Elinor scolded him, harshly as ladies always scold the imprudence which compliments themselves, for having spent so much time with them at Norland, when he must have felt his own inconstancy.
“Your behaviour was certainly very wrong,” said she;
“because–to say nothing of my own conviction, our relations were all led away by it to fancy and expect WHAT, as you were THEN situated, could never be.”
He could only plead an ignorance of his own heart, and a mistaken confidence in the force of his engagement.
“I was simple enough to think, that because my FAITH
was plighted to another, there could be no danger in my being with you; and that the consciousness of my engagement was to keep my heart as safe and sacred as my honour. I felt
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that I admired you, but I told myself it was only friendship; and till I began to make comparisons between yourself and Lucy, I did not know how far I was got. After that, I suppose, I WAS wrong in remaining so much in Sussex, and the arguments with which I reconciled myself to the expediency of it, were no better than these:–The danger is my own; I am doing no injury to anybody but myself.”
Elinor smiled, and shook her head.
Edward heard with pleasure of Colonel Brandon’s
being expected at the Cottage, as he really wished not only to be better acquainted with him, but to have an opportunity of convincing him that he no longer resented his giving him the living of Delaford–“Which, at present,”
said he, “after thanks so ungraciously delivered as mine were on the occasion, he must think I have never forgiven him for offering.”
NOW he felt astonished himself that he had never yet been to the place. But so little interest had be taken in the matter, that he owed all his knowledge of the house, garden, and glebe, extent of the parish, condition of the land, and rate of the tithes, to Elinor herself, who had heard so much of it from Colonel Brandon, and heard it with so much attention, as to be entirely mistress of the subject.
One question after this only remained undecided, between them, one difficulty only was to be overcome.
They were brought together by mutual affection,
with the warmest approbation of their real friends; their intimate knowledge of each other seemed to make their happiness certain–and they only wanted something to live upon. Edward had two thousand pounds, and Elinor one, which, with Delaford living, was all that they could call their own; for it was impossible that Mrs. Dashwood should advance anything; and they were neither of them quite enough in love to think that three hundred and fifty pounds a-year would supply them with the comforts of life.
Edward was not entirely without hopes of some
favourable change in his mother towards him; and on THAT
he rested for the residue of their income. But Elinor had no such dependence; for since Edward would still be unable to marry Miss Morton, and his chusing herself had been spoken of in Mrs. Ferrars’s flattering language as only a lesser evil than his chusing Lucy Steele, she feared that Robert’s offence would serve no other purpose than to enrich Fanny.
About four days after Edward’s arrival Colonel
Brandon appeared, to complete Mrs. Dashwood’s satisfaction, and to give her the dignity of having, for the first time since her living at Barton, more company with her than her house would hold. Edward was allowed to retain the privilege of first comer, and Colonel Brandon therefore walked every night to his old quarters at the Park;
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from whence he usually returned in the morning, early enough to interrupt the lovers’ first tete-a-tete before breakfast.
A three weeks’ residence at Delaford, where,
in his evening hours at least, he had little to do but to calculate the disproportion between thirty-six and seventeen, brought him to Barton in a temper of mind which needed all the improvement in Marianne’s looks, all the kindness of her welcome, and all the encouragement of her mother’s language, to make it cheerful.
Among such friends, however, and such flattery, he did revive.