If you can think me capable of ever feeling–surely you may suppose that I have suffered NOW. The composure of mind with which I have brought myself at present to consider the matter, the consolation that I have been willing to admit, have been the effect of constant and painful exertion;–they did not spring up of themselves;–
they did not occur to relieve my spirits at first.–
No, Marianne.–THEN, if I had not been bound to silence, perhaps nothing could have kept me entirely–not even what I owed to my dearest friends–from openly shewing that I was VERY unhappy.”–
Marianne was quite subdued.–
“Oh! Elinor,” she cried, “you have made me hate myself for ever.–How barbarous have I been to you!–
you, who have been my only comfort, who have borne with me in all my misery, who have seemed to be only suffering for me!–Is this my gratitude?–Is this the only return I can make you?–Because your merit cries out upon myself, I have been trying to do it away.”
The tenderest caresses followed this confession.
In such a frame of mind as she was now in, Elinor had no difficulty in obtaining from her whatever promise she required; and at her request, Marianne engaged never to speak of the affair to any one with the least appearance of bitterness;–to meet Lucy without betraying the smallest increase of dislike to her;–and even to see Edward himself, if chance should bring them together, without any diminution of her usual cordiality.–
These were great concessions;–but where Marianne felt that she had injured, no reparation could be too much for her to make.
She performed her promise of being discreet,
to admiration.–She attended to all that Mrs. Jennings had to say upon the subject, with an unchanging complexion, dissented from her in nothing, and was heard three times to say, “Yes, ma’am.”–She listened to her praise of Lucy with only moving from one chair to another, and when Mrs. Jennings talked of Edward’s affection, it cost her only a spasm in her throat.–Such advances towards heroism in her sister, made Elinor feel equal to any thing herself.
The next morning brought a farther trial of it,
in a visit from their brother, who came with a most serious aspect to talk over the dreadful affair, and bring them news of his wife.
“You have heard, I suppose,” said he with great solemnity, as soon as he was seated, “of the very shocking discovery that took place under our roof yesterday.”
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They all looked their assent; it seemed too awful a moment for speech.
“Your sister,” he continued, “has suffered dreadfully.
Mrs. Ferrars too–in short it has been a scene of such complicated distress–but I will hope that the storm may be weathered without our being any of us quite overcome.
Poor Fanny! she was in hysterics all yesterday.
But I would not alarm you too much. Donavan says there is nothing materially to be apprehended; her constitution is a good one, and her resolution equal to any thing.
She has borne it all, with the fortitude of an angel!
She says she never shall think well of anybody again; and one cannot wonder at it, after being so deceived!–
meeting with such ingratitude, where so much kindness had been shewn, so much confidence had been placed! It was quite out of the benevolence of her heart, that she had asked these young women to her house; merely because she thought they deserved some attention, were harmless, well-behaved girls, and would be pleasant companions; for otherwise we both wished very much to have invited you and Marianne to be with us, while your kind friend there, was attending her daughter. And now to be so rewarded!
‘I wish, with all my heart,’ says poor Fanny in her affectionate way, ‘that we had asked your sisters instead of them.'”
Here he stopped to be thanked; which being done, he went on.
“What poor Mrs. Ferrars suffered, when first Fanny broke it to her, is not to be described. While she with the truest affection had been planning a most eligible connection for him, was it to be supposed that he could be all the time secretly engaged to another person!–such a suspicion could never have entered her head! If she suspected ANY prepossession elsewhere, it could not be in THAT quarter. ‘THERE, to be sure,’ said she, ‘I might have thought myself safe.’ She was quite in an agony.