 CHAPTER XIV Though Charles and Mary had remained at Lyme much longer after Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove's going, than Anne conceived they could have been at all wanted, they were yet the first of the family to be at home again, and as soon as possible after their return to upper-cross, they drove over to the lodge. They had left Louisa beginning to sit up, but her head, though clear, was exceedingly weak, and her nerves susceptible to the highest extreme of tenderness, and though she might be pronounced to be altogether doing very well, it was still impossible to say when she might be able to bear the removal home, and her father and mother, who must return in time to receive their younger children for the Christmas holidays, had hardly a hope of being allowed to bring her with them. They had been all in lodgings together. Mrs. Musgrove had got Mrs. Harville's children away as much as she could. Every possible supply from upper-cross had been furnished, to lighten the inconvenience to the Harvills, while the Harvills had been wanting them to come to dinner every day, and in short, it seemed to have been only a struggle on each side as to which it should be most disinterested and hospitable. Mary had had her evils, but on the whole. As was evident by her staying so long, she had found more to enjoy than to suffer. Charles Hater had been at Lyme oftener than suited her, and when they dined with the Harvills there had been only a maid-servant to wait, and at first Mrs. Harville had always given Mrs. Musgrove precedence. But then she had received so very handsome an apology from her, on finding out whose daughter she was, and there had been so much going on every day, there had been so many walks between their lodgings and the Harvills, and she had got books from the library, and changed them so often, that the balance had certainly been much in favour of Lyme. She had been taken to Charmouth, too, and she had bathed, and she had gone to church, and there were a great many more people to look at in the church at Lyme than in upper-cross, and all this, joined to the sense of being so very useful, had made really an agreeable fortnight. Anne inquired after Captain Benwick. Mary's face was clouded directly. Charles laughed. No. Captain Benwick is very well, I believe, but he is a very odd young man. I do not know what he would be at. We asked him to come home with us for a day or two. Charles undertook to give him some shooting, and he seemed quite delighted, and for my part, I thought it was all settled. When behold, on Tuesday night, he made a very awkward sort of excuse. He never shot, and he had been quite misunderstood, and he had promised this, and he had promised that, and the end of it was, I found, that he did not mean to come. I suppose he was afraid of finding it dull. But upon my word, I should have thought we were lively enough at the cottage, for such a heartbroken man as Captain Benwick. Charles laughed again, and said, Now, Mary, you know very well how it really was. It was all your doing. Turning to Anne. He fancied that, if he went with us. We should find you close by. He fancied everybody to be living in Upper Cross, and when he discovered that Lady Russell lived three miles off, his heart failed him, and he had not courage to come. That is the fact. Upon my honour, Mary knows it is. But Mary did not give into it very graciously, whether from not considering Captain Benwick entitled by birth and situation to be in love with an Elliot, or from not wanting to believe Anne a greater attraction to Upper Cross and herself, must be left to be guessed. Anne's goodwill, however, was not to be lessened by what she heard. She boldly acknowledged herself flattered, and continued her inquiries. Oh! he talks of you! cried Charles, in such terms! Mary interrupted him. I declare, Charles, I never heard him mention Anne twice all the time I was there. I declare Anne, he never talks of you at all. No! admitted Charles. I do not know that he ever does in a general way. But, however, it is a very clear thing that he admires you exceedingly. His head is full of some books that he is reading upon your recommendation, and he wants to talk to you about them. He has found out something or other in one of them which he thinks—though I cannot pretend to remember it—but it was something very fine. I overheard him telling Henrietta all about it, and then Miss Elliot was spoken of in the highest terms. Now, Mary, I declare it was so, I heard it myself, and you were in the other room. It's sweetness beauty! Oh! there was no end of Miss Elliot's charms! And I am sure—cried Mary warmly—it was a very litter to his credit, if he did. Miss Harville only died last June. Such a heart is very little worth having! It said Lady Russell. I am sure you will agree with me. I must see Captain Benwick before I decide, said Lady Russell, smiling. And that you are very likely to do very soon, I can tell you, said Charles. Though he had not nerves for coming away with us, and setting off again afterwards to pay a formal visit here, he will make his way over to Kellynch one day by himself. You may depend upon it. I told him the distance and the road, and I told him of the church as being so very well worth seeing. For as he has a taste for those sort of things, I thought that to be a good excuse, and he listened with all his understanding and soul. And I am sure from his manner that you will have him calling here soon. So I give you notice, Lady Russell. Any acquaintance of Anne's will always be welcome to me, was Lady Russell's kind answer. Oh! As to being Anne's acquaintance, said Mary, I think he is rather my acquaintance, for I have been seeing him every day this last fortnight. Well, as you are joined to acquaintance then, I shall be very happy to see Captain Benwick. You will not find anything very agreeable in him, I assure you, mum. He is one of the dullest young men that ever lived. He has walked with me sometimes, from one end of the sands to the other, without saying a word. He is not at all a well-bred young man. I am sure you will not like him. There we differ, Mary, said Anne. I think Lady Russell would like him. I think she would be so much pleased with his mind, that she would very soon see no deficiency in his manner. So do I, Anne, said Charles. I am sure Lady Russell would like him. He is just Lady Russell's sort. Give him a book, and he will read all day long. Yes, that he will, exclaimed Mary, tauntingly. He will sit pouring over his book, and not know when a person speaks to him, or when one drops one's scissors, or anything that happens. Do you think Lady Russell would like that? Lady Russell could not help laughing. Upon my word, said she, I should not have supposed that my opinion of any one could have admitted of such difference of conjecture, steady and matter of fact, as I may call myself. I have really a curiosity to see the person, who can give occasion to such directly opposite notions. I wish he may be induced to call here, and when he does, Mary, you may depend upon hearing my opinion, but I am determined not to judge him beforehand. You will not like him, I will answer for it. Lady Russell began talking of something else. Mary spoke with animation of their meeting with, or rather missing, Mr. Elliot so extraordinarily. He is a man, said Lady Russell, whom I have no wish to see. His declining to be on caudal terms with the head of this family has left a very strong impression in his disfavor with me. This decision checked Mary's eagerness, and stopped her short in the midst of the Elliot countenance. With regard to Captain Wentworth, though Anne hazarded no inquiries, there was voluntary communication sufficient. His spirits had been greatly recovering lately, as might be expected. As Louisa improved, he had improved, and he was now quite a different creature from what he had been the first week. He had not seen Louisa, and was so extremely fearful of any ill consequence to her from an interview, that he did not press for it at all. And on the contrary, seemed to have a plan of going away for a week or ten days, till her head was stronger. He had talked of going down to Plymouth for a week, and wanted to persuade Captain Benwick to go with him. But as Charles maintained the last, Captain Benwick seemed much more disposed to ride over to Kellynch. There could be no doubt that Lady Russell and Anne were both occasionally thinking of Captain Benwick from this time. Lady Russell could not hear the doorbell without feeling that it might be his herald. Nor could Anne return from any stroll of solitary indulgence in her father's grounds, or any visit of charity in the village, without wondering whether she might see him or hear of him. Captain Benwick came not, however. He was either less disposed for it than Charles had imagined, or he was too shy, and after giving him a week's indulgence, Lady Russell determined him to be unworthy of the interest which he had been beginning to excite. The Musgroves came back to receive their happy boys and girls from school, bringing with them Mrs. Harville's little children, to improve the noise of Upper Cross, and lessen that of Lyme. Henrietta remained with Louisa, but all the rest of the family were again in their usual quarters. Lady Russell and Anne paid their compliments to them once, when Anne could not but feel that Upper Cross was already quite alive again. Though neither Henrietta nor Louisa, nor Charles Hater, nor Captain Wentworth were there, the room presented as strong a contrast as could be wished to the last state she had seen it in. Immediately surrounding Mrs. Musgrove were the little Harvils, whom she was sedulously guarding from the tyranny of the two children from the cottage, expressly arrived to amuse them. On one side was a table occupied by some chattering girls, cutting up silk and gold paper, and on the other were trestles and trays, bending under the weight of brawn and cold pies, where riotous boys were holding high revel. The whole completed by a roaring Christmas fire, which seemed determined to be heard, in spite of all the noise of the others. Charles and Mary also came in, of course, during their visit, and Mr. Musgrove made a point of paying his respects to Lady Russell, and sat down close to her for ten minutes, talking with a very raised voice, but from the clamour of the children on his knees, generally in vain. It was a fine family peace. Anne, judging from her own temperament, would have deemed such a domestic hurricane a bad restorative of the nerves, which Louisa's illness must have so greatly shaken. But Mrs. Musgrove, who got Anne near her on purpose to thank her most gorgeously, again and again for all her attentions to them, concluded a short recapitulation of what she had suffered herself, by observing, with a happy glance round the room, that after all she had gone through, nothing was so likely to do her good, as a little quiet cheerfulness at home. Louisa was now recovering a pace. Her mother could even think of her being able to join their party at home, before her brothers and sisters went to school again. The Harvills had promised to come with her and stay at Upper Cross whenever she returned. Captain Wentworth was gone for the present, to see his brother in Shropshire. I hope I shall remember in the future, said Lady Russell, as soon as they were receded in the carriage, not to call it up across in the Christmas holidays. Everybody has their taste in noises as well as in other matters, and sounds are quite inoxious, or most distressing, by their sort rather than their quantity. When Lady Russell not long afterwards was entering Bath on a wet afternoon, and driving through the long course of streets from the old bridge to Camden Place, amidst the dash of other carriages, the heavy rumble of carts and drays, the bawling of newspaper men, muffin men and milkmen, and the ceaseless clink of patterns, she made no complaint. No, these were noises which belonged to the winter pleasures. Her spirits rose under their influence, and like Mrs. Musgrove, she was feeling, though not saying, that after being long in the country, nothing could be so good for her as a little quiet cheerfulness. And did not share these feelings. She persisted in a very determined, though very silent, disinclination for Bath, caught the first dim view of the extensive buildings, smoking in rain, without any wish of seeing them better, felt their progress through the streets to be, however disagreeable, yet too rapid, for who would be glad to see her when she arrived? And looked back, with fond regret, to the bustles of Upper Cross and the seclusion of Kellynch. Elizabeth's last letter had communicated a piece of news of some interest. Mr. Elliot was in Bath. He had called in Camden Place, had called a second time, a third, had been pointedly attentive. If Elizabeth and her father did not deceive themselves, had been taking much pains to seek the acquaintance, and proclaimed the value of the connection, as he had formerly taken pains to show neglect. This was very wonderful, if it were true, and Lady Russell was in a state of very agreeable curiosity and perplexity about Mr. Elliot, already recanting the sentiment she had so lately expressed to Mary, of his being, a man whom she had no wish to see. She had a great wish to see him. If he really sought to reconcile himself like a dutiful branch, he must be forgiven for having dismembered himself from the paternal tree. Anne was not animated to an equal pitch by the circumstance, but she felt that she would rather see Mr. Elliot again than not, which was more than she could say for many other persons in Bath. She was put down in Camden Place, and Lady Russell then drove to her own lodgings, in Rivers Street. CHAPTER XV Sir Walter had taken a very good house in Camden Place. A lofty, dignified situation, such as becomes a man of consequence, and both he and Elizabeth were settled there, much to their satisfaction. Anne entered it with a sinking heart, anticipating an imprisonment of many months, and anxiously saying to herself, Oh, when shall I leave you again? A degree of unexpected cordiality, however, in the welcome she received, did her good. Her father and sister were glad to see her, for the sake of showing her the house and furniture, and met her with kindness. Her making a forth, when they sat down to dinner, was noticed as an advantage. Mrs. Clay was very pleasant, and very smiling, but her courtesies and smiles were more a matter of course. Anne had always felt that she would pretend what was proper on her arrival, but the complacence of the others was unlooked for. They were evidently in excellent spirits, and she was soon to listen to the causes. They had no inclination to listen to her, after laying out for some compliments of being deeply regretted in their old neighbourhood, which Anne could not pay. They had only a few faint enquiries to make, before the talk must be all their own. Upper Cross excited no interest, Kellynch very little. It was all Bath. They had the pleasure of assuring her that Bath more than answered their expectations in every respect. Their house was undoubtedly the best in Camden Place. Their drawing-rooms had many decided advantages over all the others which they had either seen or heard of, and the superiority was not less in the style of the fitting up, or the taste of the furniture. Their acquaintance was exceedingly sought after. Everybody was wanting to visit them. They had drawn back from many introductions, and still were perpetually having cards left by people of whom they knew nothing. Here were funds of enjoyment. Could Anne wonder that her father and sister were happy? She might not wonder, but she must sigh that her father should feel no degradation in his change, should see nothing to regret in the duties and dignity of the resident land-holder, should find so much to be vain of in the littleness of a town, and she must sigh and smile and wonder, too, as Elizabeth threw open the folding doors and walked with exultation from one drawing-room to the other, boasting of their space. At the possibility of that woman, who had been mistress of Kellynch Hall, finding extent to be proud of between two walls, perhaps thirty feet asunder. But this was not all which they had to make them happy. They had Mr. Elliot, too. Anne had a great deal to hear of Mr. Elliot. He was not only pardoned, they were delighted with him. He had been in Bath about a fortnight. He had passed through Bath in November, in his way to London, when the intelligence of Sir Walter's being settled there had of course reached him, though only twenty-four hours in the place, but he had not been able to avail himself of it. But he had now been a fortnight in Bath, and his first object on arriving had been to leave his card in Camden Place, following it up by such assiduous endeavours to meet, and when they did meet, by such great openness of conduct, such readiness to apologise for the past, such solicitude to be received as a relation again, that their former good understanding was completely re-established. They had not a fault to find in him. He had explained away all the appearance of neglect on his own side. It had originated in misapprehension entirely. He had never had an idea of throwing himself off. He had fear that he was thrown off, but knew not why, and delicacy had kept him silent. Upon the hint of having spoken disrespectfully, or carelessly of the family and the family honours, he was quite indignant. He, who had ever boasted of being an Elliot, at whose feelings, as to connection, were only too strict to suit the unfuelled tone of the present day. He was astonished, indeed, but his character and general conduct must refute it. He could reverse Sir Walter to all who knew him. And certainly the pains he had been taking on this, the first opportunity of reconciliation, to be restored to the footing of a relation and heir presumptive, was a strong proof of his opinions on the subject. The circumstances of his marriage, too, were found to admit of much extenuation. This was an article not to be entered on by himself, but a very intimate friend of his, a Colonel Wallace, a highly respectable man, perfectly the gentleman, and not an ill-looking man, Sir Walter added, who was living in very good style in Marlboro buildings, and had, at his own particular request, bid admitted to their acquaintance through Mr. Elliot, had mentioned one or two things relative to the marriage, which made a material difference in the discredit of it. Colonel Wallace had known Mr. Elliot long, had been well acquainted also with his wife, had perfectly understood the whole story. She was certainly not a woman of family, but well educated, accomplished, rich, and excessively in love with his friend. There had been the charm. She had sought him. Without that attraction, not all her money would have tempted Elliot, and Sir Walter was, moreover, assured of her having been a very fine woman. He was a great deal to soften the business, a very fine woman with a large fortune, in love with him. Sir Walter seemed to admit it as complete apology, and though Elizabeth could not see the circumstance in quite so favorable a light, she allowed it to be a great extenuation. Mr. Elliot had called repeatedly, had dined with them once, evidently delighted by the distinction of being asked, for they gave no dinners in general, delighted in short by every proof of cousinly notice, and placing his whole happiness in being on intimate terms in Camden Place. Then listened, but without quite understanding it. Allowances—large allowances, she knew, must be made for the ideas of those who spoke. She heard it all under embellishment. All that sounded extravagant or rational in the progress of the reconciliation might have no origin but in the language of the relators. Still, however, she had the sensation of there being something more than immediately appeared, in Mr. Elliot's wishing, after an interval of so many years, to be well received by them. In a worldly view, he had nothing to gain by being on terms with Sir Walter, nothing to risk by a state of variance. In all probability, he was already the richer of the two, and the calendar state would as surely be his, hereafter, as the title. A sensible man, and he had looked like a very sensible man, why should it be an object to him? She could only offer one solution. It was, perhaps, for Elizabeth's sake. There might really have been a liking formerly, though convenience and accident had drawn him a different way. And now that he could afford to please himself, he might mean to pay his addresses to her. Elizabeth was certainly very handsome, with well-bred, elegant manners, and her character might never have been penetrated by Mr. Elliot, knowing her but in public, and when very young himself. How her temper and understanding might bear the investigation of his present keener time of life, was another concern, and rather a fearful one. Most earnestly did she wish that he might not be too nice, or too observant, if Elizabeth were his object. And that Elizabeth was disposed to believe herself so, and that her friend Mrs. Clay was encouraging the idea, seemed apparent by a glance or two between them, while Mr. Elliot's frequent visits were talked of. Anne mentioned the glimpses she had had of him at Lyme, but without being much attended to. No. Yes. Perhaps it had been Mr. Elliot. They did not know. It might be him, perhaps. They could not listen to her description of him. They were describing him themselves, so Walter especially. He did justice to his very gentlemanlike appearance, his air of elegance and fashion, his good-shaped face, his sensible eye. But at the same time, must lament his being very much under-hung, a defect which time seemed to have increased, nor could he pretend to say that ten years had not altered almost every feature for the worse. Mr. Elliot appeared to think that he—Sir Walter—was looking exactly as he had done when they last parted. But Sir Walter had not been able to return the compliment entirely, which embarrassed him. He did not mean to complain, however. Mr. Elliot was better to look out than most men, and he had no objection to being seen with him anywhere. Mr. Elliot and his friends in Marlborough buildings were talked of the whole evening. Colonel Wallace had been so impatient to be introduced to them, and Mr. Elliot so anxious that he should—and there was a Mrs. Wallace, at present known only to them by description, as she was in daily expectation of her confinement—but Mr. Elliot spoke of her as a most charming woman, quite worthy of being known in Camden Place, and as soon as she recovered they were to be acquainted. Sir Walter thought much of Mrs. Wallace. She was said to be an excessively pretty woman, beautiful. He longed to see her. He hoped she might make some amends for the many very plain faces he was continually passing in the streets. The worst of Bath was the number of its plain women. He did not mean to say that there were no pretty women, but the number of the plain was out of all proportion. He had frequently observed, as he walked, that one handsome face would be followed by thirty, or five and thirty frights. And once, as he had stood in a shop on Bond Street, he had counted eighty-seven women go by, one after another, without there being a tolerable face among them. It had been a frosty morning, to be sure, a sharp frost, which hardly one woman in a thousand could stand the test of. But still, there certainly were a dreadful multitude of ugly women in Bath. And as for the men, they were infinitely worse! Such scare-crows as the streets were full of! It was evident how little of the women were used to the sight of anything tolerable, by the effect which a man of decent appearance produced. He had never walked anywhere, arm in arm, with Colonel Wallace, who was a fine military figure, though sandy-head, without observing that every woman's eye was upon him. Every woman's eye was sure to be upon Colonel Wallace. Sir Walter. He was not allowed to escape, however. His daughter and Mrs. Clay united in hinting that Colonel Wallace's companion might have as good a figure as Colonel Wallace, and certainly was not sandy-haired. "'How is Mary looking?' said Sir Walter, in the height of his good humour. The last time I saw her she had a red nose, but I hope that may not happen every day.' Oh, no! That must have been quite accidental. In general she has been in very good health, and very good looks, since Michaelmas. If I thought it would not tempt her to go out in sharp winds, and grow coals, I would send her a new hat, and police." Anne was considering whether she should venture to suggest that a gown, or a cap, would not be liable to any such misuse, when a knock at the door suspended everything. A knock at the door—and so late!—it was ten o'clock. Could it be Mr. Elliot? They knew he was to die that lands down Crescent. It was possible that he might stop in his way home to ask them how they did. They could think of no one else. Mrs. Clay decidedly thought it must be Mr. Elliot's knock. Mrs. Clay was right. With all the state which a butler and foot-boy could give, Mr. Elliot was ushered into the room. It was the same, the very same man, with no difference but of dress. Anne drew a little back, while the others received his compliments, and her sister his apologies for calling it so unusual an hour. But he could not be so near without wishing to know that neither she nor her friend had taken cold the day before—etc., etc.—which was all as politely done, and as politely taken, as possible. But her part must follow then. Sir Walter talked of his youngest daughter. Mr. Elliot must give him leave to present him to his youngest daughter. There was no occasion for remembering Mary. And Anne, smiling and blushing, very becomingly showed Mr. Elliot the pretty features which he had by no means forgotten, and instantly saw, with amusement, at his little start of surprise, that he had not been at all aware of who she was. He looked completely astonished, but not more astonished than pleased. His eyes brightened, and with the most perfect alacrity he welcomed the relationship, alluded to the past, and entreated to be received as an acquaintance already. He was quite as good-looking as he had appeared at Lyme. His countenance improved by speaking, and his manners were so exactly what they ought to be, so polished, so easy, so particularly agreeable, that she could compare them in excellence to only one person's manners. They were not the same, but they were, perhaps, equally good. He sat down with them, and improved their conversation very much. There could be no doubt of his being a sensible man. Ten minutes were enough to certify that. His tone, his expressions, his choice of subject, his knowing where to stop, it was all the operation of a sensible, discerning mind. As soon as he could, he began to talk to her of Lyme, wanting to compare opinions respecting the place, but especially wanting to speak of the circumstances of their happening to be guests in the same inn at the same time, to give his own route, understand something of hers, and regret that he should have lost such an opportunity of paying his respects to her. She gave him a short account for party and business at Lyme. His regret increased as he listened. He had spent his whole solitary evening in the room adjoining theirs, had heard of voices, mirth continually, thought they must be a most delightful set of people, longed to be with them, but certainly without the smallest suspicion of his possessing the shadow of a right to introduce himself. If he had but asked who the party were, the name of Musgrove would have told him enough. Well, it would serve to cure him of an absurd practice of never asking a question at an inn, which he had adopted, when quite a young man, on the principle of its being very un-gen-dealed, be curious. The notions of a young man of one or two and twenty, said he, as to what is necessary in manners to make him quite the thing, are more absurd, I believe, than those of any other set of beings in the world. The folly of the means they often employ is only to be equal by the folly of what they have in view. But he must not be addressing his reflections to Anne alone. He knew it. He was soon diffused again among the others, and it was only at intervals that he could return to Lyme. His inquiries, however, produced at length an account of the scene she had been engaged in there, soon after his leaving the place. Having alluded to an accident, he must hear the whole. When he questioned, Sir Walter and Elizabeth began to question also. But the difference in their manner of doing it could not be unfelt. She could only compare Mr. Elliott to Lady Russell, in the wish of really comprehending what had passed, and in the degree of concern for what she must have suffered in witnessing it. He stayed an hour with them. The elegant little clock on the mantelpiece had struck eleven with its silver sounds, and the watchman was beginning to be heard at a distance telling the same tale, before Mr. Elliott, or any of them, seemed to feel that he had been there long. Anne could not have supposed it possible that her first evening in Camden Place could have passed so well. End of CHAPTER XV CHAPTER XVI of persuasion. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. PERSUASION by Jane Austen CHAPTER XVI There was one point which Anne, on returning to her family, would have been more thankful to Wessertane, even than Mr. Elliott's being in love with Elizabeth, which was, her father's not being in love with Mrs. Clay, and she was very far from easy about it. When she had been at home a few hours, on going down to breakfast the next morning, she found there had just been a decent pretense on the lady's side of meaning to leave them. She could imagine Mrs. Clay to have said that, Now Miss Anne was come, she could not suppose herself at all wanted. For Elizabeth was replying in a sort of whisper. That was not to be any reason indeed. I assure you I feel it none. She is nothing to me, compared with you." And she was in full time to hear her father say, My dear madame, this must not be, as yet you have seen nothing of Bath. You have been here only to be useful. You must not run away from us now. You must stay to be acquainted with Mrs. Wallace, the beautiful Mrs. Wallace. To your fine mind, I well know the sight of beauty is a real gratification. He spoke and looked so much in earnest, that Anne was not surprised to see Mrs. Clay stealing a glance at Elizabeth and herself. Her countenance, perhaps, might express some watchfulness. But the praise of the fine mind did not appear to excited thought in her sister. The lady could not but yield to such joint entreaties, and promised to stay. In the course of the same morning, Anne and her father chancing to be alone together, he began to compliment her on her improved looks. He thought her less thin in her person, in her cheeks, her skin, her complexion, greatly improved, clearer, fresher. How'd she been using anything in particular? No. Nothing. Merely Golland, he supposed. No. Nothing at all. Ha! He was surprised at that. And added, Certainly you cannot do better than to continue as you are. You cannot be better than well. Or I should recommend Golland, the constant use of Golland, during the spring months. Miss Clay has been using it at my recommendation, and you see what it has done for her. You see how it has carried away her freckles. If Elizabeth could but have heard this, such personal praise might have struck her, especially as it did not appear to Anne that the freckles were at all lessened. But everything must take its chance. The evil of a marriage would be much diminished, if Elizabeth were also to marry. As for herself, she might always command a home with Lady Russell. Lady Russell's composed mind and polite manners were put to some trial on this point in her intercourse in Camden Place. The sight of Mrs. Clay in such favour, and of Anne so overlooked, was a perpetual provocation to her there, and vexed her as much as when she was away, as a person in bath who drinks the water, gets all the new publications, and has a very large acquaintance, has time to be vexed. As Mr. Eliot became known to her, she grew more charitable, or more indifferent, towards the others. His manners were an immediate recommendation, and on conversing with him, she found the solid so fully supporting the superficial, that she was at first, as she told Anne, almost ready to explain, can this be Mr. Eliot? And could not seriously picture to herself a more agreeable or estimable man? Everything united in him, good understanding, correct opinions, knowledge of the world, and a warm heart. He had strong feelings of family attachment, and family honour, without pride or weakness. He lived with the liberality of a man of fortune, without display. He judged for himself and everything essential, without defying public opinion on any point of worldly decorum. He was steady, observant, moderate, candid, never run away with by spirits or by selfishness, which fancied itself strong feeling. And yet, with a sensibility to what was amiable and lovely, and a value for all the felicities of domestic life, which characters of fancied enthusiasm and violent agitation seldom really possess, she was sure that he had not been happy in marriage. Colonel Wallace said it, and Lady Russell sought, but it had been no unhappiness to sour his mind, nor, she began pretty soon to suspect, to prevent his thinking of a second choice. Her satisfaction, Mr. Elliot, outweighed all the plague of Mrs. Clay. It was now some years since Anne had begun to learn that she and her excellent friend could sometimes think differently, and it did not surprise her, therefore, that Lady Russell should see nothing suspicious or inconsistent, nothing to require more motives than appeared in Mr. Elliot's great desire of a reconciliation. In Lady Russell's view, it was perfectly natural that Mr. Elliot, at a mature time of life, should feel it a most desirable object, and what would very generally recommend him among all sensible people, to be on good terms with the head of the family, the simplest process in the world of time upon the head naturally clear, and only airing in the hay-day of youth. Anne presumed, however, still to smile about it, and at last to mention Elizabeth. Lady Russell listened and looked, and made only this cautious reply. Elizabeth. Very well. Time will explain. It was a reference to the future which Anne, after a little observation, felt she must submit to. She could determine nothing at present. In that house Elizabeth must be first, and she was in the habit of such general observance as Miss Elliot, that any particularity of attention seemed almost impossible. After Elliot, too, it must be remembered, had not been a widower seven months. A little delay on his side might be very excusable. In fact, Anne could never see the crape round his hat, without fearing that she was the inexcusable one, in attributing to him such imaginations. For though his marriage had not been very happy, still it had existed so many years, that she could not comprehend the very rapid recovery, from the awful impression of its being dissolved. After it might end, he was without any question their pleasantest acquaintance in bath. She saw nobody equal to him, and it was a great indulgence now and then to talk to him about Lyme, what he seemed to have as lively wish to see again, and see more of, as herself. They went through the particulars of their first meeting a great many times. He gave her to understand that he had looked at her with some earnestness. She knew it well, and she remembered another person's look, also. They did not always think alike. His value for rank and connection, she perceived, was greater than hers. It was not merely complacence—it must be a liking to the cause, which made him enter warmly into her father and sister's solicitudes, on a subject which she thought unworthy to excite them. The bath-paper one morning announced the arrival of the dowager Viscountess de Rimpel, and her daughter, the honourable Miss Couture, and all the comfort of number, Camden Place, was swept away for many days, for the de Rimpel's, in Anne's opinion, most unfortunately, were cousins of the Elliot's, and the agony was how to introduce themselves properly. Anne had never seen her father and sister before in contact with nobility, and she must acknowledge herself disappointed. She had hoped better things from their high ideas of their own situation in life, and was reduced to form a wish which she had never foreseen—a wish that they had more pride—for our cousins, Lady de Rimpel, and Miss Couture, our cousins, the de Rimpel's, sounded in her ears all day long. Sir Walter had once been in company with the late Viscount, but had never seen any of the rest of the family, and the difficulties of the case arose from their having been a suspension of all intercourse by letters of ceremony, ever since the death of that said late Viscount. When, in consequence of a dangerous illness of Sir Walter's at the same time, there had been an unlucky omission at Kallinch. No letter of condolence had been sent to Ireland. The neglect had been visited on the head of the sinner, for when poor Lady Elliot died herself, no letter of condolence was received at Kallinch, and consequently there was but too much reason to apprehend, that the de Rimpel's considered the relationship as closed. How to have this anxious business set to rights, and be admitted as cousins again, was the question, and it was a question which, in a more rational manner, neither Lady Russell nor Mr. Elliot thought unimportant. Family connections were always worth preserving, good company always worth seeking. Lady de Rimpel had taken house for three months in no place, and reliving in style. She had been at Bath the year before, and Lady Russell had heard her spoken of as a charming woman. It was very desirable that the connection should be renewed, if it could be done, without any compromise of propriety on the side of the Elliot's. Sir Walter, however, would choose his own means, and at last wrote a very fine letter of ample explanation, regret, and entreaty, to his right honourable cousin. Neither Lady Russell nor Mr. Elliot could admire the letter, but it did all that was wanted, in bringing three lines of scrawl from the Dowager Viscountess. She was very much honoured, and should be happy in their acquaintance. The toils of the business were over, the sweets began. They visited in lower place, they had the cards of Dowager Viscountess to Rimpel, and the honourable Miss Carteray, to be arranged wherever they might be most visible, and our cousins in lower place—our cousin, Lady Del Rimpel, and Miss Carteray—were talked of to everybody. Anne was ashamed. Had Lady Del Rimpel and her daughter even been very agreeable, she would still have been ashamed of the agitation they created, but they were nothing. There was no superiority of manner, accomplishment, or understanding. Lady Del Rimpel had acquired the name of a charming woman, because she had a smile and a civil answer for everybody. Miss Carteray, with still less to say, was so plain and so awkward that she would never have been tolerated in Camden Place but for her birth. Lady Russell confessed she had expected something better, but yet it was an acquaintance worth having, and when Anne ventured to speak her opinion of them to Mr. Elliot, he agreed to there being nothing in themselves, but still maintained that, as a family connection, as good company, as those who would collect good company around them, they had their value. Anne smiled and said, "'My idea of good company, Mr. Elliot, is the company of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation. That is what I call good company.' "'You are mistaken,' said he gently. "'That is not good company. That is the best. Good company requires only birth, education, and manners, and with regard to education is not very nice. Birth and good manners are essential, but little learning is by no means a dangerous thing in good company. On the contrary, it will do very well. My cousin Anne shakes her head. She is not satisfied. She is fastidious. My dear cousin, sitting down by her, you have a better right to be fastidious than almost any other woman I know. But will it answer? Will it make you happy? Will it not be wiser to accept the society of these good ladies in law a place, and enjoy all the advantages of the connection as far as possible? You may depend upon it, that they will move in the first set in bath this winter. And as rank is rank, your being known to be related to them will have its use in fixing your family—our family, let me say—in that degree of consideration which we must all wish for. Yes, sighed Anne, we shall indeed be known to be related to them. Then recollecting herself, and not wishing to be answered, she added, I certainly do think there has been by far too much trouble taken to procure the acquaintance. I suppose—smiling—I have more pride than any of you—but I confess it does vex me, that we should be so solicitous to have the relationship acknowledged, which we may be very sure is a matter of perfect indifference to them. Pardon me, dear cousin, you are unjust in your own claims. In London, perhaps, in your present quiet style of living, it might be, as you say, but in Bath, so Walter Elliot and his family will always be worth knowing—always acceptable as acquaintance. Well, said Anne, I suddenly am proud—too proud to enjoy a welcome which depends so entirely upon place. I love your indignation, said he—it is very natural—but here you are in Bath, and the object is to be established here with all the credit and dignity which opt to belong to Sir Walter Elliot. You talk of being proud. I am called proud, I know, and I shall not wish to believe myself otherwise. For our pride, if investigated, would have the same object, I have no doubt, though the kind may seem a little different. In one point, I am sure, my dear cousin—he continued speaking lower, though there was no one else in the room. In one point, I am sure, we must feel alike. We must feel that every addition to your father's society, among his equals or superiors, may be of use in diverting his thoughts from those who are beneath him. He looked, as he spoke, to the seat which Mrs. Clay had been lately occupying—a sufficient explanation of what he particularly meant—and though Anne could not believe in their having the same sort of pride, she was pleased with him for not liking Mrs. Clay, and her conscience admitted that his wishing to promote her father's getting great acquaintance was more than excusable in the view of defeating her. CHAPTER XVII While Sir Walter and Elizabeth were assiduously pushing their good fortune in lower place, Anne was renewing an acquaintance of a very different description. She had called on her former governess, and had heard from her of there being an old school-fellow in Bath, who had the two strong claims on her attention of past kindness and present suffering. Miss Hamilton, now Mrs. Smith, had shown her kindness in one of those periods of her life when it had been most valuable. Anne had gone unhappy to school, grieving for the loss of a mother whom she had dearly loved, feeling her separation from home, and suffering as a girl of fourteen, of strong sensibility and not high spirits, must suffer at such a time. And Miss Hamilton, three years older than herself, but still from the want of near relations in a settled home, remaining another year at school, had been useful and good to her in a way which had considerably lessened her misery, and could never be remembered with indifference. Miss Hamilton had left school, had married not long afterwards, was said to have married a man of fortune, and this was all that Anne had known of her, till now that their governess's account brought her situation forward in a more decided but very different form. She was a widow, and poor, her husband had been extravagant, and at his death, about two years before, had left his affairs dreadfully involved. She had had difficulties of every sort to contend with, and, in addition to these distresses, had been afflicted with a severe rheumatic fever, which, finally settling in her legs, had made her for the present a cripple. She had come to Bath on that account, and was now in lodgings near the hot Baths, living in a very humble way, unable even to afford herself the comfort of a servant, and of course almost excluded from society. Their mutual friend answered for the satisfaction which a visit from Miss Elliott would give Mrs. Smith, and Anne therefore lost no time in going. She mentioned nothing of what she had heard, or what she intended, at home. It would excite no proper interest there. She only consulted Lady Russell, who entered thoroughly into her sentiments, and was most happy to convey her as near to Mrs. Smith's lodgings in Westgate buildings, as Anne chose to be taken. The visit was paid, their acquaintance re-established, their interest in each other more than rekindled. The first ten minutes had its awkwardness and its emotion. Twelve years were gone since they had parted, and each presented a somewhat different person from what the other had imagined. Twelve years had changed Anne from the blooming, silent, unformed girl of fifteen, to the elegant little woman of seven and twenty, with every beauty except bloom, and with manners as consciously right as they were invariably gentle. And twelve years had transformed the fine-looking, well-grown Miss Hamilton, in all the glow of health and confidence of superiority, into a poor, infirm, helpless widow, receiving the visit of her former protégé as a favour, but all that was uncomfortable in the meeting had soon passed away, and left only the interesting charm of remembering former partialities and talking over old times. Anne found in Mrs. Smith the good sense and agreeable manners which she had almost ventured to depend on, and a disposition to converse and be cheerful beyond her expectation, neither the dissipations of the past, and she had lived very much in the world, nor the restrictions of the present, neither sickness nor sorrow, seemed to have closed her heart or ruined her spirits. In the course of a second visit she talked with great openness, and Anne's astonishment increased. She could scarcely imagine a more cheerless situation in itself than Mrs. Smith's. She had been very fond of her husband. She had buried him. She had been used to affluence. It was gone. She had no child to connect her with life and happiness again, no relations to assist in the arrangement of perplexed affairs, no health to make all the rest supportable. Her accommodations were limited to a noisy parlor, and a dark bedroom behind, with no possibility of moving from one to the other without assistance, which there was only one servant in the house to afford, and she never quitted the house, but to be conveyed into the warm bath. Yet in spite of all this, Anne had reason to believe that she had moments only of anger and depression, two hours of occupation and enjoyment. How could it be? She watched, observed, reflected, and finally determined that this was not a case of fortitude or resignation only. A submissive spirit might be patient, a strong understanding would supply resolution, but here was something more. Here was that elasticity of mind, that disposition to be comforted, that power of turning readily from evil to good, and of finding employment which carried her out of herself, which was from nature alone. It was the choicest gift of heaven, and Anne viewed her friend as one of those instances in which, by a merciful appointment, it seems designed to counterbalance almost every other want. There had been a time, Mrs. Smith told her, when her spirits had nearly failed. She could not call herself an invalid now, compared with her state on first reaching bath. Then she had indeed been a pitiable object, for she had caught cold on the journey, and had hardly taken possession of her lodgings before she was again confined to her bed, and suffering under severe and constant pain. And all this among strangers, with the absolute necessity of having a regular nurse, and finances at that moment particularly unfit to meet any extraordinary expense. She had weathered it, however, and could truly say that it had done her good. It had increased her comforts by making her feel herself to be in good hands. She had seen too much of the world to expect sudden or disinterested attachment anywhere, but her illness had proved to her that her landlady had a character to preserve, and would not use her ill. And she had been particularly fortunate in her nurse, as a sister of her landlady, a nurse by profession, and who had always a home in that house when unemployed—chance to be at liberty just in time to attend her. And she, said Mrs. Smith, besides nursing me most admirably, has really proved an invaluable acquaintance. As soon as I could use my hands, she taught me to knit, which has been a great amusement, and she put me in the way of making these little thread-cases, pin-cushions, and card-racks, which you will always find me so busy about, and which supply me with the means of doing a little good to one or two very poor families in this neighbourhood. She had a large acquaintance, of course, professionally, among those who can afford to buy, and she disposes of my merchandise. She always takes the right time for applying. Everybody's heart is open, you know, when they have recently escaped from severe pain, or are recovering the blessing of health. And Nurse Rook thoroughly understands when to speak. She is a shrewd, intelligent, sensible woman. Nurse Rook has as a line for seeing human nature, and she has a fund of good sense and observation, which, as a companion, make her infinitely superior to thousands of those who, having only received the best education in the world, know nothing worth attending to. Call it gossip, if you will, but when Nurse Rook has half an hour's leisure to bestow on me, she is sure to have something to relate that is entertaining and profitable, something that makes one know one's species better. One likes to hear what is going on. To be O'Faye as to the newest modes of being trifling and silly, to me, who live so much alone, her conversation, I assure you, is a treat." Anne, far from wishing to cavill at the pleasure, replied, I can easily believe it. Women of that class have great opportunities, and if they are intelligent, may be well worth listening to. Such varieties of human nature as they are in the habit of witnessing, and it is not merely in its volleys that they are well read, for they see it occasionally under every circumstance that can be most interesting or affecting. What instances must pass before them of ardent, disinterested, self-denying attachment, of heroism, fortitude, patience, resignation, of all the conflicts and all the sacrifices that ennoble us most? A sick chamber may often furnish the worth of volumes. Yes, said Mrs. Smith, more doubtingly, sometimes it may, though I fear its lessons are not often in the elevated style you describe. Here and there human nature may be great in times of trial, but generally speaking it is its weakness, and nor its strength that appears in a sick chamber. It is selfishness and impatience rather than generosity and fortitude that one hears of. There is so little real friendship in the world—and unfortunately, speaking low and tremulously, there are so many who forget to think seriously till it is almost too late. Anne saw the misery of such feelings. The husband had not been what he ought, and the wife had been led among that part of mankind which made her think worse of the world than she hoped it deserved. It was but a passing emotion, however, with Mrs. Smith. She shook it off, and soon added in a different tone. I do not suppose the situation my friend Mrs. Rook is in at present will furnish much either to interest or edify me. She is only nursing Mrs. Wallace of Marlborough buildings—a mere pretty, silly, expensive, fashionable woman, I believe—and, of course, will have nothing to report but of lace and finery. I mean to make my profit of Mrs. Wallace, however. She has plenty of money, and I intend she shall buy all the high-priced things I have in hand now. Anne had called several times on her friend, before the existence of such a person was known in Camden Place. At last it became necessary to speak of her. Sir Walter, Elizabeth, and Mrs. Clay returned one morning from lower place, with a sudden invitation from Lady Del Rimpel for the same evening, and Anne was already engaged to spend that evening in Westgate buildings. She was not sorry for the excuse. They were only asked, she was sure, because Lady Del Rimpel, being kept at home by a bad cold, was glad to make use of the relationship which had been so pressed on her, and she declined in her own account with great alacrity. She was engaged to spend the evening with an old school fellow. They were not much interested in anything relative to Anne, but still there were questions enough asked, to make it understood what this old school fellow was, and Elizabeth was disdainful. Mr. Walter Severe. Westgate Buildings, said he, and who is Miss Anne Elliot to be visiting in Westgate Buildings? A Mrs. Smith, a widow Mrs. Smith, and who was her husband, one of five thousand Mr. Smiths whose names are to be met with everywhere, and what is her attraction? That she is old and sickly. Upon my word, Miss Anne Elliot, you have the most extraordinary taste, everything that revolts other people, low company, paltry roms, foul air, disgusting associations are inviting to you. But surely you may put off this old lady till to-morrow. She is not so near her end, I presume, but that she may hope to see another day. What is her age? Forty? No, sir, she is not one and thirty, but I do not think I can put off my engagement, because it is the only evening for some time which will at once suit her and myself. She goes into the warm bath to-morrow, and for the rest of the week you know we are engaged. But what does Lady Russell think of this acquaintance? asked Elizabeth. She sees nothing to blame in it, replied Anne. On the contrary, she approves it, and has generally taken me when I have called on Mrs. Smith. Westgate Buildings must have been rather surprised by the appearance of a carriage drawn up near its pavement, observed Sir Walter. Sir Henry Russell's widow, indeed, has no honours to distinguish her arms, but still it is a handsome equipage, and no doubt is well known to convey a Miss Elliot. A widow, Mrs. Smith, lodging in Westgate Buildings, a poor widow barely able to live between thirty and forty, a mere Mrs. Smith, an everyday Mrs. Smith of all people and all names in the world, to be the chosen friend of Miss Anne Elliot, and to be preferred by her to her own family connections among the nobility of England and Ireland. Mrs. Smith—such a name! Mrs. Clay, who had been present while all this passed, now thought it advisable to leave the room, and Anne could have said much, and did long to say a little in defence of her friends not very dissimilar claims to theirs, but her sense of personal respect to her father prevented her. She made no reply. She left it to himself to recollect, that Mrs. Smith was not the only widow in bath between thirty and forty, with little to live on, and no surname of dignity. Anne kept her appointment, the others kept theirs, and of course she heard the next morning that they had had a delightful evening. She had been the only one of the set absent, for Sir Walter and Elizabeth had not only been quiet at her ladyship's service themselves, but had actually been happy to be employed by her in collecting others, and had been at the trouble of inviting both Lady Russell and Mr. Elliot, and Mr. Elliot had made a point of leaving Colonel Wallace early, and Lady Russell had fresh arranged all her evening engagements in order to wait on her. Anne had the whole history of all that such an evening could supply from Lady Russell. To her, its greatest interest must be, in having been very much talked of between her friend and Mr. Elliot, in having been wished for, regretted, and at the same time honoured for staying away in such a cause. Her kind, compassionate visits to this old school fellow, sick and reduced, seemed to have quite delighted Mr. Elliot. He thought her a most extraordinary young woman, in her temper, manners, mind, a model of female excellence. He could meet even Lady Russell in a discussion of her merits, and Anne could not be given to understand so much by her friend, could not know herself to be so highly rated by a sensible man, without many of those agreeable sensations which her friend meant to create. Lady Russell was now perfectly decided in her opinion of Mr. Elliot. She was as much convinced of his meaning to gain Anne in time, as of his deserving her, and was beginning to calculate the number of weeks which would free him from all the remaining restraints of widowhood, and leave him at liberty to exert his most open powers of pleasing. She would not speak to Anne with half the certainty she felt on the subject. She would venture on little more than hints of what might be hereafter, of a possible attachment on his side, of the desirableness of the alliance, supposing such attachment to be real and returned. Anne hurt her, and made no violent exclamations. She only smiled, blushed, and gently shook her head. "'I am no matchmaker, as you well know,' said Lady Russell, being much too well aware of the uncertainty of all human events and calculations, by only mean that if Mr. Elliot should some time hence pay his addresses to you, and if you should be disposed to accept him, I think there would be every possibility of your being happy together. A most suitable connection everybody must consider it, but I think it might be a very happy one." "'Mr. Elliot is an exceedingly agreeable man, and in many respects I think highly of him,' said Anne, "'but we should not suit.'" Lady Russell let this pass, and said only in rejoinder, "'I own that to be able to regard you as the future mistress of Kellynch, the future Lady Elliot, to look forward and see you occupying your dear mother's place, succeeding to all her rights, and all her popularity, as well as to all her virtues, would be the highest possible gratification to me. You are your mother's self in countenance and disposition, and if I might be allowed to fancy you such as she was, in situation and name, and home, presiding and blessing in the same spot, and only superior to her in being more highly valued, my dearest Anne, it would give me more delight than is often felt at my time of life." Anne was obliged to turn away, to rise, to walk to a distant table, and, leaning there in pretended employment, tried to subdue the feelings this picture excited. For a few moments her imagination and her heart were bewitched. The idea of becoming what her mother had been, of having the precious name of Lady Elliot, first revived in herself, of being restored to Kellynch, calling it her home again, her home for ever, was a charm which she could not immediately resist. Lady Russell said not another word, willing to leave the matter to its own operation, and believing that, could Mr. Elliot at that moment with propriety have spoken for himself, she believed in short what Anne did not believe. The same image of Mr. Elliot speaking for himself brought Anne to composure again. The charm of Kellynch and of Lady Elliot all faded away. She never could accept him, and it was not only that her feelings were still adverse to any man save one, her judgment on a serious consideration of the possibilities of such a case was against Mr. Elliot. Though they had now been acquainted a month, she could not be satisfied that she really knew his character. That he was a sensible man, an agreeable man, that he talked well, professed good opinions, seemed to judge properly and as a man of principle, this was all clear enough. He certainly knew what was right, nor could she fix on any one article of moral duty evidently transgressed, but yet she would have been afraid to answer for his conduct. She distrusted the past, if not the present. The names which occasionally dropped to former associates, the allusions to former practices and pursuits, suggested suspicions not favourable of what he had been. She saw that there had been bad habits, that Sunday travelling had been a common thing, that there had been a period of his life—and probably not a short one—when he had been, at least, careless in all serious matters. And though he might now think very differently, who could answer for the true sentiments of a clever, cautious man, grown old enough to appreciate a fair character? How could it ever be ascertained that his mind was truly cleansed? Mr. Elliott was rational, discreet, polished, but he was not open. There was never any burst of feeling, any warmth of indignation or delight, at the evil or good of others. This to Anne was a decided imperfection. Her early impressions were incurable. She prized the frank, the open-hearted, the eager character beyond all others. Warmth and enthusiasm did captivate her still. She felt that she could so much more depend upon the sincerity of those who sometimes looked or said a careless or hasty thing, than of those whose presence of mind never varied, whose tongue never slipped. Mr. Elliott was too generally agreeable. Various as were the tempers in her father's house, he pleased them all. He endured too well, stood too well with everybody. He had spoken to her with some degree of openness of Mrs. Clay, had appeared completely to see what Mrs. Clay was about, and to hold her in contempt. And yet Mrs. Clay found him as agreeable as anybody. Lady Russell saw either less or more than her young friend, for she saw nothing to excite distrust. She could not imagine a man more exactly what he ought to be than Mr. Elliott, or did she ever enjoy a sweeter feeling than the hope of seeing him receive the hand of her beloved Anne in Kellynch Church in the course of the following autumn. End of CHAPTER XVII. CHAPTER XVIII. CHAPTER XVIII. It was the beginning of February, and Anne, having been a month in bath, was growing very eager for news from upper-cross and Lyme. She wanted to hear much more than Mary had communicated. It was three weeks since she had heard at all. She only knew that Henrietta was at home again, and that Louisa, though considered to be recovering fast, was still in Lyme, and she was thinking of them all very intently one evening, when a thicker letter than usual from Mary was delivered to her, and to quicken the pleasure and surprise, with Admiral and Mrs. Croft's compliments. The Crofts must be in bath, a circumstance to interest her. They were people whom her heart turned to very naturally. What is this? cried Sir Walter. The Crofts have arrived in bath. The Crofts who rent Kellynch. What have they brought you? A letter from upper-cross cottage, sir. Oh! Those letters are convenient passports. They secure an introduction. I should have visited Admiral Croft, however, at any rate. I know what is due to my tenant. Anne could listen no longer. She could not even have told how the poor Admiral's complexion escaped. Her letter engrossed her. It had been begun several days back. February 1st. My dear Anne, I make no apology for my silence, because I know how little people think of letters in such a place as bath. You must be a great deal too happy to care for upper-cross, which, as you well know, affords little to right about. We have had a very dull Christmas. Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove have not had one dinner-party all the holidays. I do not reckon the haters as anybody. The holidays, however, are over at last. I believe no children ever had such long ones. I am sure I had not. The house was cleared yesterday, except of the little Harvills. But you will be surprised to hear they have never gone home. Mrs. Harvill must be an odd mother to part with them so long. I do not understand it. They are not at all nice children, in my opinion, but Mrs. Musgrove seems to like them quite as well, if not better, than her grandchildren. What dreadful weather we have had! It may not be felt in bath, with your nice pavements, but in the country it is of some consequence. I have not had a creature call on me since the second week in January, except Charles Hater, who had been calling much oftener than was welcome. In our selves, I think it a great pity Henrietta did not remain at Lyme as long as Louisa. It would have kept her a little out of his way. The carrot has gone to-day, to bring Louisa and the Harvills to-morrow. We are not asked to dine with them, however, till the day after. Mrs. Musgrove is so afraid of her being fatigued by the journey, which is not very likely, considering the care that will be taken of her, and it would be much more convenient to me to dine there to-morrow. I am glad you find Mr. Elliot so agreeable, and which I could be acquainted with him too, but I have my usual luck. I am always out of the way when anything desirable is going on—always the last of my family to be noticed. What an immense time Mrs. Clay has been staying with Elizabeth! Does she never mean to go away? But perhaps, if she were to leave the room vacant, we might not be invited. Let me know what you think of this. I do not expect my children to be asked, you know. I can leave them at the Great House very well, for a month or six weeks. I have this moment heard that the Crofts are going to Bath almost immediately. They think the Admiral gouty. Charles had it quite by chance. They have not had the civility to give me any notice, or of offering to take anything. I do not think they improve at all as neighbours. We see nothing of them, and this is really an instance of gross inattention. Charles joins me in love and everything proper. Yours affectionately, Mary M. I am sorry to say that I am very far from well, and Jemima has just told me that the Butcher says there is a bad sore throat very much about. I dare say I shall catch it, and my sore throats, you know, are always worse than anybody's." So ended the first part, which had been afterwards put into an envelope, containing nearly as much more. I kept my letter open, that I might send you word how Louisa bore her journey, and now I am extremely glad I did, having a great deal to add. In the first place, I had a note from Mrs Croft yesterday, offering to convey anything to you, a very kind, friendly note, indeed, addressed to me, just as it ought. I shall therefore be able to make my letter as long as I like. The Admiral does not seem very ill, and I sincerely hope Bath will do him all the good he wants. I shall be truly glad to have them back again. Our neighbourhood cannot spare such a pleasant family. Not now for Louisa. I have something to communicate that will astonish you, not a little. She and the Harvils came on Tuesday very safely, and in the evening we went to ask her how she did, when we were rather surprised not to find Captain Benwick of the party, for he had been invited as well as the Harvils. And what do you think was the reason? Neither more nor less, than his being in love with Louisa, and not choosing to venture to up a cross, till he had had an answer from Mr Musgrove, for it was all settled between him and her before she came away, and he had written to her father by Captain Harvill, true upon my honour. Are you not astonished? I shall be surprised, at least, if you ever received a hint of it, for I never did. Mrs Musgrove protest solemnly that she knew nothing of the matter. We are all very well pleased, however, for though it is not equal to her marrying Captain Wentworth, it is infinitely better than Charles Hater, and Mr Musgrove has written his consent, and Captain Benwick is expected to-day. Mrs Harvill says her husband feels a good deal on his poor sister's account, but, however, Louisa is a great favourite with both. Indeed, Mrs Harvill and I quite agree that we love her the better for having nursed her. Charles wonders what Captain Wentworth will say, but if you remember, I never thought him attached to Louisa. I never could see anything of it. And this is the end, you see, of Captain Benwick's being supposed to be an admirer of yours. How Charles could take such a thing into his head was always incomprehensible to me. I hope he will be more agreeable now, certainly not a great match for Louisa Musgrove, but a million times better than marrying among the haters. Mary need not have feared her sister's being in any degree prepared for the news. She had never in her life been more astonished. Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove. It was almost too wonderful for belief, and it was with the greatest effort that she could remain in the room, preserve an air of calmness, and answer the common questions of the moment. Happily for her they were not many. Sir Walter wanted to know whether the Crofts travelled with four horses, and whether they were likely to be situated in such a part of Bath as it might suit Miss Elliot and himself to visit him, but had little curiosity beyond. How is Mary, said Elizabeth, and without waiting for an answer, and pray, what brings the Crofts to Bath? They come on the admiral's account. He is thought to be gouty. Gout and crepitude, said Sir Walter. Poor old gentleman. Have they any acquaintance here? asked Elizabeth. I do not know, but I can hardly suppose that, at Admiral Croft's time of life, and in his profession, he should not have many acquaintance in such a place as this. I suspect, said Sir Walter Cooley, that Admiral Croft will be best known in Bath as the renter of Kellent Hall. Elizabeth, may we venture to present him and his wife in law a place? Oh, no, I think not. Situated as we are with Lady Dolrymple, cousins, we ought to be very careful not to embarrass her with acquaintance, she might not approve. If we were not related, it would not signify. But as cousins, she should feel scrupulous as to any proposal of ours. We had better leave the Crofts to find their own level. There are several odd-looking men walking about here, who, I am told, are sailors. The Crofts will associate with them." This was Sir Walter and Elizabeth's share of interest in the letter. When Mrs. Cooley had paid her tribute of more decent attention, in an inquiry after Mrs. Charles Musgrove and her fine little boys, Anne was at liberty. In her own room she tried to comprehend it. Well might Charles wonder how Captain Wentworth would feel? Perhaps he had quitted the field, had given Louisa up, had ceased to love, had found he did not love her. She could not endure the idea of treachery or levity, or anything akin to ill usage between him and his friend. She could not endure that such a friendship as there should be severed unfairly. Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove. The high-spirited, joyous-talking Louisa Musgrove, and the dejected, thinking, feeling, reading Captain Benwick, seemed each of them everything that would not suit the other. Their minds most dissimilar. Where could have been the attraction? The answer soon presented itself. It had been in situation. They had been thrown together several weeks. They had been living in the same small family-party. Since Henrietta's coming away, they must have been depending almost entirely on each other. And Louisa, just recovering from illness, had been in an interesting state, and Captain Benwick was not inconsolable. There was a point which Anne had not been able to avoid suspecting before, and instead of drawing the same conclusion as Mary, from the present course of events, they served only to confirm the idea of his having felt some dawning of tenderness toward herself. She did not mean, however, to derive much more from it to gratify her vanity, than Mary might have allowed. She was persuaded that any tolerably pleasing young woman, who had listened and seemed to feel for him, would have received the same compliment. He had an affectionate heart. He must love somebody. She saw no reason against their being happy. Louisa had fine naval fervor to begin with, and they would soon grow more alike. He would gain cheerfulness, and she would learn to be an enthusiast for Scott and Lord Byron. Nay, that was probably learnt already. Of course, they had fallen in love over poetry. The idea of Louisa Musgrove turned into a person of literary taste, and sentimental reflection was amusing, but she had no doubt of its being so. The day at Lime, the fall from the cob, might influence her health, her nerves, her courage, her character, to the end of her life, as thoroughly as it appeared to have influenced her fate. The conclusion of the whole was, that if the woman who had been sensible of Captain Wentworth's merits could be allowed to prefer another man, there was nothing in the engagement to excite lasting wonder, and if Captain Wentworth lost no friend by it, certainly nothing to be regretted. No, it was not regret which made Anne's heart beat in spite of herself, and brought the colour into her cheeks, when she thought of Captain Wentworth unshackled and free. She had some feelings which she was ashamed to investigate. They were too much like joy, senseless joy. She longed to see the Crofts, but when the meeting took place, it was evident that no rumour of the news had yet reached them. The visit of ceremony was paid and returned, and Louisa Musgrove was mentioned, and Captain Benwick, too, without even half a smile. The Crofts had placed themselves in lodgings in Gay Street, perfectly to Sir Walter's satisfaction. He was not at all ashamed of the acquaintance, and did, in fact, think and talk a great deal more about the admiral than the admiral ever thought or talked about him. The Crofts knew quite as many people in Bath as they wished for, and considered their intercourse with the Elliotts as a mere matter of form, and not in the least likely to afford them any pleasure. They brought with them their country habit of being almost always together. He was ordered to walk to keep off the gout, and Mrs. Croft seemed to go shares with him in everything, and to walk for her life to do him good. Anne saw them wherever she went. Many Russell took her out in her carriage almost every morning, and she never failed to think of them, and never failed to see them. Knowing their feelings as she did, it was a most attractive picture of happiness to her. She always watched them as long as she could, delighted to fancy she understood what they might be talking of, as they walked along in happy independence, or equally delighted to see the admiral's hearty shake of the hand when he encountered an old friend, and observed their eagerness of conversation when occasionally forming into a little knot of the navy, Mrs. Croft looking as intelligent and keen as any of the officers around her. Anne was too much engaged with Lady Russell to be often walking herself, but it so happened that one morning, about a week or ten days after the Croft's arrival, it suited her best to leave her friend, or her friend's carriage, in the lower part of the town, and return alone to Camden Place, and in walking up Milsom Street, she had the good fortune to meet with the admiral. He was standing by himself at a print-shop window, with his hands behind him, in earnest contemplation of some print, and she not only might have passed him unseen, but was obliged to touch as well as address him, before she could catch his notice. When he did perceive and acknowledge her, however, it was done with all his usual frankness and good humour. Ha! Is it you? Thank you, thank you, this is treating me like a friend. Here I am, you see, staring at a picture. I can never get by this shop without stopping. But what a thing here is, by way of a boat! To look at it! Did you ever see the like? What queer fellows your fine painters must be, to think that anybody would venture their lives in such a shapeless old cockle-shell as that? And yet here are two gentlemen stuck up in it, mightily at their ease, and looking about them at the rocks and mountains, as if they were not to be upset the next moment, which they certainly must be. I wonder where that boat was built. Laughing heartily. I would not venture over a horse-pond in it. Well, turning away, now, where are you bound? Can I go anywhere for you, or with you? Can I be of any use? None, I thank you, unless you will give me the pleasure of your company, the little way our road lies together. I am going home. That I will, with all my heart, and father too. Yes, yes, we will have a snug walk together, and I have something to tell you as we go along. There, take my arm, that's right. I do not feel comfortable if I have not a woman there. Lord, what a boat it is! Taking a last look at the picture, as they began to be in motion. Did you say that you had something to tell me, sir? Yes, I have, presently. But here comes a friend, Captain Brigdon. I shall only say, how do you do, as we pass, however, I shall not stop. How do you do? Brigdon stares to see any body with me but my wife. She, poor soul, is tied by the leg. She has a blister on one of her heels, as large as a three-shelling piece. If you look across the street, you will see Admiral Brandt coming down, and his brother. Shabby fellows, both of them. I am glad they are not on this side of the way. Sophie cannot bear them. They played me a pitiful trick once, got away with some of my best men. I will tell you the whole story another time. There comes old Sir Archibald Drew and his grandson. Look, he sees us. He kisses his hand to you. He takes you for my wife. Ha! The peace has come too soon for that, Junker. Poor old Sir Archibald. How do you like Bath, Miss Elliot? It suits us very well. We were always meeting with some old friend or other, the streets full of them every morning, sure to have plenty of chat. And then we get away from them all, and shut ourselves in our lodgings, and draw on our chairs, and are as snug as if we were at Kellynch. I, or as we used to be, even at North Yarmouth and Deal, we do not like our lodgings here the worse, I can tell you, for putting us in mind of those we first had at North Yarmouth. The wind blows through one of those cupboards just in the same way. When they were got a little further, Anne ventured to press again for what he had to communicate. She hoped when clear of Milsom Street to have her curiosity gratified, but she was still obliged to wait, for the admiral had made up his mind not to begin, till they had gained the greater space and quiet of Belmont, and as she was not really Mrs. Croft, she must let him have his own way. As soon as they were fairly ascending Belmont, he began, Well, now you shall hear something that will surprise you. But first of all, you must tell me the name of the young lady I am going to talk about. That young lady you know, that we have all been so concerned for, the Miss Musgrove, that all this has been happening to, her Christian name, I always forget her Christian name. Anne had been ashamed to appear to comprehend so soon as she really did, but now she could safely suggest the name of Louisa. Aye, aye, Miss Louisa Musgrove, that is the name. I wish young ladies had not such a number of fine Christian names. I should never be out, if they were all Sophie's, or something of that sort. Well, this Miss Louisa, we all thought, you know, was to marry Frederick. He was courting her week after week. The only wonder was, what they could be waiting for, till the business at Lyme came. Then indeed, it was clear enough, they must wait till her brain was set to write. But even then, there was something odd in their way of going on. Instead of staying at Lyme, he went off to Plymouth, and then he went off to see Edward. When he came back from Minehead, he was gone down to Edwards, and there he has been ever since. We have seen nothing of him since November. Even Sophie could not understand it. But now, the matter has taken the strangest turn of all. For this young lady, the same Miss Musgrove, instead of being to marry Frederick, is to marry James Benwick. You know James Benwick. A little. I am a little acquainted with Captain Benwick. Well, she is to marry him. Nay, most likely they are married already, for I do not know what they should wait for. I thought Captain Benwick a very pleasing young man, said Anne, and I understand that he bears an excellent character. Oh, yes, yes, there is not a word to be said against James Benwick. He is only a commander, it is true, made last summer, and these are bad times for getting on. But he has not another fault that I know of. An excellent, good-hearted fellow, I assure you, a very active zealous officer, too, which is more than you would think for, perhaps, for that soft sort of manner does not do him justice. Indeed, you are mistaken there, sir. I should never augur want of spirit from Captain Benwick's manners. I thought them particularly pleasing, and I will answer for it, they would generally please. Well, well, ladies are the best judges, but James Benwick is rather too piano for me, and though very likely it is all our partiality, Sophie and I can not help thinking Frederick's manners better than his. There is something about Frederick more to our taste. Anne was caught. She had only meant to oppose the two common idea of spirit and gentleness being incompatible with each other, and not at all to represent Captain Benwick's manners as the very best that could possibly be, and after a little hesitation, she was beginning to say, I was not entering into any comparison of the two friends, but the admiral interrupted her with. And the thing is certainly true. It is not a mere bit of gossip. We have it from Frederick himself. His sister had a letter from him yesterday, in which he tells us of it, and he had just had it in a letter from Harville, written upon the spot from up-across. I fancy they are all at up-across. This was an opportunity which Anne could not resist. She said therefore, I hope, admiral, I hope there is nothing in the style of Captain Wentworth's letter to make you and Mrs. Croft particularly uneasy. It did seem, last autumn, as if there were an attachment between him and Louisa Musgrove, but I hope it may be understood to have worn out on each side equally, and without violence. I hope his letter did not breathe the spirit of an ill-used man. Not at all. Not at all. There is not an oath or a murmur from beginning to end. Anne looked down to hide her smile. No, no, Frederick is not a man to whine and complain. He has too much spirit for that. If the girl likes another man better, it is very fit she should have him. But what I mean is that I hope there is nothing in Captain Wentworth's manner of writing to make you suppose he thinks himself ill-used by his friend, which might appear, you know, without its being absolutely said. I should be very sorry that such a friendship as has subsisted between him and Captain Benwick should be destroyed, or even wounded, by a circumstance of this sort. Yes, yes, I understand you, but there is nothing at all of that nature in the letter. Anne does not give the least fling at Benwick, does not so much as say, I wonder at it, I have a reason of my own for wondering at it. No, you would not guess from his way of writing that he had ever thought of this Miss Watson aim for himself. He very handsomely hopes they will be very happy together, and there is nothing very unforgiving in that, I think. Anne did not receive the perfect conviction which the admiral meant to convey, but it would have been useless to press the inquiry farther. He therefore satisfied herself with commonplace remarks or quiet attention, and the admiral had it all his own way. Paul Frederick, said he at last, now he must begin all over again with somebody else. I think we must get him to Bath. Sophie must write, and beg him to come to Bath. Here are pretty girls enough, I am sure. It would be of no use to go to Upacross again, for that other Miss Musgrove I find is bespoke by her cousin, the young Parson. Do not you think, Miss Elliot, we had better try to get him to Bath. CHAPTER 19 While Admiral Croft was taking this walk with Anne, and expressing his wish of getting Captain Wentworth to Bath, Captain Wentworth was already on his way thither. Before Mrs. Croft had written, he was arrived, and the very next time Anne walked out, she saw him. Mr. Elliot was attending his two cousins and Mrs. Clay. They were in Milsome Street. It began to rain, not much, but enough to make Shelter desirable for women, and quite enough to make it very desirable for Miss Elliot to have the advantage of being conveyed home in Lady Dalrymple's carriage, which was seen waiting at a little distance. She, Anne, and Mrs. Clay, therefore, turned into mollans, while Mr. Elliot stepped to Lady Dalrymple to request her assistance. He soon joined them again, successful, of course. Lady Dalrymple would be most happy to take them home, and would call for them in a few minutes. Her ladyship's carriage was a barouche, and did not hold more than four with any comfort. Miss Carteray was with her mother. Consequently it was not reasonable to expect accommodation for all the three Camden Place ladies. There could be no doubt us to Miss Elliot. Whoever suffered in convenience, she must suffer none, but it occupied a little time to settle the point of civility between the other two. The rain was a mere trifle, and Anne was most sincere in preferring a walk with Mr. Elliot. But the rain was also a mere trifle to Mrs. Clay. She would hardly allow it even to drop at all, and her boots were so thick, much thicker than Miss Anne's, and in short her civility rendered her quite as anxious to be left to walk with Mr. Elliot as Anne could be, and it was discussed between them with a generosity so polite and so determined that the others were obliged to settle it for them. Miss Elliot maintaining that Mrs. Clay had a little cold already, and Mr. Elliot deciding on appeal, that his cousin Anne's boots were rather the thickest. It was fixed accordingly that Mrs. Clay should be of the party in the carriage, and they had just reached this point, when Anne, as she sat near the window, described most decidedly and distinctly, Captain Wentworth walking down the street. Her start was perceptible only to herself, but she instantly felt that she was the greatest simpleton in the world, the most unaccountable and absurd. For a few minutes she saw nothing before her. It was all confusion. She was lost, and when she had scolded back her senses, she found the others still waiting for the carriage, and Mr. Elliot, always obliging, just setting off for Union Street on a commission of Mrs. Clay's. She now felt a great inclination to go to the Outer Door. She wanted to see if it rained. Why was she to suspect herself of another motive? Captain Wentworth must be out of sight. She left her seat. She would go. One half of her should not be always so much wiser than the other half, or always suspecting the other of being worse than it was. She would see if it rained. She was sent back, however, in a moment by the entrance of Captain Wentworth himself, among a party of gentlemen and ladies, evidently his acquaintance, and whom he must have joined a little below Milsom Street. He was more obviously struck and confused by the sight of her than she had ever observed before. He looked quite red. For the first time since their renewed acquaintance, she felt that she was betraying the least sensibility of the two. She had the advantage of him in the preparation of the last few moments. While the overpowering, blinding, bewildering first effects of strong surprise were over with her, still, however, she had enough to feel. It was agitation, pain, pleasure, a something between delight and misery. He spoke to her, and then turned away. The character of his manner was embarrassment. She could not have called it either cold or friendly, or anything so certainly as embarrassed. Under a short interval, however, he came towards her, and spoke again. Mutual inquiries on common subjects passed. Neither of them probably much the wiser for what they heard, and Anne continuing fully sensible of his being less at ease than formerly. They had, by dint of being so very much together, got to speak to each other with a considerable portion of apparent indifference and calmness, but he could not do it now. Time had changed him, or Louisa had changed him. There was consciousness of some sort or another. He looked very well, not as if he had been suffering in health or spirits, and he talked of upper-cross, of the Musgroves, nay, even of Louisa, and had even a momentary look of his own arch-significance as he named her, but yet it was Captain Wentworth not comfortable, not easy, not able to feign that he was. It did not surprise, but it grieved Anne to observe that Elizabeth would not know him. She saw that he saw Elizabeth, that Elizabeth saw him, that there was complete internal recognition on each side. She was convinced that he was ready to be acknowledged as an acquaintance, expecting it, and she had the pain of seeing her sister turn away with unalterable coldness. Lady Dill Rimble's carriage, for which Miss Elliot was growing very impatient, now drew up. The servant came in to announce it. It was beginning to rain again, and altogether there was a delay, and a bustle, and a which must make all the little crowd in the shop understand that Lady Dill Rimble was calling to convey Miss Elliot. At last Miss Elliot and her friend, unattended but by the servant, for there was no cousin returned, were walking off, and Captain Wentworth, watching them, turned again to Anne, and by manner, rather than words, was offering his services to her. I am much obliged to you, was her answer, but I am not going with them. The carriage would not accommodate so many. I walk. I prefer walking. But it rains. Oh, very little—nothing that I regard. After a moment's pause, he said, though I came only yesterday, I have equipped myself properly for bath already, you see, pointing to a new umbrella. I wish you would make use of it, if you are determined to walk, though I think it would be more prudent to let me get you a chair. She was very much obliged to him, but declined at all, repeating her conviction that the rain would come to nothing at present, and adding, I am only waiting for Mr. Elliot. He'll be here in a moment, I'm sure. She had hardly spoken the words when Mr. Elliot walked in. Captain Wentworth recollected him perfectly. There was no difference between him and the man who had stood on the steps at Lime, admiring Anne as she passed, except in the air and look and manner of the privileged relation and friend. He came in with eagerness, appeared to see and think only of her, apologized for his stay, was grieved to have kept her waiting, and anxious to get her away without further loss of time, and before the rain increased, and in another moment they walked off together, her arm under his, a gentle and embarrassed glance, and a, good morning to you, being all that she had time for, as she passed away. As soon as they were out of sight, the ladies of Captain Wentworth's party began talking of them. Mr. Elliot does not dislike his cousin, I fancy. Oh, no, that is clear enough. One can guess what will happen there. He is always with them. Half lives in the family, I believe. What a very good-looking man! Yes, and Miss Atkinson, who dined with him once at the Wallises, says he is the most agreeable man she ever was in company with. She is pretty, I think, Anne Elliot. Very pretty when one comes to look at her. It is not the fashion to say so, but I confess, I admire her more than her sister. Oh, so do I! And so do I! No comparison, but the men are all wild after Miss Elliot. Anne is too delicate for them. Anne would have been particularly obliged to her cousin, if he would have walked by her side all the way to Camden Place, without saying a word. She had never found it so difficult to listen to him, though nothing could exceed his solicitude and care, and though his subjects were principally such as were won't to be always interesting, praise, warm, just and discriminating, of Lady Russell, and insinuations highly rational against Mrs. Clay. But just now she could think only of Captain Wentworth. She could not understand his present feelings, whether he were really suffering much from disappointment or not, until that point were settled, she could not be quite herself. She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time, but alas, alas, she must confess to herself that she was not wise yet. Another circumstance very essential for her to know, was how long he meant to be in bath. He had not mentioned it, or she could not recollect it. He might be only passing through. But it was more probable that he should become to stay. In that case, so liable as everybody was to meet everybody in bath, Lady Russell would in all likelihood see him somewhere. Would she recollect him? How would it all be? She had already been obliged to tell Lady Russell that Louisa Musgrove was to marry Captain Benwick. It had cost her something to encounter Lady Russell's surprise, and now, if she were by chance to be thrown into company with Captain Wentworth, her imperfect knowledge of the matter might add another shade of prejudice against him. The following morning Anne was out with her friend, and for the first hour, in an incessant and fearful sort of watch for him in vain. But at last, in returning down Pultney Street, she distinguished him on the right-hand pavement at such a distance as to have him in view at the greater part of the street. There were many other men about him, many groups walking the same way, but there was no mistaking him. She looked instinctively at Lady Russell, but not from any mad idea of her recognizing him so soon as she did herself. No, it was not to be supposed that Lady Russell would perceive him till they were nearly opposite. She looked at her, however, from time to time anxiously, and when the moment approached which must point him out, though not daring to look again for her own countenance she knew was unfit to be seen, she was yet perfectly conscious of Lady Russell's eyes being turned exactly in the direction for him, of her being, in short, intently observing him. She could thoroughly comprehend the sort of fascination he must possess over Lady Russell's mind, the difficulty it must be for her to withdraw her eyes, the astonishment she must be feeling that eight or nine years should have passed over him, and in foreign climbs an inactive service too, without robbing him of one personal grace. At last Lady Russell drew back her head. Now how would she speak of him? "'You will wonder,' said she, "'what has been fixing my eye so long? But I was looking after some window-curtains, which Lady Elysia and Mrs. Franklin were telling me of last night. They described the drawing-room window-curtains of one of the houses on this side of the way, and this part of the street, as being the handsomest and best hung of any in bath, but could not recollect the exact number, and I have been trying to find out which it could be. But I confess, I can see no curtains hereabouts that answer their description." Anne sighed and blushed and smiled, in pity and disdain, either at her friend or herself. The part which provoked her most, was that, in all this waste of forethought and caution, she should have lost the right moment for seeing whether he saw them. A day or two passed without producing anything. The theatre or the rooms, where he was most likely to be, were not fashionable enough for the Eliot's, whose evening amusements were solely in the elegant stupidity of private parties, in which they were getting more and more engaged. And Anne, weary of such a state of stagnation, sick of knowing nothing, and fan-seeing herself stronger because her strength was not tried, was quite impatient for the concert evening. It was a concert for the benefit of a person patronised by Lady Del Rimpel. Of course they must attend. It was really expected to be a good one, and Captain Wentworth was very fond of music. If she could only have a few minutes' conversation with him again, she fancied she should be satisfied, and as to the power of addressing him, she felt all over courage if the opportunity occurred. Elizabeth had turned from him. Lady Russell overlooked him. Her nerves were strengthened by these circumstances. She felt that she owed him attention. She had once partly promised Mrs. Smith to spend the evening with her, but in a short hurried call she excused herself and put it off, with the more decided promise of a longer visit on the morrow. Mrs. Smith gave a most good humour d'acquiescence. "'By all means,' said she, "'only tell me all about it when you do come. Who is your party?' Anne named them all. Mrs. Smith made no reply, but when she was leaving her, said, and with an expression half serious, half arch, "'Well, I heartily wish your concert may answer, and do not fail me to-morrow if you can come, for I begin to have a foreboding that I may not have many more visits from you.'" Anne was startled and confused, but after standing in a moment's suspense, was obliged, and not sorry to be obliged, to hurry away. End of chapter 19