“I can hardly tell myself. But suspicion of something unpleasant is the inevitable consequence of such an alteration as we just witnessed in him.
There is great truth, however, in what you have now urged of the allowances which ought to be made for him, and it is my wish to be candid in my judgment of every body.
Willoughby may undoubtedly have very sufficient
reasons for his conduct, and I will hope that he has.
But it would have been more like Willoughby to acknowledge them at once. Secrecy may be advisable; but still I cannot help wondering at its being practiced by him.”
“Do not blame him, however, for departing from his character, where the deviation is necessary.
But you really do admit the justice of what I have said in his defence?–I am happy–and he is acquitted.”
“Not entirely. It may be proper to conceal their engagement (if they ARE engaged) from Mrs. Smith–
and if that is the case, it must be highly expedient
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for Willoughby to be but little in Devonshire at present.
But this is no excuse for their concealing it from us.”
“Concealing it from us! my dear child, do you accuse Willoughby and Marianne of concealment? This is strange indeed, when your eyes have been reproaching them every day for incautiousness.”
“I want no proof of their affection,” said Elinor;
“but of their engagement I do.”
“I am perfectly satisfied of both.”
“Yet not a syllable has been said to you on the subject, by either of them.”
“I have not wanted syllables where actions have spoken so plainly. Has not his behaviour to Marianne and to all of us, for at least the last fortnight, declared that he loved and considered her as his future wife, and that he felt for us the attachment of the nearest relation? Have we not perfectly understood each other?
Has not my consent been daily asked by his looks, his manner, his attentive and affectionate respect? My Elinor, is it possible to doubt their engagement? How could such a thought occur to you? How is it to be supposed that Willoughby, persuaded as he must be of your sister’s love, should leave her, and leave her perhaps for months, without telling her of his affection;–that they should part without a mutual exchange of confidence?”
“I confess,” replied Elinor, “that every circumstance except ONE is in favour of their engagement;
but that ONE is the total silence of both on the subject, and with me it almost outweighs every other.”
“How strange this is! You must think wretchedly indeed of Willoughby, if, after all that has openly passed between them, you can doubt the nature of the terms on which they are together.
Has he been acting a part in his behaviour to your sister all this time? Do you suppose him really indifferent to her?”
“No, I cannot think that. He must and does love her I am sure.”
“But with a strange kind of tenderness, if he can leave her with such indifference, such carelessness of the future, as you attribute to him.”
“You must remember, my dear mother, that I have never considered this matter as certain. I have had my doubts, I confess; but they are fainter than they were, and they may soon be entirely done away. If we find they correspond, every fear of mine will be removed.”
“A mighty concession indeed! If you were to see them at the altar, you would suppose they were going to
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be married. Ungracious girl! But I require no such proof.
Nothing in my opinion has ever passed to justify doubt; no secrecy has been attempted; all has been uniformly open and unreserved. You cannot doubt your sister’s wishes.
It must be Willoughby therefore whom you suspect. But why?
Is he not a man of honour and feeling? Has there been any inconsistency on his side to create alarm? can he be deceitful?”
“I hope not, I believe not,” cried Elinor.
“I love Willoughby, sincerely love him; and suspicion of his integrity cannot be more painful to yourself than to me.
It has been involuntary, and I will not encourage it.