CHAPTER XII Lord and Henrietta, finding themselves the earliest of the party the next morning, agreed to stroll down to the sea before breakfast. They went to the sands to watch the flowing of the tide, which a fine southeast early breeze was bringing in with all the grandeur which so flat ashore admitted. They praised the morning, gloried in the sea, sympathized in the delight of the fresh feeling breeze, and were silent. So Henrietta suddenly began again with, Oh yes, I am quite convinced that with very few exceptions the sea air always does good. There can be no doubt of it having been of the greatest service to Dr. Shirley after his illness last spring twelve month. He declares himself that coming to Lyme for a month did him more good than all the medicine he took, and that being by the sea always makes him feel young again. Now I cannot help thinking at a pity that he does not live entirely by the sea. I think he had better leave upper-cross entirely and fix that line. Do not you, Anne. Do not you agree with me that it is the best thing he could do, both for himself and Mrs. Shirley? She has cousins here, you know, and many acquaintance, which would make it cheerful for her. And I am sure she would be glad to get to a place where she could have medical attendance at hand in case of his having another seizure.  I wish his friends would propose it to him. I really think they ought. And as to procuring a dispensation, there could be no difficulty at his time of life and with his character. My only doubt is whether anything could persuade him to leave his parish. He is so very strict and scrupulous in his notions overscrupulous, I must say.  Do not you think it is quite a mistaken point of conscience when a clergyman sacrifices his health for the sake of duties, which may be just as well performed by another person? And at Lyme, too, only seventeen miles off, he would be near enough to hear if people thought there was anything to complain of. Anne smiled more than once to herself during this speech, and entered into the subject as ready to do good by entering into the feelings of a young lady as of a young man, though here it was good of a lower standard, for what could be offered but general acquiescence. She said all that was reasonable and proper on the business, felt the claims of Dr. Shirley to repose as she ought, saw how very desirable it was that he should have some active, respectable young man as a resident curate, and was even courteous enough to hint at the advantage of such a resident curates being married. I wish, said Henrietta, very well pleased with her companion. I wish Lady Russell lived it up across and were intimate with Dr. Shirley. I have always heard of Lady Russell as a woman of the greatest influence with everybody. I always look upon her as able to persuade a person to anything. I am afraid of her, as I have told you before, quite afraid of her, because she is so very clever, but I respect her amazingly, and I wish we had such a neighbour at upper-cross. Anne was amused by Henrietta's manner of being grateful, and amused also that the course of events and the new interests of Henrietta's views should have placed her friend at all in favour with any of the Musgrove family. She had only time, however, for a general answer, and a wish that such another woman were at upper-cross, before all subjects suddenly ceased, on seeing Louisa and Captain Wentworth coming towards them. They came also for a stroll till breakfast was likely to be ready, but Louisa recollecting immediately afterwards that she had to procure something at a shop, invited them all to go back with her into the town. They were all at her disposal. When they came to the steps, leading upwards from the beach, a gentleman at the same moment, preparing to come down, politely drew back, and stopped to give them way. They ascended and passed him, and as they passed, Anne's face caught his eye, and he looked at her with a degree of earnest admiration, which she could not be insensible of. She was looking remarkably well, her very regular, very pretty features, having the bloom and freshness of youth restored by the fine wind which had been blowing on her complexion, and by the animation of eye which she had also produced. It was evident that the gentleman, completely a gentleman in manner, admired her exceedingly. Captain Wentworth looked round at her instantly in a way which she'd is noticing of it. He gave her momentary glance, a glance of brightness which seemed to say, that man is struck with you, and even I, at this moment, see something like Anne Elliot again. After attending Louisa through her business and loitering about a little longer, they returned to the inn, and Anne, in passing afterwards quickly from her own chamber to their dining room, had nearly run against the very same gentleman as he came out of an adjoining apartment. She had before conjectured him to be a stranger like themselves, and determined that a well-looking groom, who was strolling about near the two inns as they came back, should be his servant. Both master and man, being in mourning, assisted the idea. It was now proved that he belonged to the same inn as themselves, and this second meeting, short as it was, also proved again by the gentleman's looks that he thought hers very lovely, and by the readiness and propriety of his apologies that he was a man of exceedingly good manners. He seemed about thirty, and though not handsome, had an agreeable person, and felt that she should like to know who he was. They had nearly done breakfast when the sound of a carriage, almost the first they had heard since entering Lyme, drew half the party to the window. It was a gentleman's carriage, a curicle, but only coming round from the stable-yard to the front door. Somebody must be going away. It was driven by a servant in mourning. The word curicle made Charles Musgrove jump up that he might compare it with his own. The servant in mourning roused Anne's curiosity, and the whole six were collected to look by the time the owner of the curicle was to be seen, issuing from the door admits the bows and civilities of the household, and taking his seat to drive off. Ah! cried Captain Wentworth instantly, and with half a glance at Anne. It is the very man we passed. The Miss Musgrove's agreed to it, and having all kindly watched him as far up the hill as they could, they returned to the breakfast table. The waiter came into the room soon afterwards. A praise, said Captain Wentworth, immediately, can you tell us the name of the gentleman who has just gone away? Yes, sir. A Mr. Elliot, a gentleman of large fortune, came in last night from Sidnath. Dare say you heard the carriage, sir, while you were at dinner, and going on now for Crookran, on his way to Bath and London. Elliot. Many had looked on each other, and many had repeated the name before all this had been got through, even by the smart rapidity of a waiter. Bless me, cried Mary, it must be our cousin. It must be our Mr. Elliot, it must indeed. Charles Anne must it not. In mourning, you see, just as our Mr. Elliot must be, how very extraordinary, in the very same inn with us. Anne must it not be our Mr. Elliot, my father's next heir. A praise, though, turning to the waiter. Did you not hear? Did not his servant say whether he belonged to the Kellynch family? No, ma'am. He did not mention no particular family, but he said his master was a very rich gentleman, and would be a baronite some day. Dare you see, cried Mary, in an ecstasy? Just as I said, heir to Sir Walter Elliot, I was sure that would come out if it was so. Depend upon it. That is a circumstance which his servants take care to publish wherever he goes. But Anne only conceived how extraordinary. I wish I looked at him more. I wish we had been aware in time who it was that he might have been introduced to us. What a pity we should not have been introduced to each other. Do you think he had the Elliot countenance? I hardly looked at him, I was looking at the horses, but I think he had something of the Elliot countenance. I wonder the arms did not strike me. Oh, the great coat was hanging over the panel and hid the arms, though it did, otherwise I am sure I should have observed them, and the livery too, if the servant had not been in, one should have known him by the livery. Putting all these very extraordinary circumstances together, said Captain Wentworth, we must consider it to be the arrangement of providence that you should not be introduced to your cousin. When she could command Mary's attention, Anne quietly tried to convince her that their father and Mr. Elliot had not, for many years, been on such terms as to make the power of attempting an introduction at all desirable. At the same time, however, it was a secret gratification to herself to have seen her cousin, and to know that the future owner of Kellynch was undoubtedly a gentleman, and had an air of good sense. She would not upon any account mention her having met with him the second time. Luckily, Mary did not much attend to their having passed close by him in their earlier walk, but she would have felt quite ill-used by Anne's having actually run against him in the passage, and received his very polite excuses, while she had never been near him at all. No, that cousinly little interview must remain a perfect secret. Of course, said Mary, you will mention our seeing Mr. Elliot the next time you write to Bath. I think my father is certainly out to hear of it. Do mention all about him. Anne avoided a direct reply, but it was just the circumstance which she considered as not merely unnecessary to be communicated but as what ought to be suppressed. The offence which had been given her father many years back, she knew. Elizabeth's particular share in it she suspected, and that Mr. Elliot's idea always produced irritation in both was beyond a doubt. Mary never wrote to Bath herself. All the toil of keeping up a slow and un-satisfactory correspondence with Elizabeth fell on Anne. Breakfast had not been long over when they were joined by Captain and Mrs. Harville and Captain Benwick, with whom they had appointed to take their last walk about line. They ought to be setting off for upper cross by one, and in the meanwhile were to be altogether and out of doors as long as they could. Anne found Captain Benwick getting near her as soon as they were all fairly in the street. Their conversation the preceding evening did not disinclin him to see her again, and they walked together some time, talking as before of Mr. Scott and Lord Byron, and still as unable as before, and as unable as any other two readers, to think exactly alike of the merits of either, till something occasioned an almost general change amongst their party, and instead of Captain Benwick she had Captain Harville by her side. Miss Elliott, said he, speaking rather low, you have done a good deed in making that poor fellow talk so much. I wish he could have had such company oftener. It is bad for him, I know, to be shot up as he is, but what can we do? We cannot part. No, said Anne, that I can easily believe to be impossible, but in time perhaps we know what time does in every case of a fiction, and you must remember, Captain Harville, that your friend may yet be called a young mourner. Only last summer, I understand. I, true enough, with a deep sigh, only June, and not known to him perhaps so soon. Not till the first week of August, when he came home from the Cape, just made into the grappler. I was at Plymouth, dreading to hear of him. He sent in letters, but the grappler was under order for Portsmouth. There the news must follow him, but who was to tell it? Not I. I would as soon have been run up to the yard on. Nobody could do it, but that good fellow, appointing to Captain Wentworth. The Laconia had come into Plymouth the week before, no danger of her being sent to see again. He stood his chance for the rest, rode up for leave of absence, but without waiting the return, traveled night and day till he got to Portsmouth, rode off to the grappler that instant, and never left the poor fellow for a week, that's what he did, and nobody else could have saved poor James.  Anne did think on the question with perfect decision, and said as much in reply to, as her own feeling could accomplish, or as his seemed able to bear, for he was too much affected to renew the subject, and when he spoke again it was of something totally different. Mrs. Harville's giving it as her opinion that her husband would have quite walking enough by the time he reached home, determined the direction of all the party in what was to be their last walk. They would accompany them to their door, and then return and set off themselves. By all their calculations there was just time for this, but as they drew near the cob there was such a general wish to walk along it once more, all were so inclined, and Louisa soon grew so determined that the difference of a quarter of an hour it was found would be no difference at all. And so, with all the kind leave taking, and all the kind interchange of invitations and promises which may be imagined, they parted from Captain and Mrs. Harville at their own door, and still accompanied by Captain Benwick, who seemed to cling to them to the last, proceeded to make the proper adduce to the cob. Anne found Captain Benwick again drawing near her. Lord Byron's dark blue seas could not fail of being brought forward by their present view, and she gladly gave him all her attention as long as attention was possible. It was soon drawn per force another way. There was too much wind to make the high part of the new cob pleasant for the ladies, and they agreed to get down the steps to the lower, and all were contented to pass quietly and carefully down the steep fight, excepting Louisa. She must be jumped down them by Captain Wentworth. In all their walks he had had to jump her from the stiles. The sensation was delightful to her. The hardness of the pavement for her feet made him less willing upon the present occasion. He did it, however. She was safely down, and instantly to show her enjoyment ran up the steps to be jumped down again. He advised her against it, thought the jar too great. But no, he reasoned and talked in vain. She smiled and said, I am determined I will. He put out his hands. She was too precipitate by half a second. She fell on the pavement on the lower cob, and was taken up lifeless. There was no wound, no blood, no visible bruise. But her eyes were closed. She breathed not. Her face was like death. The horror of the moment to all who stood around. Captain Wentworth, who had caught her up, knelt with her in his arms, looking on her with a face as pallid as her own in an agony of silence. She is dead! She is dead! Screamed Mary, catching hold of her husband and contributing with his own horror to make him immovable. And in another moment Henrietta, sinking under the conviction, lost her senses too and would have fallen on the steps. But for Captain Benic and Anne, who caught and supported her between them. Is there no one to help me? Were the first words which burst from Captain Wentworth in a tone of despair, and as if all his own strength were gone. Go to him! Go to him! cried Anne, for heaven's sake go to him. I can support her myself. Leave me! Go to him! Rub her hands, rub her temples, hear a sult. Take them, take them! Captain Benic obeyed and Charles at the same moment, disengaging himself from his wife. They were both with him. And Louisa was raised up and supported more firmly between them. And everything was done that Anne had prompted but in vain. While Captain Wentworth, staggering against the wall for his support, exclaimed in the bitterest agony, Oh God! Her father and mother. A surgeon, said Anne. He caught the word. It seemed to rouse him at once, and saying only, True, true, a surgeon this instant was darting away when Anne eagerly suggested, Captain Benic! Would it not be better for Captain Benic? He knows where a surgeon is to be found. Everyone capable of thinking felt the advantage of the idea, and in a moment, it was all done in rapid moments, Captain Benic had resigned the poor corpse-like figure entirely to the brother's care, and was off for the town with the utmost rapidity. As to the wretched party left behind, it could scarcely be said which of the three, who were completely rational, was suffering most. Captain Wentworth, Anne, or Charles, who really a very affectionate brother, hung over Louisa with sobs of grief, and could only turn his eyes from one sister to see the other in a state as insensible, or to witness the hysterical agitations of his wife, calling on him for help which he could not give. Anne, attending with all the strength and zeal and thought which instinct supplied to Henrietta, still tried at intervals to suggest comfort to the others, tried to quiet Mary, to animate Charles, to assuage the feelings of Captain Wentworth. Both seemed to look at her for directions. Anne! Anne! Cried Charles! What is to be done next? What in heaven's name is to be done next? Captain Wentworth's eyes were also turned towards her. Had she not better be carried to the inn? Yes, I am sure. Carry her gently to the inn. Yes, yes, to the inn, repeated Captain Wentworth, comparatively collected and eager to be doing something. I will carry her myself. Musgrove, take care of the others. By this time the report of the accident had spread among the workmen and boatmen about the cob, and many were collected near them, to be useful if wanted, at any rate, to enjoy the sight of a dead young lady, nay, two dead young ladies, for it proved twice as fine as the first report. To some of the best-looking of these good people, Henrietta was consigned, for though partially revived, she was quite helpless, and in this manner, Anne, walking by her side and Charles attending to his wife, they set forward, treading back with feelings unutterable, the ground which so lately, so very lately, and so light of heart they had passed along. They were not off the cob before the Harvills met them. Captain Benwick had been seen flying by their house with a countenance which showed something to be wrong, and they had set off immediately, informed and directed as they passed towards the spot. Shocked as Captain Harvill was, he brought senses and nerves that could be instantly useful, and a look between him and his wife decided what was to be done. She must be taken to their house, almost go to their house, and await the surgeon's arrival there. They would not listen to scruples. He was obeyed. They were all beneath his roof, and while Louisa, under Mrs. Harvill's direction, was conveyed upstairs, and given possession of her own bed, assistance, cordials, restoratives, were supplied by her husband to all who needed them. Louisa had once opened her eyes, but soon closed them again, without apparent consciousness. This had been a proof of life, however, of service to her sister. And Henrietta, though perfectly incapable of being in the same room with Louisa, was kept by the agitation of hope and fear from a return of her own insensibility. Marie, too, was growing calmer. The surgeon was with them almost before it had seemed possible. They were sick with horror while he examined, but he was not hopeless. The head had received a severe contusion, but he had seen greater injuries recovered from. He was by no means hopeless. He spoke cheerfully. That he did not regard it as a desperate case, that he did not say, a few hours must end it, was at first felt beyond the hope of most, and the ecstasy of such a reprieve, the rejoicing, deep and silent after a few fervent ejaculations of gratitude to heaven had been offered, may be conceived. The tone, the look with which, thank God, was uttered by Captain Wentworth, Anne was sure could never be forgotten by her, nor the sight of him afterwards, as he sat near a table, leaning over it with folded arms and face concealed, as if overpowered by the various feelings of his soul, and trying by prayer and reflection to calm them. Louise's limbs had escaped, there was no injury but to the head. It now became necessary for the party to consider what was best to be done, as to their general situation. They were now able to speak to each other and consult. That Louise must remain where she was, however distressing to her friends to be involving the Harvils in such a trouble, did not admit it out, her removal was impossible. The Harvils silenced all scruples, and as much as they could, all gratitude. They had looked forward and arranged everything before the others began to reflect. Captain Benwick must give up his room to them and get another bed elsewhere, and the whole was settled. They were only concerned that the house could accommodate no more, and yet perhaps, by putting the children away in the maid's room or swinging a cot somewhere, they could hardly bear to think of not finding room for two or three besides, supposing they might wish to stay. Though with regard to any attendance on Miss Musgrove, there need not be the least uneasiness in leaving her to Mrs Harvils' care entirely. Mrs Harvils was a very experienced nurse, and her nursery maid, who had lived with her long and gone about with her everywhere, was just such another. Between these two, she could want no possible attendance by day or night. And all this was said with a truth and sincerity of feeling irresistible. Charles, Henrietta, and Captain Wentworth were the three in consultation, and for a little while it was only an interchange of perplexity and terror. Uppercross, the necessity of someone's going to Uppercross, the news to be conveyed, how could it be broken to Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove, the lateness of the morning, an hour already gone since they ought to open off, the impossibility of being in tolerable time? At first they were capable of nothing more to the purpose than such exclamations. But after a while, Captain Wentworth, exerting himself, said, We must be decided, and without the loss of another minute. Every minute is valuable, someone must resolve on being off for Uppercross instantly. Musgrove, either you or I must go. Charles agreed, but declared his resolution of not going away. He would be as little encumbrance as possible to Captain and Mrs Harvils, but as to leaving his sister in such a state, he neither ought nor would. So far it was decided, and Henrietta at first declared the same. She, however, was soon persuaded to think differently. The usefulness of her staying, she, who had not been able to remain in Louisa's room, or to look at her without sufferings which made her worse than helpless, she was forced to acknowledge that she could do no good, yet was still unwilling to be away, till touched by the thought of her father and mother. She gave it up, she consented, she was anxious to be at home. The plan had reached this point when Anne, coming quietly down from Louisa's room, could not but hear what followed, for the parlor door was open. Then it is settled, Musgrove, cried Captain Wentworth, that you stay, and that I take care of your sister home, but as to the rest, as to the others. If one stays to assist Mrs Harvils, I think it need be only one. Mrs Charles Musgrove will of course wish to get back to her children, but if Anne will stay, no one is so proper, so capable as Anne. She paused a moment to recover from the emotion of hearing herself so spoken of. The other two warmly agreed with what he said, and she then appeared. You will stay, I am sure. You will stay, and nurse her, cried he, turning to her and speaking with a glow, and yet a gentleness which seemed almost restoring the past. She colored deeply, and he recollected himself and moved away. She expressed herself most willing, ready, happy to remain. It was what she had been thinking of, and wishing to be allowed to do. A bed on the floor in Louisa's room would be sufficient for her. If Mrs Harvils would but think so. One thing more, and all seem arranged. Though it was rather desirable that Mr and Mrs Musgrove should be previously alarmed by some share of delay, yet the time required by the upper-cross horses to take them back would be a dreadful extension of suspense. And Captain Wentworth proposed, and Charles Musgrove agreed, that it would be much better for him to take a chase from the inn, and leave Mr Musgrove's carriage and horses to be sent home the next morning early, when there would be the further advantage of sending an account of Louisa's night. Captain Wentworth now hurried off to get everything ready on his part, to be soon followed by the two ladies. When the plan was made known to Mary, however, there was an end of all peace in it. She was so wretched, and so vehement, complained so much of injustice in being expected to go away instead of Anne. Anne, who was nothing to Louisa, while she was her sister, and had the best right to stay in Henrietta's stead. Why was she not to be as useful as Anne, and to go home without Charles too, without her husband? No, it was too unkind. And in short, she said more than her husband could long withstand, and as none of the others could oppose when he gave way, there was no help for it. The change of Mary for Anne was inevitable. Anne had never submitted more reluctantly to the jealous and ill-judging claims of Mary, but so it must be, and they set off for the town, Charles taking care of his sister, and Captain Benwick attending to her. She gave a moment's recollection as they hurried along to the little circumstances which the same spots had witnessed earlier in the morning. There she had listened to Henrietta's schemes for Dr. Shirley's leaving upper cross. Farther on she had first seen Mr. Elliott. A moment seemed all that could now be given to anyone but Louisa, or those who were wrapped up in her welfare. Captain Benwick was most considerably attentive to her, and united as they all seemed by the distress of the day, she felt an increasing degree of goodwill towards him, and a pleasure even in thinking that it might, perhaps, be the occasion of continuing their acquaintance. Captain Wentworth was on the watch for them, and a chase in foreign waiting stationed for their convenience in the lowest part of the street. But his evident surprise and vexation at the substitution of one sister for the other, the change in his countenance, the astonishment, the expressions begun and suppressed, with which Charles was listened to, made but a mortifying reception of Anne, or must at least convince her that she was valued only as she could be useful to Louisa. She endeavored to be composed and to be just. Without emulating the feelings of an Emma towards her Henry, she would have attended on Louisa with a zeal above the common claims of regard, for his sake, and she hoped he would not long be so unjust as to suppose she would shrink unnecessarily from the office of a friend. In the meanwhile she was in the carriage. He had handed them both in and placed himself between them, and in this manner, under these circumstances, full of astonishment and emotion to Anne, she quitted line. How the long stage would pass, how it was to affect their manners, what was to be their sort of intercourse she could not foresee. It was all quite natural, however. He was devoted to Henrietta, always turning towards her, and when he spoke at all, always with the view of supporting her hopes and raising her spirits. In general, his voice and manner were studiously calm. To spare Henrietta from agitation seemed the governing principle. Once only, when she had been grieving over the last ill-judged, ill-fated walk to the cab, bitterly lamenting that it had ever been thought of, he burst forth as if wholly overcome. Don't talk of it, don't talk of it, he cried. Oh, God, that I had not given way to her at the fatal moment, had I done as I ought, but so eager and so resolute! Dear sweet Louisa! Anne wondered whether it ever occurred to him now to question the justness of his own previous opinion as to the universal felicity and advantage of firmness of character, and whether it might not strike him that, like all other qualities of the mind, it should have its proportions and limits. She thought it could scarcely escape him to feel that a persuadable temper might sometimes be as much in favor of happiness as a very resolute character. They got on fast. Anne was astonished to recognize the same hills and the same objects so soon. Their actual speed, heightened by some dread of a conclusion, made the road appear but half as long as on the day before. It was growing quite dusk, however, before they were in the neighborhood of Upper Cross, and there had been total silence among them for some time. Henrietta, leaning back in the corner, with a shawl over her face, giving the hope of her having cried herself to sleep, went as they were going up their last hill, and found herself all at once addressed by Captain Wentworth. In a low, cautious voice, he said, I have been considering what we had best do. She must not appear at first. She could not stand it. I have been thinking whether you had not better remain in the carriage with her, while I go in and break it to Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove. Do you think this is a good plan? She did. He was satisfied and said no more. But the remembrance of the appeal remained a pleasure to her, as a proof of friendship, and of deference for her judgment, a great pleasure. And when it became a sort of parting proof, its value did not lessen. When the distressing communication at Upper Cross was over, and he had seen the father and mother quite as composed as could be hoped, and the daughter all the better for being with them, he announced his intention of returning in the same carriage to Lyme, and when the horses were baited, he was off. Besuasion by Jane Austen Chapter 13 The remainder of Anne's time at Upper Cross, comprehending only two days, was spent entirely at the mansion house, and she had the satisfaction of knowing herself extremely useful there, both as an immediate companion, and as assisting in all those arrangements for the future, which, in Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove's distressed state of spirits, would have been difficulties. They had an early account from Lyme the next morning. Louisa was much the same. No symptoms worse than before had appeared. Charles came a few hours afterwards to bring a later and more particular account. He was tolerably cheerful. A speedy cure must not be hoped, but everything was going on as well as the nature of the case admitted. In speaking of the Harvills, he seemed unable to satisfy his own sense of their kindness, especially of Mrs. Harvills' exertions as a nurse. She really left nothing for Mary to do. He and Mary had been persuaded to go early to their inn last night. Mary had been hysterical again this morning. When he came away, she was going to walk out with Captain Benwick, which he hoped would do her good. He almost wished she had been prevailed on to come home the day before, but the truth was that Mrs. Harvill left nothing for anybody to do. Charles was to return to Lyme the same afternoon, and his father had at first half a mind to go with him, but the ladies could not consent. It would be going only to multiply trouble to the others and increase his own distress, and a much better scheme followed and was acted upon. A chaise was sent for from Crookhorn, and Charles conveyed back a far more useful person in the old nursery made of the family. One who, having brought up all the children, and seen the very last, the lingering and long-petted Master Harry, sent to school after his brothers, was now living in her deserted nursery to mend stockings and dress all the blanes and bruises she could get near her, and who, consequently, was only too happy in being allowed to go and help nurse dear Miss Louisa. Vague wishes of getting Sarah Dither had occurred before to Mrs. Musgrove and Henrietta, but without Anne it would hardly have been resolved on and found practicable so soon. They were indebted the next day to Charles Hater, for all the minute knowledge of Louisa, which it was so essential to obtain every 24 hours. He made it his business to go to Lyme, and his account was still encouraging. The intervals of sense and consciousness were believed to be stronger. Every report agreed in Captain Wentworth's appearing fixed in Lyme. Anne was to leave them on the morrow, an event which they all dreaded. What should they do without her? They were wretched comforters for one another. And so much was said in this way, that Anne thought she could not do better than impart among them the general inclination to which she was privy, and persuaded them all to go to Lyme at once. She had little difficulty. It was soon determined that they would go, go to-morrow, fix themselves at the inn, or get into lodgings, as it suited, and there remain till dear Louisa could be moved. They must be taking off some trouble from the good people she was with. They might at least relieve Mrs. Harville from the care of her own children. And, in short, they were so happy in the decision that Anne was delighted with what she had done, and felt that she could not spend her last morning at Upper Cross better than in assisting their preparations, and sending them off at an early hour, though her being left to the solitary range of the house was the consequence. She was the last, accepting the little boys at the cottage. She was the very last, the only remaining one of all that had filled and animated both houses, of all that had given Upper Cross its cheerful character. A few days had made a change indeed. If Louisa recovered, it would all be well again. More than former happiness would be restored. There could not be a doubt, to her mind there was none, of what would follow her recovery.  An hour's complete leisure for such reflections as these, on a dark November day, a small thick rain almost blotting out the very few objects ever to be discerned from the windows, was enough to make the sound of Lady Russell's carriage exceedingly welcome. And yet, though desirous to be gone, she could not quit the mansion house, or look in a dew to the cottage, with its black, dripping and comfortless veranda, nor even notice through the misty glasses the last humble tenements of the village, without a saddened heart. Scenes had passed in Upper Cross, which made it precious. It stood the record of many sensations of pain, once severe, but now softened, and of some instances of relenting feeling, some breathings of friendship and reconciliation, which could never be looked for again, and which could never cease to be dear. She left it all behind her, all but the recollection that such things had been. Anne had never entered Kilinch since her quitting Lady Russell's house in September. It had not been necessary, and the few occasions of its being possible for her to go to the hall, she had contrived to evade and escape from. Her first return was to resume her place in the modern and elegant apartments of the lodge, and to gladden the eyes of its mistress. There was some anxiety mixed with Lady Russell's joy in meeting her. She knew who had been frequenting Upper Cross. But happily, either Anne was so improved in plumpness and looks, or Lady Russell fancied her so, and Anne, in receiving her compliments on the occasion, had the amusement of connecting them with the silent admiration of her cousin, and of hoping that she was to be blessed with the second spring of youth and beauty. When they came to converse, she was soon sensible of some mental change. The subjects of which her heart had been full on leaving Kilinch, and which she had felt slighted, and been compelled to smother among the Musgroves, were now become but of secondary interest. She had lately lost sight even of her father and sister and bath. Their concerns had been sunk under those of Upper Cross, and when Lady Russell reverted to their former hopes and fears, and spoke her satisfaction in the house in Camden Place, which had been taken, and her regret that Mrs. Clay should still be with them, Anne would have been ashamed to have it known how much more she was thinking of Lyme, and Louisa Musgrove, and all her acquaintance there. How much more interesting to her was the home and the friendship of the Harvills, and Captain Benwick, than her own father's house in Camden Place, or her own sister's intimacy with Mrs. Clay. She was actually forced to exert herself to meet Lady Russell, with anything like the appearance of equal solicitude, on topics which had, by nature, the first claim on her. There was a little awkwardness at first in her discourse on another subject. They must speak of the accident at Lyme. Lady Russell had not been arrived five minutes the day before, when a full account of the whole had burst on her. But still, it must be talked of, she must make inquiries, she must regret the imprudence, lament the result, and Captain Wentworth's name must be mentioned by both. Anne was conscious of not doing it so well as Lady Russell. She could not speak the name, and look straightforward to Lady Russell's eye, till she had adopted the expedient of telling her briefly, what she thought of the attachment between him and Louisa, when this was told, his name distressed her no longer. Lady Russell had only to listen composedly, and wish them happy. But internally, her heart reveled in angry pleasure, in pleased contempt, that the man who, at 23, had seemed to understand somewhat of the value of an Anne Elliot, should, eight years afterwards, be charmed by Louisa Musgrove. The first three or four days passed most quietly, with no circumstance to mark them, accepting the receipt of a note or two from Lyme, which found their way to Anne, she could not tell how, and brought a rather improving account of Louisa. At the end of that period, Lady Russell's politeness could repose no longer, and the fainter self-threatening of the past became in a decided tone. I must call on Mrs. Croft. I really must call upon her soon. Anne, have you courage to go with me and pay a visit in that house? It will be some trial to us both. Anne did not shrink from it. On the contrary, she truly felt as she said, in observing. I think you are very likely to suffer the most of the two. Your feelings are less reconciled to the change than mine. By remaining in the neighbourhood, I am become enured to it. She could have said more on the subject, for she had in fact so high an opinion of the Crofts, and considered her father so very fortunate in his tenants, felt the parish to be so sure of a good example, and the poor of the best attention and relief, that however sorry and ashamed for the necessity of the removal, she could not but in conscience feel that they were gone who deserved not to stay, and that Kellynch Hall had passed into better hands than its owners. These convictions must unquestionably have their own pain, and severe was its kind. But they precluded that pain which Lady Russell would suffer in entering the house again, and returning through the well-known apartments. In such moments Anne had no power of saying to herself, these rooms ought to belong only to us. Oh how fallen in their destination, how unworthily occupied, an ancient family to be so driven away, strangers filling their place. No, except when she thought of her mother, and remembered where she had been used to sit and preside, she had no sigh of that description to heave. Mrs Croft always met her with a kindness, which gave her the pleasure of fancying herself a favourite, and on the present occasion receiving her in that house, there was particular attention. The sad accident at Lyme was soon the prevailing topic, and on comparing their latest accounts of the invalid, it appeared that each lady dated her intelligence from the same hour of yesterday that Captain Wentworth had been in Kellynch yesterday, the first time since the accident, had brought Anne the last note, which she had not been able to trace the exact steps of, had stayed a few hours, and then returned again to Lyme, and without any present intention of quitting it any more. He had inquired after her, she found, particularly, had expressed his hope of Miss Elliot's not being the worse for her exertions, and had spoken of those exertions as great. This was handsome, and gave her more pleasure than almost anything else could have done. Asked the sad catastrophe itself, it could be canvassed only in one style, by a couple of steady, sensible women, whose judgements had to work on ascertained events, and it was perfectly decided that it had been the consequence of much thoughtlessness and much imprudence, that its effects were most alarming, and that it was frightful to think how long Miss Musgrove's recovery might yet be doubtful, and how liable she would still remain to suffer from the concussion hereafter. The Admiral wound it up summarily, by exclaiming, Aye, a very bad business indeed. A new sort of way this, for a young fellow to be making love, by breaking his mistress's head, is it not Miss Elliot? This is breaking ahead and giving a plaster, truly. Admiral Croft's manners were not quite of the tone to suit Lady Russell, but they delighted Anne. His goodness of heart and simplicity of character were irresistible. Now, this must be very bad for you, said he, suddenly rousing from a little reverie. To be coming and finding us here. I had not recollected it before, I declare, but it must be very bad. But now, do not stand upon ceremony. Get up and go over all the rooms in the house, if you like it. Another time, sir. I thank you, not now. Well, whenever it suits you, you can slip in from the shrubbery at any time, and there you will find we keep our umbrellas hanging up by that door. A good place, is it not? But, checking himself, you will not think it a good place, for yours were always kept in the butler's room. I, so it always is, I believe, one man's ways may be as good as another's, but we all like our own best. And so you must judge for yourself, whether it would be better for you to go about the house or not. Anne, finding she might decline it, did so very gratefully. We have made very few changes either, continued the admiral, after thinking a moment. Very few. We told you about the laundry door at Upper Cross. That has been a very great improvement. The wonder was how any family upon earth could bear with the inconvenience of it opening as it did so long. You will tell Sir Walter what we have done, and that Mr. Shepard thinks it the greatest improvement the house ever had. Indeed, I must do ourselves the justice to say that the few alterations we have made have been all very much for the better. My wife should have the credit of them, however. I have done very little, besides sending away some of the large looking glasses from my dressing room, which was your father's. A very good man, and very much the gentleman, I am sure. But I should think, Miss Elliot, looking with serious reflection. I should think he must be rather a dressy man for his time of life. Such a number of looking glasses. Oh Lord, there was no getting away from oneself. So I got Sophie to lend me a hand, and we soon shifted their quarters, and now I am quite snug, with my little shaving glass in one corner, and another great thing that I never go near. Anne, amused in spite of herself, was rather distressed for an answer, and the admiral, fearing he might not have been civil enough, took up the subject again to say, The next time you write to your good father, Miss Elliot, pray give him my compliments, and Mrs Croft's, and say that we are settled here quite to our liking, and have no fault at all to find with the place. The breakfast room chimney smokes a little, I grant you, but it is only when the wind is due north, and blows hard, which may not happen three times a winter. And take it all together. Now that we have been into most of the houses hereabouts, and can judge, there is not one that we like better than this. Pray say so, with my compliments, you will be glad to hear it. Lady Russell and Mrs Croft were very well pleased with each other, but the acquaintance which this visit began, was fated not to proceed far at present, for when it was returned, the Crofts announced themselves to be going away for a few weeks, to visit their connections in the north of the country, and probably might not be at home again, before Lady Russell would be removing to Bath. So ended, all danger to Anne of meeting Captain Wentworth at Kellynch Hall, or of seeing her in company with her friend. Everything was safe enough, and she smiled over the many anxious feelings she had wasted on the subject. CHAPTER XIV Though Charles and Mary had remained at Lyme much longer after Mr. and Mrs. Musgroves going, than Anne conceived they could have been at all wanted. They were yet the first to the family to be at home again, and as soon as possible after their return to Upper Cross, they drove over to the lodge. They had left Louisa beginning to sit up, but her head, though clear, was exceedingly weak. And her nerves susceptible to the highest extreme of tenderness. And though she might be pronounced to be altogether doing very well, it was still impossible to say when she might be able to bear the removal home. And her father and mother, who must return in time to receive their younger children for the Christmas holidays, had hardly a hope of being allowed to bring her with them. They hadn't been all in lodgings together. Mrs. Musgrove had got Mrs. Harville's children away as much as she could. Every possible supply from Upper Cross had been furnished, to lighten the inconvenience to the Harvilles, while the Harvilles had been wanting them to come to dinner every day. And in short, it seemed to have been only a struggle on each side, as to which should be most disinterested and hospitable. Mary had had her evils, but upon the whole, as was evident by her staying so long, she had found more to enjoy than to suffer. Charles Hater had been at Lyme oftener than suited her, and when they dined with the Harvilles, there had been only a maid-servant to wait. And at first Mrs. Harville had always given Mrs. Musgrove precedence, but then she had received so very handsome an apology from her on finding out whose daughter she was, and there had been so much going on every day. There had been so many walks between their lodgings and the Harvilles, and she had got books from the library and changed them so often, that the balance had certainly been much in favour of Lyme. She had been taken to Charmouth, too, and she had bathed, and she had gone to church, and there were a great many more people to look at in the church at Lyme than at Upper Cross, and all this, joined to the sense of being so very useful, had made really an agreeable fortnight. Anne inquired after Captain Benwick. Mary's face was clouded directly. Charles laughed. Oh, Captain Benwick is very well, I believe, but he is a very odd young man. I do not know what he would be at. We asked him to come home with us for a day or two. Charles undertook to give him some shooting, and he seemed quite delighted, and for my part I thought it was all settled when behold, on Tuesday night, he made a very awkward sort of excuse. He never shot, and he had been quite misunderstood, and he had promised this, and he had promised that, and the end of it, as I found, that he did not mean to come. I suppose he was afraid of finding it dull, but upon my word I should have thought we were lively enough at the cottage, for such a heartbroken man as Captain Benwick. Charles laughed again and said, Now, Mary, you know very well how it really was. It was all your doing, turning to Anne. He fancied that if he went with us, he should find you close by. He fancied everybody to be living in Upper Cross, and when he discovered that Lady Russell lived three miles off, his heart failed him, and he had not courage to come. That is the fact, upon my honour. Mary knows it is. But Mary did not give into it very graciously, whether from not considering Captain Benwick entitled by birth and situation to be in love with an Elliot, or from not wanting to believe Anne a greater attraction to Upper Cross than herself, must be left to be guessed. Anne's goodwill, however, was not to be lessened by what she heard. She boldly acknowledged herself flattered, and continued her inquiries. Oh, he talks of you, cried Charles, in such terms. Mary interrupted him. I declare, Charles, I never heard him mention Anne twice, all the time I was there. I declare, Anne, he never talks of you at all. No, admitted Charles. I do not know that he ever does in a general way. But, however, it is a very clear thing that he admires you exceedingly.  He has found out something or other in one of them which he thinks so. Oh, I cannot pretend to remember it, but it was something very fine. I overheard him telling Henrietta all about it, and then Miss Elliot was spoken of in the highest terms. Now, Mary, I declare it was so. I heard it myself, and you were in the other room. Elegance, sweetness, beauty. Oh, there was no end of Miss Elliot's charms. And I, I am sure, cried Mary warmly. It was of very little to his credit if he did. Miss Harville only died last June. Such a heart is very little worth having, is it, Lady Russell. I am sure you will agree with me. I must see Captain Benwick before I decide, said Lady Russell, smiling. And that you are very likely to do very soon, I can tell you, ma'am, said Charles. Though he had not nerves for coming away with us, and setting off again afterwards to pay a formal visit here, he will make his way over to Kellynch one day by himself. You may depend on it. I told him a distance in the road, and I told him of the Church's being so very well worth seeing, for as he has a taste for those sort of things, I thought that would be a good excuse, and he listened with all his understanding and soul, and I am sure from his manner that you will have him calling here soon. So, I give you notice, Lady Russell. Any acquaintance of Anne's will always be welcome to me, was Lady Russell's kind answer. Oh, as to being Anne's acquaintance, said Mary, I think he is rather my acquaintance, for I have been seeing him every day this last fortnight. Well, as you are joined to acquaintance, then, I shall be very happy to see Captain Benwick. You will not find anything very agreeable in him, I assure you, ma'am. He is one of the dullest young men that ever lived. He has walked with me sometimes, from one end of the sands to the other, without saying a word. He is not at all a well-bred young man. I am sure you will not like him. There we differ, Mary, said Anne, I think Lady Russell would like him. I think she would be so much pleased with his mind that she would very soon see no deficiency in his manner. So do I, Anne, said Charles. I am sure Lady Russell would like him. He is just Lady Russell's sort. Give him a book, and he will read all day long. Yes, that he will, exclaimed Mary tauntingly, he will sit pouring over his book. And not know when a person speaks to him, or when one drops one scissors, or anything that happens. Do you think Lady Russell would like that? Lady Russell could not help laughing. Upon my words, said she, I should not have supposed that my opinion of anyone could have admitted of such difference of conjecture, steady in matter of fact, as I may call myself. I have really a curiosity to see the person who can give occasion to such directly opposite notions. I wish he may be induced to call here. And when he does, Mary, you may depend upon hearing my opinion, but I am determined not to judge him beforehand. You will not like him, I will answer for it. Lady Russell began talking of something else. Mary spoke with animation of their meeting with, or rather missing, Mr. Elliott so extraordinarily. He is a man, said Lady Russell, whom I have no wish to see. His declining to be on cordial terms with the head of his family has left a very strong impression in his disfavor with me. This decision checked Mary's eagerness and stopped her short in the midst of the Elliott countenance. With regard to Captain Wentworth, though and hazarded no inquiries, there was voluntary communication sufficient. His spirits had been greatly recovering lately, as might be expected. As Louisa improved, he had improved, and he was now quite a different creature for what he had been the first week. He had not seen Louisa, and was so extremely fearful of any ill consequence to her from an interview that he did not press for it at all. And, on the contrary, seemed to have a plan of going away for a week or ten days till her head was stronger. He had talked of going down to Plymouth for a week, and wanted to persuade Captain Benwick to go with him. But, as Charles maintained to the last, Captain Benwick seemed much more disposed to ride over to Kellynch. There can be no doubt that Lady Russell and Anne were both occasionally thinking of Captain Benwick from this time. Lady Russell could not hear the doorbell without feeling that it might be his herald, nor could Anne return from any stroll of solitary indulgence in her father's grounds, or any visitive charity in the village, without wondering whether she might see him or hear of him. Captain Benwick came not, however. He was either less disposed for it than Charles had imagined, or he was too shy, and after giving him a week's indulgence, Lady Russell determined him to be unworthy of the interests which he had been beginning to excite. The Musgroves came back to receive their happy boys and girls from school, bringing with them Mrs. Harville's little children to improve the noise of upper cross and lessen that of wine. Henrietta remained with Louisa, but all the rest of the family were again in their usual quarters. Lady Russell and Anne paid their compliments to them at once, when Anne could not but feel that upper cross was already quite alive again. Though neither Henrietta nor Louisa nor Charles Hader, nor Captain Wentworth were there, the room presented a strong contrast as could be wished to the last stage she had seen it in. Immediately surrounding Mrs. Musgrove were the little harvows, whom she was sedulously guarding from the tyranny of the two children from the cottage, expressly arrived to amuse them. On one side was a table occupied by some chattering girls cutting up silk and gold paper, and on the other were trestles and trays, bending under the weight of brawn and cold pies, where riotous boys were holding high revel. The whole completed by a roaring Christmas fire, which seemed determined to be heard in spite of all the noise of the others. Charles and Mary also came in, of course, during their visit, and Mr. Musgrove made a point of paying his respects to Lady Russell, and sat down close to her for ten minutes, talking with a very raised voice, but from the clamour of the children on his knees, generally in vain. It was a fine family peace. Anne, judging from her own temperament, would have deemed such a domestic hurricane a bad restorative of the nerves, which Louise's illness must have so greatly shaken. But Mrs. Musgrove, who got Anne near her on purpose to thank her most cordially again and again, for all her attentions to them, concluded a short recapitulation of what she had suffered herself by observing, with a happy glance around the room, that after all she had gone through, nothing was so likely to do her good as a little quiet cheerfulness at home. Louisa was now recovering apace. Her mother could even think of her being able to join their party at home, before her brothers and sisters went to school again. The Harvills had promised to come with her and stay at Upper Cross whenever she returned. Captain Wentworth was gone for the present to see his brother in Shropshire. I hope I shall remember in future, said Lady Russell, as soon as they were receded in the carriage, not to call at Upper Cross in the Christmas holidays. Everybody has their taste in noises, as well as in other matters, and sounds are quite obnoxious, or most distressing, by their sort rather than their quantity. When Lady Russell not long afterwards was entering Bath on a wet afternoon and driving through the long course of streets from the old bridge to Camden Place, amidst the dash of other carriages, the heavy rumble of carts and drays, the bawling of newspapermen, muffin men, and milkmen, and the ceaseless clink of patents, she made no complaint. No, these were noises which belonged to the winter pleasures. Her spirits rose under their influence, and like Mrs. Musgrove, she was feeling, though not saying, that after being long in the country, nothing could be so good for her as a little quiet cheerfulness. Anne did not share these feelings. She persisted in a very determined, though very silent, disinclination for Bath, caught the first dim view of the extensive buildings, smoking in the rain, without any wish of seeing them better, felt their progress through the streets to be, however disagreeable, yet too rapid, for who would be glad to see her when she arrived? And she looked back, with fond regret, to the bustles of upper-cross and the seclusion of Kellynch.  Mr. Elliot was in Bath. He had called in Camden Place, had called a second time, a third, had been pointedly attentive. If Elizabeth and her father did not deceive themselves, had been taking much pains to seek the acquaintance and proclaim the value of the connection, as he had formerly taken pains to show neglect. This was very wonderful if it were true, and Lady Russell was in a state of very agreeable curiosity and perplexity about Mr. Elliot, already recanting the sentiment she had so lately expressed to Mary, of his being, a man whom she had no wish to see. She had a great wish to see him. If he really sought to reconcile himself like a dutiful branch, he must be forgiven for having dismembered himself from the paternal tree. Anne was not animated to an equal pitch by the circumstance, but she felt that she would rather see Mr. Elliot again than not, which was more than she could say for many other persons in Bath. She was put down in Camden Place, and Lady Russell then drove to her own lodgings in River Street. End of Chapter 14 By Jane Alston Chapter 15 Sir Walter had taken a very good house in Camden Place, a lofty, dignified situation, such as becomes a man of consequence, and both he and Elizabeth were settled there, much to their satisfaction. Anne entered it with a sinking heart, anticipating an imprisonment of many months, and anxiously saying to herself, Oh, when shall I leave you again? A degree of unexpected cordiality, however, in the welcome she received, did her good. Her father and sister were glad to see her for the sake of showing her the house and furniture, and met her with kindness. Her making a forth, when they sat down to dinner, was noticed as an advantage. Mrs. Clay was very pleasant and very smiling, but her courtesies and smiles were more a matter of course. Anne had always felt that she would pretend what was proper on her arrival, but the complacence of the others was unlooked for. They were evidently in excellent spirits, and she was soon to listen to the causes. They had no inclination to listen to her. After laying out for some compliments of being deeply regretted in their old neighborhood, which Anne could not pay, they had only a few faint inquiries to make, before the talk must be all their own. Upper Cross excited no interest, calanch very little. It was all bath. They had the pleasure of assuring her that bath more than answered their expectations in every respect. Their house was undoubtedly the best in Camden Place. Their drawing rooms had many decided advantages over all the others which they had either seen or heard of, and the superiority was not less in the style of the fitting up, or the taste of the furniture. Their acquaintance was exceedingly sought after. Everybody was wanting to visit them. They had drawn back from many introductions, and still were perpetually having cards left by people of whom they knew nothing. Here were funds of enjoyment. Could Anne wonder that her father and sister were happy? She might not wonder, but she must sigh that her father should feel no degradation in his change, should see nothing to regret in the duties and dignity of the resident landholder, should find so much to be vain of in the littlenesses of a town, and she must sigh and smile, and wonder too, as Elizabeth threw open the folding doors and walked with exultation from one drawing room to the other, boasting of their space. At the possibility of that woman, who had been mistress of Kellynch Hall, finding extent to be proud of between two walls, perhaps thirty feet asunder. But this was not all which they had to make them happy. They had Mr. Elliott too, and had a great deal to hear of Mr. Elliott. He was not only pardoned, they were delighted with him. He had been in Bath about a fortnight. He had passed through Bath in November, in his way to London, when the intelligence of Sir Walter's being settled there had of course reached him, though only twenty-four hours in the place. But he had not been able to avail himself of it. But he had now been a fortnight in Bath, and his first object on arriving had been to leave his card in Camden Place, following it up by such assiduous endeavors to meet, and when they did meet, by such great openness of conduct, such readiness to apologize for the past, such solicitude to be received as a relation again, that their former good understanding was completely re-established. They had not a fault to find in him. He had explained away all the appearance of neglect on his own side. It had originated in misapprehension entirely. He had never had an idea of throwing himself off. He had feared that he was thrown off, but knew not why, and delicacy had kept him silent. Upon the hint of having spoken disrespectfully or carelessly of the family and the family honors, he was quite indignant. He who had ever boasted of being an Elliot, and whose feelings as to connection were only too strict to suit the unfetal tone of the present day. He was astonished indeed, but his character in general conduct must refute it. He could refer Sir Walter to all who knew him, and certainly the pains he had been taking on this, the first opportunity of reconciliation, to be restored to the footing of a relation and heir presumptive, was a strong proof of his opinions on the subject. The circumstances of his marriage, too, were found to admit of much extinuation. This was an article not to be entered on by himself, but a very intimate friend of his, a Colonel Wallace, a highly respectable man, perfectly the gentleman, and not an ill-looking man, Sir Walter added, who was living in very good style in Marlborough buildings, and had, at his own particular request, been admitted to their acquaintance through Mr. Elliot, had mentioned one or two things relative to the marriage, which made a material difference in the discredit of it. Colonel Wallace had known Mr. Elliot long, had been well acquainted also with his wife, had perfectly understood the whole story. She was certainly not a woman of family, but well educated, accomplished, rich, and excessively in love with his friend. There had been the charm. She had sought him. Without bad attraction not all her money would have tempted Elliot, and Sir Walter was, moreover, assured of her having been a very fine woman. Here was a great deal to soften the business, a very fine woman with a large fortune in love with him. Sir Walter seemed to admit it as complete apology, and though Elizabeth could not see the circumstance in quite so favorable a light, she allowed it be a great extinuation. Mr. Elliot had called repeatedly, had dined with them once, evidently delighted by the distinction of being asked, for they gave no dinners in general, delighted in short by every proof of cousinly notice, and placing his whole happiness in being on intimate terms in Camden Place. Anne listened but without quite understanding it. Allowances, large allowances she knew, must be made for the ideas of those who spoke. She heard it all under embellishment. All that sounded extravagant or irrational in the progress of the reconciliation might have no origin but in the language of the relators. Still, however, she had this sensation of there being something more than immediately appeared in Mr. Elliot's wishing after an interval of so many years to be well received by them. In a worldly view he had nothing to gain by being on terms with Sir Walter, nothing to risk by a state of variance. In all probability he was already the richer of the two, and the Kellynch estate would as surely be his hereafter as the title. A sensible man, and he had looked like a very sensible man, why should it be an object to him? She could only offer one solution. It was perhaps for Elizabeth's sake. There might really have been a liking formally, though convenience and accident had drawn him a different way. And now that he could afford to please himself, he might mean to pay his addresses to her. Elizabeth was certainly very handsome, with well-bred, elegant manners, and her character might never have been penetrated by Mr. Elliot, knowing her butt in public, and when very young himself. How her temper and understanding might bear the investigation of his present keener time of life was another concern, and rather a fearful one. Most earnestly did she wish that he might not be too nice or too observant if Elizabeth were his object, and that Elizabeth was disposed to believe herself so, and that her friend Mrs. Clay was encouraging the idea seemed apparent by a glance or two between them while Mr. Elliot's frequent visits were talked of. Anne mentioned the glimpses she had had of him at Lyme, but without being much attended to. Oh yes, perhaps it had been Mr. Elliot. They did not know. It might be him, perhaps. They could not listen to her description of him. They were describing him themselves, Sir Walter especially. He did justice to his very gentlemanlike appearance, his air of elegance and fashion, his good-shaped face, his sensible eye. But at the same time must lament his being very much under-hung, a defect which time seemed to have increased, nor could he pretend to say that ten years had not altered almost every feature for the worse. Mr. Elliot appeared to think that he, Sir Walter, was looking exactly as he had done when they last parted. But Sir Walter had not been able to return the compliment entirely, which had embarrassed him. He did not mean to complain, however. Mr. Elliot was better to look at than most men, and he had no objection to being seen with him anywhere. Mr. Elliot and his friends in Marlborough buildings were talked of the whole evening. Colonel Wallace had been so impatient to be introduced to them, and Mr. Elliot so anxious that he should. And there was a Mrs. Wallace at present known only to them by description, as she was in daily expectation of her confinement. But Mr. Elliot spoke of her as a most charming woman quite worthy of being known in Camden Place, and as soon as she recovered they were to be acquainted. Sir Walter thought much of Mrs. Wallace. She was said to be an excessively pretty woman, beautiful. He longed to see her. He hoped she might make some amends for the many very plain faces he was continually passing in the streets. The worst of Bath was the number of its plain women. He did not mean to say that there were no pretty women, but the number of the plain was out of all proportion. He had frequently observed, as he walked, that one handsome face would be followed by thirty, or five and thirty, frights. And once, as he had stood in a shop on Bond Street, he had counted eighty-seven women go by, one after another, without there being a tolerable face among them. It had been a frosty morning, to be sure, a sharp frost which hardly one woman in a thousand could stand the test of.  Such scarecrows as the streets were full of. It was evident how little the women were used to the sight of anything tolerable, by the effect which a man of decent appearance produced. He had never walked anywhere arm in arm with Colonel Wallace, who was a fine military figure, though sandy-haired, without observing that every woman's eye was upon him, as every woman's eye was sure to be upon Colonel Wallace. Modest Sir Walter. He was not allowed to escape, however. His daughter and Mrs. Clay united in hinting that Colonel Wallace's companion might have as good a figure as Colonel Wallace, and certainly was not sandy-haired. How is Mary looking? said Sir Walter, in the height of his good humor. The last time I saw her she had a red nose, but I hope that may not happen every day. Oh, no, that must have been quite accidental. In general, she has been in very good health and very good looks since Michaelmas. If I thought it would not tempt her to go out in sharp winds and grow course, I would send her a new hat and police. Anne was considering whether she should venture to suggest that a gown or a cap would not be liable to any such misuse when a knock at the door suspended everything. A knock at the door, and so late, it was ten o'clock. Could it be Mr. Elliott? They knew he was to dine and lands down crescent. It was possible that he might stop in his way home to ask them how they did. They could think of no one else. Mrs. Clay decidedly thought it Mr. Elliott's knock. Mrs. Clay was right. With all the state which a butler and foot boy could give, Mr. Elliott was ushered into the room. It was the same, the very same man, with no difference but of dress. Anne drew a little back while the others received his compliments, and her sister his apologies for calling at so unusual an hour. But he could not be so near without wishing to know that neither she nor her friend had taken cold the day before, etc., etc., which was all as politely done and as politely taken as possible. But her part must follow then. Sir Walter talked with his youngest daughter. Mr. Elliott must give him leave to present him to his youngest daughter. There was no occasion for remembering Mary. And Anne, smiling and blushing, very becomingly showed to Mr. Elliott the pretty features which he had by no means forgotten, and instantly saw, with amusement at his little start of surprise, that he had not been at all aware of who she was. He looked completely astonished, but not more astonished than pleased, his eyes brightened, and with the most perfect alacrity he welcomed the relationship, alluded to the past, and entreated to be received as an acquaintance already. He was quite as good looking as he had appeared at Lyme, his countenance improved by speaking, and his manners were so exactly what they ought to be, so polished, so easy, so particularly agreeable, that she could compare them in excellence to only one person's manners. They were not the same, but they were perhaps equally good. He sat down with them and improved their conversation very much. There could be no doubt of his being a sensible man. Ten minutes were enough to certify that. His tone, his expressions, his choice of subject, his knowing where to stop. It was all the operation of a sensible, discerning mind. As soon as he could he began to talk to her of Lyme, wanting to compare opinions respecting the place, but especially wanting to speak of the circumstance of their happening to be guests in the same inn at the same time, to give his own route, understand something of hers, and regret that he should have lost such an opportunity of paying his respects to her. She gave him a short account of her party and business at Lyme. His regret increased as he listened. He had spent his whole solitary evening in the room adjoining theirs, had heard voices, mirth continually, thought they must be a most delightful set of people, long to be with them, but certainly without the smallest suspicion of his possessing the shadow of a right to introduce himself. If he had but asked who the party were, the name of Musgrove would have told him enough. Well, it would serve to cure him of an absurd practice of never asking a question at an inn, which he had adopted when quite a young man, on the principle of its being very un-genteal to be curious. The notions of a young man of one or two and twenty, said he, as to what is necessary in manners to make him quite the thing, are more absurd, I believe, than those of any other set of beings in the world. The folly of the means they often employ is only to be equaled by the folly of what they have in view. But he must not be addressing his reflections to Anne alone. He knew it, he was soon diffused again among the others, and it was only at intervals that he could return to Lyme. His inquiries, however, produced at length an account of the scene she had been engaged in there, soon after his leaving the place. Having alluded to an accident, he must hear the whole. When he questioned, Sir Walter and Elizabeth began to question also. But the difference in their manner of doing it could not be unfelt. She could only compare Mr. Elliott to Lady Russell in the wish of really comprehending what had passed, and in the degree of concern for what she must have suffered in witnessing it. He stayed an hour with them. The elegant little clock on the mantelpiece had struck eleven with its silver sounds, and the watchman was beginning to be heard at a distance telling the same tale before Mr. Elliott or any of them seemed to feel that he had been there long. Anne could not have supposed it possible that her first evening in Camden Place could have passed so well. End of Chapter fifteen. There was one point which Anne, on returning to her family, would have been more thankful to ascertain even than Mr. Elliott's being in love with Elizabeth, which was, her father's not being in love with Mrs. Clay, and she was very far from easy about it, when she had been at home a few hours. On going down to breakfast the next morning, she found there had just been a decent pretense on the lady's side of meaning to leave them. She could imagine Mrs. Clay to have said, that now Miss Anne was come, she could not oppose herself at all, wanted. For Elizabeth was replying in a sort of whisper, that must not be any reason indeed. I assure you I feel it none. She has nothing to me compared with you. And she was in full time to hear her father say, My dear madam, this must not be. As yet you have seen nothing of bath. You have been here only to be useful. You must not run away from us now. You must stay and be acquainted with Mrs. Wallace, the beautiful Mrs. Wallace. To your find mine, I well know the sight of beauty is a real gratification. He spoke, and looked so much in earnest, that Anne was not surprised to see Mrs. Clay stealing a glance at Elizabeth and herself. Her countenance, perhaps, might express some watchfulness. But the praise of the fine mind did not appear to excite a thought in her sister. The lady could not but yield to such joint entreaties and promise to stay. In the course of the same morning, Anne and her father chancing to be alone together, he began to compliment her on her improved looks. He thought her less thin in her person, in her cheeks. Her skin, her complexion, greatly improved. Clearer, fresher. Had she been using anything in particular? No, nothing. Merely Gowland, he supposed. No, nothing at all. Ha! He was surprised at that, and added, certainly you cannot do better than to continue as you are. You cannot be better than well. Or I shall recommend Gowland the constant use of Gowland during the spring months. Mrs. Clay has been using it at my recommendation, and you see what it has done for her. You see how it has carried away her freckles. If Elizabeth could but have heard this, such personal praise might have struck her, especially as it did not appear to Anne that the freckles were at all lessened. But everything must take its chance. The evil of a marriage would be much diminished if Elizabeth were also to marry. As for herself, she might always command a home with Lady Russell. Lady Russell's composed mind and polite manners were put to some trial on this point in her intercourse in Camden Place. The sight of Mrs. Clay in such favour, and of Anne so overlooked, was a perpetual provocation to her there, and vexed her as much when she was away as a person in bath who drinks the water, gets all the new publications, and has very large acquaintance, has time to be vexed. As Mr. Elliot became known to her, she grew more charitable or more indifferent towards the others. His manners were an immediate recommendation, and on conversing with him she found the solid so fully supporting the superficial, that she was at first, as she told Anne, almost ready to exclaim, Can this be Mr. Elliot? and could not seriously picture to herself a more agreeable or estimable man? Everything united in him, good understanding, correct opinions, knowledge of the world, and a warm heart. He had strong feelings of family attachment and family honour, without pride or weakness. He lived with the liberality of a man of fortune without display. He judged for himself in everything essential, without defying public opinion in any point of worldly decorum. He was steady, observant, moderate, candid, never run away with by spirits or by selfishness, which fancied itself strong feeling, and yet with a sensibility to what was amiable and lovely, and a value for all the felicities of domestic life, which characters of fancied enthusiasm and violent agitation seldom really possess. She was sure that he had not been happy in marriage. Colonel Wallace said it, and Lady Russell saw it. But it had been no unhappiness to sour his mind, nor, she began pretty soon to suspect, to prevent his thinking of a second choice. Her satisfaction in Mr. Elliot outweighed all the plague of Mrs. Clay. It was now some years since Anne had begun to learn that she and her excellent friend could sometimes think differently, and it did not surprise her therefore that Lady Russell should see nothing suspicious or inconsistent, nothing to require more motives than appeared in Mr. Elliot's great desire of a reconciliation. In Lady Russell's view it was perfectly natural that Mr. Elliot, at a mature time of life, should feel it a most desirable object, and what would very generally recommend him among all sensible people to be on good terms with the head of his family. The simplest process in the world of time upon a head naturally clear, and only erring in the heyday of youth. Anne presumed, however, still to smile about it, and at last to mention Elizabeth. Lady Russell listened and looked, and made only this cautious reply. Elizabeth! Very well, time will explain. It was a reference to the future which Anne, after a little observation, felt she must submit to. She could determine nothing at present. In that house Elizabeth must be first, and she was in the habit of such general observance as Miss Elliot that any particularity of attention seemed almost impossible. Mr. Elliot, too, it must be remembered, had not been a widower seven months. A little delay on his side might be very excusable. In fact, Anne could never see the crepe around his hat without fearing that she was the inexcusable one in attributing to him such imaginations. For though his marriage had not been very happy, still it had existed so many years, that she could not comprehend a very rapid recovery from the awful impression of its being dissolved. However, it might end, he was without any question their pleasantest acquaintance in Bath. She saw nobody equal to him, and it was a great indulgence now and then to talk to him about Lyme, which he seemed to have as lively a wish to see again and to see more of as herself. They went through the particulars of their first meeting a great many times. He gave her to understand that he had looked at her with some earnestness. She knew it well, and she remembered another person's look also. They did not always think alike. His value for rank and connection, she perceived, was greater than hers. It was not merely complacence. It must be a liking to the cause which made him enter warmly into her father's and sister's solicitudes on a subject which she thought unworthy to excite them. The bath-paper, one morning, announced the arrival of the dowager Viscountess Dalrymple and her daughter, the Honourable Miss Carteret, and all the comfort of number, Camden Place, were swept away for many days, for the Dalrymples, in Anne's opinion most unfortunately, were cousins of the Elliott's, and the agony was how to introduce themselves properly. Anne had never seen her father and sister before in contact with nobility, and she must acknowledge herself disappointed. She had hoped better things from their high ideas of their own situation in life, and was reduced to form a wish which she had never foreseen—a wish that they had more pride—for our cousins Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, our cousins the Dalrymples, sounded in her ears all day long. Sir Walter had once been in company with the late Viscount, but had never seen any of the rest of the family, and the difficulties of the case arose from there having been a suspension of all intercourse by letters of ceremony, ever since the death of that said late Viscount, when in consequence of a dangerous illness of Sir Walter's at the same time there had been an unlucky omission at Kellynch. No letter of condolence had been sent to Ireland. The neglect had been visited on the head of the sinner, for when poor Lady Elliot died herself, no letter of condolence was received at Kellynch, and consequently there was but too much reason to apprehend that the Dalrymples considered the relationship as closed. How to have this anxious business set to rights and be admitted as cousins again was the question, and it was a question which, in a more rational manner, neither Lady Russell nor Mr. Elliot thought unimportant. Family connections were always worth preserving, good company always worth seeking. Lady Dalrymple had taken a house for three months in law or place, and would be living in style. She had been at bar for a year before, and Lady Russell had heard her spoken of as a charming woman. It was very desirable that the connection should be renewed, if it could be done, without any compromise of propriety on the side of the Elliot's. So Walter, however, would choose his own means, and at last wrote a very fine letter of ample explanation, regret, and entreaty to his right honourable cousin. Neither Lady Russell nor Mr. Elliot could admire the letter, but it did all that was wanted, in bringing three lines of scrawl from the dowager by Countess. She was very much honoured, and should be happy in their acquaintance. The toils of the business were over, the suites began. They visited in law or place. They had the cards of dowager by Countess Dalrymple and the honourable Miss Cartridge to be arranged wherever they might be most visible, and our cousins in law or place, our cousin Lady Dalrymple and Miss Cartridge, were talked of to everybody. Anne was ashamed. Had Lady Dalrymple and her daughter even been very agreeable, she would still have been ashamed of the agitation they created. But they were nothing. There was no superiority of manner, accomplishment or understanding. Lady Dalrymple had acquired the name of a charming woman, because she had a smile and a civil answer for everybody. Miss Cartridge would still less to say, was so plain and so awkward, that she would never have been tolerated in Camden Place but for her birth. Lady Russell confessed she had expected something better, but yet it was an acquaintance worth having, and when Anne ventured to speak her opinion of them to Mr. Elliot, he agreed to there being nothing in themselves, but still maintained that as a family connection, as good company, as those who would collect good company round them, they had their value. Anne smiled and said, "'My idea of good company, Mr. Elliot, is the company of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation. That is what I call good company.' "'You are mistaken,' said he gently. "'That is not good company. That is the best. Good company requires only birth, education and manners, and with regard to education it is not very nice. Birth and good manners are essential, but a little learning is by no means a dangerous thing in good company. On the contrary, it will do very well.' My cousin Anne shakes her head. She is not satisfied. She is fastidious. My dear cousin, sitting down by her, you have a better right to be fastidious than almost any other woman I know. But will it answer? Will it make you happy? Will it not be wiser to accept the society of those good ladies in Laura Place, and enjoy all the advantages of the connection as far as possible? You may depend upon it, that they will move in the first set in Bath this winter, and as rank is rank, your being known to be related to them will have its use in fixing your family—our family, let me say—in that degree of consideration which we must all wish for." Yes, sighed Anne, we shall indeed be known to be related to them. Then recollecting herself, and not wishing to be answered, she added, I certainly do think there has been by far too much trouble taken to procure the acquaintance. I suppose, smiling, I have more pride than any of you. But I confess it does vex me, that we should be so solicitous to have the relationship acknowledged, which we may be very sure is a matter of perfect indifference to them. Pardon me, dear cousin, you are unjust in your own claims. In London, perhaps, in your present quiet style of living it might be as you say, but in Bath Sir Walter Elliot and his family will always be worth knowing—always acceptable as acquaintance. Well, said Anne, I certainly am proud—too proud to enjoy a welcome which depends so entirely upon Place. I love your indignation, said he, it is very natural. But here you are in Bath, and the object is to be established here with all the credit and dignity which ought to belong to Sir Walter Elliot. You talk of being proud. I am called proud, I know, and I shall not wish to believe myself otherwise, for our pride, if investigated, would have the same object I have no doubt, though the kind may seem a little different. In one point I am sure, my dear cousin—he continued speaking lower, though there was no one else in the room. In one point I am sure we must feel alike. We must feel that every addition to your father's society among his equals or superiors may be of use in diverting his thoughts from those who are beneath him. He looked as he spoke to the seat which Mrs. Clay had been lately occupying, a sufficient explanation of what he particularly meant, and though Anne could not believe in their having the same sort of pride, she was pleased with him for not liking Mrs. Clay, and her conscience admitted that his wishing to promote her father's getting greater acquaintance was more than excusable in the view of defeating her. End of CHAPTER XVI. CHAPTER XVII. While Sir Walter and Elizabeth were assiduously pushing their good fortune in Laura's place, Anne was renewing an acquaintance of a very different description. She had called on her former governess, and had heard from her of there being an old school fellow in Bath, who had the two strong claims on her attention of past kindness and present suffering. Miss Hamilton, now Mrs. Smith, had shown her kindness in one of those periods of her life when it had been most valuable. Anne had gone unhappy to school, grieving for the loss of a mother whom she had dearly loved, feeling her separation from home and suffering as a girl of fourteen, of strong sensibility and not high spirits, must suffer at such a time. And Miss Hamilton, three years older than herself, but still from the want of near relations and a settled home, remaining another year at school, had been useful and good to her in a way which had considerably lessened her misery, and could never be remembered with indifference. Miss Hamilton had left school, had married, not long afterwards, was said to have married a man of fortune, and this was all that Anne had known of her, till now that their governess's account brought her situation forward in a more decided but very different form. She was a widow and poor. Her husband had been extravagant, and at his death, about two years before, had left his affairs dreadfully involved. She had had difficulties of every sort to contend with, and, in addition to these distresses, had been afflicted with a severe rheumatic fever, which, finally settling in her legs, had made her for the present a cripple. She had come to Bath on that account, and was now in lodgings near the hot Baths, living in a very humble way, unable even to afford herself the comfort of a servant, and, of course, almost excluded from society. Their mutual friend answered for the satisfaction which a visit from Miss Elliot would give Mrs. Smith, and Anne, therefore, lost no time in going. She mentioned nothing of what she had heard, or what she intended, at home. It would excite no proper interest there. She only consulted Lady Russell, who entered thoroughly into her sentiments, and was most happy to convey her as near to Mrs. Smith's lodgings in Westgate buildings as Anne chose to be taken. The visit was paid, their acquaintance re-established, their interest in each other more than rekindled. The first ten minutes had its awkwardness and its emotion. Twelve years were gone since they had parted, and each presented a somewhat different person from what the other had imagined. Twelve years had changed Anne from the blooming, silent, unformed girl of fifteen, to the elegant little woman of seven and twenty, with every beauty except bloom, and with manners as consciously right as they were invariably gentle. And twelve years had transformed the fine-looking, well-grown Miss Hamilton, in all the glow of health and confidence of superiority, into a poor, infirm, helpless widow receiving the visit of her former protégé as a favour. But all that was uncomfortable in the meeting had soon passed away, and left only the interesting charm of remembering former partialities and talking over old times. Anne found in Mrs. Smith the good sense and agreeable manners which she had almost ventured to depend on, and a disposition to converse and be cheerful beyond her expectation. Neither the dissipations of the past, and she had lived very much in the world, nor the restrictions of the present, neither sickness nor sorrow seemed to have closed her heart or ruined her spirits. In the course of a second visit she talked with great openness, and Anne's astonishment increased. She could scarcely imagine a more cheerless situation in itself than Mrs. Smith's. She had been very fond of her husband. She had buried him. She had been used to affluence. It was gone. She had no child to connect her with life and happiness again, no relations to assist in the arrangement of perplexed affairs, no health to make all the rest supportable. Her accommodations were limited to a noisy parlor and a dark bedroom behind, with no possibility of moving from one to the other without assistance, which there was only one servant in the house to afford, and she never quitted the house but to be conveyed into the warm bath. Yet in spite of all this, Anne had reason to believe that she had moments only of languor and depression, to hours of occupation and enjoyment. How could it be? She watched, observed, reflected, and finally determined that this was not a case of fortitude or of resignation only. A submissive spirit might be patient, a strong understanding would supply resolution, but here was something more. Here was that elasticity of mind, that disposition to be comforted, that power of turning readily from evil to good, and of finding employment, which carried her out of herself, which was from nature alone. It was the choicest gift of heaven, and Anne viewed her friend as one of those instances in which, by a merciful appointment, it seems designed to counterbalance almost every other want. There had been a time, Mrs. Smith told her, when her spirits had nearly failed. She could not call herself an invalid now, compared with her state on first reaching bath. Then she had indeed been a pitiable object, for she had caught cold on the journey, and had hardly taken possession of her lodgings before she was again confined to her bed, and suffering under severe and constant pain, and all this among strangers, with the absolute necessity of having a regular nurse, and finances at that moment particularly unfit to meet any extraordinary expense. She had weathered it, however, and could truly say that it had done her good. It had increased her comforts by making her feel herself to be in good hands. She had seen too much of the world to expect sudden or disinterested attachment anywhere, but her illness had proved to her that her landlady had a character to preserve and would not use her ill, and she had been particularly fortunate in her nurse, as a sister of her landlady, a nurse by profession, and who had always a home in that house when unemployed, chanced to be at liberty just in time to attend her. And she, said Mrs. Smith, besides nursing me most admirably, has really proved an invaluable acquaintance. As soon as I could use my hands she taught me to knit, which has been a great amusement, and she put me in the way of making these little thread-cases, pin-cushions and card-racks, which you always find me so busy about, and which supply me with the means of doing a little good to one or two very poor families in this neighborhood.  She always takes the right time for applying. Everybody's heart is open, you know, when they have recently escaped from severe pain, or are recovering the blessing of health, and Nurse Rook thoroughly understands when to speak. She is a shrewd, intelligent, sensible woman. Hers is a line for seeing human nature, and she has a fun of good sense and observation which, as a companion, make her infinitely superior to thousands of those who, having only received the best education in the world, know nothing worth attending to. Call it gossip, if you will, but when Nurse Rook has half an hour's leisure to bestow on me, she is sure to have something to relate that is entertaining and profitable, something that makes one no one's species better. One likes to hear what is going on to be au fait as to the newest modes of being trifling and silly.  Anne, far from wishing to cavill at the pleasure, replied, I can easily believe it. Women of that class have great opportunities, and if they are intelligent, may be well worth listening to. Such varieties of human nature as they are in the habit of witnessing. And it is not merely in its follies that they are well read, for they see it occasionally under every circumstance that can be most interesting or affecting. What instances must pass before them of ardent, disinterested, self-denying attachment, of heroism, fortitude, patience, resignation? Of all the conflicts and all the sacrifices that ennoble us most, a sick chamber may often furnish the worth of volumes. Yes, said Mrs. Smith more doubtingly. Sometimes it may, though I fear its lessons are not often in the elevated style you describe. Here and there human nature may be great in times of trial, but generally speaking, it is its weakness and not its strength that appears in a sick chamber. It is selfishness and impatience rather than generosity and fortitude that one hears of. There is so little real friendship in the world, and, unfortunately, speaking low and tremulously, there are so many who forget to think seriously till it is almost too late. Anne saw the misery of such feelings. The husband had not been what he ought, and the wife had been led among that part of mankind which made her think worse of the world than she hoped it deserved. It was but a passing emotion, however, with Mrs. Smith. She shook it off, and soon added in a different tone. I do not suppose the situation my friend Mrs. Rook is in at present will furnish much either to interest or edify me. She is only nursing Mrs. Wallace of Marlborough buildings, a mere, pretty, silly, expensive, fashionable woman, I believe, and, of course, will have nothing to report but of lace and finery. I mean to make my profit of Mrs. Wallace, however, she has plenty of money, and I intend she shall buy all the high-priced things I have in hand now. Anne had called several times on her friend before the existence of such a person was known in Camden Place. At last it became necessary to speak of her. Sir Walter, Elizabeth and Mrs. Clay returned one morning from Laura Place with a sudden invitation from Lady Dalrymple for the same evening, and Anne was already engaged to spend that evening in Westgate buildings. She was not sorry for the excuse. They were only asked, she was sure, because Lady Dalrymple being kept at home by a bad cold was glad to make use of the relationship which had been so pressed on her, and she declined on her own account with great alacrity. She was engaged to spend the evening with an old school fellow. They were not much interested in anything relative to Anne, but still there were questions enough asked to make it understood what this old school fellow was, and Elizabeth was disdainful, and Sir Walter severe. Westgate buildings, said he, and who is Miss Anne Elliot to be visiting in Westgate buildings? A Mrs. Smith, a widow Mrs. Smith, and who was her husband? One of five thousand Mr. Smiths whose names are to be met with everywhere, and what is her attraction, that she is old and sickly. Upon my word, Miss Anne Elliot, you have the most extraordinary taste.  But surely you may put off this old lady till to-morrow. She is not so near her end, I presume, but that she may hope to see another day. What is her age, forty? No, sir, she is not one and thirty, but I do not think I can put off my engagement, because it is the only evening for some time which will at once suit her and myself. She goes into the warm bath to-morrow, and for the rest of the week, you know, we are engaged. But what does Lady Russell think of this acquaintance? Asked Elizabeth. She sees nothing to blame in it, replied Anne. On the contrary, she approves it, and has generally taken me when I have called on Mrs. Smith. Westgate buildings must have been rather surprised by the appearance of a carriage drawn up near its pavement. Observed, sir Walter. Sir Henry Russell's widow, indeed, has no honourous to distinguish her arms, but still it is a handsome equipage, and no doubt is well known to convey a Miss Elliot. A widow, Mrs. Smith lodging in Westgate buildings, a poor widow barely able to live between thirty and forty, a mere Mrs. Smith, and every day Mrs. Smith, of all people and all names in the world, to be the chosen friend of Miss Anne Elliot, and to be preferred by her to her own family connections among the nobility of England and Ireland. Mrs. Smith, such a name! Mrs. Clay, who had been present while all this passed, now thought it advisable to leave the room. And Anne could have said much, and did long to say a little in defence of her friends not very dissimilar claims to theirs, but her sense of personal respect to her father prevented her. She made no reply. She left it to himself to recollect that Mrs. Smith was not the only widow in Bath between thirty and forty, with little to live on, and no surname of dignity. Anne kept her appointment, the others kept theirs, and, of course, she heard the next morning that they had had a delightful evening. She had been the only one of the set absent, for Sir Walter and Elizabeth had not only been quite at her ladyship's service themselves, but had actually been happy to be employed by her in collecting others, and had been at the trouble of inviting both Lady Russell and Mr. Elliot, and Mr. Elliot had made a point of leaving Colonel Wallace early, and Lady Russell had fresh arranged all her evening engagements in order to wait on her. Anne had the whole history of all that such an evening could supply from Lady Russell. To her, its greatest interest must be in having been very much talked of between her friend and Mr. Elliot, in having been wished for, regretted, and at the same time honoured for staying away in such a cause. Her kind, compassionate visits to this old school fellow, sick and reduced, seemed to have quite delighted Mr. Elliot. He thought her a most extraordinary young woman, in her temper, manner's mind, a model of female excellence. He could meet even Lady Russell in a discussion of her merits, and Anne could not be given to understand so much by her friend, could not know herself to be so highly rated by a sensible man, without many of those agreeable sensations which her friend meant to create. Lady Russell was now perfectly decided in her opinion of Mr. Elliot. She was as much convinced of his meaning to gain Anne in time as of his deserving her, and was beginning to calculate the number of weeks which would free him from all the remaining restraints of widowhood, and leave him at liberty to exert his most open powers of pleasing. She would not speak to Anne with half the certainty she felt on the subject. She would venture on little more than hints of what might be hereafter, of a possible attachment on his side, of the desirableness of the alliance supposing such attachment to be real and returned. Anne heard her, and made no violent exclamations. She only smiled, blushed, and gently shook her head. I am no matchmaker as you well know, said Lady Russell, being much too well aware of the uncertainty of all human events and calculations. I only mean that if Mr. Elliot should some time hence pay his addresses to you, and if you should be disposed to accept him, I think there would be every possibility of your being happy together. A most suitable connection everybody must consider it, but I think it might be a very happy one. Mr. Elliot is an exceedingly agreeable man, and in many respects I think highly of him, that Anne. But we should not suit. Lady Russell, at this pass, and only said in rejoinder. I own that to be able to regard you as the future mistress of Kellynch, the future Lady Elliot, to look forward and see you occupying your dear mother's place, succeeding to all her rights and all her popularity, as well as to all her virtues, would be the highest possible gratification to me. You are your mother's self in countenance and disposition, and if I might be allowed to fancy you such as she was, in situation and name and home, presiding and blessing in the same spot, and only superior to her in being more highly valued. My dearest Anne, it would give me more delight than is often felt at my time of life. Anne was obliged to turn away, to rise, to walk to a distant table and, leaning there in pretended employment, try to subdue the feelings this picture excited. For a few moments her imagination and her heart were bewitched. The idea of becoming what her mother had been, of having the precious name of Lady Elliot, first revived in herself, of being restored to Kellynch, calling it her home again, her home for ever, was a charm which she could not immediately resist. Lady Russell said not another word, willing to leave the matter to its own operation, and believing that, could Mr. Elliot at that moment with propriety have spoken for himself, she believed, in short, what Anne did not believe. The same image of Mr. Elliot speaking for himself brought Anne to composure again. The charm of Kellynch and of Lady Elliot all faded away. She never could accept him. And it was not only that her feelings were still adverse to any man, save one. Her judgment, on a serious consideration of the possibilities of such a case, was against Mr. Elliot. Though they had now been acquainted a month, she could not be satisfied that she really knew his character. That he was a sensible man, an agreeable man, that he talked well, professed good opinions, seemed to judge properly and as a man of principle, this was all clear enough. He certainly knew what was right, nor could she fix on any one article of moral duty evidently transgressed, but yet she would have been afraid to answer for his conduct. She distrusted the past, if not the present. The names which occasionally dropped of former associates, the allusions to former practices and pursuits, suggested suspicions not favourable of what he had been. She saw that there had been bad habits, that Sunday travelling had been a common thing, that there had been a period of his life, and probably not a short one, when he had been at least careless in all serious matters. And, though he might now think very differently, who could answer for the true sentiments of a clever, cautious man grown old enough to appreciate a fair character? How could it ever be ascertained that his mind was truly cleansed? Mr. Elliot was rational, discreet, polished, but he was not open. There was never any burst of feeling any warmth of indignation or delight at the evil or good of others. This, to Anne, was a decided imperfection. Her early impressions were incurable. She prized the frank, the open-hearted, the eager character beyond all others. Warmth and enthusiasm did captivate her still. She felt that she could so much more depend on the sincerity of those who sometimes looked or said a careless or a hasty thing than of those whose presence of mind never varied, whose tongue never slipped. Mr. Elliot was too generally agreeable. Various, as were the tempers in her father's house, he pleased them all. He endured too well, stood too well with everybody. He had spoken to her with some degree of openness of Mrs. Clay, had appeared completely to see what Mrs. Clay was about, and to hold her in contempt, and yet Mrs. Clay found him as agreeable as anybody. Lady Russell saw either less or more than her young friend, for she saw nothing to excite distrust. She could not imagine a man more exactly what he ought to be than Mr. Elliot, nor did she ever enjoy a sweeter feeling than the hope of seeing him receive the hand of her beloved Anne in Kellynch Church in the course of the following autumn.