CHAPTER IV.
“What a pity it is, Elinor,” said Marianne, “that Edward should have no
taste for drawing.”
“No taste for drawing!” replied Elinor, “why should you think so? He
does not draw himself, indeed, but he has great pleasure in seeing the
performances of other people, and I assure you he is by no means deficient
in natural taste, though he has not had opportunities of improving it. Had he
ever been in the way of learning, I think he would have drawn very well. He
distrusts his own judgment in such matters so much, that he is always
unwilling to give his opinion on any picture; but he has an innate propriety
and simplicity of taste, which in general direct him perfectly right.”
Marianne was afraid of offending, and said no more on the subject; but
the kind of approbation which Elinor described as excited in him by the
drawings of other people, was very far from that rapturous delight, which,
in her opinion, could alone be called taste. Yet, though smiling within
herself at the mistake, she honoured her sister for that blind partiality to
Edward which produced it.
“I hope, Marianne,” continued Elinor, “you do not consider him as
deficient in general taste. Indeed, I think I may say that you cannot, for your
behaviour to him is perfectly cordial, and if that were your opinion, I am
sure you could never be civil to him.”
Marianne hardly knew what to say. She would not wound the feelings of
her sister on any account, and yet to say what she did not believe was
impossible. At length she replied:
“Do not be offended, Elinor, if my praise of him is not in every thing
equal to your sense of his merits. I have not had so many opportunities of
estimating the minuter propensities of his mind, his inclinations and tastes,
as you have; but I have the highest opinion in the world of his goodness and
sense. I think him every thing that is worthy and amiable.”
“I am sure,” replied Elinor, with a smile, “that his dearest friends could
not be dissatisfied with such commendation as that. I do not perceive how
you could express yourself more warmly.”
Marianne was rejoiced to find her sister so easily pleased.
“Of his sense and his goodness,” continued Elinor, “no one can, I think,
be in doubt, who has seen him often enough to engage him in unreserved
conversation. The excellence of his understanding and his principles can be
concealed only by that shyness which too often keeps him silent. You know
enough of him to do justice to his solid worth. But of his minuter
propensities, as you call them you have from peculiar circumstances been
kept more ignorant than myself. He and I have been at times thrown a good
deal together, while you have been wholly engrossed on the most
affectionate principle by my mother. I have seen a great deal of him, have
studied his sentiments and heard his opinion on subjects of literature and
taste; and, upon the whole, I venture to pronounce that his mind is well-
informed, enjoyment of books exceedingly great, his imagination lively, his
observation just and correct, and his taste delicate and pure. His abilities in
every respect improve as much upon acquaintance as his manners and
person. At first sight, his address is certainly not striking; and his person can
hardly be called handsome, till the expression of his eyes, which are
uncommonly good, and the general sweetness of his countenance, is
perceived. At present, I know him so well, that I think him really handsome;
or at least, almost so. What say you, Marianne?”
“I shall very soon think him handsome, Elinor, if I do not now. When you
tell me to love him as a brother, I shall no more see imperfection in his face,
than I now do in his heart.”
Elinor started at this declaration, and was sorry for the warmth she had
been betrayed into, in speaking of him. She felt that Edward stood very high
in her opinion. She believed the regard to be mutual; but she required
greater certainty of it to make Marianne’s conviction of their attachment
agreeable to her. She knew that what Marianne and her mother conjectured
one moment, they believed the next—that with them, to wish was to hope,
and to hope was to expect. She tried to explain the real state of the case to
her sister.
“I do not attempt to deny,” said she, “that I think very highly of him—
that I greatly esteem, that I like him.”
Marianne here burst forth with indignation—
“Esteem him! Like him! Cold-hearted Elinor! Oh! worse than cold-
hearted! Ashamed of being otherwise. Use those words again, and I will
leave the room this moment.”
Elinor could not help laughing. “Excuse me,” said she; “and be assured
that I meant no offence to you, by speaking, in so quiet a way, of my own
feelings. Believe them to be stronger than I have declared; believe them, in
short, to be such as his merit, and the suspicion—the hope of his affection
for me may warrant, without imprudence or folly. But farther than this you
must not believe. I am by no means assured of his regard for me. There are
moments when the extent of it seems doubtful; and till his sentiments are
fully known, you cannot wonder at my wishing to avoid any encouragement
of my own partiality, by believing or calling it more than it is. In my heart I
feel little—scarcely any doubt of his preference. But there are other points
to be considered besides his inclination. He is very far from being
independent. What his mother really is we cannot know; but, from Fanny’s
occasional mention of her conduct and opinions, we have never been
disposed to think her amiable; and I am very much mistaken if Edward is
not himself aware that there would be many difficulties in his way, if he
were to wish to marry a woman who had not either a great fortune or high
rank.”
Marianne was astonished to find how much the imagination of her
mother and herself had outstripped the truth.
“And you really are not engaged to him!” said she. “Yet it certainly soon
will happen. But two advantages will proceed from this delay. I shall not
lose you so soon, and Edward will have greater opportunity of improving
that natural taste for your favourite pursuit which must be so indispensably
necessary to your future felicity. Oh! if he should be so far stimulated by
your genius as to learn to draw himself, how delightful it would be!”
Elinor had given her real opinion to her sister. She could not consider her
partiality for Edward in so prosperous a state as Marianne had believed it.
There was, at times, a want of spirits about him which, if it did not denote
indifference, spoke of something almost as unpromising. A doubt of her
regard, supposing him to feel it, need not give him more than inquietude. It
would not be likely to produce that dejection of mind which frequently
attended him. A more reasonable cause might be found in the dependent
situation which forbade the indulgence of his affection. She knew that his
mother neither behaved to him so as to make his home comfortable at
present, nor to give him any assurance that he might form a home for
himself, without strictly attending to her views for his aggrandizement.
With such a knowledge as this, it was impossible for Elinor to feel easy on
the subject. She was far from depending on that result of his preference of
her, which her mother and sister still considered as certain. Nay, the longer
they were together the more doubtful seemed the nature of his regard; and
sometimes, for a few painful minutes, she believed it to be no more than
friendship.
But, whatever might really be its limits, it was enough, when perceived
by his sister, to make her uneasy, and at the same time, (which was still
more common,) to make her uncivil. She took the first opportunity of
affronting her mother-in-law on the occasion, talking to her so expressively
of her brother’s great expectations, of Mrs. Ferrars’s resolution that both her
sons should marry well, and of the danger attending any young woman who
attempted to draw him in; that Mrs. Dashwood could neither pretend to be
unconscious, nor endeavor to be calm. She gave her an answer which
marked her contempt, and instantly left the room, resolving that, whatever
might be the inconvenience or expense of so sudden a removal, her beloved
Elinor should not be exposed another week to such insinuations.
In this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered to her from the post,
which contained a proposal particularly well timed. It was the offer of a
small house, on very easy terms, belonging to a relation of her own, a
gentleman of consequence and property in Devonshire. The letter was from
this gentleman himself, and written in the true spirit of friendly
accommodation. He understood that she was in need of a dwelling; and
though the house he now offered her was merely a cottage, he assured her
that everything should be done to it which she might think necessary, if the
situation pleased her. He earnestly pressed her, after giving the particulars
of the house and garden, to come with her daughters to Barton Park, the
place of his own residence, from whence she might judge, herself, whether
Barton Cottage, for the houses were in the same parish, could, by any
alteration, be made comfortable to her. He seemed really anxious to
accommodate them and the whole of his letter was written in so friendly a
style as could not fail of giving pleasure to his cousin; more especially at a
moment when she was suffering under the cold and unfeeling behaviour of
her nearer connections. She needed no time for deliberation or inquiry. Her
resolution was formed as she read. The situation of Barton, in a county so
far distant from Sussex as Devonshire, which, but a few hours before,
would have been a sufficient objection to outweigh every possible
advantage belonging to the place, was now its first recommendation. To
quit the neighbourhood of Norland was no longer an evil; it was an object
of desire; it was a blessing, in comparison of the misery of continuing her
daughter-in-law’s guest; and to remove for ever from that beloved place
would be less painful than to inhabit or visit it while such a woman was its
mistress. She instantly wrote Sir John Middleton her acknowledgment of
his kindness, and her acceptance of his proposal; and then hastened to show
both letters to her daughters, that she might be secure of their approbation
before her answer were sent.
Elinor had always thought it would be more prudent for them to settle at
some distance from Norland, than immediately amongst their present
acquaintance. On that head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose her
mother’s intention of removing into Devonshire. The house, too, as
described by Sir John, was on so simple a scale, and the rent so
uncommonly moderate, as to leave her no right of objection on either point;
and, therefore, though it was not a plan which brought any charm to her
fancy, though it was a removal from the vicinity of Norland beyond her
wishes, she made no attempt to dissuade her mother from sending a letter of
acquiescence.
