 18. It was the beginning of February, and Anne, having been a month in Bath, was growing very eager for news from up across and Lyme. She wanted to hear much more than Mary 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 at 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 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 arrived in Bath. The Crofts who rent Kellynch. What have they brought you? A letter from up across 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 1. 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 up across, which, as you well know, affords little to write about. We have had a very dull Christmas. Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove have not had one dinner-party all the holidays. I do not record 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 that 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 has been calling much oftener than was welcome. Between ourselves I think it a great pity that Henrietta did not remain at Lyme as long as Louisa. It would have kept her a little out of his way. The carriage is 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 wish 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 Gowty. Charles heard it quite by chance. They have not had the civility to give me any notice, or offer 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. 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. But now, for Louisa, I have something to communicate that will astonish you not a little. She and the Harvills 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 Harvills. 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 Upper Cross till he had had an answer for Mr. Musgrove, for it was all settled between him and her before she came away. And he had written to her father by Captain Harville, true upon my honour. Are not you 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. Harville says her husband feels a good deal on his poor sister's account. But, however, Louisa is a great favourite with both. Indeed, Mrs. Harville 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 at the moment. Happily for her they were not many. Sir Walter wanted to know whether the Crofts traveled 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 in, 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 decrepitude, said Sir Walter. Poor old gentleman. Have they any acquaintances 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 acquaintances in such a place as this. I suspect, said Sir Walter coolly, that Admiral Croft will be best known in Bath as the renter of Kellynch Hall. Elizabeth may we venture to present him and his wife in lower place? Oh, no! I think not. Situated as we are with Lady Dal Rimpel, cousins, we ought to be very careful not to embarrass her with acquaintances she might not approve. If we were not related it would not signify, but as cousins she would 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. Clay 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 acquitted 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 theirs should be severed unfairly. Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove. The high-spirited, joyous talking Louisa Musgrove, and the dejected, thinking, puzzling, 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. That 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 towards 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 fervour 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 visitive 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, directly 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 Elliott's 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 always together. He was ordered to go 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. Lady 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 Millson 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 the way, of a boat! Do 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. Ha! Ha! Ha! I would not venture over a horse pond in it. Well, turning away, now where are you bound? I can go anywhere for you, or with you. Can I be of any use? Oh, 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 further, 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 anybody 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-shilling piece. If you look across the street, you will see Admiral Brand 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 some of my best men. I'll tell you the whole story another time. Ha! 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. Ah! the piece has come too soon for that, yonker. Poor old Sir Archibald. How do you like Bath, Miss Elliot? It suits us very well. We are 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 into 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 worst, I can tell you, for putting us in mind of those we first had at North Yarmouth. The wind blows through one of the cupboards just in the same way. When they got a little further Anne ventured to press a gain for what he had to communicate. She had 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 that 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 we 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, this 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 cannot 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, 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 Upper Cross. I fancy they are all at Upper Cross. 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 certainly seem, last autumn, as if there was 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 does 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. Well, certainly. 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. He 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, a wetser name, for himself. He very handsomely hopes they will be 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 depress the inquiry further. She therefore satisfied herself with commonplace remarks or quiet attention, and the admiral had it all his own way. Poor 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 upper cross again, for that other Miss Musgrove, I find, is bespoken by her cousin, the young parson. Do not you think, Miss Elliot, we had better try to get him to bath? End of CHAPTER XVIII. CHAPTER XIX. 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 Milsom 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 Del Rimpel'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 Del Rimpel to request her assistance. He soon joined them again, successful, of course. Lady Del Rimpel 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 Carteret was with her mother, consequently it was not reasonable to expect accommodation for all the three Camden Place ladies. There could be no doubt as to Miss Elliot. Whoever suffered inconvenience 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 the 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 acquaintances, 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. All 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. After a short interval, however, he came towards her and spoke again. Mutual inquiries on common subjects past, 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 other. 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 Dalrymple's carriage, for which Miss Elliot was growing very impatient, now drew up. The servant came to announce it. It was beginning to rain again, and altogether there was a delay and a bustle and a talking, which must make all the little crowd in the shop understand that Lady Dalrymple 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 she would make use of it, if you were 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 will be here in a moment, I am 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 Lyme, 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, and 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 in 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 want to be always interesting. Praise, warm, just, and discriminating of Lady Russell, and insinuations highly rational against Miss 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 any 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 Potney Street, she distinguished him on the right-hand pavement at such a distance as to have him in view 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 climes and in active 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 Alicia 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 and 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 here about that answer to 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 foresight 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 fancying 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-humoured 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, 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 XIX. RECORDED IN TORRENTO, ANTERIO by Moira Fogarty, APRIL 2008. Sir Walter, his two daughters and Mrs. Clay were the earliest of all their party at the rooms in the evening, and as Lady Del Rimpol must be waited for, they took their station by one of the fires in the octagon room. But hardly were they so settled, when the door opened again and Captain Wentworth walked in alone. Anne was the nearest to him, and making a little advance she instantly spoke. He was preparing only to bow and pass on, but her gentle, how do you do? brought him out of the straight line to stand near her and make inquiries in return, in spite of the formidable father and sister in the background. Their being in the background was a support to Anne. She knew nothing of their looks, and felt equal to everything which she believed right to be done. While they were speaking, a whispering between her father and Elizabeth caught her ear. She could not distinguish, but she must guess the subject, and on Captain Wentworth's making a distant bow, she comprehended that her father had judged so well as to give him that simple acknowledgement of acquaintance, and she was just in time by a side glance to see a slight curtsy from Elizabeth herself. This, though late and reluctant and ungracious, was yet better than nothing, and her spirits improved. After talking, however, of the weather and bath and the concert, their conversation began to flag, and so little was said at last that she was expecting him to go every moment. But he did not. He seemed in no hurry to leave her, and presently with renewed spirit, with a little smile, a little glow, he said, I have hardly seen you since our day at Lyme. I am afraid you must have suffered from the shock, and the more from its not overpowering you at the time. She assured him that she had not. It was a frightful hour, said he, a frightful day. And he passed his hand across his eyes, as if the remembrance were still too painful. But in a moment half-smiling again added, the day has produced some effects, however, has had some consequences which must be considered as the very reverse of frightful. When you had the presence of mind to suggest that Benek would be the properst person to fetch a surgeon, you could have little idea of his being eventually one of those most concerned in her recovery. Certainly I could have none. But it appears, I should hope it would be a very happy match. They are on both sides good principles and good temper. Yes, said he, looking not exactly forward. But there I think ends the resemblance. With all my soul I wish them happy, and rejoice over every circumstance in favour of it. They have no difficulties to contend with at home. No opposition, no caprice, no delays. The musgroves are behaving like themselves, most honourably and kindly, only anxious with true parental hearts, to promote their daughter's comfort. All this is much, very much in favour of their happiness, more than perhaps. He stopped. A sudden recollection seemed to occur, and to give him some taste of that emotion which was reddening Anne's cheeks, and fixing her eyes on the ground. After clearing his throat, however, he proceeded thus. I confess that I do think there is a disparity, too great a disparity, and in a point no less essential than mine. I regard Louisa Musgrove as a very amiable, sweet-tempered girl, and not deficient in understanding. But Bannock is something more. He is a clever man, a reading man, and I confess that I do consider his attaching himself to her with some surprise. Had it been the effect of gratitude, had he learned to love her because he believed her to be preferring him, it would have been another thing. But I have no reason to suppose it so. It seems, on the contrary, to have been a perfectly spontaneous, untaught feeling on his side, and this surprises me. A man like him, in his situation, with a heart pierced, wounded, almost broken—Vanny Harville was a very superior creature, and his attachment to her was indeed attachment. A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman. He ought not. He does not. Either from the consciousness, however, that his friend had recovered, or from some other consciousness, he went no further, and Anne, who, in spite of the agitated voice in which the latter part had been uttered, and in spite of all the various noises of the room, the almost ceaseless slam of the door, and ceaseless buzz of persons walking through, had distinguished every word, was struck, gratified, confused, and beginning to breathe very quick, and feel a hundred things in a moment. It was impossible for her to enter on such a subject, and yet, after a pause, feeling the necessity of speaking, and having not the smallest wish for a total change, she only deviated so far as to say, You were a good while at Lyme, I think? About a fortnight. I could not leave it till Louise's doing well was quite ascertained. I had been too deeply concerned in the mischief to be soon at peace, and had been my doing solely mine. She would not have been obstinate if I had not been weak. The country round Lyme is very fine. I walked and rowed a great deal, and the more I saw, the more I found to admire. I should very much like to see Lyme again, said Anne. Indeed! I should not have supposed that you could have found anything in Lyme to inspire such a feeling, the horror and distress you were involved in, the stretch of mind, the wear of spirits. I should have thought your last impressions of Lyme must have been strong discussed. Of the last few hours were certainly very painful, replied Anne. But when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure. One does not love a place the less for having suffered in it, unless it has been all suffering, nothing but suffering, which was by no means the case at Lyme. We were only in anxiety and distress during the last two hours, and previously there had been a great deal of enjoyment, so much novelty and beauty. I have travelled so little that every fresh place would be interesting to me, but there is real beauty at Lyme, and in short, with a faint blush at some recollections, altogether my impressions of the place are very agreeable. As she ceased, the entrance door opened again, and the very party appeared for whom they were waiting. Lady Dalrymple, Lady Dalrymple, was the rejoicing sound, and with all the eagerness compatible with anxious elegance Sir Walter and his two ladies stepped forward to meet her. Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, escorted by Mr. Elliot and Colonel Wallace, who had happened to arrive nearly at the same moment, advanced into the room. The others joined them, and it was a group in which Anne found herself also necessarily included. She was divided from Captain Wentworth. They're interesting. Almost two interesting conversation must be broken up for a time, but slight was the penance compared with the happiness which brought it on. She had learnt, in the last ten minutes, more of his feelings towards Louisa, more of all his feelings, than she dared to think of, and she gave herself up to the demands of the party, to the needful civilities of the moment, with exquisite, though agitated sensations. She was in good humour with all. She had received ideas which disposed her to be courteous and kind to all, and to pity everyone as being less happy than herself. The delightful emotions were a little subdued, when, on stepping back from the group, to be joined again by Captain Wentworth, she saw that he was gone. She was just in time to see him turn into the concert-room. He was gone. He had disappeared. She felt a moment's regret. But they should meet again. He would look for her, he would find her out long before the evening was over, and at present, perhaps, it was well to be asunder. She was in need of a little interval for recollection. Upon Lady Russell's appearance, soon afterwards, the whole party was collected, and all that remained was to marshal themselves, and proceed into the concert-room, and be of all the consequence in their power, draw as many eyes, excite as many whispers, and disturb as many people as they could. Very, very happy were both Elizabeth and Anne Elliot as they walked in. Elizabeth, arm in arm with Miss Carteret, and looking on the broad back of the Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple before her, had nothing to wish for, which did not seem within her reach. And Anne, but it would be an insult to the nature of Anne's felicity to draw any comparison between it and her sisters, the origin of one all-selfish vanity, of the other all generous attachment. Anne saw nothing, thought nothing of the brilliancy of the room. Her happiness was from within. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks glowed, but she knew nothing about it. She was thinking only of the last half hour, and as they passed to their seats, her mind took a hasty range over it. His choice of subjects, his expressions, and still more his manner and look, had been such as she could see in only one light. His opinion of Louisa Musgrove's inferiority, an opinion which he had seemed solicitous to give, his wonder at Captain Benwick, his feelings as to a first strong attachment, sentences begun which he could not finish, his half averted eyes, and more than half expressive glance, all, all declared that he had a heart returning to her at least, that anger, resentment, avoidance were no more, and that they were succeeded, not merely by friendship and regard, but by the tenderness of the past. Yes, some share of the tenderness of the past. She could not contemplate the change as implying less. He must love her. These were thoughts, with their attendant visions, which occupied and flurried her too much to leave her any power of observation, and she passed along the room without having a glimpse of him, without even trying to discern him. When their places were determined on, and they were all properly arranged, she looked round to see if he should happen to be in the same part of the room. But he was not. Her eye could not reach him, and the concert being just opening, she must consent for a time to be happy in a humbler way. The party was divided and disposed of on two contiguous benches. Anne was among those on the foremost, and Mr. Eliot had maneuvered so well with the assistance of his friend Colonel Wallace as to have a seat by her. Miss Eliot, surrounded by her cousins and the principal object of Colonel Wallace's gallantry, was quite contented. Anne's mind was in a most favorable state for the entertainment of the evening. It was just occupation enough. She had feelings for the tender, spirits for the gay, attention for the scientific, and patience for the wearisome, and had never liked a concert better, at least during the first act. Towards the close of it, in the interval succeeding an Italian song, she explained the words of the song to Mr. Eliot. They had a concert bill between them. "'This,' said she, is nearly the sense, or rather the meaning of the words, for certainly the sense of an Italian love-song must not be talked of. But it is as nearly the meaning as I can give, for I do not pretend to understand the language. I am a very poor Italian scholar.' "'Yes, yes, I see you are. I see you know nothing of the matter. You have only knowledge enough of the language to translate at sight these inverted, transposed, curtailed Italian lines into clear, comprehensible, elegant English. You need not say anything more of your ignorance. Here is complete proof.' "'I will not oppose such kind politeness. But I should be sorry to be examined by a real proficient.' "'I have not had the pleasure of visiting in Camden place so long,' replied he, without knowing something of Miss Anne Eliot. And I do regard her as one who is too modest for the world in general, to be aware of half her accomplishments, and too highly accomplished for modesty to be natural in any other woman. "'For shame! For shame! This is too much a flattery. I forget what we are to have next,' turning to the bill. "'Perhaps,' said Mr. Eliot, speaking low, I have had a longer acquaintance with your character than you are aware of. "'Indeed? How so? You can have been acquainted with it only since I came to Bath, excepting as you might hear me previously spoken of in my own family. "'I knew you by report, long before you came to Bath. I had heard you described by those who knew you intimately. I have been acquainted with you by character many years. Your person, your disposition, accomplishments, manner—they were all described. They were all present to me.' Mr. Eliot was not disappointed in the interest he hoped to raise. No one can withstand the charm of such a mystery. To have been described long ago to a recent acquaintance by nameless people is irresistible, and Anne was all curiosity. She wondered and questioned him eagerly, but in vain. He delighted in being asked, but he would not tell. No, no. Some time or other, perhaps, but not now. He would mention no names now, but such as he could assure her had been the fact. He had many years ago received such a description of Miss Anne Eliot, as had inspired him with the highest idea of her merit, and excited the warmest curiosity to know her. Anne could think of no one so likely to have spoken with partiality of her many years ago, as the Mr. Wentworth of Monkford, Captain Wentworth's brother. He might have been in Mr. Eliot's company, but she had not courage to ask the question. The name of Anne Eliot, said he, has long had an interesting sound to me. Very long has it possessed a charm over my fancy, and if I dared I would breathe my wishes that the name might never change. Such she believed were his words, but scarcely had she received their sound, then her attention was caught by other sounds immediately behind her, which rendered everything else trivial. Her father and Lady Dalrymple were speaking. A well-looking man, said Sir Walter. A very well-looking man. A very fine young man, indeed, said Lady Dalrymple. More air than one often sees in Bath. Irish, I daresay. No, I just know his name. A bowing acquaintance. Wentworth, Captain Wentworth of the Navy. His sister married my tenant in Somersetshire, the Croft, who wence Kellynch. Before Sir Walter had reached this point, Anne's eyes had caught the right direction, and distinguished Captain Wentworth standing among a cluster of men at a little distance. As her eyes fell on him, his seemed to be withdrawn from her. It had that appearance. It seemed as if she had been one moment too late, and as long as she dared observe, he did not look again. But the performance was recommencing, and she was forced to seem to restore her attention to the orchestra and look straightforward. When she could give another glance, he had moved away. He could not have come nearer to her if he would. She was so surrounded and shut in, but she would rather have caught his eye. Mr. Eliot's speech, too, distressed her. She had no longer any inclination to talk to him. She wished him not so near her. The first act was over. Now she hoped for some beneficial change, and after a period of nothing-saying amongst the party, some of them did decide on going in quest of tea. Anne was one of the few who did not choose to move. She remained in her seat, and so did Lady Russell. But she had the pleasure of getting rid of Mr. Eliot, and she did not mean whatever she might feel on Lady Russell's account to shrink from conversation with Captain Wentworth if he gave her the opportunity. She was persuaded by Lady Russell's countenance that she had seen him. He did not come, however, and sometimes fancied she discerned him at a distance, but he never came. The anxious interval wore away unproductively. The others returned, the room filled again, benches were reclaimed and repossessed, and another hour of pleasure or of penance was to be set out. Another hour of music was to give delight or the gates, as real or affected taste for it prevailed. To Anne it chiefly wore the prospect of an hour of agitation. She could not quit that room in peace without seeing Captain Wentworth once more, without the interchange of one friendly look. In resettling themselves there were now many changes, the result of which was favourable for her. Colonel Wallace declined sitting down again, and Mr. Eliot was invited by Elizabeth and Miss Carteret, in a manner not to be refused, to sit between them. And by some other removals, and a little scheming of her own, Anne was enabled to place herself much nearer the end of the bench than she had been before, much more within reach of a pass or by. She could not do so without comparing herself with Miss LaRole's, the inimitable Miss LaRole's, but still she did it, and not with much happier effect. Though by what seemed prosperity in the shape of an early abdication in her next neighbours, she found herself at the very end of the bench before the concert closed. Such was her situation, with a vacant space at hand, when Captain Wentworth was again in sight. She saw him not far off. He saw her too, yet he looked grave and seemed irresolute, and only by very slow degrees came at last near enough to speak to her. She felt that something must be the matter, the change was indubitable. The difference between his present air and what it had been in the octagon room was strikingly great. Why was it? She thought of her father, of Lady Russell. Could there have been any unpleasant glances? He began by speaking of the concert gravely, more like the Captain Wentworth of Upper Cross. Owned himself disappointed, had expected better singing, and in short must confess that he should not be sorry when it was over. Anne replied, and spoke in defence of the performance so well, and yet an allowance for his feeling so pleasantly, that his countenance improved, and he replied again with almost a smile. They talked for a few minutes more. The improvement held. He even looked down towards the bench, as if he saw a place on it well worth occupying, when at that moment a touch on her shoulder obliged Anne to turn round. It came from Mr. Elliot. He begged her pardon, but she must be applied to to explain Italian again. Miss Carteret was very anxious to have a general idea of what was next to be sung. Anne could not refuse, but never had she sacrificed to politeness with a more suffering spirit. A few minutes, though as few as possible, were inevitably consumed, and when her own mistress again, when able to turn and look as she had done before, she found herself accosted by Captain Wentworth in a reserved yet hurried sort of farewell. He must wish her good night. He was going. He should get home as fast as he could. "'Is not this song worth staying for?' said Anne, suddenly struck by an idea which made her yet more anxious to be encouraging. "'No,' he replied impressively. There is nothing worth my staying for.' And he was gone directly. Jealousy of Mr. Elliot! It was the only intelligible motive. Captain Wentworth jealous of her affection. Could she have believed it a week ago, three hours ago? For a moment the gratification was exquisite. But alas, there were very different thoughts to succeed. How was such jealousy to be quieted? How was the truth to reach him? How, in all the peculiar disadvantages of their respective situations, would he ever learn her real sentiments? It was misery to think of Mr. Elliot's attentions. Their evil was incalculable. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, and to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Moira Fogarty. Anne recollected with pleasure the next morning her promise of going to Mrs. Smith, meaning that it should engage her from home at the time when Mr. Elliot would be most likely to call. For to avoid Mr. Elliot was almost a first object. She felt a great deal of goodwill towards him. In spite of the mischief of his attentions, she owed him gratitude and regard, perhaps compassion. She could not help thinking much of the extraordinary circumstances attending their acquaintance, of the right which he seemed to have to interest her, by everything in situation, by his own sentiments, by his early prepossession. It was altogether very extraordinary, flattering, but painful. There was much to regret. How she might have felt had there been no Captain Wentworth in the case, was not worth inquiry, for there was a Captain Wentworth, and be the conclusion of the present suspense good or bad, her affection would be his forever. Their union, she believed, could not divide her more from other men than their final separation. Prettier musings of high wrought love and eternal constancy could never have passed along the streets of Bath than Anne was sporting with from Camden Place to Westgate Buildings. It was almost enough to spread purification and perfume all the way. She was sure of a pleasant reception, and her friend seemed this morning particularly obliged to her for coming, seemed hardly to have expected her, though it had been an appointment. An account of the concert was immediately claimed, and Anne's recollections of the concert were quite happy enough to animate her features and make her rejoice to talk of it. All that she could tell, she told most gladly. But the all was little for one who had been there, and unsatisfactory for such an inquirer as Mrs. Smith, who had already heard, through the shortcut of a laundress and a waiter, rather more of the general success and produce of the evening than Anne could relate, and who now asked in vain for several particulars of the company. Everybody of any consequence or notoriety in Bath was well known by name to Mrs. Smith. The little dirans were there, I conclude, said she, with their mouths open to catch the music like unfledged sparrows ready to be fed. They never miss a concert. Yes, I did not see them myself, but I heard Mr. Elliott say they were in the room. The Ibbotsons were they there, and the two new beauties with the tall Irish officer, who was talked of for one of them? I do not know. I do not think they were. Old Lady Mary MacLean. I need not ask after her. She never misses, I know, and you must have seen her. She must have been in your own circle, for as you went with Lady Del Rimpel, you were in the seats of grandeur round the orchestra, of course. No, that was what I dreaded. It would have been very unpleasant to me in every respect. But happily Lady Del Rimpel always chooses to be farther off, and we were exceedingly well placed, that is, for hearing. I must not say for seeing, because I appear to have seen very little. Oh, you saw enough for your own amusement. I can understand. There is a sort of domestic enjoyment to be known even in a crowd, and this you had. You are a large party in yourselves, and you wanted nothing beyond. Ah, but I ought to have looked about me more, said Anne, conscious while she spoke, that there had in fact been no want of looking about, that the object only had been deficient. No, no, you were better employed. You need not tell me that you had a pleasant evening. I see it in your eye. I perfectly see how the hours passed, that you had always something agreeable to listen to. In the intervals of the concert it was conversation. Anne half smiled and said, Do you see that in my eye? Yes, I do. Your countenance perfectly informs me that you were in company last night, with the person whom you think the most agreeable in the world, the person who interests you at this present time, more than all the rest of the world put together. A blush overspread Anne's cheeks. She could say nothing. And such being the case, continued Mrs. Smith, after a short pause, I hope you believe that I do know how to value your kindness in coming to me this morning. It is really very good of you to come and sit with me when you must have so many pleasanter demands upon your time. Anne heard nothing of this. She was still in the astonishment and confusion excited by her friend's penetration, unable to imagine how any report of Captain Wentworth could have reached her. After another short silence, Pray, said Mrs. Smith, is Mr. Elliot aware of your acquaintance with me? Does he know that I am in Bath? Mr. Elliot, repeated Anne, looking up surprised. A moment's reflection showed her the mistake she had been under. She caught it instantaneously, and recovering courage with the feeling of safety, soon added, more composedly, Are you acquainted with Mr. Elliot? I have been a good deal acquainted with him, replied Mrs. Smith gravely. But it seems worn out now. It is a great while since we met. I was not at all aware of this. You never mentioned it before. Had I known it, I would have had the pleasure of talking to him about you. To confess the truth, said Mrs. Smith, assuming her usual air of cheerfulness. That is exactly the pleasure I want you to have. I want you to talk about me to Mr. Elliot. I want your interest with him. He can be of essential service to me, and if you would have the goodness, my dear Miss Elliot, to make it an object to yourself, of course it is done. I should be extremely happy. I hope you cannot doubt my willingness to be of even the slightest use to you, replied Anne. But I suspect that you are considering me as having a higher claim on Mr. Elliot, a greater right to influence him, than is really the case. I am sure you have somehow or other imbibed such a notion. You must consider me only as Mr. Elliot's relation. If in that light there is anything which you suppose his cousin might fairly ask of him, I beg you would not hesitate to employ me. Mrs. Smith gave her a penetrating glance, and then, smiling, said, I have been a little premature, I perceive. I beg your pardon. I ought to have waited for official information. But now, my dear Miss Elliot, as an old friend, do give me a hint as to when I may speak. Next week? To be sure by next week I may be allowed to think it all settled, and build my own selfish schemes on Mr. Elliot's good fortune. No, replied Anne, nor next week, nor next, nor next. I assure you that nothing of the sort you are thinking of will be settled any week. I am not going to marry Mr. Elliot. I should like to know why you imagine I am. Mrs. Smith looked at her again, looked earnestly, smiled, shook her head, and exclaimed, Now, how I do wish I understood you. How I do wish I knew what you were at. I have a great idea that you do not designed to be cruel when the right moment comes. Till it does come, you know, we women never mean to have anybody. It is a thing, of course, among us, that every man is refused till he offers. But why should you be cruel? Let me plead for my present friend, I cannot call him, but for my former friend. Where can you look for a more suitable match? Where could you expect a more gentleman like agreeable man? Let me recommend, Mr. Elliot. I am sure you hear nothing but good of him from Colonel Wallace, and who can know him better than Colonel Wallace? My dear Mrs. Smith, Mr. Elliot's wife has not been dead much above half a year. He ought not to be supposed to be paying his addresses to any one. Oh, these are your only objections! cried Mrs. Smith, archly. Oh, Mr. Elliot is safe, and I shall give myself no more trouble about him. Do not forget me when you are married, that's all. Let him know me to be a friend of yours, and then he will think little of the trouble required, which it is very natural for him now, with so many affairs and engagements of his own, to avoid and get rid of as he can. Very natural, perhaps. Ninety-nine out of a hundred would do the same. Of course, he cannot be aware of the importance to me. Well, my dear Miss Elliot, I hope and trust you will be very happy. Mr. Elliot has sense to understand the value of such a woman. Your peace will not be shipwrecked as mine has been. You are safe in all worldly matters, and safe in his character. He will not be led astray. He will not be misled by others to his ruin. No, said Anne. I can readily believe all that of my cousin. He seems to have a calm, decided temper, not at all open to dangerous impressions. I consider him with great respect. I have no reason from anything that has fallen within my observation to do otherwise. But I have not known him long, and he is not a man, I think, to be known intimately soon. Will not this manner of speaking to him, Mrs. Smith, convince you that he is nothing to me? Surely this must be calm enough. And upon my word he is nothing to me. Should he ever propose to me, which I have very little reason to imagine he has any thought of doing, I shall not accept him. I assure you I shall not. I assure you Mr. Elliot had not the share which you have been supposing in whatever pleasure the concert of last night might afford. Not Mr. Elliot. It is not Mr. Elliot that— She stopped, regretting with the deep blush that she had implied so much. But less would hardly have been sufficient. Mrs. Smith would hardly have believed, as soon in Mr. Elliot's failure, but from the perception of there being a somebody else. As it was, she instantly submitted, and with all the semblance of seeing nothing beyond, and Anne, eager to escape further notice, was impatient to know why Mrs. Smith should have fancied she was to marry Mr. Elliot, where she could have received the idea, or from whom she could have heard it. Do tell me how it first came into your head. It first came into my head, replied Mrs. Smith, upon finding how much you were together, and feeling it to be the most profitable thing in the world to be wished for by everybody belonging to either of you. And you may depend upon it that all your acquaintances have disposed of you in the same way. But I never heard it spoken of till two days ago. And has it, indeed, been spoken of? Did you observe the woman who opened the door to you when you called yesterday? No. Was it not Mrs. Speed, as usual, or the maid? I observed no one in particular. It was my friend Mrs. Rook, nurse Rook, who, by the by, had a great curiosity to see you, and was delighted to be in the way to let you in. She came away from Marlborough buildings only on Sunday, and she it was who told me you were to marry Mr. Elliot. She had had it from Mrs. Wallace herself, which did not seem bad authority. She sat an hour with me on Monday evening, and gave me the whole history. The whole history! repeated Anne, laughing. She could not make a very long history, I think, of one such little article of unfounded news. Mrs. Smith said nothing. But, continued Anne presently, though there is no truth in my having this claim on Mr. Elliot, I should be extremely happy to be of use to you in any way that I could. Shall I mention to him your being in Bath? Shall I take any message? No, I thank you. No, certainly not. In the warmth of the moment, and under a mistaken impression, I might perhaps have endeavored to interest you in some circumstances, but not now. No, I thank you I have nothing to trouble you with. I think you spoke of having known Mr. Elliot many years. I did. Not before he married, I suppose. Yes, he was not married when I knew him first. And, were you much acquainted? Intimately. Indeed. Well, then do tell me what he was at that time of life. I have a great curiosity to know what Mr. Elliot was as a very young man. Was he at all, such as he appears now? I have not seen Mr. Elliot these three years, was Mrs. Smith's answer, given so gravely that it was impossible to pursue the subject further, and Anne felt that she had gained nothing but an increase of curiosity. They were both silent. Mrs. Smith, very thoughtful. At last... I beg your pardon, my dear Miss Elliot. She cried in her natural tone of cordiality. I beg your pardon for the short answers I have been giving you, but I have been uncertain what I ought to do. I have been doubting and considering as to what I ought to tell you. There were many things to be taken into the account. One hates to be officious, to be giving bad impressions, making mischief. Even the smooth surface of a family union seems worth preserving, though there may be nothing durable beneath. However, I have determined. I think I am right. I think you ought to be made acquainted with Mr. Elliot's real character. Though I fully believe that at present you have not the smallest intention of accepting him, there is no saying what may happen. You might, some time or other, be differently affected towards him. Hear the truth, therefore, now, while you are unprejudiced. Mr. Elliot is a man without heart or conscience, a designing, wary, cold-blooded being who thinks only of himself, who, for his own interest or ease would be guilty of any cruelty or any treachery that could be perpetrated without risk of his general character. He has no feeling for others. Those whom he has been the chief cause of leading into ruin, he can neglect and desert without the smallest compunction. He is totally beyond the reach of any sentiment of justice or compassion. Oh, he is black at heart, hollow and black! Anne's astonished air and exclamation of wonder made her pause, and in a calmer manner she added, Ah! my expressions startle you. You must allow for an injured angry woman. But I will try to command myself. I will not abuse him. I will only tell you what I have found him. Facts shall speak. He was the intimate friend of my dear husband, who trusted and loved him, and thought him as good as himself. The intimacy had been formed before our marriage. I found the most intimate friends, and I, too, became excessively pleased with Mr. Elliot, and entertained the highest opinion of him. At nineteen, you know, one does not think very seriously, but Mr. Elliot appeared to me quite as good as others, and much more agreeable than most others, and we were almost always together. We were principally in town, living in very good style. He was then the inferior in circumstances. He was then the poor one. He had chambers in the temple, and it was as much as he could do to support the appearance of a gentleman. He had always a home with us whenever he chose it. He was always welcome. He was like a brother. My poor Charles, who had the finest, most generous spirit in the world, would have divided his last farthing with him. I know that his purse was open to him. I know that he often assisted him. Oh, this must have been about that very period of Mr. Elliot's life, said Anne, which has always excited my particular curiosity. It must have been about the same time that he became known to my father and sister. I never knew him myself. I only heard of him. But there was a something in his conduct then, with regard to my father and sister, and afterwards in the circumstances of his marriage, which I could never quite reconcile with present times. It seemed to announce a different sort of man. Oh, I know it all! I know it all! cried Mrs. Smith. He had been introduced to Sir Walter and your sister before I was acquainted with him, but I heard him speak of them for ever. I know he was invited and encouraged, and I know he did not choose to go. I can satisfy you, perhaps, on points which you would little expect, and as to his marriage, I knew all about it at the time. I was privy to all the fours and against. I was the friend to whom he confided his hopes and plans, and though I did not know his wife previously, her inferior situation in society, indeed, rendered that impossible. Yet I knew her all her life afterwards, or at least till within the last two years of her life, and can answer any question you wish to put. Nay, said Anne, I have no particular inquiry to make about her. I have always understood they were not a happy couple. But I should like to know why, at that time of his life, he should slight my father's acquaintance as he did. My father was certainly disposed to take very kind and proper notice of him. Why did Mr. Elliot draw back? Mr. Elliot, replied Mrs. Smith, at that period of his life had one object in view—to make his fortune, and by a rather quicker process than the law. He was determined to make it by marriage. He was determined, at least, not to mar it by an imprudent marriage. And I know it was his belief, whether justly or not, of course I cannot decide, that your father and sister, in their civilities and invitations, were designing a match between the heir and the young lady, and it was impossible that such a match should have answered his ideas of wealth and independence. That was his motive for drawing back, I can assure you. He told me the whole story. He had no concealments with me. It was curious that having just left you behind me in Bath, my first and principal acquaintance on marrying should be your cousin, and that through him I should be continually hearing of your father and sister. He described one Miss Elliot, and I thought very affectionately of the other. Perhaps, cried Anne, struck by a sudden idea, you sometimes spoke of me to Mr. Elliot. Oh, to be sure I did. Very often. I used to boast of my own Anne Elliot, and vouch for your being a very different creature from— she checked herself just in time. Oh, this accounts for something which Mr. Elliot said last night, cried Anne. This explains it. I found he had been used to hear of me. I could not comprehend how. What wild imaginations one forms, where dear self is concerned, how sure to be mistaken. But I beg your pardon, I have interrupted you. Mr. Elliot married then completely for money, the circumstance probably, which first opened your eyes to his character. Mrs. Smith hesitated a little here. Oh, those things are too common. When one lives in the world, a man or woman's marrying for money is too common to strike one as it ought. I was very young and associated only with the young, and we were a thoughtless gay set without any strict rules of conduct. We lived for enjoyment. I think differently now. Time and sickness and sorrow have given me other notions. But at that period I must own I saw nothing reprehensible in what Mr. Elliot was doing. To do the best for himself passed as a duty. But was she not a very low woman? Yes, which I objected to, but he would not regard. Money, money was all that he wanted. Her father was a grazier, her grandfather had been a butcher, but that was all nothing. She was a fine woman, had had a decent education, was brought forward by some cousins, thrown by chance into Mr. Elliot's company, and fell in love with him. And not a difficulty or a scruple was there on his side with respect to her birth. All his caution was spent in being secured of the real amount of her fortune, before he committed himself. Depend upon it, whatever esteem Mr. Elliot may have for his own situation in life now, as a young man he had not the smallest value for it. His chance of the Kellynch estate was something, but all the honour of the family he held as cheap as dirt. I have often heard him declare that if baronetsies were saleable anybody should have his for fifty pounds, arms and motto, name and livery included. But I will not pretend to repeat half that I used to hear him say on that subject. It would not be fair. And yet you ought to have proof, for what is all this but assertion? And you shall have proof. Oh, indeed, my dear Mrs. Smith, I want none, cried Anne. You have asserted nothing contradictory to what Mr. Elliot appeared to be some years ago. This is all in confirmation, rather, of what we used to hear and believe. I am more curious to know why he should be so different now. But for my satisfaction, if you will have the goodness to bring for Mary, stay. I am sure you will have the still greater goodness of going yourself into my bedroom and bringing me the small inlaid box which you will find on the upper shelf of the closet. Anne, seeing her friend to be earnestly bent on it, did as she was desired. The box was brought and placed before her, and Mrs. Smith sighing over it as she unlocked it said, This is full of papers belonging to him, to my husband, a small portion only of what I had to look over when I lost him. The letter I am looking for was one written by Mr. Elliot to him, before our marriage, and happened to be saved—why one can hardly imagine. But he was careless and unmythotical like other men about those things, and when I came to examine his papers I found it with the others, still more trivial from different people scattered here and there, while many letters and memorandums of real importance had been destroyed. Here it is. I would not burn it, because being even then very little satisfied with Mr. Elliot, I was determined to preserve every document of former intimacy. I have now another motive for being glad that I can produce it. This was the letter, directed to Charles Smith Esquire, Tumbridge Wells, and dated from London, as far back as July 1803. Dear Smith, I have received yours. Your kindness almost overpowers me. I wish nature had made such hearts as yours more common, but I have lived three and twenty years in the world, and have seen none like it. At present, believe me, I have no need of your services being in cash again. Give me joy. I have got rid of Sir Walter and Miss. They are gone back to Kellynch and almost made me swear to visit them this summer, but my first visit to Kellynch will be with a surveyor to tell me how to bring it with best advantage to the hammer. The baronet nevertheless is not unlikely to marry again. He is quite full enough. If he does, however, they will leave me in peace, which may be a decent equivalent for the reversion. He is worse than last year. I wish I had any name but Elliot. I am sick of it. The name of Walter I can drop, thank God, and I desire you will never insult me with my second W again, meaning for the rest of my life to be only yours truly, William Elliot. Such a letter could not be read without putting Anne in a glow. And Mrs. Smith, observing the high colour in her face, said, The language I know is highly disrespectful. Though I have forgot the exact terms, I have a perfect impression of the general meaning. But it shows you the man. Mark his professions to my poor husband. Can anything be stronger? Anne could not immediately get over the shock and mortification of finding such words applied to her father. She was obliged to recollect that her seeing the letter was a violation of the laws of honour, that no one ought to be judged or to be known by such testimonies, that no private correspondence could bear the eye of others, before she could recover calmness enough to return the letter which she had been meditating over, and say, Thank you. This is full proof, undoubtedly. Proof of everything you were saying. But why be acquainted with us now? I can explain this to, cried Mrs. Smith, smiling. Can you really? Yes. I have shown you, Mr. Elliot, as he was a dozen years ago, and I will show him as he is now. I cannot produce written proof again, but I can give as authentic oral testimony as you desire of what he is now wanting and what he is now doing. He is no hypocrite now. He truly wants to marry you. His present attentions to your family are very sincere, quite from the heart. I will give you my authority. His friend, Colonel Wallace. Colonel Wallace! Are you acquainted with him? No. It does not come to me in quite so direct a line as that. It takes a bend or two, but nothing of consequence. The stream is as good as at first. The little rubbish it collects in the turnings is easily moved away. Mr. Elliot talks unreservedly to Colonel Wallace of his views on you, which said Colonel Wallace, I imagine to be, in himself a sensible, careful, discerning sort of character. But Colonel Wallace has a very pretty, silly wife, to whom he tells things which he had better not, and he repeats it all to her. She, in the overflowing spirits of her recovery, repeats it all to her nurse, and the nurse, knowing my acquaintance with you very naturally, brings it all to me. On Monday evening my good friend Mrs. Rook let me thus much into the secrets of Marlborough buildings. When I talked of a whole history therefore, you see I was not romancing so much as you supposed. My dear Mrs. Smith, your authority is deficient. This will not do. Mr. Elliot's having any views on me will not in the least account for the efforts he made towards a reconciliation with my father. That was all prior to my coming to Bath. I found them on most friendly terms when I arrived. I know you did. I know it all perfectly, but, indeed, Mrs. Smith, we must not expect to get real information in such a line. Facts or opinions which are to pass through the hands of so many, to be misconceived by folly in one, and ignorance in another, can hardly have much truth left. Only give me a hearing. You will soon be able to judge of the general credit due, by listening to some particulars which you can yourself immediately contradict or confirm. Nobody supposes that you were his first inducement. He had seen you indeed, before he came to Bath, and admired you but without knowing it to be you. So says my historian at least. Is this true? Did he see you last summer or autumn, somewhere down in the west, to use her own words, without knowing it to be you? He certainly did. So far it is very true. At Lyme. I happened to be at Lyme. Well! continued Mrs. Smith triumphantly. Grant my friend the credit due to the establishment of the first point asserted. He saw you then at Lyme, and liked you so well as to be exceedingly pleased to meet with you again in Camden Place, as Miss Ann Elliot, and from that moment I have no doubt had a double motive in his visits there. But there was another, and an earlier, which I will now explain. If there is anything in my story which you know to be either false or improbable, stop me. My account states that your sister's friend, the lady now staying with you, whom I have heard you mention, came to bath with Miss Elliot and Sir Walter as long ago as September, in short, when they first came themselves, and has been staying there ever since, that she is a clever, insinuating, handsome woman, poor and plausible, and altogether such in situation and manner as to give a general idea among Sir Walter's acquaintances of her meaning to be Lady Elliot, and as general a surprise that Mrs. Elliot should be, apparently, blind to the danger. Here Mrs. Smith paused a moment, but Ann had not a word to say, and she continued. This was the light in which it appeared to those who knew the family, long before you returned to it, and Colonel Wallace had his eye upon your father enough to be sensible of it, though he did not then visit in Camden Place. But his regard for Mr. Elliot gave him an interest in watching all that was going on there, and when Mr. Elliot came to bath for a day or two, as he happened to do a little before Christmas, Colonel Wallace made him acquainted with the appearance of things, and the reports beginning to prevail. Now, you are to understand that time had worked a very material change in Mr. Elliot's opinions as to the value of a baronetcy. Upon all points of blood and connection he is a completely altered man. Having long had as much money as he could spend, nothing to wish for on the side of avarice or indulgence, he has been gradually learning to pin his happiness upon the consequence he is heir to. I thought it coming on before our acquaintance ceased, but it is now a confirmed feeling. He cannot bear the idea of not being Sir William. You may guess, therefore, that the news he heard from his friend could not be very agreeable, and you may guess what it produced, the resolution of coming back to bath as soon as possible, and of fixing himself there for a time, with the view of renewing his former acquaintance, and recovering such a footing in the family, as might give him the means of ascertaining the degree of his danger, and of circumventing the lady, if he found it material. This was agreed upon between the two friends, as the only thing to be done, and Colonel Wallace was to assist in every way that he could. He was to be introduced, and Mrs. Wallace was to be introduced, and everybody was to be introduced. Mr. Elliott came back accordingly, and on application was forgiven, as you know, and readmitted into the family. And there it was his constant object, and his only object, till your arrival added another motive, to watch Sir Walter and Mrs. Clay. He omitted no opportunity of being with them, through himself in their way, called at all hours, but I need not be particular on this subject. You can imagine what an artful man would do, and with this guide, perhaps, may recollect what you have seen him do. Yes, said Anne. You tell me nothing which does not accord with what I have known, or could imagine. There is always something offensive in the details of cunning. The maneuvers of selfishness and duplicity must ever be revolting, but I have heard nothing which really surprises me. I know those who would be shocked by such a representation of Mr. Elliott, who would have difficulty in believing it, but I have never been satisfied. I have always wanted some other motive for his conduct than appeared. I should like to know his present opinion as to the probability of the event he has been in dread of, whether he considers the danger to be lessening or not. Lessening, I understand, replied Mrs. Smith. He thinks Mrs. Clay afraid of him, aware that he sees through her, and not daring to proceed as she might do in his absence. But since he must be absent some time or other, I do not perceive how he can ever be secure while she holds her present influence. Mrs. Wallace has an amusing idea, as Nurse tells me, that it is to be put into the marriage articles when you and Mr. Elliott marry, that your father is not to marry Mrs. Clay. A scheme worthy of Mrs. Wallace's understanding by all accounts, but my sensible nurse Rook sees the absurdity of it. Why, to be sure, Mom, said she, it would not prevent his marrying anybody else. And, indeed, to own the truth, I do not think Nurse, in her heart, is a very strenuous opposer of Sir Walter's making a second match. She must be allowed to be a favourer of matrimony, you know. And, since self-will intrude, who can say that she may not have some flying visions of attending the next Lady Elliott through Mrs. Wallace's recommendation? I am very glad to know all this, said Anne, after a little thoughtfulness. It will be more painful to me in some respects to be in company with him, but I shall know better what to do. My line of conduct will be more direct. Mr. Elliott is evidently a disingenuous, artificial, worldly man, who has had never any better principle to guide him than selfishness. But Mr. Elliott was not yet done with. Mrs. Smith had been carried away from her first direction, and Anne had forgotten, in the interest of her own family concerns, how much had been originally implied against him. But her attention was now called to the explanation of those first hints, and she listened to a recital which, if it did not perfectly justify the unqualified bitterness of Mrs. Smith, proved him to have been very unfeeling in his conduct towards her. Very deficient, both in justice and compassion. She learned that, the intimacy between them continuing unimpaired by Mr. Elliott's marriage, they had been as before always together, and Mr. Elliott had led his friend into expenses much beyond his fortune. Mrs. Smith did not want to take the blame to herself, and was most tender of throwing any on her husband. But Anne could collect that their income had never been equal to their style of living, and that from the first there had been a great deal of general and joint extravagance. From his wife's account of him, she could discern Mr. Smith to have been a man of warm feelings, easy temper, careless habits, and not strong understanding, much more amiable than his friend, and very unlike him, led by him, and probably despised by him. Mr. Elliott raised by his marriage to great affluence, and disposed to every gratification of pleasure and vanity which could be commanded without involving himself, for with all his self-indulgence he had become a prudent man. And beginning to be rich, just as his friend ought to have found himself to be poor, seemed to have had no concern at all for that friend's probable finances, but on the contrary had been prompting and encouraging expenses which could end only in ruin. Anne, the Smiths accordingly, had been ruined. The husband had died just in time to be spared the full knowledge of it. They had previously known embarrassments enough to try the friendship of their friends, and to prove that Mr. Elliott's had better not be tried. But it was not till his death that the wretched state of his affairs was fully known. With a confidence in Mr. Elliott's regard, more creditable to his feelings than his judgment, Mr. Smith had appointed him the executor of his will. But Mr. Elliott would not act, and the difficulties and distresses which this refusal had heaped on her, in addition to the inevitable sufferings of her situation, had been such as could not be related without anguish of spirit, or listened to without corresponding indignation. Anne was shown some letters of his on the occasion, answers to urgent applications from Mrs. Smith, which all breathed the same stern resolution of not engaging in a fruitless trouble. And, under a cold civility, the same hard-hearted indifference to any of the evils it might bring on her. It was a dreadful picture of ingratitude and inhumanity. And Anne felt at some moments that no flagrant open crime could have been worse. She had a great deal to listen to, all the particulars of past sad scenes, all the minutiae of distress upon distress, which in former conversations had been merely hinted at, were dwelt on now with a natural indulgence. Anne could perfectly comprehend the exquisite relief, and was only the more inclined to wonder at the composure of her friend's usual state of mind. There was one circumstance in the history of her grievances of particular irritation. She had good reason to believe that some property of her husband in the West Indies, which had been for many years under a sort of sequestration for the payment of its own encumbrances, might be recoverable by proper measures, and this property, though not large, would be enough to make her comparatively rich. But there was nobody to stir in it. Mr. Elliot would do nothing, and she could do nothing herself, equally disabled from personal exertion by her state of bodily weakness, and from employing others by her want of money. She had no natural connections to assist her even with their counsel, and she could not afford to purchase the assistance of the law. This was a cruel aggravation of actually straightened means, to feel that she ought to be in better circumstances, that a little trouble in the right place might do it, and to fear that delay might be even weakening her claims was hard to bear. It was on this point that she had hoped to engage Anne's good offices with Mr. Elliot. She had previously, in the anticipation of their marriage, been very apprehensive of losing her friend by it. But on being assured that he could have made no attempt of that nature, since he did not even know her to be in bath, it immediately occurred that something might be done in her favour by the influence of the woman he loved, and she had been hastily preparing to interest Anne's feelings as far as the observances, due to Mr. Elliot's character would allow, when Anne's refutation of the supposed engagement changed the face of everything. And while it took from her the new-formed hope of succeeding in the object of her first anxiety, left her at least the comfort of telling the whole story her own way. After listening to this full description of Mr. Elliot, Anne could not but express some surprise at Mrs. Smith's having spoken of him so favourably in the beginning of their conversation. She had seemed to recommend and praise him. My dear, was Mrs. Smith's reply. There was nothing else to be done. I considered your marrying him a certain, though he might not yet have made the offer. And I could no more speak the truth of him than if he had been your husband. My heart bled for you as I talked of happiness. And yet he is sensible, he is agreeable, and with such a woman as you it was not absolutely hopeless. He was very unkind to his first wife. They were wretched together. But she was too ignorant and giddy for respect, and he had never loved her. I was willing to hope that you must fare better. Anne could just acknowledge within herself such a possibility of having been induced to marry him as made her shudder at the idea of the misery which must have followed. It was just possible that she might have been persuaded by Lady Russell, and under such a supposition which would have been most miserable when time had to closed all, too late? It was very desirable that Lady Russell should be no longer deceived, and one of the concluding arrangements of this important conference, which carried them through the greater part of the morning, was that Anne had full liberty to communicate to her friend everything relative to Mrs. Smith, in which his conduct was involved.