It is Mr Elliot himself.”
“No,” cried Anne, quickly, “it cannot be Mr Elliot, I assure you.
He was to leave Bath at nine this morning, and does not come back till to-morrow.”
As she spoke, she felt that Captain Wentworth was looking at her, the consciousness of which vexed and embarrassed her, and made her regret that she had said so much, simple as it was.
Mary, resenting that she should be supposed not to know her own cousin, began talking very warmly about the family features, and protesting still more positively that it was Mr Elliot, calling again upon Anne to come and look for herself, but Anne did not mean to stir,
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and tried to be cool and unconcerned. Her distress returned, however, on perceiving smiles and intelligent glances pass between two or three of the lady visitors, as if they believed themselves quite in the secret. It was evident that the report concerning her had spread, and a short pause succeeded, which seemed to ensure that it would now spread farther.
“Do come, Anne” cried Mary, “come and look yourself. You will be too late if you do not make haste. They are parting; they are shaking hands.
He is turning away. Not know Mr Elliot, indeed! You seem to have forgot all about Lyme.”
To pacify Mary, and perhaps screen her own embarrassment, Anne did move quietly to the window. She was just in time to ascertain that it really was Mr Elliot, which she had never believed, before he disappeared on one side, as Mrs Clay walked quickly off on the other; and checking the surprise which she could not but feel at such an appearance of friendly conference between two persons of totally opposite interest, she calmly said, “Yes, it is Mr Elliot, certainly. He has changed his hour of going, I suppose, that is all, or I may be mistaken, I might not attend;” and walked back to her chair, recomposed, and with the comfortable hope of having acquitted herself well.
The visitors took their leave; and Charles, having civilly seen them off, and then made a face at them, and abused them for coming, began with–
“Well, mother, I have done something for you that you will like.
I have been to the theatre, and secured a box for to-morrow night.
A’n’t I a good boy? I know you love a play; and there is room for us all.
It holds nine. I have engaged Captain Wentworth. Anne will not be sorry to join us, I am sure. We all like a play.
Have not I done well, mother?”
Mrs Musgrove was good humouredly beginning to express her perfect readiness for the play, if Henrietta and all the others liked it, when Mary eagerly interrupted her by exclaiming–
“Good heavens, Charles! how can you think of such a thing?
Take a box for to-morrow night! Have you forgot that we are engaged to Camden Place to-morrow night? and that we were most particularly asked to meet Lady Dalrymple and her daughter, and Mr Elliot, and all the principal family connexions, on purpose to be introduced to them?
How can you be so forgetful?”
“Phoo! phoo!” replied Charles, “what’s an evening party?
Never worth remembering. Your father might have asked us to dinner, I think, if he had wanted to see us. You may do as you like, but I shall go to the play.”
“Oh! Charles, I declare it will be too abominable if you do, when you promised to go.”
“No, I did not promise. I only smirked and bowed, and said the word
`happy.’ There was no promise.”
“But you must go, Charles. It would be unpardonable to fail.
We were asked on purpose to be introduced. There was always
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such a great connexion between the Dalrymples and ourselves.
Nothing ever happened on either side that was not announced immediately.
We are quite near relations, you know; and Mr Elliot too, whom you ought so particularly to be acquainted with! Every attention is due to Mr Elliot. Consider, my father’s heir: the future representative of the family.”
“Don’t talk to me about heirs and representatives,” cried Charles.