Austen Said:

"recollect what you are saying."

"Perhaps it is to tell you that your cousin Fanny is married?"

"Well, then, I know who it is from, Colonel. And I hope she is well."

"Oh! you know who I mean."

"In town!"

"What can you have to do in town at this time of year?"

"We must go,"

"It shall not be put off when we are so near it. You cannot go to town till tomorrow, Brandon, that is all."

"If you would but let us know what your business is,"

"we might see whether it could be put off or not."

"There is no persuading you to change your mind, Brandon, I know of old,"

"when once you are determined on anything. But, however, I hope you will think better of it. Consider, here are the two Miss Careys come over from Newton, the three Miss Dashwoods walked up from the cottage, and Mr. Willoughby got up two hours before his usual time, on purpose to go to Whitwell."

"Well, then, when will you come back again?"

"I hope we shall see you at Barton,"

"as soon as you can conveniently leave town; and we must put off the party to Whitwell till you return."

"Oh! he must and shall come back,"

"If he is not here by the end of the week, I shall go after him."

"Ay, so do, Sir John,"

"and then perhaps you may find out what his business is."

"I do not want to pry into other men's concerns. I suppose it is something he is ashamed of."

"You do not go to town on horseback, do you?"

"Well, as you are resolved to go, I wish you a good journey. But you had better change your mind."

"Come Colonel,"

"before you go, do let us know what you are going about."

"I can guess what his business is, however,"

"Yes; it is about Miss Williams, I am sure."

"What! do not you know who Miss Williams is? I am sure you must have heard of her before. She is a relation of the Colonel's, my dear; a very near relation. We will not say how near, for fear of shocking the young ladies."

"She is his natural daughter."

"Oh, yes; and as like him as she can stare. I dare say the Colonel will leave her all his fortune."

"I have found you out in spite of all your tricks. I know where you spent the morning."

"Yes, yes, Mr. Impudence, I know that very well, and I was determined to find out WHERE you had been to. — I hope you like your house, Miss Marianne. It is a very large one, I know; and when I come to see you, I hope you will have new-furnished it, for it wanted it very much when I was there six years ago."

"Something very melancholy must be the matter, I am sure,"

"I could see it in his face. Poor man! I am afraid his circumstances may be bad. The estate at Delaford was never reckoned more than two thousand a year, and his brother left everything sadly involved. I do think he must have been sent for about money matters, for what else can it be? I wonder whether it is so. I would give anything to know the truth of it. Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by the bye, I dare say it is, because he looked so conscious when I mentioned her. May be she is ill in town; nothing in the world more likely, for I have a notion she is always rather sickly. I would lay any wager it is about Miss Williams. It is not so very likely he should be distressed in his circumstances NOW, for he is a very prudent man, and to be sure must have cleared the estate by this time. I wonder what it can be! May be his sister is worse at Avignon, and has sent for him over. His setting off in such a hurry seems very like it. Well, I wish him out of all his trouble with all my heart, and a good wife into the bargain."

"Thank you, Willoughby. But you may be assured that I would not sacrifice one sentiment of local attachment of yours, or of any one whom I loved, for all the improvements in the world. Depend upon it that whatever unemployed sum may remain, when I make up my accounts in the spring, I would even rather lay it uselessly by than dispose of it in a manner so painful to you. But are you really so attached to this place as to see no defect in it?"

"Shall we see you tomorrow to dinner?"

"I do not ask you to come in the morning, for we must walk to the park, to call on Lady Middleton."

"Is anything the matter with her?"

"is she ill?"

"Disappointment?"

"To London! — and are you going this morning?"

"This is very unfortunate. But Mrs. Smith must be obliged; — and her business will not detain you from us long I hope."

"And is Mrs. Smith your only friend? Is Allenham the only house in the neighbourhood to which you will be welcome? For shame, Willoughby, can you wait for an invitation here?"

"I have only to add, my dear Willoughby, that at Barton cottage you will always be welcome; for I will not press you to return here immediately, because you only can judge how far THAT might be pleasing to Mrs. Smith; and on this head I shall be no more disposed to question your judgment than to doubt your inclination."

"Our dear Willoughby is now some miles from Barton, Elinor,"

"and with how heavy a heart does he travel?"

"It was not inclination that he wanted, Elinor; I could plainly see THAT. He had not the power of accepting it. I have thought it all over I assure you, and I can perfectly account for every thing that at first seemed strange to me as well as to you."

"Yes. I have explained it to myself in the most satisfactory way; — but you, Elinor, who love to doubt where you can — it will not satisfy YOU, I know; but you shall not talk ME out of my trust in it. I am persuaded that Mrs. Smith suspects his regard for Marianne, disapproves of it, (perhaps because she has other views for him,) and on that account is eager to get him away; — and that the business which she sends him off to transact is invented as an excuse to dismiss him. This is what I believe to have happened. He is, moreover, aware that she DOES disapprove the connection, he dares not therefore at present confess to her his engagement with Marianne, and he feels himself obliged, from his dependent situation, to give into her schemes, and absent himself from Devonshire for a while. You will tell me, I know, that this may or may NOT have happened; but I will listen to no cavil, unless you can point out any other method of understanding the affair as satisfactory at this. And now, Elinor, what have you to say?"

"Then you would have told me, that it might or might not have happened. Oh, Elinor, how incomprehensible are your feelings! You had rather take evil upon credit than good. You had rather look out for misery for Marianne, and guilt for poor Willoughby, than an apology for the latter. You are resolved to think him blameable, because he took leave of us with less affection than his usual behaviour has shewn. And is no allowance to be made for inadvertence, or for spirits depressed by recent disappointment? Are no probabilities to be accepted, merely because they are not certainties? Is nothing due to the man whom we have all such reason to love, and no reason in the world to think ill of? To the possibility of motives unanswerable in themselves, though unavoidably secret for a while? And, after all, what is it you suspect him of?"

"Do not blame him, however, for departing from his character, where the deviation is necessary. But you really do admit the justice of what I have said in his defence? — I am happy — and he is acquitted."

"Concealing it from us! my dear child, do you accuse Willoughby and Marianne of concealment? This is strange indeed, when your eyes have been reproaching them every day for incautiousness."