She was carried out of the room therefore in her mother’s arms, in quest of this medicine, and as the two boys chose to follow, though earnestly entreated by their mother to stay behind, the four young ladies were left in a quietness which the room had not known for many hours.
“Poor little creatures!” said Miss Steele, as soon as they were gone. “It might have been a very sad accident.”
“Yet I hardly know how,” cried Marianne, “unless it had been under totally different circumstances.
But this is the usual way of heightening alarm, where there is nothing to be alarmed at in reality.”
“What a sweet woman Lady Middleton is!” said Lucy Steele.
Marianne was silent; it was impossible for her to say what she did not feel, however trivial the occasion; and upon Elinor therefore the whole task of telling lies when politeness required it, always fell. She did her best when thus called on, by speaking of Lady Middleton with more warmth than she felt, though with far less than Miss Lucy.
“And Sir John too,” cried the elder sister,
“what a charming man he is!”
Here too, Miss Dashwood’s commendation, being only simple and just, came in without any eclat. She merely observed that he was perfectly good humoured and friendly.
“And what a charming little family they have! I never saw such fine children in my life.–I declare I quite doat upon them already, and indeed I am always distractedly fond of children.”
“I should guess so,” said Elinor, with a smile,
“from what I have witnessed this morning.”
“I have a notion,” said Lucy, “you think the little Middletons rather too much indulged; perhaps they may be the outside of enough; but it is so natural in Lady Middleton;
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and for my part, I love to see children full of life and spirits; I cannot bear them if they are tame and quiet.”
“I confess,” replied Elinor, “that while I am at Barton Park, I never think of tame and quiet children with any abhorrence.”
A short pause succeeded this speech, which was first broken by Miss Steele, who seemed very much disposed for conversation, and who now said rather abruptly,
“And how do you like Devonshire, Miss Dashwood? I suppose you were very sorry to leave Sussex.”
In some surprise at the familiarity of this question, or at least of the manner in which it was spoken, Elinor replied that she was.
“Norland is a prodigious beautiful place, is not it?”
added Miss Steele.
“We have heard Sir John admire it excessively,”
said Lucy, who seemed to think some apology necessary for the freedom of her sister.
“I think every one MUST admire it,” replied Elinor,
“who ever saw the place; though it is not to be supposed that any one can estimate its beauties as we do.”
“And had you a great many smart beaux there? I suppose you have not so many in this part of the world; for my part, I think they are a vast addition always.”
“But why should you think,” said Lucy, looking ashamed of her sister, “that there are not as many genteel young men in Devonshire as Sussex?”
“Nay, my dear, I’m sure I don’t pretend to say that there an’t. I’m sure there’s a vast many smart beaux in Exeter; but you know, how could I tell what smart beaux there might be about Norland; and I was only afraid the Miss Dashwoods might find it dull at Barton, if they had not so many as they used to have. But perhaps you young ladies may not care about the beaux, and had as lief be without them as with them. For my part, I think they are vastly agreeable, provided they dress smart and behave civil.
But I can’t bear to see them dirty and nasty. Now there’s Mr. Rose at Exeter, a prodigious smart young man, quite a beau, clerk to Mr. Simpson, you know, and yet if you do but meet him of a morning, he is not fit to be seen.–
I suppose your brother was quite a beau, Miss Dashwood, before he married, as he was so rich?”