Mrs. Ferrars, as Marianne expected, repeated her request that the
sisters should accompany her to Scotland. She was none the less
surprised at having her offer accepted.
The contest between the elder and the younger lady was still carried
on, but the ground of difference was changed. It was not now whether
Marianne should or should not join her husband in Scotland, but whether
she was doing so to please herself or out of kindness to Mrs. Ferrars,
who always assumed the one reason and Marianne the other.
It was Wednesday morning. Edward had left on Tuesday, was giving his
horses two days’ rest, and would return on Friday, bringing Elinor back
to take charge of the children and soothe her disturbed household. Mrs.
Ferrars, Marianne and Margaret were to start early on Friday, with man
and maid in the chaise behind, and intended to reach Bath in time for
the Sunday. The journey was to be continued at a similarly leisurely
pace and Margaret looked forward with great interest to the coming week.
This morning Marianne found it necessary to go to the village to
give some orders, and had added that she proposed to look in on Mrs.
Ferrars to give her something vexatious to think about. As soon as
she was gone, Margaret took some work and went to sit in an old yew
arbour which stood on a mound against the high wall that surrounded the
garden. Thence she could see Marianne walking along the lane towards
the village, the morning coach passing on the turnpike road, then a
cart, and later a gentleman’s carriage.
It was a cheerful place in which to spend an hour or two in the open
air without the fatigue of walking or the necessity for change of
dress. She had been settled there for about half an hour when she
noticed a curricle coming along the road at a rapid pace. It stopped,
and a man got out, and spoke to his companion, who then drove forward
more slowly. Margaret had nothing very particular to do, and at first
she watched this figure with idle interest, but it was not long before
she became aware that he had turned into the lane, not long before she
knew who it was, and not long before he was standing below her on the
other side of the wall, and looking up.
“May I come up there, Margaret?” he asked.
“Yes, if you can,” she replied, “but there is a way round by the great
gate.”
The gallant Commander was not the man to go round by any great gate
when a more direct way was before him. The wall was of rough stone,
and some of the stones projected. He was soon near the top, but then
experienced some difficulty.
“Shall I give you a hand?” she asked.
“Yes, if you will,” said he.
He did not, however, give up the hand when he was beside her in
the gazebo. They sat down together, and though Margaret might ask
questions about the journey it was difficult to keep up a purely formal
conversation when he held her hand. So it was not long before she was
silent, and he began to speak, and told her of his errand. It was to
ask her a simple question, and, when she heard the question, she was in
no doubt as to the answer.
When Marianne returned from her latest discussion with Mrs. Ferrars
she heard that which put all quarrels out of her head. It was a joyful
day for Marianne. She was not the less in love with romance because
she was also in love with the Colonel, and by the time she had heard
all they would tell her she was, outwardly at least, by far the most
enthusiastic of the three. They quitted her soon to indulge in the
endless discussions, the long silences, the renewed converse, which
are so familiar to all who have been in love. Marianne was left to the
enjoyment of her own thoughts and the formation of further plans.
It was not until dinner was over and Marianne had exercised her right
as hostess to secure their company in the drawing-room that she
produced her scheme.
“Richard,” she asked, “how soon do you wish to be married?”
“As soon as is possible,” he replied promptly.
“I will not ask Margaret. She would only give me some evasive reply,
but I will ask her another question. Do you want to have every one at
Barton asking you questions and then inventing the answers and saying
you said this or that, and noticing when you blush, and teasing you and
vexing you in every imaginable way?”
“I do not think I mind very much. I am used to that sort of thing, and
now----”
“That is the wrong answer, Margaret,” said Richard. “You should have
replied as I did, in the way your sister expected. You should have said
simply ‘No.’”
“Her answer was perfectly satisfactory to me, thank you, Richard. She
ended it with ‘and now.’ That means, does it not, Margaret, that being
to marry Richard makes everything right. Correct me if I am wrong. I do
not wish to attribute to you anything you do not willingly admit.”
Margaret willingly admitted as she was asked, and Marianne expressed
herself satisfied.
“Richard wishes to get married as soon as possible, and Margaret admits
that nothing else matters. Now for my third question, which is for both
of you. Do you wish to please me greatly?”
This was immediately agreed to by both.
“Well, then, do, do come to Scotland with us, Richard, and be married
there. It is the most entrancing scheme. I have been thinking of it
half the morning. Margaret and I will travel with Mrs. Ferrars, and
you will follow in a hired chaise. At all the stops there you will
be, and I will present you to Mrs. Ferrars as a mere acquaintance. We
shall spend Sunday in Bath, and I will take care that she is kept out
of the way, but she is bound to see you, and to find out that you are
following us, and she will be so delightfully angry at your continued
appearances, and abuse you so much, and I shall enjoy myself beyond
measure.”
Margaret protested that their marriage was being pressed into service
to keep up the contest with Mrs. Ferrars, but Marianne would not have
it so. She had other and better reasons to urge.
“Do think how deplorably unromantic our marriages have been. Mamma, to
begin with, marrying Papa, years and years older than herself, and a
widower of all things. Then Elinor, with dear good Edward, who is the
most prosaic creature in the world, and as to myself, though I would
not have anything different, no one can possibly think my marriage in
the least romantic. Now you two have the most amazing opportunity.
Nothing could exceed the delightful romance of your situation. To make
it perfect you must elope.”
“Mamma----” began Margaret.
“Mamma will be delighted,” went on Marianne. “She said at my wedding
that she hoped she would never have to undergo so much of fuss and
ceremony again. She even said she hoped you would elope when your turn
came, though I do not suppose she quite meant that. However, there can
be no harm in taking her at her word.”
“That is not what I meant,” said Margaret. “I did not think she would
particularly desire wedding festivities, but I think she should know
what is happening, that her consent----”
“I wrote to her before I came away,” said Richard.
This was unexpected.
“Do you mean she knows?” asked Margaret.
“She knows what I wanted.”
“And she did not object? She consented,” declared Marianne. “There can
be no question of it. If she had wished to prevent it she would have
done so.”
“She did not have very much time,” said Richard.
“Oh, Mamma always says if she does not wish anything. Besides, she
would never oppose us in anything that was of real importance. I am
sure Mamma would be on my side. She would love to vex Mrs. Ferrars.”
“There is one thing I do not like,” said Richard. “How about the
Colonel? This is his house. I do not want to elope from it without his
consent.”
“Oh!” said Marianne. “That is another point. You would never, never
guess it to look at him, but my husband was once all ready prepared to
elope himself, only all was discovered.”
“With you?” asked Richard, puzzled.
“No, not with me, with another lady, long, long ago. It is a great
secret; but it will be impossible for him to make any objection to
elopements from his house. Also, I really do not see what else is to
be done. You would not wish Margaret to go to Scotland, and leave you
here?”
Richard agreed that he would not.
“Of course she could stay on at the parsonage with Elinor.”
Margaret thought not.
“Well, then, there is nothing for it but for you to come to Scotland
with us, and when there it would be a pity not to get married. For if
you do you can go straight back together to Mamma, and you will see at
once if you have vexed her. But I think it will amuse and please her of
all things.”
It did really seem to be a plan of some convenience. Marianne assumed
it to be settled. Richard found it very much to his liking, and
Margaret only stipulated that they should write without delay to her
mother.