case, it must be
  highly expedient for Willoughby to be but little in Devonshire at
  present.  But this is no excuse for their concealing it from us."
  
  "Concealing it from us! my dear child, do you accuse Willoughby and
  Marianne of concealment? This is strange indeed, when your eyes have
  been reproaching them every day for incautiousness."
  
  "I want no proof of their affection," said Elinor; "but of their
  engagement I do."
  
  "I am perfectly satisfied of both."
  
  "Yet not a syllable has been said to you on the subject, by either of
  them."
  
  "I have not wanted syllables where actions have spoken so plainly.  Has
  not his behaviour to Marianne and to all of us, for at least the last
  fortnight, declared that he loved and considered her as his future
  wife, and that he felt for us the attachment of the nearest relation?
  Have we not perfectly understood each other?  Has not my consent been
  daily asked by his looks, his manner, his attentive and affectionate
  respect?  My Elinor, is it possible to doubt their engagement?  How
  could such a thought occur to you?  How is it to be supposed that
  Willoughby, persuaded as he must be of your sister's love, should leave
  her, and leave her perhaps for months, without telling her of his
  affection;--that they should part without a mutual exchange of
  confidence?"
  
  "I confess," replied Elinor, "that every circumstance except ONE is in
  favour of their engagement; but that ONE is the total silence of both
  on the subject, and with me it almost outweighs every other."
  
  "How strange this is!  You must think wretchedly indeed of Willoughby,
  if, after all that has openly passed between them, you can doubt the
  nature of the terms on which they are together.  Has he been acting a
  part in his behaviour to your sister all this time?  Do you suppose him
  really indifferent to her?"
  
  "No, I cannot think that.  He must and does love her I am sure."
  
  "But with a strange kind of tenderness, if he can leave her with such
  indifference, such carelessness of the future, as you attribute to him."
  
  "You must remember, my dear mother, that I have never considered this
  matter as certain.  I have had my doubts, I confess; but they are
  fainter than they were, and they may soon be entirely done away.  If we
  find they correspond, every fear of mine will be removed."
  
  "A mighty concession indeed!  If you were to see them at the altar, you
  would suppose they were going to be married.  Ungracious girl!  But I
  require no such proof.  Nothing in my opinion has ever passed to
  justify doubt; no secrecy has been attempted; all has been uniformly
  open and unreserved.  You cannot doubt your sister's wishes.  It must
  be Willoughby therefore whom you suspect.  But why?  Is he not a man of
  honour and feeling? Has there been any inconsistency on his side to
  create alarm? can he be deceitful?"
  
  "I hope not, I believe not," cried Elinor.  "I love Willoughby,
  sincerely love him; and suspicion of his integrity cannot be more
  painful to yourself than to me.  It has been involuntary, and I will
  not encourage it.  I was startled, I confess, by the alteration in his
  manners this morning;--he did not speak like himself, and did not
  return your kindness with any cordiality.  But all this may be
  explained by such a situation of his affairs as you have supposed.  He
  had just parted from my sister, had seen her leave him in the greatest
  affliction; and if he felt obliged, from a fear of offending Mrs.
  Smith, to resist the temptation of returning here soon, and yet aware
  that by declining your invitation, by saying that he was going away for
  some time, he should seem to act an ungenerous, a suspicious part by
  our family, he might well be embarrassed and disturbed.  In such a
  case, a plain and open avowal of his difficulties would have been more
  to his honour I think, as well as more consistent with his general
  character;--but I will not raise objections against any one's conduct
  on so illiberal a foundation, as a difference in judgment from myself,
  or a deviation from what I may think right and consistent."
  
  "You speak very properly.  Willoughby certainly does not deserve to be
  suspected.  Though WE have not known him long, he is no stranger in
  this part of the world; and who has ever spoken to his disadvantage?
  Had he been in a situation to act independently and marry immediately,
  it might have been odd that he should leave us without acknowledging
  everything to me at once: but this is not the case.  It is an
  engagement in some respects not prosperously begun, for their marriage
  must be at a very uncertain distance; and even secrecy, as far as it
  can be observed, may now be very advisable."
  
  They were interrupted by the entrance of Margaret; and Elinor was then
  at liberty to think over the representations of her mother, to
  acknowledge the probability of many, and hope for the justice of all.
  
  They saw nothing of Marianne till dinner time, when she entered the
  room and took her place at the table without saying a word.  Her eyes
  were red and swollen; and it seemed as if her tears were even then
  restrained with difficulty.  She avoided the looks of them all, could
  neither eat nor speak, and after some time, on her mother's silently
  pressing her hand with tender compassion, her small degree of fortitude
  was quite overcome, she burst into tears and left the room.
  
  This violent oppression of spirits continued the whole evening.  She
  was without any power, because she was without any desire of command
  over herself.  The slightest mention of anything relative to Willoughby
  overpowered her in an instant; and though her family were most
  anxiously attentive to her comfort, it was impossible for them, if they
  spoke at all, to keep clear of every subject which her feelings
  connected with him.
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Chapters 11-15
target: The Dashwoods are surprised by the many invitations they receive in Devonshire, including several private balls at Barton Park. Marianne spends almost all of her time with Sir John Willoughby, who seems to have eyes for her alone. Elinor, however, is concerned by how open her sister is in her affections. She, unlike her sister, has no one whose company she truly enjoys, with the exception of Colonel Brandon. He, disappointed by Marianne's ardor for Willoughby, asks Elinor if her sister believes in "second attachments." Elinor must confess that Marianne's romantic sensibility seems bent on the ideal of love at first sight. One morning, while Elinor and Marianne are out walking, the younger sister reveals that Willoughby offered her a horse, as a gift. The offer thrills Marianne, but Elinor gently reminds her sister how inconvenient and expensive the horse would be to maintain. She also tells Marianne that she doubts the propriety of receiving such a generous gift from a man she has known so briefly. Marianne insists that it does not necessarily take a long time for people to get to know each other well, though she ultimately concedes that owning a horse would be too much of a burden on their mother, who manages the household. The next day, Margaret reports to Elinor that she saw Willoughby cut off a lock of Marianne's hair and kiss it, a sure sign of the pair's engagement. Elinor, nonetheless, warns her little sister not to jump to any conclusions. Mrs. Jennings somehow learns that Elinor had affections for someone back at Norland. The old busybody tries to get Elinor to reveal the name of this "favourite," but Elinor insists that she had no such attachment. Finally, however, Margaret confirms that there was such a man, he was of no particular profession, and his name began with an 'F'. Elinor is extremely embarrassed by her sister's indiscretion. The Dashwoods, Colonel Brandon, Willoughby, and the Middletons plan an excursion to Whitwell, an estate twelve miles from Barton belonging to Colonel Brandon's brother-in-law. However, just as they are about to set off, the Colonel receives an urgent letter calling him to town immediately. This disappoints the other members of the party; they encourage Brandon to postpone his trip, but he insists on leaving right away. He refuses to reveal the reason for his sudden departure, though Mrs. Jennings whispers to Elinor that she suspects he must attend to Miss Williams, whom she identifies as his natural daughter. Since they cannot go to Whitwell without Colonel Brandon, the party instead decides to drive about the country in carriages. Marianne later confesses that during this excursion, Willoughby took her to his home at Allenham while his elderly relative, Mrs. Smith, was out. Elinor is appalled by the impropriety of such a visit, and she chastises her sister accordingly. One day while visiting Barton Cottage, Willoughby proclaims his utter fondness for the little house and makes Mrs. Dashwood promise that she will never change a single inch of stone in the structure. The Dashwood women invite him to come to dinner the next day, and he agrees. However, when Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood return home that afternoon, they discover Marianne in tears and Willoughby on his way out the door. Willoughby informs them that he has been sent to London on business and will probably not return to Devonshire for the rest of the year. Mrs. Dashwood, suspecting that he and Marianne are secretly engaged, tries to convince herself that Willoughby had to leave so that Mrs. Smith would not learn of the attachment, but Elinor remains more skeptical and reminds her mother that they do not know if there is any such understanding between the two. Marianne, meanwhile, remains overcome by grief and cannot speak or eat.
feat_summary_analysis: Commentary Elinor and Colonel Brandon's discussion of "second attachments" is ironic in light of the eventual developments of the novel, for nearly every character except Elinor will ultimately fall in love more than once: Marianne has fallen for John Willoughby but will grow to love the more sensible and constant Colonel; the Colonel loves Marianne because, as we will soon learn, she reminds him of a woman he loved before; Edward Ferrars will marry Elinor only after a long engagement to Lucy Steele; John Willoughby professes his devotion to Marianne but then marries the wealthy Miss Sophia Grey; and even Mr. Henry Dashwood had two wives. In her discussion with the Colonel, Elinor seems to have no problem with second attachments, yet it is only she who marries the very first man she knows and loves. When Marianne uses the term "attachment," she is referring to the deeply individualized, subjective feeling of falling in love, a term closely linked to the novel's notion of "sensibility." The counterpart of this term is "connection," which refers to a public bond that also entails an emotional "attachment," and is closely linked to the notion of "sense." Marianne's relationship with Willoughby is described as an "attachment," whereas, when Elinor speaks of her relationship to Edward, she points out the lack of any formal "connection" between them. As in all of Austen's novels, marriage here is closely bound up with financial considerations. When reflecting on her sister's relationship with Willoughby, Elinor realizes that "marriage might not be immediately in  power." This preoccupation with money in relation to marriage was highly warranted in Austen's day; marriage was for life, and insurance and social security did not exist; a couple needed a guaranteed source of income before they could settle down together. Jane Austen understood this problem personally. Her older sister Cassandra's engagement stretched on for several years because the marriage was postponed for lack of money. Although Willoughby ultimately marries for money, he seems oblivious to all practical concerns in the early days of his relationship with Marianne. He offers her the gift of a horse even though, as Elinor reminds her sister, there is no way the Dashwoods can afford its upkeep. The horse is named Queen Mab, a reference to the fanciful "fairies' midwife" from Romeo and Juliet , who supposedly rides her chariot across lovers' brains to create their magical dreams. These dreams, however, according to Shakespeare's Mercutio, are "begot of nothing but fantasy" and are "more inconstant than the wind," just as Marianne's dream of owning the horse can never come true and her Willoughby will prove a mercurial and inconstant lover. Given Willoughby's unfaithfulness, it is ironic that he insists that Mrs. Dashwood promise never to alter a single stone in Barton Cottage; a man who abandons one lover for another has hardly the right to demand that a building remain unchanged. These chapters serve as a lens through which to study one of the most important themes in the novel, the role of appearances in the assessment and judgment of character. Elinor consistently and fiercely refrains from judging other characters on the basis of appearances alone. Although Mrs. Jennings claims early on that Colonel Brandon is interested in Marianne, Elinor is not convinced of this fact until Brandon approaches her directly to discuss Marianne's romantic proclivities. Similarly, although Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret conclude that Marianne and Willoughby are engaged, Elinor remains skeptical so long as the two refrain from formally announcing their engagement. Her discussion with her mother about Marianne's relationship to Willoughby in Chapter 15 reveals that while Mrs. Dashwood readily bases her faith on looks and gestures, Elinor requires that feelings be explicitly articulated. Mrs. Dashwood draws conclusions based on appearances alone, while Elinor suspends judgment until these appearances are confirmed by words. This is yet another example of the dichotomy in the novel's title.