Sense and Sensibility
“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 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. Jennings’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 shows. 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 vigor, 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 THE SECOND VOLUME
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Mrs. Palmer was so well at the end of a fortnight, that her mother felt
it no longer necessary to give up the whole of her time to her; and,
contenting herself with visiting her once or twice a day, returned from
that period to her own home, and her own habits, in which she found the
Miss Dashwoods very ready to resume their former share.
About the third or fourth morning after their being thus resettled in
Berkeley Street, Mrs. Jennings, on returning from her ordinary visit to
Mrs. Palmer, entered the drawing-room, where Elinor was sitting by
herself, with an air of such hurrying importance as prepared her to
hear something wonderful; and giving her time only to form that idea,
began directly to justify it, by saying,
“Lord! my dear Miss Dashwood! have you heard the news?”
“No, ma’am. What is it?”
“Something so strange! But you shall hear it all. When I got to Mr.
Palmer’s, I found Charlotte quite in a fuss about the child. She was
sure it was very ill—it cried, and fretted, and was all over pimples.
So I looked at it directly, and, ‘Lord! my dear,’ says I, ‘it is
nothing in the world, but the red gum;’ and nurse said just the same.
But Charlotte, she would not be satisfied, so Mr. Donavan was sent for;
and luckily he happened to just come in from Harley Street, so he
stepped over directly, and as soon as ever he saw the child, he said
just as we did, that it was nothing in the world but the red gum, and
then Charlotte was easy. And so, just as he was going away again, it
came into my head, I am sure I do not know how I happened to think of
it, but it came into my head to ask him if there was any news. So upon
that, he smirked, and simpered, and looked grave, and seemed to know
something or other, and at last he said in a whisper, ‘For fear any
unpleasant report should reach the young ladies under your care as to
their sister’s indisposition, I think it advisable to say, that I
believe there is no great reason for alarm; I hope Mrs. Dashwood will
do very well.’”
“What! is Fanny ill?”
“That is exactly what I said, my dear. ‘Lord!’ says I, ‘is Mrs.
Dashwood ill?’ So then it all came out; and the long and the short of
the matter, by all I can learn, seems to be this. Mr. Edward Ferrars,
the very young man I used to joke with you about (but however, as it
turns out, I am monstrous glad there was never any thing in it), Mr.
Edward Ferrars, it seems, has been engaged above this twelvemonth to my
cousin Lucy!—There’s for you, my dear! And not a creature knowing a
syllable of the matter, except Nancy! Could you have believed such a
thing possible? There is no great wonder in their liking one another;
but that matters should be brought so forward between them, and nobody
suspect it! _That_ is strange! I never happened to see them together,
or I am sure I should have found it out directly. Well, and so this was
kept a great secret, for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, and neither she nor your
brother or sister suspected a word of the matter: till this very
morning, poor Nancy, who, you know, is a well-meaning creature, but no
conjurer, popt it all out. ‘Lord!’ thinks she to herself, ‘they are all
so fond of Lucy, to be sure they will make no difficulty about it;’ and
so, away she went to your sister, who was sitting all alone at her
carpet-work, little suspecting what was to come—for she had just been
saying to your brother, only five minutes before, that she thought to
make a match between Edward and some Lord’s daughter or other, I forget
who. So you may think what a blow it was to all her vanity and pride.
She fell into violent hysterics immediately, with such screams as
reached your brother’s ears, as he was sitting in his own dressing-room
down stairs, thinking about writing a letter to his steward in the
country. So up he flew directly, and a terrible scene took place, for
Lucy was come to them by that time, little dreaming what was going on.
Poor soul! I pity _her_. And I must say, I think she was used very
hardly; for your sister scolded like any fury, and soon drove her into
a fainting fit. Nancy, she fell upon her knees, and cried bitterly; and
your brother, he walked about the room, and said he did not know what
to do. Mrs. Dashwood declared they should not stay a minute longer in
the house, and your brother was forced to go down upon _his_ knees too,