Persuasion
the door a little hard, she starts and wriggles like a young dab-chick
in the water; and Benwick sits at her elbow, reading verses, or
whispering to her, all day long.”
Anne could not help laughing. “That cannot be much to your taste, I
know,” said she; “but I do believe him to be an excellent young man.”
“To be sure he is. Nobody doubts it; and I hope you do not think I am
so illiberal as to want every man to have the same objects and
pleasures as myself. I have a great value for Benwick; and when one can
but get him to talk, he has plenty to say. His reading has done him no
harm, for he has fought as well as read. He is a brave fellow. I got
more acquainted with him last Monday than ever I did before. We had a
famous set-to at rat-hunting all the morning in my father’s great
barns; and he played his part so well that I have liked him the better
ever since.”
Here they were interrupted by the absolute necessity of Charles’s
following the others to admire mirrors and china; but Anne had heard
enough to understand the present state of Uppercross, and rejoice in
its happiness; and though she sighed as she rejoiced, her sigh had none
of the ill-will of envy in it. She would certainly have risen to their
blessings if she could, but she did not want to lessen theirs.
The visit passed off altogether in high good humour. Mary was in
excellent spirits, enjoying the gaiety and the change, and so well
satisfied with the journey in her mother-in-law’s carriage with four
horses, and with her own complete independence of Camden Place, that
she was exactly in a temper to admire everything as she ought, and
enter most readily into all the superiorities of the house, as they
were detailed to her. She had no demands on her father or sister, and
her consequence was just enough increased by their handsome
drawing-rooms.
Elizabeth was, for a short time, suffering a good deal. She felt that
Mrs Musgrove and all her party ought to be asked to dine with them; but
she could not bear to have the difference of style, the reduction of
servants, which a dinner must betray, witnessed by those who had been
always so inferior to the Elliots of Kellynch. It was a struggle
between propriety and vanity; but vanity got the better, and then
Elizabeth was happy again. These were her internal persuasions: “Old
fashioned notions; country hospitality; we do not profess to give
dinners; few people in Bath do; Lady Alicia never does; did not even
ask her own sister’s family, though they were here a month: and I dare
say it would be very inconvenient to Mrs Musgrove; put her quite out of
her way. I am sure she would rather not come; she cannot feel easy with
us. I will ask them all for an evening; that will be much better; that
will be a novelty and a treat. They have not seen two such drawing
rooms before. They will be delighted to come to-morrow evening. It
shall be a regular party, small, but most elegant.” And this satisfied
Elizabeth: and when the invitation was given to the two present, and
promised for the absent, Mary was as completely satisfied. She was
particularly asked to meet Mr Elliot, and be introduced to Lady
Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, who were fortunately already engaged to
come; and she could not have received a more gratifying attention. Miss
Elliot was to have the honour of calling on Mrs Musgrove in the course
of the morning; and Anne walked off with Charles and Mary, to go and
see her and Henrietta directly.
Her plan of sitting with Lady Russell must give way for the present.
They all three called in Rivers Street for a couple of minutes; but
Anne convinced herself that a day’s delay of the intended communication
could be of no consequence, and hastened forward to the White Hart, to
see again the friends and companions of the last autumn, with an
eagerness of good-will which many associations contributed to form.
They found Mrs Musgrove and her daughter within, and by themselves, and
Anne had the kindest welcome from each. Henrietta was exactly in that
state of recently-improved views, of fresh-formed happiness, which made
her full of regard and interest for everybody she had ever liked before
at all; and Mrs Musgrove’s real affection had been won by her
usefulness when they were in distress. It was a heartiness, and a
warmth, and a sincerity which Anne delighted in the more, from the sad
want of such blessings at home. She was entreated to give them as much
of her time as possible, invited for every day and all day long, or
rather claimed as part of the family; and, in return, she naturally
fell into all her wonted ways of attention and assistance, and on
Charles’s leaving them together, was listening to Mrs Musgrove’s
history of Louisa, and to Henrietta’s of herself, giving opinions on
business, and recommendations to shops; with intervals of every help
which Mary required, from altering her ribbon to settling her accounts;
from finding her keys, and assorting her trinkets, to trying to
convince her that she was not ill-used by anybody; which Mary, well
amused as she generally was, in her station at a window overlooking the
entrance to the Pump Room, could not but have her moments of imagining.
A morning of thorough confusion was to be expected. A large party in an
hotel ensured a quick-changing, unsettled scene. One five minutes
brought a note, the next a parcel; and Anne had not been there half an
hour, when their dining-room, spacious as it was, seemed more than half
filled: a party of steady old friends were seated around Mrs Musgrove,
and Charles came back with Captains Harville and Wentworth. The
appearance of the latter could not be more than the surprise of the
moment. It was impossible for her to have forgotten to feel that this
arrival of their common friends must be soon bringing them together
again. Their last meeting had been most important in opening his
feelings; she had derived from it a delightful conviction; but she
feared from his looks, that the same unfortunate persuasion, which had
hastened him away from the Concert Room, still governed. He did not
seem to want to be near enough for conversation.
She tried to be calm, and leave things to take their course, and tried
to dwell much on this argument of rational dependence:—“Surely, if
there be constant attachment on each side, our hearts must understand
each other ere long. We are not boy and girl, to be captiously
irritable, misled by every moment’s inadvertence, and wantonly playing
with our own happiness.” And yet, a few minutes afterwards, she felt as
if their being in company with each other, under their present
circumstances, could only be exposing them to inadvertencies and
misconstructions of the most mischievous kind.
“Anne,” cried Mary, still at her window, “there is Mrs Clay, I am sure,
standing under the colonnade, and a gentleman with her. I saw them turn
the corner from Bath Street just now. They seemed deep in talk. Who is
it? Come, and tell me. Good heavens! I recollect. It is Mr Elliot
himself.”
“No,” cried Anne, quickly, “it cannot be Mr Elliot, I assure you. He
was to leave Bath at nine this morning, and does not come back till
to-morrow.”
As she spoke, she felt that Captain Wentworth was looking at her, the
consciousness of which vexed and embarrassed her, and made her regret
that she had said so much, simple as it was.
Mary, resenting that she should be supposed not to know her own cousin,
began talking very warmly about the family features, and protesting
still more positively that it was Mr Elliot, calling again upon Anne to
come and look for herself, but Anne did not mean to stir, and tried to
be cool and unconcerned. Her distress returned, however, on perceiving
smiles and intelligent glances pass between two or three of the lady
visitors, as if they believed themselves quite in the secret. It was
evident that the report concerning her had spread, and a short pause
succeeded, which seemed to ensure that it would now spread farther.
“Do come, Anne,” cried Mary, “come and look yourself. You will be too
late if you do not make haste. They are parting; they are shaking
hands. He is turning away. Not know Mr Elliot, indeed! You seem to have
forgot all about Lyme.”
To pacify Mary, and perhaps screen her own embarrassment, Anne did move
quietly to the window. She was just in time to ascertain that it really
was Mr Elliot, which she had never believed, before he disappeared on
one side, as Mrs Clay walked quickly off on the other; and checking the
surprise which she could not but feel at such an appearance of friendly
conference between two persons of totally opposite interest, she calmly
said, “Yes, it is Mr Elliot, certainly. He has changed his hour of
going, I suppose, that is all, or I may be mistaken, I might not
attend;” and walked back to her chair, recomposed, and with the
comfortable hope of having acquitted herself well.
The visitors took their leave; and Charles, having civilly seen them
off, and then made a face at them, and abused them for coming, began
with—
“Well, mother, I have done something for you that you will like. I have
been to the theatre, and secured a box for to-morrow night. A’n’t I a
good boy? I know you love a play; and there is room for us all. It
holds nine. I have engaged Captain Wentworth. Anne will not be sorry to
join us, I am sure. We all like a play. Have not I done well, mother?”
Mrs Musgrove was good humouredly beginning to express her perfect
readiness for the play, if Henrietta and all the others liked it, when
Mary eagerly interrupted her by exclaiming—
“Good heavens, Charles! how can you think of such a thing? Take a box
for to-morrow night! Have you forgot that we are engaged to Camden
Place to-morrow night? and that we were most particularly asked to meet
Lady Dalrymple and her daughter, and Mr Elliot, and all the principal
family connexions, on purpose to be introduced to them? How can you be
so forgetful?”
“Phoo! phoo!” replied Charles, “what’s an evening party? Never worth
remembering. Your father might have asked us to dinner, I think, if he
had wanted to see us. You may do as you like, but I shall go to the
play.”
“Oh! Charles, I declare it will be too abominable if you do, when you
promised to go.”
“No, I did not promise. I only smirked and bowed, and said the word
‘happy.’ There was no promise.”
“But you must go, Charles. It would be unpardonable to fail. We were
asked on purpose to be introduced. There was always such a great
connexion between the Dalrymples and ourselves. Nothing ever happened
on either side that was not announced immediately. We are quite near
relations, you know; and Mr Elliot too, whom you ought so particularly
to be acquainted with! Every attention is due to Mr Elliot. Consider,
my father’s heir: the future representative of the family.”
“Don’t talk to me about heirs and representatives,” cried Charles. “I
am not one of those who neglect the reigning power to bow to the rising
sun. If I would not go for the sake of your father, I should think it
scandalous to go for the sake of his heir. What is Mr Elliot to me?”
The careless expression was life to Anne, who saw that Captain
Wentworth was all attention, looking and listening with his whole soul;
and that the last words brought his enquiring eyes from Charles to
herself.
Charles and Mary still talked on in the same style; he, half serious
and half jesting, maintaining the scheme for the play, and she,
invariably serious, most warmly opposing it, and not omitting to make
it known that, however determined to go to Camden Place herself, she
should not think herself very well used, if they went to the play
without her. Mrs Musgrove interposed.
“We had better put it off. Charles, you had much better go back and