Chapter 18

by Jane Austen

　　Elinor saw, with great uneasiness the low spiritsof her friend. His visit afforded her but a verypartial satisfaction, while his own enjoyment in itappeared so imperfect. It was evident that he was unhappy;she wished it were equally evident that he stilldistinguished her by the same affection which onceshe had felt no doubt of inspiring; but hitherto thecontinuance of his preference seemed very uncertain;and the reservedness of his manner towards her contradictedone moment what a more animated look had intimated the precedingone.He joined her and Marianne in the breakfast-roomthe next morning before the others were down; and Marianne,who was always eager to promote their happiness as faras she could, soon left them to themselves. But before shewas half way upstairs she heard the parlour door open, and,turning round, was astonished to see Edward himself come out."I am going into the village to see my horses,"said be, "as you are not yet ready for breakfast; I shallbe back again presently."***Edward returned to them with fresh admirationof the surrounding country; in his walk to the village,he had seen many parts of the valley to advantage;and the village itself, in a much higher situation thanthe cottage, afforded a general view of the whole, which hadexceedingly pleased him. This was a subject which ensuredMarianne's attention, and she was beginning to describeher own admiration of these scenes, and to question him moreminutely on the objects that had particularly struck him,when Edward interrupted her by saying, "You must notenquire too far, Marianne--remember I have no knowledgein the picturesque, and I shall offend you by my ignoranceand want of taste if we come to particulars. I shall callhills steep, which ought to be bold; surfaces strangeand uncouth, which ought to be irregular and rugged;and distant objects out of sight, which ought only to beindistinct through the soft medium of a hazy atmosphere.You must be satisfied with such admiration as I canhonestly give. I call it a very fine country--thehills are steep, the woods seem full of fine timber,and the valley looks comfortable and snug--with richmeadows and several neat farm houses scattered hereand there. It exactly answers my idea of a fine country,because it unites beauty with utility--and I dare say itis a picturesque one too, because you admire it; I caneasily believe it to be full of rocks and promontories,grey moss and brush wood, but these are all lost on me.I know nothing of the picturesque.""I am afraid it is but too true," said Marianne;"but why should you boast of it?""I suspect," said Elinor, "that to avoid one kindof affectation, Edward here falls into another. Because hebelieves many people pretend to more admiration of the beautiesof nature than they really feel, and is disgusted withsuch pretensions, he affects greater indifference and lessdiscrimination in viewing them himself than he possesses.He is fastidious and will have an affectation of his own.""It is very true," said Marianne, "that admirationof landscape scenery is become a mere jargon.Every body pretends to feel and tries to describe withthe taste and elegance of him who first defined whatpicturesque beauty was. I detest jargon of every kind,and sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself,because I could find no language to describe themin but what was worn and hackneyed out of all sense and meaning.""I am convinced," said Edward, "that you really feelall the delight in a fine prospect which you professto feel. But, in return, your sister must allow meto feel no more than I profess. I like a fine prospect,but not on picturesque principles. I do not like crooked,twisted, blasted trees. I admire them much more if theyare tall, straight, and flourishing. I do not like ruined,tattered cottages. I am not fond of nettles or thistles,or heath blossoms. I have more pleasure in a snugfarm-house than a watch-tower--and a troop of tidy,happy villages please me better than the finest bandittiin the world."Marianne looked with amazement at Edward,with compassion at her sister. Elinor only laughed.The subject was continued no farther; and Marianneremained thoughtfully silent, till a new object suddenlyengaged her attention. She was sitting by Edward, andin taking his tea from Mrs. Dashwood, his hand passedso directly before her, as to make a ring, with a plaitof hair in the centre, very conspicuous on one of his fingers."I never saw you wear a ring before, Edward," she cried."Is that Fanny's hair? I remember her promising to giveyou some. But I should have thought her hair had been darker."Marianne spoke inconsiderately what she really felt--but when she saw how much she had pained Edward, her ownvexation at her want of thought could not be surpassedby his. He coloured very deeply, and giving a momentaryglance at Elinor, replied, "Yes; it is my sister's hair.The setting always casts a different shade on it,you know."Elinor had met his eye, and looked conscious likewise.That the hair was her own, she instantaneously felt aswell satisfied as Marianne; the only difference in theirconclusions was, that what Marianne considered as a freegift from her sister, Elinor was conscious must have beenprocured by some theft or contrivance unknown to herself.She was not in a humour, however, to regard it as an affront,and affecting to take no notice of what passed,by instantly talking of something else, she internallyresolved henceforward to catch every opportunity of eyeingthe hair and of satisfying herself, beyond all doubt,that it was exactly the shade of her own.Edward's embarrassment lasted some time, and itended in an absence of mind still more settled.He was particularly grave the whole morning.Marianne severely censured herself for what she had said;but her own forgiveness might have been more speedy,had she known how little offence it had given her sister.Before the middle of the day, they were visited by SirJohn and Mrs. Jennings, who, having heard of the arrivalof a gentleman at the cottage, came to take a surveyof the guest. With the assistance of his mother-in-law,Sir John was not long in discovering that the name ofFerrars began with an F. and this prepared a future mineof raillery against the devoted Elinor, which nothing butthe newness of their acquaintance with Edward could haveprevented from being immediately sprung. But, as it was,she only learned, from some very significant looks, how fartheir penetration, founded on Margaret's instructions, extended.Sir John never came to the Dashwoods without eitherinviting them to dine at the park the next day, or to drinktea with them that evening. On the present occasion,for the better entertainment of their visitor, towardswhose amusement he felt himself bound to contribute,he wished to engage them for both."You must drink tea with us to night," said he,"for we shall be quite alone--and tomorrow you mustabsolutely dine with us, for we shall be a large party."Mrs. Jennings enforced the necessity. "And who knowsbut you may raise a dance," said she. "And that willtempt you, Miss Marianne.""A dance!" cried Marianne. "Impossible! Who is to dance?""Who! why yourselves, and the Careys, and Whitakersto be sure.--What! you thought nobody could dancebecause a certain person that shall be nameless is gone!""I wish with all my soul," cried Sir John,"that Willoughby were among us again."This, and Marianne's blushing, gave new suspicionsto Edward. "And who is Willoughby?" said he, in a low voice,to Miss Dashwood, by whom he was sitting.She gave him a brief reply. Marianne's countenancewas more communicative. Edward saw enough to comprehend,not only the meaning of others, but such of Marianne'sexpressions as had puzzled him before; and when theirvisitors left them, he went immediately round her, and said,in a whisper, "I have been guessing. Shall I tell youmy guess?""What do you mean?""Shall I tell you.""Certainly.""Well then; I guess that Mr. Willoughby hunts."Marianne was surprised and confused, yet she couldnot help smiling at the quiet archness of his manner,and after a moment's silence, said,"Oh, Edward! How can you?--But the time will comeI hope...I am sure you will like him.""I do not doubt it," replied he, rather astonishedat her earnestness and warmth; for had he not imagined itto be a joke for the good of her acquaintance in general,founded only on a something or a nothing between Mr. Willoughbyand herself, he would not have ventured to mention it.