CHAPTER V

dward, having carried his thanks to Colonel Brandon,

proceeded with his happiness to Lucy; and such was the

excess of it by the time he reached Bartlett’s Buildings,

that she was able to assure Mrs. Jennings, who called on her again

the next day with her congratulations, that she had never seen

him in such spirits before in her life.

Her own happiness, and her own spirits, were at least very

certain; and she joined Mrs. Jennings most heartily in her

expectation of their being all comfortably together in Delaford

Parsonage before Michaelmas. So far was she, at the same time,

from any backwardness to give Elinor that credit which Edward

would give her, that she spoke of her friendship for them both with

the most grateful warmth, was ready to own all their obligation to

her, and openly declared that no exertion for their good on Miss

Dashwood’s part, either present or future, would ever surprise

her, for she believed her capable of doing any thing in the world

for those she really valued. As for Colonel Brandon, she was not

only ready to worship him as a saint, but was moreover truly

anxious that he should be treated as one in all worldly concerns;

anxious that his tithes should be raised to the utmost; and scarcely

resolved to avail herself, at Delaford, as far as she possibly could,

of his servants, his carriage, his cows, and his poultry.

It was now above a week since John Dashwood had called in

Berkeley-street, and as since that time no notice had been taken

by them of his wife’s indisposition, beyond one verbal inquiry, Elinor began to feel it necessary to pay her a visit.―This was an

obligation, however, which not only opposed her own inclination,

but which had not the assistance of any encouragement from her

companions. Marianne, not contented with absolutely refusing to

go herself, was very urgent to prevent her sister’s going at all; and

Mrs. Jennings, though her carriage was always at Elinor’s service,

so very much disliked Mrs. John Dashwood, that not even her

curiosity to see how she looked after the late discovery, nor her

strong desire to affront her by taking Edward’s part, could

overcome her unwillingness to be in her company again. The

consequence was, that Elinor set out by herself to pay a visit, for

which no one could really have less inclination, and to run the risk

of a tête-à-tête with a woman, whom neither of the others had so

much reason to dislike.

Mrs. Dashwood was denied; but before the carriage could turn

from the house, her husband accidentally came out. He expressed

great pleasure in meeting Elinor, told her that he had been just

going to call in Berkeley-street, and, assuring her that Fanny

would be very glad to see her, invited her to come in.

They walked up stairs into the drawing-room.―Nobody was

there.

“Fanny is in her own room, I suppose,” said he;―“I will go to

her presently, for I am sure she will not have the least objection in

the world to seeing you.―Very far from it, indeed. Now especially

there cannot be―but however, you and Marianne were always

great favourites.―Why would not Marianne come?”―

Elinor made what excuse she could for her.

“I am not sorry to see you alone,” he replied, “for I have a good

deal to say to you. This living of Colonel Brandon’s―can it be

true?―has he really given it to Edward?―I heard it yesterday by

chance, and was coming to you on purpose to inquire farther

about it.”

“It is perfectly true.―Colonel Brandon has given the living of

Delaford to Edward.”

“Really!―Well, this is very astonishing!―no relationship!―no

connection between them!―and now that livings fetch such a

price!―what was the value of this?”

“About two hundred a year.”

“Very well―and for the next presentation to a living of that

value―supposing the late incumbent to have been old and sickly,

and likely to vacate it soon―he might have got I dare say―

fourteen hundred pounds. And how came he not to have settled

that matter before this person’s death?―Now indeed it would be

too late to sell it, but a man of Colonel Brandon’s sense!―I wonder

he should be so improvident in a point of such common, such

natural, concern!―Well, I am convinced that there is a vast deal of

inconsistency in almost every human character. I suppose,

however―on recollection―that the case may probably be this.

Edward is only to hold the living till the person to whom the

Colonel has really sold the presentation, is old enough to take it.―

Aye, aye, that is the fact, depend upon it.”

Elinor contradicted it, however, very positively; and by relating

that she had herself been employed in conveying the offer from

Colonel Brandon to Edward, and, therefore, must understand the

terms on which it was given, obliged him to submit to her

authority.

“It is truly astonishing!”―he cried, after hearing what she

said―“what could be the Colonel’s motive?”

“A very simple one―to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.”

“Well, well; whatever Colonel Brandon may be, Edward is a

very lucky man.―You will not mention the matter to Fanny,

however, for though I have broke it to her, and she bears it vastly

well,―she will not like to hear it much talked of.”

Elinor had some difficulty here to refrain from observing, that

she thought Fanny might have borne with composure, an

acquisition of wealth to her brother, by which neither she nor her

child could be possibly impoverished.

“Mrs. Ferrars,” added he, lowering his voice to the tone

becoming so important a subject, “knows nothing about it at

present, and I believe it will be best to keep it entirely concealed

from her as long as may be.―When the marriage takes place, I

fear she must hear of it all.”

“But why should such precaution be used?―Though it is not to

be supposed that Mrs. Ferrars can have the smallest satisfaction in

knowing that her son has money enough to live upon,―for that

must be quite out of the question; yet why, upon her late

behaviour, is she supposed to feel at all?―She has done with her

son, she cast him off for ever, and has made all those over whom

she had any influence, cast him off likewise. Surely, after doing so,

she cannot be imagined liable to any impression of sorrow or of joy

on his account―she cannot be interested in any thing that befalls

him.―She would not be so weak as to throw away the comfort of a

child, and yet retain the anxiety of a parent!”

“Ah! Elinor,” said John, “your reasoning is very good, but it is

founded on ignorance of human nature. When Edward’s unhappy

match takes place, depend upon it his mother will feel as much as

if she had never discarded him; and therefore every circumstance

that may accelerate that dreadful event, must be concealed from

her as much as possible. Mrs. Ferrars can never forget that

Edward is her son.”

“You surprise me; I should think it must nearly have escaped

her memory by this time.”

“You wrong her exceedingly. Mrs. Ferrars is one of the most

affectionate mothers in the world.”

Elinor was silent.

“We think now,”―said Mr. Dashwood, after a short pause, “of

Robert’s marrying Miss Morton.”

Elinor, smiling at the grave and decisive importance of her

brother’s tone, calmly replied,

“The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair.”

“Choice!―how do you mean?”

“I only mean that I suppose, from your manner of speaking, it

must be the same to Miss Morton whether she marry Edward or

Robert.”

“Certainly, there can be no difference; for Robert will now to all

intents and purposes be considered as the eldest son;―and as to

any thing else, they are both very agreeable young men, I do not

know that one is superior to the other.”

Elinor said no more, and John was also for a short time silent.―

His reflections ended thus.

“Of one thing, my dear sister,” kindly taking her hand, and

speaking in an awful whisper,―“I may assure you;―and I will do

it, because I know it must gratify you. I have good reason to

think―indeed I have it from the best authority, or I should not

repeat it, for otherwise it would be very wrong to say any thing

about it―but I have it from the very best authority―not that I

ever precisely heard Mrs. Ferrars say it herself―but her daughter

did, and I have it from her―That in short, whatever objections

there might be against a certain―a certain connection―you

understand me―it would have been far preferable to her, it would

not have given her half the vexation that this does. I was

exceedingly pleased to hear that Mrs. Ferrars considered it in that

light―a very gratifying circumstance you know to us all. ‘It would

have been beyond comparison,’ she said, ‘the least evil of the two,

and she would be glad to compound now for nothing worse.’ But

however, all that is quite out of the question―not to be thought of

or mentioned―as to any attachment you know―it never could

be―all that is gone by. But I thought I would just tell you of this,

because I knew how much it must please you. Not that you have

any reason to regret, my dear Elinor. There is no doubt of your

doing exceedingly well―quite as well, or better, perhaps, all

things considered. Has Colonel Brandon been with you lately?”

Elinor had heard enough, if not to gratify her vanity, and raise

her self-importance, to agitate her nerves and fill her mind;―and

she was therefore glad to be spared from the necessity of saying

much in reply herself, and from the danger of hearing any thing

more from her brother, by the entrance of Mr. Robert Ferrars.

After a few moments’ chat, John Dashwood, recollecting that

Fanny was yet uninformed of her sister’s being there, quitted the

room in quest of her; and Elinor was left to improve her

acquaintance with Robert, who, by the gay unconcern, the happy

self-complacency of his manner while enjoying so unfair a division

of his mother’s love and liberality, to the prejudice of his banished

brother, earned only by his own dissipated course of life, and that

brother’s integrity, was confirming her most unfavourable opinion

of his head and heart.

They had scarcely been two minutes by themselves, before he

began to speak of Edward; for he, too, had heard of the living, and

was very inquisitive on the subject. Elinor repeated the particulars

of it, as she had given them to John; and their effect on Robert,

though very different, was not less striking than it had been on him. He laughed most immoderately. The idea of Edward’s being a

clergyman, and living in a small parsonage-house, diverted him

beyond measure;―and when to that was added the fanciful

imagery of Edward reading prayers in a white surplice, and

publishing the banns of marriage between John Smith and Mary

Brown, he could conceive nothing more ridiculous.

Elinor, while she waited in silence and immovable gravity, the

conclusion of such folly, could not restrain her eyes from being

fixed on him with a look that spoke all the contempt it excited. It

was a look, however, very well bestowed, for it relieved her own

feelings, and gave no intelligence to him. He was recalled from wit

to wisdom, not by any reproof of her’s, but by his own sensibility.

“We may treat it as a joke,” said he, at last, recovering from the

affected laugh which had considerably lengthened out the genuine

gaiety of the moment―“but, upon my soul, it is a most serious

business. Poor Edward! he is ruined for ever. I am extremely sorry

for it―for I know him to be a very good-hearted creature; as well-

meaning a fellow perhaps, as any in the world. You must not judge

of him, Miss Dashwood, from your slight acquaintance.―Poor

Edward!―His manners are certainly not the happiest in nature.―

But we are not all born, you know, with the same powers,―the

same address.―Poor fellow!―to see him in a circle of strangers!―

to be sure it was pitiable enough!―but upon my soul, I believe he

has as good a heart as any in the kingdom; and I declare and

protest to you I never was so shocked in my life, as when it all

burst forth. I could not believe it.―My mother was the first person

who told me of it; and I, feeling myself called on to act with

resolution, immediately said to her, ‘My dear madam, I do not

know what you may intend to do on the occasion, but as for

myself, I must say, that if Edward does marry this young woman, I

never will see him again.’ That was what I said immediately.―I

was most uncommonly shocked, indeed!―Poor Edward!―he has

done for himself completely―shut himself out for ever from all

decent society!―but, as I directly said to my mother, I am not in

the least surprised at it; from his style of education, it was always

to be expected. My poor mother was half frantic.”

“Have you ever seen the lady?”

“Yes; once, while she was staying in this house, I happened to

drop in for ten minutes; and I saw quite enough of her. The merest

awkward country girl, without style, or elegance, and almost

without beauty.―I remember her perfectly. Just the kind of girl I

should suppose likely to captivate poor Edward. I offered

immediately, as soon as my mother related the affair to me, to talk

to him myself, and dissuade him from the match; but it was too

late then, I found, to do any thing, for unluckily, I was not in the

way at first, and knew nothing of it till after the breach had taken

place, when it was not for me, you know, to interfere. But had I

been informed of it a few hours earlier―I think it is most

probable―that something might have been hit on. I certainly

should have represented it to Edward in a very strong light. ‘My

dear fellow,’ I should have said, ‘consider what you are doing. You

are making a most disgraceful connection, and such a one as your

family are unanimous in disapproving.’ I cannot help thinking, in

short, that means might have been found. But now it is all too late.

He must be starved, you know;―that is certain; absolutely

starved.”

He had just settled this point with great composure, when the

entrance of Mrs. John Dashwood put an end to the subject. But

though she never spoke of it out of her own family, Elinor could

see its influence on her mind, in the something like confusion of

countenance with which she entered, and an attempt at cordiality

in her behaviour to herself. She even proceeded so far as to be

concerned to find that Elinor and her sister were so soon to leave

town, as she had hoped to see more of them;―an exertion in

which her husband, who attended her into the room, and hung

enamoured over her accents, seemed to distinguish every thing

that was most affectionate and graceful.

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