CHAPTER XXXVIII

Mrs. Jennings was very warm in her praise of Edward's conduct, but

only Elinor and Marianne understood its true merit. _They_ only knew

how little he had had to tempt him to be disobedient, and how small

was the consolation, beyond the consciousness of doing right, that

could remain to him in the loss of friends and fortune. Elinor gloried

in his integrity; and Marianne forgave all his offences in compassion

for his punishment. But though confidence between them was, by this

public discovery, restored to its proper state, it was not a subject

on which either of them were fond of dwelling when alone. Elinor

avoided it upon principle, as tending to fix still more upon her

thoughts, by the too warm, too positive assurances of Marianne, that

belief of Edward's continued affection for herself which she rather

wished to do away; and Marianne's courage soon failed her, in trying

to converse upon a topic which always left her more dissatisfied with

herself than ever, by the comparison it necessarily produced between

Elinor's conduct and her own.

She felt all the force of that comparison; but not as her sister had

hoped, to urge her to exertion now; she felt it with all the pain of

continual self-reproach, regretted most bitterly that she had never

exerted herself before; but it brought only the torture of penitence,

without the hope of amendment. Her mind was so much weakened that she

still fancied present exertion impossible, and therefore it only

dispirited her more.

Nothing new was heard by them, for a day or two afterwards, of affairs

in Harley Street, or Bartlett's Buildings. But though so much of the

matter was known to them already, that Mrs. Jennings might have had

enough to do in spreading that knowledge farther, without seeking

after more, she had resolved from the first to pay a visit of comfort

and inquiry to her cousins as soon as she could; and nothing but the

hindrance of more visitors than usual, had prevented her going to them

within that time.

The third day succeeding their knowledge of the particulars, was so

fine, so beautiful a Sunday as to draw many to Kensington Gardens,

though it was only the second week in March. Mrs. Jennings and Elinor

were of the number; but Marianne, who knew that the Willoughbys were

again in town, and had a constant dread of meeting them, chose rather

to stay at home, than venture into so public a place.

An intimate acquaintance of Mrs. Jennings joined them soon after they

entered the Gardens, and Elinor was not sorry that by her continuing

with them, and engaging all Mrs. Jennings's conversation, she was

herself left to quiet reflection. She saw nothing of the Willoughbys,

nothing of Edward, and for some time nothing of anybody who could by

any chance whether grave or gay, be interesting to her. But at last

she found herself with some surprise, accosted by Miss Steele, who,

though looking rather shy, expressed great satisfaction in meeting

them, and on receiving encouragement from the particular kindness of

Mrs. Jennings, left her own party for a short time, to join their's.

Mrs. Jennings immediately whispered to Elinor--

"Get it all out of her, my dear. She will tell you any thing if you

ask. You see I cannot leave Mrs. Clarke."

It was lucky, however, for Mrs. Jennings's curiosity and Elinor's too,

that she would tell any thing _without_ being asked; for nothing would

otherwise have been learnt.

"I am so glad to meet you;" said Miss Steele, taking her familiarly by

the arm--"for I wanted to see you of all things in the world." And

then lowering her voice, "I suppose Mrs. Jennings has heard all about

it. Is she angry?"

"Not at all, I believe, with you."

"That is a good thing. And Lady Middleton, is _she_ angry?"

"I cannot suppose it possible that she should."

"I am monstrous glad of it. Good gracious! I have had such a time of

it! I never saw Lucy in such a rage in my life. She vowed at first she

would never trim me up a new bonnet, nor do any thing else for me

again, so long as she lived; but now she is quite come to, and we are

as good friends as ever. Look, she made me this bow to my hat, and put

in the feather last night. There now, _you_ are going to laugh at me

too. But why should not I wear pink ribbons? I do not care if it _is_

the Doctor's favourite colour. I am sure, for my part, I should never

have known he _did_ like it better than any other colour, if he had

not happened to say so. My cousins have been so plaguing me! I declare

sometimes I do not know which way to look before them."

She had wandered away to a subject on which Elinor had nothing to say,

and therefore soon judged it expedient to find her way back again to

the first.

"Well, but Miss Dashwood," speaking triumphantly, "people may say what

they choose about Mr. Ferrars's declaring he would not have Lucy, for

it is no such thing I can tell you; and it is quite a shame for such

ill-natured reports to be spread abroad. Whatever Lucy might think

about it herself, you know, it was no business of other people to set

it down for certain."

"I never heard any thing of the kind hinted at before, I assure you,"

said Elinor.

[Illustration: "_She put in the feather last night._"]

"Oh, did not you? But it _was_ said, I know, very well, and by more

than one; for Miss Godby told Miss Sparks, that nobody in their senses

could expect Mr. Ferrars to give up a woman like Miss Morton, with

thirty thousand pounds to her fortune, for Lucy Steele that had

nothing at all; and I had it from Miss Sparks myself. And besides

that, my cousin Richard said himself, that when it came to the point

he was afraid Mr. Ferrars would be off; and when Edward did not come

near us for three days, I could not tell what to think myself; and I

believe in my heart Lucy gave it up all for lost; for we came away

from your brother's Wednesday, and we saw nothing of him not all

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and did not know what was become of

him. Once Lucy thought to write to him, but then her spirits rose

against that. However this morning he came just as we came home from

church; and then it all came out, how he had been sent for Wednesday

to Harley Street, and been talked to by his mother and all of them,

and how he had declared before them all that he loved nobody but Lucy,

and nobody but Lucy would he have. And how he had been so worried by

what passed, that as soon as he had went away from his mother's house,

he had got upon his horse, and rid into the country, some where or

other; and how he had stayed about at an inn all Thursday and Friday,

on purpose to get the better of it. And after thinking it all over and

over again, he said, it seemed to him as if, now he had no fortune,

and no nothing at all, it would be quite unkind to keep her on to the

engagement, because it must be for her loss, for he had nothing but

two thousand pounds, and no hope of any thing else; and if he was to

go into orders, as he had some thoughts, he could get nothing but a

curacy, and how was they to live upon that?--He could not bear to

think of her doing no better, and so he begged, if she had the least

mind for it, to put an end to the matter directly, and leave him shift

for himself. I heard him say all this as plain as could possibly be.

And it was entirely for _her_ sake, and upon _her_ account, that he

said a word about being off, and not upon his own. I will take my oath

he never dropt a syllable of being tired of her, or of wishing to

marry Miss Morton, or any thing like it. But, to be sure, Lucy would

not give ear to such kind of talking; so she told him directly (with a

great deal about sweet and love, you know, and all that--Oh, la! one

can't repeat such kind of things you know)--she told him directly, she

had not the least mind in the world to be off, for she could live with

him upon a trifle, and how little so ever he might have, she should be

very glad to have it all, you know, or something of the kind. So then

he was monstrous happy, and talked on some time about what they should

do, and they agreed he should take orders directly, and they must wait

to be married till he got a living. And just then I could not hear any

more, for my cousin called from below to tell me Mrs. Richardson was

come in her coach, and would take one of us to Kensington Gardens; so

I was forced to go into the room and interrupt them, to ask Lucy if

she would like to go, but she did not care to leave Edward; so I just

run up stairs and put on a pair of silk stockings and came off with

the Richardsons."

"I do not understand what you mean by interrupting them," said Elinor;

"you were all in the same room together, were not you?"

"No, indeed, not us. La! Miss Dashwood, do you think people make love

when any body else is by? Oh, for shame!--To be sure you must know

better than that. (Laughing affectedly.)--No, no; they were shut up in

the drawing-room together, and all I heard was only by listening at

the door."

"How!" cried Elinor; "have you been repeating to me what you only

learnt yourself by listening at the door? I am sorry I did not know it

before; for I certainly would not have suffered you to give me

particulars of a conversation which you ought not to have known

yourself. How could you behave so unfairly by your sister?"

"Oh, la! there is nothing in _that._ I only stood at the door, and

heard what I could. And I am sure Lucy would have done just the same

by me; for a year or two back, when Martha Sharpe and I had so many

secrets together, she never made any bones of hiding in a closet, or

behind a chimney-board, on purpose to hear what we said."

Elinor tried to talk of something else; but Miss Steele could not be

kept beyond a couple of minutes, from what was uppermost in her mind.

[Illustration: _Listening at the door._]

"Edward talks of going to Oxford soon," said she; "but now he is

lodging at No. --, Pall Mall. What an ill-natured woman his mother is,

an't she? And your brother and sister were not very kind! However, I

shan't say anything against them to _you_; and to be sure they did

send us home in their own chariot, which was more than I looked for.

And for my part, I was all in a fright for fear your sister should ask

us for the huswifes she had gave us a day or two before; but, however,

nothing was said about them, and I took care to keep mine out of

sight. Edward have got some business at Oxford, he says; so he must go

there for a time; and after _that_, as soon as he can light upon a

Bishop, he will be ordained. I wonder what curacy he will get! Good

gracious! (giggling as she spoke) I'd lay my life I know what my

cousins will say, when they hear of it. They will tell me I should

write to the Doctor, to get Edward the curacy of his new living. I

know they will; but I am sure I would not do such a thing for all the

world. 'La!' I shall say directly, 'I wonder how you could think of

such a thing? I write to the Doctor, indeed!'"

"Well," said Elinor, "it is a comfort to be prepared against the

worst. You have got your answer ready."

Miss Steele was going to reply on the same subject, but the approach

of her own party made another more necessary.

"Oh, la! here come the Richardsons. I had a vast deal more to say to

you, but I must not stay away from them not any longer. I assure you

they are very genteel people. He makes a monstrous deal of money, and

they keep their own coach. I have not time to speak to Mrs. Jennings

about it myself, but pray tell her I am quite happy to hear she is not

in anger against us, and Lady Middleton the same; and if anything

should happen to take you and your sister away, and Mrs. Jennings

should want company, I am sure we should be very glad to come and stay

with her for as long a time as she likes. I suppose Lady Middleton

won't ask us any more this bout. Good-bye; I am sorry Miss Marianne was

not here. Remember me kindly to her. La! if you have not got your

spotted muslin on!--I wonder you was not afraid of its being torn."

Such was her parting concern; for after this, she had time only to pay

her farewell compliments to Mrs. Jennings, before her company was

claimed by Mrs. Richardson; and Elinor was left in possession of

knowledge which might feed her powers of reflection some time, though

she had learnt very little more than what had been already foreseen

and foreplanned in her own mind. Edward's marriage with Lucy was as

firmly determined on, and the time of its taking place remained as

absolutely uncertain, as she had concluded it would be;--every thing

depended, exactly after her expectation, on his getting that

preferment, of which, at present, there seemed not the smallest

chance.

As soon as they returned to the carriage, Mrs. Jennings was eager for

information; but as Elinor wished to spread as little as possible

intelligence that had in the first place been so unfairly obtained,

she confined herself to the brief repetition of such simple

particulars, as she felt assured that Lucy, for the sake of her own

consequence, would choose to have known. The continuance of their

engagement, and the means that were able to be taken for promoting its

end, was all her communication; and this produced from Mrs. Jennings

the following natural remark:--

"Wait for his having a living!--ay, we all know how _that_ will

end:--they will wait a twelvemonth, and finding no good comes of it,

will set down upon a curacy of fifty pounds a-year, with the interest

of his two thousand pounds, and what little matter Mr. Steele and Mr.

Pratt can give her. Then they will have a child every year! and Lord

help 'em! how poor they will be!--I must see what I can give them

towards furnishing their house. Two maids and two men, indeed!--as I

talked of t'other day. No, no, they must get a stout girl of all

works. Betty's sister would never do for them _now._"

The next morning brought Elinor a letter by the two-penny post from

Lucy herself. It was as follows:

"Bartlett's Building, March.

"I hope my dear Miss Dashwood will excuse the liberty I take

of writing to her; but I know your friendship for me will

make you pleased to hear such a good account of myself and

my dear Edward, after all the troubles we have went through

lately, therefore will make no more apologies, but proceed

to say that, thank God! though we have suffered dreadfully,

we are both quite well now, and as happy as we must always

be in one another's love. We have had great trials, and

great persecutions, but however, at the same time,

gratefully acknowledge many friends, yourself not the least

among them, whose great kindness I shall always thankfully

remember, as will Edward too, who I have told of it. I am

sure you will be glad to hear, as likewise dear Mrs.

Jennings, I spent two happy hours with him yesterday

afternoon, he would not hear of our parting, though

earnestly did I, as I thought my duty required, urge him to

it for prudence sake, and would have parted for ever on the

spot, would he consent to it; but he said it should never

be, he did not regard his mother's anger, while he could

have my affections; our prospects are not very bright, to be

sure, but we must wait, and hope for the best; he will be

ordained shortly; and should it ever be in your power to

recommend him to any body that has a living to bestow, am

very sure you will not forget us, and dear Mrs. Jennings

too, trust she will speak a good word for us to Sir John, or

Mr. Palmer, or any friend that may be able to assist us.

Poor Anne was much to blame for what she did, but she did it

for the best, so I say nothing; hope Mrs. Jennings won't

think it too much trouble to give us a call, should she come

this way any morning, 'twould be a great kindness, and my

cousins would be proud to know her. My paper reminds me to

conclude; and begging to be most gratefully and respectfully

remembered to her, and to Sir John, and Lady Middleton, and

the dear children, when you chance to see them, and love to

Miss Marianne,

"I am, etc., etc."

As soon as Elinor had finished it, she performed what she concluded to

be its writer's real design, by placing it in the hands of Mrs.

Jennings, who read it aloud with many comments of satisfaction and

praise.

"Very well indeed!--how prettily she writes!--aye, that was quite

proper to let him be off if he would. That was just like Lucy. Poor

soul! I wish I _could_ get him a living, with all my heart. She calls

me dear Mrs. Jennings, you see. She is a good-hearted girl as ever

lived. Very well upon my word. That sentence is very prettily turned.

Yes, yes, I will go and see her, sure enough. How attentive she is, to

think of every body!--Thank you, my dear, for showing it me. It is as

pretty a letter as ever I saw, and does Lucy's head and heart great

credit."