Chapter 17

by Jane Austen

　　Mrs. Dashwood was surprised only for a moment atseeing him; for his coming to Barton was, in her opinion,of all things the most natural. Her joy and expressionof regard long outlived her wonder. He received the kindestwelcome from her; and shyness, coldness, reserve could notstand against such a reception. They had begun to fail himbefore he entered the house, and they were quite overcomeby the captivating manners of Mrs. Dashwood. Indeed a mancould not very well be in love with either of her daughters,without extending the passion to her; and Elinor had thesatisfaction of seeing him soon become more like himself.His affections seemed to reanimate towards them all,and his interest in their welfare again became perceptible.He was not in spirits, however; he praised their house,admired its prospect, was attentive, and kind; but stillhe was not in spirits. The whole family perceived it,and Mrs. Dashwood, attributing it to some want of liberalityin his mother, sat down to table indignant against allselfish parents."What are Mrs. Ferrars's views for you at present, Edward?"said she, when dinner was over and they had drawn roundthe fire; "are you still to be a great orator in spite ofyourself?""No. I hope my mother is now convinced that I haveno more talents than inclination for a public life!""But how is your fame to be established? for famous youmust be to satisfy all your family; and with no inclinationfor expense, no affection for strangers, no profession,and no assurance, you may find it a difficult matter.""I shall not attempt it. I have no wish to bedistinguished; and have every reason to hope I never shall.Thank Heaven! I cannot be forced into genius and eloquence.""You have no ambition, I well know. Your wishesare all moderate.""As moderate as those of the rest of the world,I believe. I wish as well as every body else to beperfectly happy; but, like every body else it must bein my own way. Greatness will not make me so.""Strange that it would!" cried Marianne. "What havewealth or grandeur to do with happiness?""Grandeur has but little," said Elinor, "but wealthhas much to do with it.""Elinor, for shame!" said Marianne, "money can onlygive happiness where there is nothing else to give it.Beyond a competence, it can afford no real satisfaction,as far as mere self is concerned.""Perhaps," said Elinor, smiling, "we may cometo the same point. Your competence and my wealthare very much alike, I dare say; and without them,as the world goes now, we shall both agree that everykind of external comfort must be wanting. Your ideasare only more noble than mine. Come, what is your competence?""About eighteen hundred or two thousand a year;not more than that."Elinor laughed. "Two thousand a year! One is mywealth! I guessed how it would end.""And yet two thousand a-year is a very moderate income,"said Marianne. "A family cannot well be maintained ona smaller. I am sure I am not extravagant in my demands.A proper establishment of servants, a carriage, perhaps two,and hunters, cannot be supported on less."Elinor smiled again, to hear her sister describingso accurately their future expenses at Combe Magna."Hunters!" repeated Edward--"but why must you havehunters? Every body does not hunt."Marianne coloured as she replied, "But most people do.""I wish," said Margaret, striking out a novel thought,"that somebody would give us all a large fortune apiece!""Oh that they would!" cried Marianne, her eyessparkling with animation, and her cheeks glowingwith the delight of such imaginary happiness."We are all unanimous in that wish, I suppose,"said Elinor, "in spite of the insufficiency of wealth.""Oh dear!" cried Margaret, "how happy I should be!I wonder what I should do with it!"Marianne looked as if she had no doubt on that point."I should be puzzled to spend so large a fortune myself,"said Mrs. Dashwood, "if my children were all to be richmy help.""You must begin your improvements on this house,"observed Elinor, "and your difficulties will soon vanish.""What magnificent orders would travel from this familyto London," said Edward, "in such an event! What a happyday for booksellers, music-sellers, and print-shops! You,Miss Dashwood, would give a general commission for everynew print of merit to be sent you--and as for Marianne,I know her greatness of soul, there would not be music enoughin London to content her. And books!--Thomson, Cowper,Scott--she would buy them all over and over again: shewould buy up every copy, I believe, to prevent theirfalling into unworthy hands; and she would have everybook that tells her how to admire an old twisted tree.Should not you, Marianne? Forgive me, if I am very saucy.But I was willing to shew you that I had not forgot ourold disputes.""I love to be reminded of the past, Edward--whether itbe melancholy or gay, I love to recall it--and youwill never offend me by talking of former times.You are very right in supposing how my money would bespent--some of it, at least--my loose cash would certainlybe employed in improving my collection of music and books.""And the bulk of your fortune would be laid outin annuities on the authors or their heirs.""No, Edward, I should have something else to dowith it.""Perhaps, then, you would bestow it as a reward on thatperson who wrote the ablest defence of your favourite maxim,that no one can ever be in love more than once in theirlife--your opinion on that point is unchanged, I presume?""Undoubtedly. At my time of life opinions are tolerably fixed.It is not likely that I should now see or hear any thing tochange them.""Marianne is as steadfast as ever, you see," said Elinor,"she is not at all altered.""She is only grown a little more grave than she was.""Nay, Edward," said Marianne, "you need not reproach me.You are not very gay yourself.""Why should you think so!" replied he, with a sigh."But gaiety never was a part of my character.""Nor do I think it a part of Marianne's," said Elinor;"I should hardly call her a lively girl--she is very earnest,very eager in all she does--sometimes talks a great dealand always with animation--but she is not often really merry.""I believe you are right," he replied, "and yet Ihave always set her down as a lively girl.""I have frequently detected myself in such kind of mistakes,"said Elinor, "in a total misapprehension of character in somepoint or other: fancying people so much more gay or grave,or ingenious or stupid than they really are, and I canhardly tell why or in what the deception originated.Sometimes one is guided by what they say of themselves,and very frequently by what other people say of them,without giving oneself time to deliberate and judge.""But I thought it was right, Elinor," said Marianne,"to be guided wholly by the opinion of other people.I thought our judgments were given us merely to be subservientto those of neighbours. This has always been your doctrine,I am sure.""No, Marianne, never. My doctrine has never aimedat the subjection of the understanding. All I haveever attempted to influence has been the behaviour.You must not confound my meaning. I am guilty, I confess,of having often wished you to treat our acquaintancein general with greater attention; but when have I advisedyou to adopt their sentiments or to conform to theirjudgment in serious matters?""You have not been able to bring your sister over to yourplan of general civility," said Edward to Elinor, "Do you gainno ground?""Quite the contrary," replied Elinor,looking expressively at Marianne."My judgment," he returned, "is all on your sideof the question; but I am afraid my practice is muchmore on your sister's. I never wish to offend, but Iam so foolishly shy, that I often seem negligent,when I am only kept back by my natural awkwardness.I have frequently thought that I must have been intendedby nature to be fond of low company, I am so little atmy ease among strangers of gentility!""Marianne has not shyness to excuse any inattentionof hers," said Elinor."She knows her own worth too well for false shame,"replied Edward. "Shyness is only the effect of a senseof inferiority in some way or other. If I could persuademyself that my manners were perfectly easy and graceful,I should not be shy.""But you would still be reserved," said Marianne,"and that is worse."Edward started--"Reserved! Am I reserved, Marianne?""Yes, very.""I do not understand you," replied he, colouring."Reserved!--how, in what manner? What am I to tell you?What can you suppose?"Elinor looked surprised at his emotion; but tryingto laugh off the subject, she said to him, "Do not youknow my sister well enough to understand what she means?Do not you know she calls every one reserved who does nottalk as fast, and admire what she admires as rapturouslyas herself?"Edward made no answer. His gravity and thoughtfulnessreturned on him in their fullest extent--and he satfor some time silent and dull.