CHAPTER XIV

ithin a few days after this meeting, the newspapers

announced to the world, that the lady of Thomas

Palmer, Esq. was safely delivered of a son and heir; a

very interesting and satisfactory paragraph, at least to all those

intimate connections who knew it before.

This event, highly important to Mrs. Jennings's happiness,

produced a temporaryalteration in the disposal of her time, and

influenced, in a like degree, the engagements of her young friends;

for as she wished to be as much as possible with Charlotte, she

went thither every morning as soon as she was dressed, and did

not return till late in the evening; and the Miss Dashwoods, at the

particular request of the Middletons, spent the whole of every day,

in every day in Conduit-street. For their own comfort they would

much rather have remained, at least all the morning, in Mrs.

Jennings's house; but it was not a thing to be urged against the

wishes of everybody. Their hours were therefore made over to

Lady Middleton and the two Miss Steeles, by whom their company

was in fact as little valued, as it was professedly sought.

They had too much sense to be desirable companions to the

former; and by the latter they were considered with a jealous eye,

as intruding on their ground, and sharing the kindness which they

wanted to monopolize. Though nothing could be more polite than

Lady Middleton's behaviour to Elinor and Marianne, she did not

really like them at all. Because they neither flattered herself nor

her children, she could not believe them good-natured; and

because they were fond of reading, she fancied them satirical:

perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to be satirical; but

that did not signify. It was censure in common use, and easily

given.

Their presence was a restraint both on her and on Lucy. It

checked the idleness of one, and the business of the other. Lady

Middleton was ashamed of doing nothing before them, and the

flattery which Lucy was proud to think of and administer at other

times, she feared they would despise her for offering. Miss Steele

was the least discomposed of the three, by their presence; and it

was in their power to reconcile her to it entirely. Would either of

them only have given her a full and minute account of the whole

affair between Marianne and Mr. Willoughby, she would have

thought herself amply rewarded for the sacrifice of the best place

by the fire after dinner, which their arrival occasioned. But this

conciliation was not granted; for though she often threw out

expressions of pity for her sister to Elinor, and more than once

dropt a reflection on the inconstancy of beaux before Marianne, no

effect was produced, but a look of indifference from the former, or

of disgust in the latter. An effort even yet lighter might have made

her their friend. Would they only have laughed at her about the

Doctor! But so little were they, anymore than the others, inclined

to oblige her, that if Sir John dined from home, she might spend a

whole day without hearing any other raillery on the subject, than

what she was kind enough to bestow on herself.

All these jealousies and discontents, however, were so totally

unsuspected by Mrs. Jennings, that she thought it a delightful

thing for the girls to be together; and generally congratulated her

young friends every night, on having escaped the company of a

stupid old woman so long. She joined them sometimes at Sir

John's, sometimes at her own house; but wherever it was, she

always came in excellent spirits, full of delight and importance,

attributing Charlotte's well doing to her own care, and ready to

give so exact, so minute a detail of her situation, as only Miss

Steele had curiosity enough to desire. One thing did disturb her;

and of that she made her daily complaint. Mr. Palmer maintained

the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex, of all infants

being alike; and though she could plainly perceive, at different

times, the most striking resemblance between this baby and every

one of his relations on both sides, there was no convincing his

father of it; no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly

like every other baby of the same age; nor could he even be

brought to acknowledge the simple proposition of its being the

finest child in the world.

I come now to the relation of a misfortune, which about this

time befell Mrs. John Dashwood. It so happened that while her

two sisters with Mrs. Jennings were first calling on her in Harley-

street, another of her acquaintance had dropt in―a circumstance

in itself not apparently likely to produce evil to her. But while the

imaginations of other people will carry them away to form wrong

judgments of our conduct, and to decide on it by slight

appearances, one's happiness must in some measure be always at

the mercy of chance. In the present instance, this last-arrived lady

allowed her fancy to so far outrun truth and probability, that on

merely hearing the name of the Miss Dashwoods, and

understanding them to be Mr. Dashwood's sisters, she

immediately concluded them to be staying in Harley-street; and

this misconstruction produced within a day or two afterwards,

cards of invitation for them as well as for their brother and sister,

to a small musical party at her house. The consequence of which

was, that Mrs. John Dashwood was obliged to submit not only to

the exceedingly great inconvenience of sending her carriage for

the Miss Dashwoods, but, what was still worse, must be subject to

all the unpleasantness of appearing to treat them with attention:

and who could tell that they might not expect to go out with her a

second time? The power of disappointing them, it was true, must always be her's. But that was not enough; for when people are

determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be wrong,

they feel injured by the expectation of any thing better from them.

Marianne had now been brought by degrees, so much into the

habit of going out every day, that it was become a matter of

indifference to her, whether she went or not: and she prepared

quietly and mechanically for every evening's engagement, though

without expecting the smallest amusement from any, and very

often without knowing, till the last moment, where it was to take

her.

To her dress and appearance she was grown so perfectly

indifferent, as not to bestow half the consideration on it, during

the whole of her toilet, which it received from Miss Steele in the

first five minutes of their being together, when it was finished.

Nothing escaped her minute observation and general curiosity;

she saw every thing, and asked every thing; was never easy till she

knew the price of every part of Marianne's dress; could have

guessed the number of her gowns altogether with better judgment

than Marianne herself, and was not without hopes of finding out

before they parted, how much her washing cost per week, and

how much she had every year to spend upon herself. The

impertinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally

concluded with a compliment, which though meant as its douceur,

was considered by Marianne as the greatest impertinence of all;

for after undergoing an examination into the value and make of

her gown, the colour of her shoes, and the arrangement of her

hair, she was almost sure of being told that upon "her word she

looked vastly smart, and she dared to say she would make a great

many conquests."

With such encouragement as this, was she dismissed on the

present occasion, to her brother's carriage; which they were ready

to enter five minutes after it stopped at the door, a punctuality not

very agreeable to their sister-in-law, who had preceded them to

the house of her acquaintance, and was there hoping for some

delay on their part that might inconvenience either herself or her

coachman.

The events of this evening were not very remarkable. The

party, like other musical parties, comprehended a great many

people who had real taste for the performance, and a great many

more who had none at all; and the performers themselves were, as

usual, in their own estimation, and that of their immediate friends,

the first private performers in England.

As Elinor was neither musical, nor affecting to be so, she made

no scruple of turning her eyes from the grand pianoforté,

whenever it suited her, and unrestrained even by the presence of a

harp, and violoncello, would fix them at pleasure on any other

object in the room. In one of these excursive glances she perceived

among a group of young men, the very he, who had given them a

lecture on toothpick-cases at Gray's. She perceived him soon

afterwards looking at herself, and speaking familiarly to her

brother; and had just determined to find out his name from the

latter, when they both came towards her, and Mr. Dashwood

introduced him to her as Mr. Robert Ferrars.

He addressed her with easy civility, and twisted his head into a

bow which assured her as plainly as words could have done, that

he was exactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by

Lucy. Happy had it been for her, if her regard for Edward had

depended less on his own merit, than on the merit of his nearest

relations! For then his brother's bow must have given the finishing

stroke to what the ill-humour of his mother and sister would have

begun. But while she wondered at the difference of the two young

men, she did not find that the emptiness of conceit of the one, put

her out of all charity with the modesty and worth of the other. Why

they were different, Robert exclaimed to her himself in the course

of a quarter of an hour's conversation; for, talking of his brother,

and lamenting the extreme gaucherie which he really believed

kept him from mixing in proper society, he candidly and

generously attributed it much less to any natural deficiency, than

to the misfortune of a private education; while he himself, though

probably without any particular, any material superiority by

nature, merely from the advantage of a public school, was as well

fitted to mix in the world as any other man.

"Upon my soul," he added, "I believe it is nothing more; and so

I often tell my mother, when she is grieving about it. 'My dear

Madam,' I always say to her, 'you must make yourself easy. The

evil is now irremediable, and it has been entirely your own doing.

Why would you be persuaded by my uncle, Sir Robert, against

your own judgment, to place Edward under private tuition, at the

most critical time of his life? If you had only sent him to

Westminster as well as myself, instead of sending him to Mr.

Pratt's, all this would have been prevented.' This is the way in

which I always consider the matter, and my mother is perfectly

convinced of her error."

Elinor would not oppose his opinion, because, whatever might

be her general estimation of the advantage of a public school, she

could not think of Edward's abode in Mr. Pratt's family, with any

satisfaction.

"You reside in Devonshire, I think,"―was his next observation,

"in a cottage near Dawlish."

Elinor set him right as to its situation; and it seemed rather

surprising to him that anybody could live in Devonshire, without

living near Dawlish. He bestowed his hearty approbation however

on their species of house.

"For my own part," said he, "I am excessively fond of a cottage;

there is always so much comfort, so much elegance about them.

And I protest, if I had any money to spare, I should buy a little

land and build one myself, within a short distance of London,

where I might drive myself down at any time, and collect a few

friends about me, and be happy. I advise every body who is going

to build, to build a cottage. My friend Lord Courtland came to me

the other day on purpose to ask my advice, and laid before me

three different plans of Bonomi's. I was to decide on the best of

them. 'My dear Courtland,' said I, immediately throwing them all

into the fire, 'do not adopt either of them, but by all means build a

cottage.' And that I fancy, will be the end of it.

"Some people imagine that there can be no accommodations,

no space in a cottage; but this is all a mistake. I was last month at

my friend Elliott's, near Dartford. Lady Elliott wished to give a

dance. 'But how can it be done?' said she; 'my dear Ferrars, do tell

me how it is to be managed. There is not a room in this cottage

that will hold ten couple, and where can the supper be?' I

immediately saw that there could be no difficulty in it, so I said,

'My dear Lady Elliott, do not be uneasy. The dining parlour will

admit eighteen couple with ease; card-tables may be placed in the

drawing-room; the library may be open for tea and other

refreshments; and let the supper be set out in the saloon.' Lady

Elliott was delighted with the thought. We measured the dining-

room, and found it would hold exactly eighteen couple, and the

affair was arranged precisely" title="ad.精确地；刻板地">precisely after my plan. So that, in fact, you

see, if people do but know how to set about it, every comfort may

be as well enjoyed in a cottage as in the most spacious dwelling."

Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the

compliment of rational opposition.

As John Dashwood had no more pleasure in music than his

eldest sister, his mind was equally at liberty to fix on any thing

else; and a thought struck him during the evening, which he

communicated to his wife, for her approbation, when they got

home. The consideration of Mrs. Dennison's mistake, in supposing

his sisters their guests, had suggested the propriety of their being

really invited to become such, while Mrs. Jenning's engagements

kept her from home. The expense would be nothing, the

inconvenience not more; and it was altogether an attention which

the delicacy of his conscience pointed out to be requisite to its

complete enfranchisement from his promise to his father. Fanny

was startled at the proposal.

"I do not see how it can be done," said she, "without affronting

Lady Middleton, for they spend every day with her; otherwise I

should be exceedingly glad to do it. You know I am always ready

to pay them any attention in my power, as my taking them out this

evening shews. But they are Lady Middleton's visitors. How can I

ask them away from her?"

Her husband, but with great humility, did not see the force of

her objection. "They had already spent a week in this manner in

Conduit-street, and Lady Middleton could not be displeased at

their giving the same number of days to such near relations."

Fanny paused a moment, and then, with fresh vigour, said,

"My love I would ask them with all my heart, if it was in my

power. But I had just settled within myself to ask the Miss Steeles

to spend a few days with us. They are very well behaved, good

kind of girls; and I think the attention is due to them, as their

uncle did so very well by Edward. We can ask your sisters some

other year, you know; but the Miss Steeles may not be in town any

more. I am sure you will like them; indeed, you do like them, you

know, very much already, and so does my mother; and they are

such favourites with Harry!"

Mr. Dashwood was convinced. He saw the necessity of inviting

the Miss Steeles immediately, and his conscience was pacified by

the resolution of inviting his sisters another year; at the same time,

however, slyly suspecting that another year would make the

invitation needless, by bringing Elinor to town as Colonel

Brandon's wife, and Marianne as their visitor.

Fanny, rejoicing in her escape, and proud of the ready wit that

had procured it, wrote the next morning to Lucy, to request her

company and her sister's, for some days, in Harley-street, as soon

as Lady Middleton could spare them. This was enough to make

Lucy really and reasonably happy. Mrs. Dashwood seemed

actually working for her, herself; cherishing all her hopes, and

promoting all her views! Such an opportunity of being with

Edward and his family was, above all things, the most material to

her interest, and such an invitation the most gratifying to her

feelings! It was an advantage that could not be too gratefully

acknowledged, nor too speedily made use of; and the visit to Lady

Middleton, which had not before had any precise limits, was

instantly discovered to have been always meant to end in two

days' time.

When the note was shown to Elinor, as it was within ten

minutes after its arrival, it gave her, for the first time, some share

in the expectations of Lucy; for such a mark of uncommon

kindness, vouchsafed on so short an acquaintance, seemed to

declare that the good-will towards her arose from something more

than merely malice against herself; and might be brought, by time

and address, to do every thing that Lucy wished. Her flattery had

already subdued the pride of Lady Middleton, and made an entry

into the close heart of Mrs. John Dashwood; and these were effects

that laid open the probability of greater.

The Miss Steeles removed to Harley-street, and all that reached

Elinor of their influence there, strengthened her expectation of the

event. Sir John, who called on them more than once, brought

home such accounts of the favour they were in, as must be

universally striking. Mrs. Dashwood had never been so much

pleased with any young women in her life, as she was with them;

had given each of them a needle book made by some emigrant;

called Lucy by her Christian name; and did not know whether she

should ever be able to part with them.

End of Volume II
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