The sudden termination of Colonel Brandon's visit at the park, with
his steadiness in concealing its cause, filled the mind, and raised
the wonder of Mrs. Jennings for two or three days; she was a great
wonderer, as every one must be who takes a very lively interest in all
the comings and goings of all their acquaintance. She wondered, with
little intermission what could be the reason of it; was sure there
must be some bad news, and thought over every kind of distress that
could have befallen him, with a fixed determination that he should not
escape them all.
"Something very melancholy must be the matter, I am sure," said she.
"I could see it in his face. Poor man! I am afraid his circumstances
may be bad. The estate at Delaford was never reckoned more than two
thousand a year, and his brother left everything sadly involved. I do
think he must have been sent for about money matters, for what else
can it be? I wonder whether it is so. I would give anything to know
the truth of it. Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by the bye, I
dare say it is, because he looked so conscious when I mentioned her.
May be she is ill in town; nothing in the world more likely, for I
have a notion she is always rather sickly. I would lay any wager it is
about Miss Williams. It is not so very likely he should be distressed
in his circumstances _now_, for he is a very prudent man, and to be
sure must have cleared the estate by this time. I wonder what it can
be! May be his sister is worse at Avignon, and has sent for him over.
His setting off in such a hurry seems very like it. Well, I wish him
out of all his trouble with all my heart, and a good wife into the
bargain."
So wondered, so talked Mrs. Jennings. Her opinion varying with every
fresh conjecture, and all seeming equally probable as they arose.
Elinor, though she felt really interested in the welfare of Colonel
Brandon, could not bestow all the wonder on his going so suddenly
away, which Mrs. Jennings was desirous of her feeling; for besides
that the circumstance did not in her opinion justify such lasting
amazement or variety of speculation, her wonder was otherwise
disposed of. It was engrossed by the extraordinary silence of her
sister and Willoughby on the subject, which they must know to be
peculiarly interesting to them all. As this silence continued, every
day made it appear more strange and more incompatible with the
disposition of both. Why they should not openly acknowledge to her
mother and herself, what their constant behaviour to each other
declared to have taken place, Elinor could not imagine.
She could easily conceive that marriage might not be immediately in
their power; for though Willoughby was independent, there was no
reason to believe him rich. His estate had been rated by Sir John at
about six or seven hundred a year; but he lived at an expense to which
that income could hardly be equal, and he had himself often complained
of his poverty. But for this strange kind of secrecy maintained by
them relative to their engagement, which in fact concealed nothing at
all, she could not account; and it was so wholly contradictory to
their general opinions and practice, that a doubt sometimes entered
her mind of their being really engaged, and this doubt was enough to
prevent her making any inquiry of Marianne.
Nothing could be more expressive of attachment to them all, than
Willoughby's behaviour. To Marianne it had all the distinguishing
tenderness which a lover's heart could give, and to the rest of the
family it was the affectionate attention of a son and a brother. The
cottage seemed to be considered and loved by him as his home; many
more of his hours were spent there than at Allenham; and if no general
engagement collected them at the park, the exercise which called him
out in the morning was almost certain of ending there, where the rest
of the day was spent by himself at the side of Marianne, and by his
favourite pointer at her feet.
One evening in particular, about a week after Colonel Brandon left the
country, his heart seemed more than usually open to every feeling of
attachment to the objects around him; and on Mrs. Dashwood's happening
to mention her design of improving the cottage in the spring, he
warmly opposed every alteration of a place which affection had
established as perfect with him.
"What!" he exclaimed, "Improve this dear cottage! No. _That_ I will
never consent to. Not a stone must be added to its walls, not an inch
to its size, if my feelings are regarded."
"Do not be alarmed," said Miss Dashwood, "nothing of the kind will be
done; for my mother will never have money enough to attempt it."
"I am heartily glad of it," he cried. "May she always be poor, if she
can employ her riches no better."
"Thank you, Willoughby. But you may be assured that I would not
sacrifice one sentiment of local attachment of yours, or of any one
whom I loved, for all the improvements in the world. Depend upon it
that whatever unemployed sum may remain, when I make up my accounts in
the spring, I would even rather lay it uselessly by than dispose of it
in a manner so painful to you. But are you really so attached to this
place as to see no defect in it?"
"I am," said he. "To me it is faultless. Nay, more, I consider it as
the only form of building in which happiness is attainable, and were I
rich enough I would instantly pull Combe down, and build it up again
in the exact plan of this cottage."
"With dark narrow stairs and a kitchen that smokes, I suppose," said
Elinor.
"Yes," cried he in the same eager tone, "with all and every thing
belonging to it--in no one convenience or inconvenience about it,
should the least variation be perceptible. Then, and then only, under
such a roof, I might perhaps be as happy at Combe as I have been at
Barton."
"I flatter myself," replied Elinor, "that even under the disadvantage
of better rooms and a broader staircase, you will hereafter find your
own house as faultless as you now do this."
"There certainly are circumstances," said Willoughby, "which might
greatly endear it to me; but this place will always have one claim of
my affection, which no other can possibly share."
Mrs. Dashwood looked with pleasure at Marianne, whose fine eyes were
fixed so expressively on Willoughby, as plainly denoted how well she
understood him.
"How often did I wish," added he, "when I was at Allenham this time
twelvemonth, that Barton cottage were inhabited! I never passed within
view of it without admiring its situation, and grieving that no one
should live in it. How little did I then think that the very first
news I should hear from Mrs. Smith, when I next came into the country,
would be that Barton cottage was taken: and I felt an immediate
satisfaction and interest in the event, which nothing but a kind of
prescience of what happiness I should experience from it, can account
for. Must it not have been so, Marianne?" speaking to her in a lowered
voice. Then continuing his former tone, he said, "And yet this house
you would spoil, Mrs. Dashwood? You would rob it of its simplicity by
imaginary improvement! and this dear parlour in which our acquaintance
first began, and in which so many happy hours have been since spent by
us together, you would degrade to the condition of a common entrance,
and every body would be eager to pass through the room which has
hitherto contained within itself more real accommodation and comfort
than any other apartment of the handsomest dimensions in the world
could possibly afford."
Mrs. Dashwood again assured him that no alteration of the kind should
be attempted.
"You are a good woman," he warmly replied. "Your promise makes me
easy. Extend it a little farther, and it will make me happy. Tell me
that not only your house will remain the same, but that I shall ever
find you and yours as unchanged as your dwelling; and that you will
always consider me with the kindness which has made everything
belonging to you so dear to me."
The promise was readily given, and Willoughby's behaviour during the
whole of the evening declared at once his affection and happiness.
"Shall we see you tomorrow to dinner?" said Mrs. Dashwood, when he was
leaving them. "I do not ask you to come in the morning, for we must
walk to the park, to call on Lady Middleton."
He engaged to be with them by four o'clock.