The rehearsals were the perquisite of Sir John. It was at the Park that
they were held. His drawing-room it was that was daily filled with
guests; his servants that were daily called upon to provide casual
meals; and his box-rooms and cupboards that were ransacked for stage
properties. A very happy state of things for Sir John, who could never
be too much in company, but less agreeable to his lady, who liked her
household arrangements to move smoothly, and not to progress in jerks
and runs.
Sir Francis and Lady Carey began to feel that their young people were
accepting hospitality for which no return was being made. Though not
fond of company themselves, this situation was not agreeable to them.
They decided that some effort must be made, and the result of their
consultation was that Walter Carey rode over to Barton on Sunday
afternoon, commissioned by his mother to invite the party to Newton
for the following day. There was to be a rehearsal in the morning; the
whole party was to dine, and after tea more neighbours were to come in
for a ball. It was to be a day of festivity, and Walter Carey looked as
if he expected to enjoy it.
Elinor was at first inclined to excuse herself and to declare herself
unable to leave her mother, but Walter immediately included Mrs.
Dashwood in the invitation, and, though she laughingly declined on her
own behalf, she was determined that Elinor should be of the party. It
was just such a gathering as a young woman should enjoy, and Elinor
could not be excused from enjoying it. She had been to many such
parties at her mother’s instigation, and been exceedingly weary at
them, and was really reluctant, but Walter’s smile carried the day and
she consented to be made happy, so far as being continually in company
for a space of twelve hours could make her so.
Walter rode off to secure other guests, brimful of pleasure himself
and leaving a very fair amount behind him. The project would be an
agreeable change to Margaret. Sir Francis and Lady Carey were superior
in sense and taste to the Middletons, and, even had they been without
these claims to her interest, they had at least the quality of being
less well known. Every one must feel that a party was the pleasanter
for Walter’s presence, and it was four years since she had been to
Newton Hall. They were to be called for early by the Barton Park
carriage.
The morning was fine, and they started for the drive of four miles
in excellent spirits. Mr. Atherton joined them, and the barouche was
full; Sir John driving with the manservant beside him, and Elinor,
Miss Steele and Margaret sharing Mr. Atherton’s attentions between
them. Lady Middleton had thought the day too long for the children, and
stayed at home herself to be with them.
The drive through deep Devonshire lanes was a very pretty one, and all
were delighted with the charm of the journey, and even more delighted
to have it over, to judge by the pleasure expressed when they came
in sight of the house, a fine Tudor mansion, with walled gardens,
fish-ponds and wild shrubbery, all very much like many other country
gentlemen’s seats, but not the less deserving of admiration on that
account.
Walter Carey met them with enthusiasm, and Sir Francis with cordiality.
It was to be the last before the dress-rehearsal, and Sir Francis was
to be admitted as audience and critic, and, if Lady Carey could find
time from her preparations for the evening, it was hoped that her
opinion would be obtained too, though privately this was not considered
to be of equal importance.
That the rout would only consist of four in place of seven noisy
people was to be deplored, but much was said on the wisdom of avoiding
excitement for children, and much was thought on the comfort of the
young Middletons being absent from the party. It was hoped aloud that
the four would be unruly and noisy enough for seven when the proper
time came, but remembered in silence that the Middleton children had no
idea of any time being unsuitable for noise and disturbance.
Mr. Atherton greeted his friends, the Carey children, with affection,
and was dragged off at once to see the fish-ponds, Miss Fairfield going
also to see that the little girls did not presume on his good nature.
The rest of the party were conducted indoors for rest and refreshment.
Lady Carey, though not so anxious for elegance as Lady Middleton, kept
an uncommonly good table, and the repast that awaited them of fruit,
cakes and excellent home-made ginger wine was enjoyed without any demur
as to the earliness of the hour. Mary and Henry Whitaker arrived on
horseback, with their evening clothes packed in the saddle-bags, and
everybody was ready for the rehearsal.
Sir Francis was accommodated with an armchair in the middle of the
lawn, as sole audience, and the rest of the party went behind the
bushes in order to make their entrances as much a surprise to Sir
Francis as was possible. Elinor had offered her services to Lady Carey,
and was within doors with her, helping in some of the preparations for
the evening, which could not but be a strain on the best ordered house
and the best trained servants.
The attendant Spirit had said some of his curtailed speeches,
rather bashful at being the first to speak, and feeling sharply the
incongruity of his riding-boots, when Sir Francis rose from his chair
with a shout of welcome.
“Willoughby! On my life! What brings you here?”
Willoughby was coming across the lawn with his usual easy manner of
being sure of a welcome wherever he might appear.
“I heard you had something of this sort going on, Sir Francis, and you
know my passion for acting. We are staying at Allenham, so I came over
to see if I could be of any use.”
The rout were being held in leash by Sir John, and Walter was looking
round the bushes to see what the interruption was about, and Margaret,
from her bush, peeped too. Walter, of course, knew nothing except that
this tiresome fellow was interrupting the rehearsal, but Margaret was
highly entertained. The meeting between Willoughby and Elinor employed
her thoughts to the exclusion of all else. Just what degree of cold
dignity would Elinor assume? This was an audacity of which few but
Willoughby would be capable, but it formed a situation that had at
least the merit of being worthy of observation.
Willoughby was given a chair, and his presence no doubt added zest to
the acting. Walter was determined to make a good show before this older
man, who was yet of his own generation. The Lady was more graceful,
the Brothers more dashing, and the rout, if possible, more noisy than
heretofore. Miss Steele especially surpassed herself in the spirit and
vigour of her dancing, and Sir John was much gratified by Willoughby’s
incessant laughter.
When all was over Sir John came to shake hands and be congratulated.
“Funny piece, isn’t it? That bit where we all come tumbling in ought to
amuse our audience. I like to see a man laugh as you do. Shows a good
heart!”
“I have been vastly entertained, Sir John,” replied Willoughby with
a bow, and then, as Walter came up, he turned his compliments with a
finer edge, congratulating the younger man on the fine speaking of the
lines which the whole company achieved.
“Miss Margaret’s song is delicious. A most melodious voice, like her
sister’s but not so full and sweet. Mrs. Brandon had the voice of an
angel, unequalled in tone and expression.”
He spoke with great feeling, sighed heavily, and looked downcast.
This had the desired effect, for as they walked to the house Walter
Carey said in an undertone to Margaret:
“I suppose he was in love with your sister, Mrs. Brandon. I pity him.
It must have been bad to him to see her married. I wonder why she would
not have him?”
Margaret made no reply, but thought with amusement how Willoughby had
improved his position with those few words. He would now be regarded
as the unsuccessful lover of Marianne, who would appear to have turned
from the young admirer and married the rich, middle-aged suitor.
Willoughby was to be pitied, but not to be blamed, Marianne to be
wondered at, but not to be pitied. Perhaps both gained something by
this re-arrangement of the facts.
They had now reached the house, and Margaret hoped to be in time to
witness the meeting between Elinor and Willoughby. She was not to be
disappointed. Lady Carey and Elinor were still upstairs when the rest
of the party assembled in the drawing-room before dinner. Lady Carey
appeared, greeted Willoughby as the last-come guest, and then made her
stout, comfortable way to Sir John Middleton, who was to tell her how
everything had gone at the rehearsal and all about the ducks and geese
at Barton Park, and the prospects of a good fruit harvest--for Lady
Carey was a real country dame, and a much better pair to Sir John than
his more elegant lady-wife, at least in Margaret’s opinion. But then
Sir Francis Carey, a fine scholarly gentleman, would have found Lady
Middleton very fatiguing, so the re-arrangement of these pairs was
abandoned by Margaret, and she continued to watch the door for Elinor.
She came. At sight of Willoughby her complexion changed. He came
forward eagerly smiling, and with outstretched hand. She bowed
decisively, managed to ignore the hand, and turned to Isabella Carey
with some question about the rehearsal. Willoughby hesitated. Margaret
saw him falter, but imagined him to be taking courage. With resolution
he joined the group, and himself entered into conversation with Miss
Carey, including Elinor in his remarks with courtesy and friendliness.
He held her there with his attentions, would not allow her to escape
him, and for a few minutes it appeared to all who cared to take note
of it that Mr. Willoughby and Mrs. Ferrars were on terms of the
friendliest acquaintance.
Elinor was determined to get away, and move away she did, but not till
his purpose was accomplished, and Margaret was left in admiration
of his ready wit and charming effrontery. She saw that her sister’s
resentment was great. It was but natural that Elinor, who knew so
much of the suffering Willoughby had caused to Marianne, should feel
strongly in condemnation of this easy assumption of friendliness.
Margaret felt that she herself judged the case more correctly. She felt
she knew more of his real feeling, his real regret, and she could not
be blind to the fact that the line he was taking was really the one to
do most honour to Marianne’s situation. If it pleased him to pose as
the unfortunate admirer it was an indulgence which need not be denied
him except in the interest of strict veracity, for, while it might
seem that he gained somewhat in the eyes of the world in being thought
unlucky rather than faithless, Marianne gained more in being supposed
fickle rather than unfortunate. For it is well known that while to be
crossed in love is highly honourable to a gentleman, in a lady it is
correspondingly disgraceful; and while a change of heart is much to be
deplored in a masculine lover, for a female to hesitate between two,
and finally make her choice, enhances not only her own value but that
of both her admirers; so that Colonel Brandon might be supposed to be a
gainer by Willoughby’s affectation of love-lornity; and would doubtless
be much gratified by the circumstances if it could be supposed that he
would think anything at all about it.