Chapter 23

by Jane Austen

　　However small Elinor's general dependence onLucy's veracity might be, it was impossible for heron serious reflection to suspect it in the present case,where no temptation could be answerable to the follyof inventing a falsehood of such a description. What Lucyhad asserted to be true, therefore, Elinor could not,dared not longer doubt; supported as it was too on everyside by such probabilities and proofs, and contradictedby nothing but her own wishes. Their opportunity ofacquaintance in the house of Mr. Pratt was a foundationfor the rest, at once indisputable and alarming; and Edward'svisit near Plymouth, his melancholy state of mind,his dissatisfaction at his own prospects, his uncertainbehaviour towards herself, the intimate knowledge of theMiss Steeles as to Norland and their family connections,which had often surprised her, the picture, the letter,the ring, formed altogether such a body of evidence,as overcame every fear of condemning him unfairly,and established as a fact, which no partiality couldset aside, his ill-treatment of herself.--Her resentmentof such behaviour, her indignation at having been its dupe,for a short time made her feel only for herself;but other ideas, other considerations, soon arose.Had Edward been intentionally deceiving her? Had he feigneda regard for her which he did not feel? Was his engagementto Lucy an engagement of the heart? No; whatever it mightonce have been, she could not believe it such at present.His affection was all her own. She could not be deceivedin that. Her mother, sisters, Fanny, all had beenconscious of his regard for her at Norland; it was notan illusion of her own vanity. He certainly loved her.What a softener of the heart was this persuasion! How muchcould it not tempt her to forgive! He had been blamable,highly blamable, in remaining at Norland after he firstfelt her influence over him to be more than it oughtto be. In that, he could not be defended; but if hehad injured her, how much more had he injured himself;if her case were pitiable, his was hopeless.His imprudence had made her miserable for a while; but itseemed to have deprived himself of all chance of everbeing otherwise. She might in time regain tranquillity;but he, what had he to look forward to? Could heever be tolerably happy with Lucy Steele; could he,were his affection for herself out of the question,with his integrity, his delicacy, and well-informed mind,be satisfied with a wife like her--illiterate, artful,and selfish?The youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturallyblind him to every thing but her beauty and good nature;but the four succeeding years--years, which if rationallyspent, give such improvement to the understanding, musthave opened his eyes to her defects of education,while the same period of time, spent on her sidein inferior society and more frivolous pursuits,had perhaps robbed her of that simplicity which mightonce have given an interesting character to her beauty.If in the supposition of his seeking to marry herself,his difficulties from his mother had seemed great,how much greater were they now likely to be, whenthe object of his engagement was undoubtedly inferiorin connections, and probably inferior in fortune to herself.These difficulties, indeed, with a heart so alienatedfrom Lucy, might not press very hard upon his patience;but melancholy was the state of the person by whom theexpectation of family opposition and unkindness, couldbe felt as a relief!As these considerations occurred to her in painfulsuccession, she wept for him, more than for herself.Supported by the conviction of having done nothing tomerit her present unhappiness, and consoled by the beliefthat Edward had done nothing to forfeit her esteem,she thought she could even now, under the first smartof the heavy blow, command herself enough to guard everysuspicion of the truth from her mother and sisters.And so well was she able to answer her own expectations,that when she joined them at dinner only two hoursafter she had first suffered the extinction of all herdearest hopes, no one would have supposed from theappearance of the sisters, that Elinor was mourningin secret over obstacles which must divide her for everfrom the object of her love, and that Marianne wasinternally dwelling on the perfections of a man, of whosewhole heart she felt thoroughly possessed, and whom sheexpected to see in every carriage which drove near their house.The necessity of concealing from her mother andMarianne, what had been entrusted in confidence to herself,though it obliged her to unceasing exertion, was noaggravation of Elinor's distress. On the contraryit was a relief to her, to be spared the communicationof what would give such affliction to them, and to besaved likewise from hearing that condemnation of Edward,which would probably flow from the excess of their partialaffection for herself, and which was more than she feltequal to support.From their counsel, or their conversation, she knewshe could receive no assistance, their tenderness andsorrow must add to her distress, while her self-commandwould neither receive encouragement from their examplenor from their praise. She was stronger alone,and her own good sense so well supported her, that herfirmness was as unshaken, her appearance of cheerfulnessas invariable, as with regrets so poignant and so fresh,it was possible for them to be.Much as she had suffered from her first conversationwith Lucy on the subject, she soon felt an earnest wishof renewing it; and this for more reasons than one.She wanted to hear many particulars of their engagementrepeated again, she wanted more clearly to understandwhat Lucy really felt for Edward, whether there were anysincerity in her declaration of tender regard for him,and she particularly wanted to convince Lucy, by herreadiness to enter on the matter again, and her calmnessin conversing on it, that she was no otherwise interestedin it than as a friend, which she very much fearedher involuntary agitation, in their morning discourse,must have left at least doubtful. That Lucy was disposedto be jealous of her appeared very probable: it was plainthat Edward had always spoken highly in her praise,not merely from Lucy's assertion, but from her venturingto trust her on so short a personal acquaintance,with a secret so confessedly and evidently important.And even Sir John's joking intelligence must have hadsome weight. But indeed, while Elinor remained so wellassured within herself of being really beloved by Edward,it required no other consideration of probabilitiesto make it natural that Lucy should be jealous;and that she was so, her very confidence was a proof.What other reason for the disclosure of the affair couldthere be, but that Elinor might be informed by it of Lucy'ssuperior claims on Edward, and be taught to avoid himin future? She had little difficulty in understanding thusmuch of her rival's intentions, and while she was firmlyresolved to act by her as every principle of honour andhonesty directed, to combat her own affection for Edwardand to see him as little as possible; she could not denyherself the comfort of endeavouring to convince Lucythat her heart was unwounded. And as she could now havenothing more painful to hear on the subject than had alreadybeen told, she did not mistrust her own ability of goingthrough a repetition of particulars with composure.But it was not immediately that an opportunityof doing so could be commanded, though Lucy was as welldisposed as herself to take advantage of any that occurred;for the weather was not often fine enough to allowof their joining in a walk, where they might most easilyseparate themselves from the others; and though theymet at least every other evening either at the parkor cottage, and chiefly at the former, they couldnot be supposed to meet for the sake of conversation.Such a thought would never enter either Sir John or LadyMiddleton's head; and therefore very little leisurewas ever given for a general chat, and none at all forparticular discourse. They met for the sake of eating,drinking, and laughing together, playing at cards,or consequences, or any other game that was sufficiently noisy.One or two meetings of this kind had taken place,without affording Elinor any chance of engaging Lucyin private, when Sir John called at the cottage one morning,to beg, in the name of charity, that they would alldine with Lady Middleton that day, as he was obligedto attend the club at Exeter, and she would otherwise bequite alone, except her mother and the two Miss Steeles.Elinor, who foresaw a fairer opening for the point shehad in view, in such a party as this was likely to be,more at liberty among themselves under the tranquiland well-bred direction of Lady Middleton than whenher husband united them together in one noisy purpose,immediately accepted the invitation; Margaret, with hermother's permission, was equally compliant, and Marianne,though always unwilling to join any of their parties,was persuaded by her mother, who could not bear to have herseclude herself from any chance of amusement, to go likewise.The young ladies went, and Lady Middleton was happilypreserved from the frightful solitude which had threatened her.The insipidity of the meeting was exactly such as Elinorhad expected; it produced not one novelty of thoughtor expression, and nothing could be less interestingthan the whole of their discourse both in the diningparlour and drawing room: to the latter, the childrenaccompanied them, and while they remained there, she wastoo well convinced of the impossibility of engaging Lucy'sattention to attempt it. They quitted it only with theremoval of the tea-things. The card-table was then placed,and Elinor began to wonder at herself for having everentertained a hope of finding time for conversationat the park. They all rose up in preparation for a round game."I am glad," said Lady Middleton to Lucy,"you are not going to finish poor little Annamaria'sbasket this evening; for I am sure it must hurt youreyes to work filigree by candlelight. And we will makethe dear little love some amends for her disappointmentto-morrow, and then I hope she will not much mind it."This hint was enough, Lucy recollected herself instantlyand replied, "Indeed you are very much mistaken,Lady Middleton; I am only waiting to know whether you canmake your party without me, or I should have been at myfiligree already. I would not disappoint the little angelfor all the world: and if you want me at the card-table now,I am resolved to finish the basket after supper.""You are very good, I hope it won't hurt your eyes--will you ring the bell for some working candles?My poor little girl would be sadly disappointed, I know,if the basket was not finished tomorrow, for though Itold her it certainly would not, I am sure she dependsupon having it done."Lucy directly drew her work table near herand reseated herself with an alacrity and cheerfulnesswhich seemed to infer that she could taste no greaterdelight than in making a filigree basket for a spoilt child.Lady Middleton proposed a rubber of Casino to the others.No one made any objection but Marianne, who with her usualinattention to the forms of general civility, exclaimed,"Your Ladyship will have the goodness to excuse me--youknow I detest cards. I shall go to the piano-forte;I have not touched it since it was tuned." And withoutfarther ceremony, she turned away and walked to the instrument.Lady Middleton looked as if she thanked heaventhat she had never made so rude a speech."Marianne can never keep long from that instrumentyou know, ma'am," said Elinor, endeavouring to smoothaway the offence; "and I do not much wonder at it; for itis the very best toned piano-forte I ever heard."The remaining five were now to draw their cards."Perhaps," continued Elinor, "if I should happento cut out, I may be of some use to Miss Lucy Steele,in rolling her papers for her; and there is so much stillto be done to the basket, that it must be impossibleI think for her labour singly, to finish it this evening.I should like the work exceedingly, if she would allowme a share in it.""Indeed I shall be very much obliged to youfor your help," cried Lucy, "for I find there is moreto be done to it than I thought there was; and it wouldbe a shocking thing to disappoint dear Annamaria after all.""Oh! that would be terrible, indeed," said Miss Steele--"Dear little soul, how I do love her!""You are very kind," said Lady Middleton to Elinor;"and as you really like the work, perhaps you will beas well pleased not to cut in till another rubber,or will you take your chance now?"Elinor joyfully profited by the first of these proposals,and thus by a little of that address which Mariannecould never condescend to practise, gained her own end,and pleased Lady Middleton at the same time. Lucy made roomfor her with ready attention, and the two fair rivals werethus seated side by side at the same table, and, with theutmost harmony, engaged in forwarding the same work.The pianoforte at which Marianne, wrapped up in her ownmusic and her own thoughts, had by this time forgottenthat any body was in the room besides herself, was luckilyso near them that Miss Dashwood now judged she might safely,under the shelter of its noise, introduce the interestingsubject, without any risk of being heard at the card-table.