Chapter 11

by Jane Austen

　　Little had Mrs. Dashwood or her daughters imaginedwhen they first came into Devonshire, that so manyengagements would arise to occupy their time as shortlypresented themselves, or that they should have such frequentinvitations and such constant visitors as to leave them littleleisure for serious employment. Yet such was the case.When Marianne was recovered, the schemes of amusement at homeand abroad, which Sir John had been previously forming,were put into execution. The private balls at the parkthen began; and parties on the water were made andaccomplished as often as a showery October would allow.In every meeting of the kind Willoughby was included;and the ease and familiarity which naturally attendedthese parties were exactly calculated to give increasingintimacy to his acquaintance with the Dashwoods, to affordhim 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 assuranceof her affection.Elinor could not be surprised at their attachment.She only wished that it were less openly shewn; and onceor twice did venture to suggest the propriety of someself-command to Marianne. But Marianne abhorred allconcealment where no real disgrace could attend unreserve;and to aim at the restraint of sentiments which were notin themselves illaudable, appeared to her not merelyan unnecessary effort, but a disgraceful subjectionof reason to common-place and mistaken notions.Willoughby thought the same; and their behaviour atall 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 gether a good hand. If dancing formed the amusementof 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 wordto any body else. Such conduct made them of coursemost exceedingly laughed at; but ridicule could not shame,and seemed hardly to provoke them.Mrs. Dashwood entered into all their feelings witha warmth which left her no inclination for checking thisexcessive display of them. To her it was but the naturalconsequence 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 attachmentto Norland, which she brought with her from Sussex,was more likely to be softened than she had thought itpossible before, by the charms which his society bestowedon her present home.Elinor's happiness was not so great. Her heart was notso much at ease, nor her satisfaction in their amusementsso pure. They afforded her no companion that could makeamends for what she had left behind, nor that could teachher to think of Norland with less regret than ever.Neither Lady Middleton nor Mrs. Jennings could supplyto her the conversation she missed; although the latterwas an everlasting talker, and from the first had regardedher with a kindness which ensured her a large share ofher discourse. She had already repeated her own historyto Elinor three or four times; and had Elinor's memory beenequal to her means of improvement, she might have knownvery early in their acquaintance all the particulars ofMr. Jenning's last illness, and what he said to his wifea few minutes before he died. Lady Middleton was moreagreeable than her mother only in being more silent.Elinor needed little observation to perceive that herreserve was a mere calmness of manner with which sensehad nothing to do. Towards her husband and mother shewas the same as to them; and intimacy was thereforeneither to be looked for nor desired. She had nothingto say one day that she had not said the day before.Her insipidity was invariable, for even her spirits werealways the same; and though she did not oppose the partiesarranged by her husband, provided every thing were conductedin style and her two eldest children attended her,she never appeared to receive more enjoyment from themthan she might have experienced in sitting at home;--and so little did her presence add to the pleasureof the others, by any share in their conversation,that they were sometimes only reminded of her beingamongst 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 therespect of abilities, excite the interest of friendship,or give pleasure as a companion. Willoughby was outof the question. Her admiration and regard, even hersisterly regard, was all his own; but he was a lover;his attentions were wholly Marianne's, and a far lessagreeable man might have been more generally pleasing.Colonel Brandon, unfortunately for himself, had no suchencouragement to think only of Marianne, and in conversingwith Elinor he found the greatest consolation for theindifference of her sister.Elinor's compassion for him increased, as she had reasonto suspect that the misery of disappointed love had alreadybeen known to him. This suspicion was given by some wordswhich accidently 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 fixedon 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 themimpossible to exist.""I believe she does. But how she contrives itwithout reflecting on the character of her own father,who had himself two wives, I know not. A few yearshowever will settle her opinions on the reasonable basisof common sense and observation; and then they may bemore 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 prejudicesof a young mind, that one is sorry to see them give wayto the reception of more general opinions.""I cannot agree with you there," said Elinor."There are inconveniences attending such feelingsas Marianne's, which all the charms of enthusiasm andignorance of the world cannot atone for. Her systems haveall the unfortunate tendency of setting propriety at nought;and a better acquaintance with the world is what I lookforward to as her greatest possible advantage."After a short pause he resumed the conversationby saying,--"Does your sister make no distinction in her objectionsagainst a second attachment? or is it equally criminalin every body? Are those who have been disappointedin their first choice, whether from the inconstancyof 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 minutiaeof her principles. I only know that I never yet heard heradmit 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 mindare obliged to give way, how frequently are theysucceeded by such opinions as are but too common, and toodangerous! I speak from experience. I once knew a ladywho in temper and mind greatly resembled your sister,who thought and judged like her, but who from an inforcedchange--from a series of unfortunate circumstances"--Here he stopt suddenly; appeared to think that he had saidtoo 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 concernedher ought not to escape his lips. As it was,it required but a slight effort of fancy to connect hisemotion 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 wouldhave been speedily formed under her active imagination;and every thing established in the most melancholy orderof disastrous love.