“You mean,” answered Elinor, with forced calmness,
“Mr. Willoughby’s marriage with Miss Grey. Yes, we DO
know it all. This seems to have been a day of general elucidation, for this very morning first unfolded it to us.
Mr. Willoughby is unfathomable! Where did you hear it?”
“In a stationer’s shop in Pall Mall, where I had business. Two ladies were waiting for their carriage, and one of them was giving the other an account of the intended match, in a voice so little attempting concealment, that it was impossible for me not to hear all. The name of Willoughby, John Willoughby, frequently repeated, first caught my attention; and what followed was a positive assertion that every thing was now finally settled respecting his marriage with Miss Grey–it was no longer to be a secret–it would take place even within a few weeks, with many particulars of preparations and other matters.
One thing, especially, I remember, because it served to identify the man still more:–as soon as the ceremony was over, they were to go to Combe Magna, his seat in Somersetshire. My astonishment!–but it would be impossible to describe what I felt. The communicative lady I learnt, on inquiry, for I stayed in the shop till they were gone, was a Mrs. Ellison, and that, as I have been since informed, is the name of Miss Grey’s guardian.”
“It is. But have you likewise heard that Miss Grey has fifty thousand pounds? In that, if in any thing, we may find an explanation.”
“It may be so; but Willoughby is capable–at least I think”–he stopped a moment; then added in a voice which seemed to distrust itself, “And your sister–
how did she–”
“Her sufferings have been very severe. I have only to hope that they may be proportionately short.
It has been, it is a most cruel affliction. Till yesterday, I believe, she never doubted his regard; and even now, perhaps–but I am almost convinced that he never was really attached to her. He has been very deceitful! and, in some points, there seems a hardness of heart about him.”
“Ah!” said Colonel Brandon, “there is, indeed! But your sister does not–I think you said so–she does not consider quite as you do?”
“You know her disposition, and may believe how eagerly she would still justify him if she could.”
He made no answer; and soon afterwards, by the removal
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of the tea-things, and the arrangement of the card parties, the subject was necessarily dropped. Mrs. Jennings, who had watched them with pleasure while they were talking, and who expected to see the effect of Miss Dashwood’s communication, in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel Brandon’s side, as might have become a man in the bloom of youth, of hope and happiness, saw him, with amazement, remain the whole evening more serious and thoughtful than usual.
CHAPTER XXXI
From a night of more sleep than she had expected, Marianne awoke the next morning to the same consciousness of misery in which she had closed her eyes.
Elinor encouraged her as much as possible to talk of what she felt; and before breakfast was ready, they had gone through the subject again and again; and with the same steady conviction and affectionate counsel on Elinor’s side, the same impetuous feelings and varying opinions on Marianne’s, as before. Sometimes she could believe Willoughby to be as unfortunate and as innocent as herself, and at others, lost every consolation in the impossibility of acquitting him. At one moment she was absolutely indifferent to the observation of all the world, at another she would seclude herself from it for ever, and at a third could resist it with energy. In one thing, however, she was uniform, when it came to the point, in avoiding, where it was possible, the presence of Mrs. Jennings, and in a determined silence when obliged to endure it.
Her heart was hardened against the belief of Mrs. Jennings’s entering into her sorrows with any compassion.
“No, no, no, it cannot be,” she cried;
“she cannot feel. Her kindness is not sympathy; her good-nature is not tenderness. All that she wants is gossip, and she only likes me now because I supply it.”