“It is enough,” said she; “to say that he is unlike Fanny is enough. It implies everything amiable.
I love him already.”
“I think you will like him,” said Elinor, “when you know more of him.”
“Like him!” replied her mother with a smile.
“I feel no sentiment of approbation inferior to love.”
“You may esteem him.”
“I have never yet known what it was to separate esteem and love.”
Mrs. Dashwood now took pains to get acquainted with him.
Her manners were attaching, and soon banished his reserve.
She speedily comprehended all his merits; the persuasion of his regard for Elinor perhaps assisted her penetration; but she really felt assured of his worth: and even that quietness of manner, which militated against all her established ideas of what a young man’s address ought to be, was no longer uninteresting when she knew his heart to be warm and his temper affectionate.
No sooner did she perceive any symptom of love
in his behaviour to Elinor, than she considered their serious attachment as certain, and looked forward to their marriage as rapidly approaching.
“In a few months, my dear Marianne.” said she,
“Elinor will, in all probability be settled for life.
We shall miss her; but SHE will be happy.”
“Oh! Mamma, how shall we do without her?”
“My love, it will be scarcely a separation.
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We shall live within a few miles of each other, and shall meet every day of our lives. You will gain a brother, a real, affectionate brother. I have the highest opinion in the world of Edward’s heart. But you look grave, Marianne; do you disapprove your sister’s choice?”
“Perhaps,” said Marianne, “I may consider it with some surprise. Edward is very amiable, and I love him tenderly. But yet–he is not the kind of young man–there is something wanting–his figure is not striking; it has none of that grace which I should expect
in the man who could seriously attach my sister.
His eyes want all that spirit, that fire, which at once announce virtue and intelligence. And besides all this, I am afraid, Mamma, he has no real taste. Music seems scarcely to attract him, and though he admires Elinor’s drawings very much, it is not the admiration of a person who can understand their worth. It is evident, in spite of his frequent attention to her while she draws, that in fact he knows nothing of the matter. He admires as a lover, not as a connoisseur. To satisfy me, those characters must be united. I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every point coincide with my own.
He must enter into all my feelings; the same books, the same music must charm us both. Oh! mama, how spiritless, how tame was Edward’s manner in reading to us last night!
I felt for my sister most severely. Yet she bore it with so much composure, she seemed scarcely to notice it.
I could hardly keep my seat. To hear those beautiful lines which have frequently almost driven me wild, pronounced with such impenetrable calmness, such dreadful indifference!”–
“He would certainly have done more justice to simple and elegant prose. I thought so at the time; but you WOULD give him Cowper.”
“Nay, Mamma, if he is not to be animated by Cowper!–
but we must allow for difference of taste. Elinor has not my feelings, and therefore she may overlook it, and be happy with him. But it would have broke MY heart, had I loved him, to hear him read with so little sensibility.
Mama, the more I know of the world, the more am I convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can really love.
I require so much! He must have all Edward’s virtues, and his person and manners must ornament his goodness with every possible charm.”
“Remember, my love, that you are not seventeen.
It is yet too early in life to despair of such a happiness.
Why should you be less fortunate than your mother? In one circumstance only, my Marianne, may your destiny be different from her’s!”
CHAPTER 4
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