Persuasion

Chapter 17

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While Sir Walter and Elizabeth were assiduously pushing their

good fortune in Laura 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 shewn 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 re-kindled.  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 protegee

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 parlour, 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 neighbourhood.

She had a large acquaintance, of course professionally, among those

who can afford to buy, and she disposes of my merchandize.

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 Rooke

thoroughly understands when to speak.  She is a shrewd, intelligent,

sensible woman.  Hers is a line for seeing human nature; and she has

a fund of good sense and observation, which, as a companion, make her

infinitely superior to thousands of those who having only received

`the best education in the world,' know nothing worth attending to.

Call it gossip, if you will, but when Nurse Rooke has half an hour's

leisure to bestow on me, she is sure to have something to relate

that is entertaining and profitable:  something that makes one

know one's species better.  One likes to hear what is going on,

to be au fait as to the newest modes of being trifling and silly.

To me, who live so much alone, her conversation, I assure you, is a treat."
  
  

Anne, far from wishing to cavil 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  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 Rooke is in at present,

will furnish much either to interest or edify me.  She is only nursing

Chapter 18

It was the beginning of February; and Anne, having been a month in Bath,was growing very eager for news from Uppercross and Lyme.
She wanted to hear much more than Mary had communicated.
It was three weeks since she had heard at all.  She only knew
that Henrietta was at home again; and that Louisa, though considered to be recovering fast, was still in Lyme; and she was thinking of them all very intently one evening, when a thicker letter than usual from Mary was delivered to her; and, to quicken the pleasure and surprise, ith Admiral and Mrs Croft's compliments.
The Crofts must be in Bath!  A circumstance to interest her.
They were people whom her heart turned to very naturally.
"What is this?" cried Sir Walter.  "The Crofts have arrived in Bath?
The Crofts who rent Kellynch?  What have they brought you?"
"A letter from Uppercross Cottage, Sir."
"Oh! those letters are convenient passports.  They secure an introduction.
I should have visited Admiral Croft, however, at any rate.
I know what is due to my tenant."
Anne could listen no longer; she could not even have told how
the poor Admiral's complexion escaped; her letter engrossed her.
It had been begun several days back.
"February 1st.
"My dear Anne,--I make no apology for my silence, because I know
how little people think of letters in such a place as Bath.
You must be a great deal too happy to care for Uppercross, which,
as you well know, affords little to write about.  We have had
a very dull Christmas; Mr and Mrs Musgrove have not had one dinner party all the holidays.  I do not reckon the Hayters as anybody.
The holidays, however, are over at last:  I believe no children ever had such long ones.  I am sure I had not.  The house was cleared yesterday, except of the little Harvilles; but you will be surprised to hear they have never gone home.  Mrs Harville must be an odd mother to part with them so long.  I do not understand it.  They are
not at all nice children, in my opinion; but Mrs Musgrove seems to
like them quite as well, if not better, than her grandchildren.
What dreadful weather we have had!  It may not be felt in Bath,
with your nice pavements; but in the country it is of some consequence.
I have not had a creature call on me since the second week in January, except Charles Hayter, who had been calling much oftener than was welcome.
Between ourselves, I think it a great pity Henrietta did not remain at Lyme as long as Louisa; it would have kept her a little out of his way. The carriage is gone to-day, to bring Louisa and the Harvilles to-morrow.
We are not asked to dine with them, however, till the day after,
Mrs Musgrove is so  of her being fatigued by the journey,
which is not very likely, considering the care that will be taken of her; and it would be much more convenient to me to dine there to-morrow. I am glad you find Mr Elliot so agreeable, and wish I could be acquainted with him too; but I have my usual luck:  I am always out of the way when any thing desirable is going on; always the last of my family to be noticed.  What an immense time Mrs Clay has been staying with Elizabeth!  Does she never mean to go away?  But perhaps
if she were to leave the room vacant, we might not be invited.
Let me know what you think of this.  I do not expect my children to be asked, you know.  I can leave them at the Great House very well,
for a month or six weeks.  I have this moment heard that the Crofts
are going to Bath almost immediately; they think the Admiral gouty.
Charles heard it quite by chance; they have not had the civility
to give me any notice, or of offering to take anything.
I do not think they improve at all as neighbours.  We see nothing of them, and this is really an instance of gross inattention.  Charles joins me in love, and everything proper.  Yours affectionately,
"Mary M---. "I am sorry to say that I am very far from well; and Jemima has just told me that the butcher says there is a bad sore-throat very much about.  I dare say I shall catch it; and my sore-throats, you know, are always worse than anybody's." So ended the first part, which had been afterwards put into an envelope, ontaining nearly as much more.
"I kept my letter open, that I might send you word how Louisa bore her journey, and now I am extremely glad I did, having a great deal to add.  In the first place, I had a note from Mrs Croft yesterday,
offering to convey anything to you; a very kind, friendly note indeed, addressed to me, just as it ought; I shall therefore be able to make my letter as long as I like.  The Admiral does not seem very ill, and I sincerely hope Bath will do him all the good he wants.
I shall be truly glad to have them back again.  Our neighbourhood
cannot spare such a pleasant family.  But now for Louisa.
I have something to communicate that will astonish you not a little.
She and the Harvilles came on Tuesday very safely, and in the evening
we went to ask her how she did, when we were rather surprised
not to find Captain Benwick of the party, for he had been invited
as well as the Harvilles; and what do you think was the reason?
Neither more nor less than his being in love with Louisa, and not choosing to venture to Uppercross till he had had an answer from Mr Musgrove; for it was all settled between him and her before she came away, and he had written to her father by Captain Harville.
True, upon my honour!  Are not you astonished?  I shall be surprised
at least if you ever received a hint of it, for I never did.
Mrs Musgrove protests solemnly that she knew nothing of the matter.
We are all very well pleased, however, for though it is not equal to her marrying Captain Wentworth, it is infinitely better than Charles Hayter; and Mr Musgrove has written his consent, and Captain Benwick
is expected to-day.  Mrs Harville says her husband feels a good deal
on his poor sister's account; but, however, Louisa is a great favourite with both.  Indeed, Mrs Harville and I quite agree that we love her the better for having nursed her.  Charles wonders what Captain Wentworth will say; but if you remember, I never thought him attached to Louisa; I never could see anything of it.  And this is the end, you see, of Captain Benwick's being supposed to be an admirer of yours. How Charles could take such a thing into his head was always incomprehensible to me.  I hope he will be more agreeable now. Certainly not a great match for Louisa Musgrove, but a million times better than marrying among the Hayters." Mary need not have feared her sister's being in any degree prepared for the news.  She had never in her life been more astonished.
Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove!  It was almost too wonderful
for belief, and it was with the greatest effort that she could remain
in the room, preserve an air of calmness, and answer the common questions of the moment.  Happily for her, they were not many.  Sir Walter wanted to know whether the Crofts travelled with four horses,
and whether they were likely to be situated in such a part of Bath
as it might suit Miss Elliot and himself to visit in; but had little curiosity beyond.
"How is Mary?" said Elizabeth; and without waiting for an answer,
"And pray what brings the Crofts to Bath?"
"They come on the Admiral's account.  He is thought to be gouty."
"Gout and decrepitude!" said Sir Walter.  "oor old gentleman."
"Have they any acquaintance here?" asked Elizabeth.
"I do not know; but I can hardly suppose that, at Admiral Croft's
time of life, and in his profession, he should not have many acquaintance in such a place as this."
"I suspect," said Sir Walter coolly, "that Admiral Croft will be best known in Bath as the renter of Kellynch Hall.
Elizabeth, may we venture to present him and his wife in Laura Place?" "Oh, no! I think not.  Situated as we are with Lady Dalrymple, cousins, we ought to be very careful not to embarrass her with acquaintance she might not approve.  If we were not related, it would not signify; but as cousins, she would feel scrupulous as to any proposal of ours.We had better leave the Crofts to find their own level. There are several odd-looking men walking about here, who,
I am told, are sailors.  The Crofts will associate with them."
this was Sir Walter and Elizabeth's share of interest in the letter;
when Mrs Clay had paid her tribute of more decent attention,
in an enquiry after Mrs Charles Musgrove, and her fine little boys,
Anne was at liberty.
In her own room, she tried to comprehend it.  Well might Charles wonder how Captain Wentworth would feel!  Perhaps he had quitted the field, had given Louisa up, had ceased to love, had found he did not love her. She could not endure the idea of treachery or levity, or anything akin to ill usage between him and his friend.  She could not endure that such a friendship as theirs should be severed unfairly.
Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove!  The high-spirited, joyous-talking Louisa Musgrove, and the dejected, thinking, feeling, reading, Captain Benwick, seemed each of them everything that would not suit the other.  Their minds most dissimilar! Where could have been the attraction?  The answer soon presented itself.
It had been in situation.  They had been thrown together several weeks; they had been living in the same small family party:  since Henrietta's coming away, they must have been depending almost entirely on each other, and Louisa, just recovering from illness, had been in an interesting state, and Captain Benwick was not inconsolable.  That was a point which Anne had not been able to avoid suspecting before; and instead of drawing the same conclusion as Mary, from the present course of events, they served only to confirm the idea of his having felt some dawning of tenderness toward herself.  She did not mean, however, to derive much more from it to gratify her vanity, than Mary might have allowed.  She was persuaded that any tolerably pleasing young woman who had listened and seemed to feel for him would have received the same compliment.  He had an affectionate heart. He must love somebody.
She saw no reason against their being happy.  Louisa had fine
naval fervour to begin with, and they would soon grow more alike.
He would gain cheerfulness, and she would learn to be an enthusiast
for Scott and Lord Byron; nay, that was probably learnt already;
of course they had fallen in love over poetry.  The idea of Louisa Musgrove turned into a person of literary taste, and sentimental reflection was amusing, but she had no doubt of its being so.  The day at Lyme, the fall from the Cobb, might influence her health, her nerves, her courage, her character to the end of her life, as thoroughly as it appeared to have influenced her fate.
The conclusion of the whole was, that if the woman who had been sensible of Captain Wentworth's merits could be allowed to prefer another man, there was nothing in the engagement to excite lasting wonder; and if Captain Wentworth lost no friend by it, certainly nothing to be regretted.  No, it was not regret which made Anne's heart beat in spite of herself, and brought the colour into her cheeks when she thought of Captain Wentworth unshackled and free.
She had some feelings which she was ashamed to investigate.
They were too much like joy, senseless joy!
She longed to see the Crofts; but when the meeting took place,
it was evident that no rumour of the news had yet reached them.
The visit of ceremony was paid and returned; and Louisa Musgrove
was mentioned, and Captain Benwick, too, without even half a smile.
The Crofts had placed themselves in lodgings in Gay Street, perfectly to Sir Walter's satisfaction.  He was not at all ashamed of the acquaintance, and did, in fact, think and talk a great deal more
about the Admiral, than the Admiral ever thought or talked about him.
The Crofts knew quite as many people in Bath as they wished for, and considered their intercourse with the Elliots as a mere matter of form, and not in the least likely to afford them any pleasure. They brought with them their country habit of being almost always together. He was ordered to walk to keep off the gout, and Mrs Croft
seemed to go shares with him in everything, and to walk
for her life to do him good.  Anne saw them wherever she went.
Lady Russell took her out in her carriage almost every morning,
and she never failed to think of them, and never failed to see them.
Knowing their feelings as she did, it was a most attractive picture
of happiness to her.  She always watched them as long as she could,
delighted to fancy she understood what they might be talking of,
as they walked along in happy independence, or equally delighted
to see the Admiral's hearty shake of the hand when he encountered
an old friend, and observe their eagerness of conversation
when occasionally forming into a little knot of the navy, Mrs Croft
looking as intelligent and keen as any of the officers around her.
Anne was too much engaged with Lady Russell to be often walking herself; but it so happened that one morning, about a week or ten days
after the Croft's arrival, it suited her best to leave her friend,
or her friend's carriage, in the lower part of the town, and return alone to Camden Place, and in walking up Milsom Street she had the good fortune to meet with the Admiral.  He was standing by himself at a printshop window, with his hands behind him, in earnest contemplation of some print, and she not only might have passed him unseen, but was obliged to touch as well as address him before she could catch his notice.  When he did perceive and acknowledge her, however, it was done with all his usual frankness and good humour.  "Ha! is it you?  Thank you, thank you.
This is treating me like a friend.  Here I am, you see, staring at a picture.  I can never get by this shop without stopping. But what a thing here is, by way of a boat!  Do look at it.
Did you ever see the like?  What queer fellows your fine painters must be, to think that anybody would venture their lives in such a shapeless old cockleshell as that?  And yet here are two gentlemen
stuck up in it mightily at their ease, and looking about them at the rocks and mountains, as if they were not to be upset the next moment,
which they certainly must be.  I wonder where that boat was built!"
(laughing heartily); "I would not venture over a horsepond in it.
Well," (turning away), "now, where are you bound?  Can I go anywhere
for you, or with you?  Can I be of any use?"
"None, I thank you, unless you will give me the pleasure of your company the little way our road lies together.  I am going home."
"That I will, with all my heart, and farther, too.  Yes, yes

we will have a snug walk together, and I have something to tell you

as we go along.  There, take my arm; that's right; I do not

feel comfortable if I have not a woman there.  Lord! what a boat it is!"

taking a last look at the picture, as they began to be in motion.
  
  

"Did you say that you had something to tell me, sir?"
  
  

"Yes, I have, presently.  But here comes a friend, Captain Brigden;

I shall only say, `How d'ye do?' as we pass, however.  I shall not stop.

`How d'ye do?'  Brigden stares to see anybody with me but my wife.

She, poor soul, is tied by the leg.  She has a blister on one of her heels,

as large as a three-shilling piece.  If you look across the street,

you will see Admiral Brand coming down and his brother.  Shabby fellows,

both of them!  I am glad they are not on this side of the way.

Sophy cannot bear them.  They played me a pitiful trick once:

got away with some of my best men.  I will tell you the whole story

another time.  There comes old Sir Archibald Drew and his grandson.

Look, he sees us; he kisses his hand to you; he takes you for my wife.

Ah! the peace has come too soon for that younker.  Poor old Sir Archibald!

How do you like Bath, Miss Elliot?  It suits us very well.

We are always meeting with some old friend or other; the streets

full of them every morning; sure to have plenty of chat;

and then we get away from them all, and shut ourselves in our lodgings,

and draw in our chairs, and are snug as if we were at Kellynch,

ay, or as we used to be even at North Yarmouth and Deal.

We do not like our lodgings here the worse, I can tell you,

for putting us in mind of those we first had at North Yarmouth.

The wind blows through one of the cupboards just in the same way."
  
  

When they were got a little farther, Anne ventured to press again

for what he had to communicate.  She hoped when clear of Milsom Street

to have her curiosity gratified; but she was still obliged to wait,

for the Admiral had made up his mind not to begin till they had

gained the greater space and quiet of Belmont; and as she was

not really Mrs Croft, she must let him have his own way.

As soon as they were fairly ascending Belmont, he began--
  
  

"Well, now you shall hear something that will surprise you.

But first of all, you must tell me the name of the young lady

I am going to talk about.  That young lady, you know, that we have

all been so concerned for.  The Miss Musgrove, that all this has been

happening to.  Her Christian name:  I always forget her Christian name."
  
  

Anne had been ashamed to appear to comprehend so soon as she really

did; but now she could safely suggest the name of "Louisa."
  
  

"Ay, ay, Miss Louisa Musgrove, that is the name.  I wish young ladies

had not such a number of fine Christian names.  I should never be out

if they were all Sophys, or something of that sort.  Well,

this Miss Louisa, we all thought, you know, was to marry Frederick.

He was courting her week after week.  The only wonder was,

what they could be waiting for, till the business at Lyme came;

then, indeed, it was clear enough that they must wait till her brain

was set to right.  But even then there was something odd in their

way of going on.  Instead of staying at Lyme, he went off to Plymouth,

and then he went off to see Edward.  When we came back from Minehead

he was gone down to Edward's, and there he has been ever since.

We have seen nothing of him since November.  Even Sophy could

not understand it.  But now, the matter has take the strangest turn of all;

for this young lady, the same Miss Musgrove, instead of being

to marry Frederick, is to marry James Benwick.  You know James Benwick."
  
  

"A little.  I am a little acquainted with Captain Benwick."
  
  

"Well, she is to marry him.  Nay, most likely they are married already,

for I do not know what they should wait for."
  
  

"I thought Captain Benwick a very pleasing young man," said Anne,

"and I understand that he bears an excellent character."
  
  

"Oh! yes, yes, there is not a word to be said against James Benwick.

He is only a commander, it is true, made last summer, and these are

bad times for getting on, but he has not another fault that I know of.

An excellent, good-hearted fellow, I assure you; a very active,

zealous officer too, which is more than you would think for, perhaps,

for that soft sort of manner does not do him justice."
  
  

"Indeed you are mistaken there, sir; I should never augur want of spirit

from Captain Benwick's manners.  I thought them particularly pleasing,

and I will answer for it, they would generally please."
"Well, well, ladies are the best judges; but J

Chapter 19

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While Admiral Croft was taking this walk with Anne, and expressing

his wish of getting Captain Wentworth to Bath, Captain Wentworth

was already on his way thither.  Before Mrs Croft had written,

he was arrived, and the very next time Anne walked out, she saw him.
  
  

Mr Elliot was attending his two cousins and Mrs Clay.  They were

in Milsom Street.  It began to rain, not much, but enough to

make shelter desirable for women, and quite enough to make it

very desirable for Miss Elliot to have the advantage of being

conveyed home in Lady Dalrymple's carriage, which was seen waiting

at a little distance; she, Anne, and Mrs Clay, therefore,

turned into Molland's, while Mr Elliot stepped to Lady Dalrymple,

to request her assistance.  He soon joined them again, successful,

of course; Lady Dalrymple would be most happy to take them home,

and would call for them in a few minutes.
  
  

Her ladyship's carriage was a barouche, and did not hold

more than four with any comfort.  Miss Carteret was with her mother;

consequently it was not reasonable to expect accommodation

for all the three Camden Place ladies.  There could be no doubt

as to Miss Elliot.  Whoever suffered inconvenience, she must suffer none,

but it occupied a little time to settle the point of civility

between the other two.  The rain was a mere trifle, and Anne was

most sincere in preferring a walk with Mr Elliot.  But the rain was also

a mere trifle to Mrs Clay; she would hardly allow it even to drop at all,

and her boots were so thick! much thicker than Miss Anne's;

and, in short, her civility rendered her quite as anxious to be left

to walk with Mr Elliot as Anne could be, and it was discussed between them

with a generosity so polite and so determined, that the others were

obliged to settle it for them; Miss Elliot maintaining that Mrs Clay

had a little cold already, and Mr Elliot deciding on appeal,

that his cousin Anne's boots were rather the thickest.
  
  

It was fixed accordingly, that Mrs Clay should be of the party

in the carriage; and they had just reached this point, when Anne,

as she sat near the window, descried, most decidedly and distinctly,

Captain Wentworth walking down the street.
  
  

Her start was perceptible only to herself; but she instantly felt that

she was the greatest simpleton in the world, the most unaccountable

and absurd!  For a few minutes she saw nothing before her;

it was all confusion.  She was lost, and when she had scolded

back her senses, she found the others still waiting for the carriage,

and Mr Elliot (always obliging) just setting off for Union Street

on a commission of Mrs Clay's.
  
  

She now felt a great inclination to go to the outer door;

she wanted to see if it rained.  Why was she to suspect herself

of another motive?  Captain Wentworth must be out of sight.

She left her seat, she would go; one half of her should not be always

so much wiser than the other half, or always suspecting the other

of being worse than it was.  She would see if it rained.

She was sent back, however, in a moment by the entrance of

Captain Wentworth himself, among a party of gentlemen and ladies,

evidently his acquaintance, and whom he must have joined

a little below Milsom Street.  He was more obviously struck

and confused by the sight of her than she had ever observed before;

he looked quite red.  For the first time, since their renewed acquaintance,

she felt that she was betraying the least sensibility of the two.

She had the advantage of him in the preparation of the last few moments.

All the overpowering, blinding, bewildering, first effects

of strong surprise were over with her.  Still, however,

she had enough to feel!  It was agitation, pain, pleasure,

a something between delight and misery.
  
  

He spoke to her, and then turned away.  The character of his manner

was embarrassment.  She could not have called it either cold or friendly,

or anything so certainly as embarrassed.
  
  

After a short interval, however, he came towards her, and spoke again.

Mutual enquiries on common subjects passed:  neither of them, probably,

much the wiser for what they heard, and Anne continuing fully sensible

of his being less at ease than formerly.  They had by dint of being

so very much together, got to speak to each other with a considerable

portion of apparent indifference and calmness; but he could not do it now.

Time had changed him, or Louisa had changed him.  There was consciousness

of some sort or other.  He looked very well, not as if he had been

suffering in health or spirits, and he talked of Uppercross,

of the Musgroves, nay, even of Louisa, and had even a momentary look

of his own arch significance as he named her; but yet it was

Captain Wentworth not comfortable, not easy, not able to feign that he was.
  
  

It did not surprise, but it grieved Anne to observe that Elizabeth

would not know him.  She saw that he saw Elizabeth, that Elizabeth saw him,

that there was complete internal recognition on each side;

she was convinced that he was ready to be acknowledged as an acquaintance,

expecting it, and she had the pain of seeing her sister turn away

with unalterable coldness.
  
  

Lady Dalrymple's carriage, for which Miss Elliot was growing

very impatient, now drew up; the servant came in to announce it.

It was beginning to rain again, and altogether there was a delay,

and a bustle, and a talking, which must make all the little crowd

in the shop understand that Lady Dalrymple was calling to convey

Miss Elliot.  At last Miss Elliot and her friend, unattended but

by the servant, (for there was no cousin returned), were walking off;

and Captain Wentworth, watching them, turned again to Anne,

and by manner, rather than words, was offering his services to her.
  
  

"I am much obliged to you," was her answer, "but I am not going with them.

The carriage would not accommodate so many.  I walk:  I prefer walking."
  
  

"But it rains."
  
  

"Oh! very little,  Nothing that I regard."
  
  

After a moment's pause he said:  "Though I came only yesterday,

I have equipped myself properly for Bath already, you see,"

(pointing to a new umbrella); "I wish you would make use of it,

if you are determined to walk; though I think it would be more prudent

to let me get you a chair."
  
  

She was very much obliged to him, but declined it all, repeating

her conviction, that the rain would come to nothing at present,

and adding, "I am only waiting for Mr Elliot.  He will be here in a moment,

I am sure."
  
  

She had hardly spoken the words when Mr Elliot walked in.

Captain Wentworth recollected him perfectly.  There was no difference

between him and the man who had stood on the steps at Lyme,

admiring Anne as she passed, except in the air and look and manner

of the privileged relation and friend.  He came in with eagerness,

appeared to see and think only of her, apologised for his stay,

was grieved to have kept her waiting, and anxious to get her away

without further loss of time and before the rain increased;

and in another moment they walked off together, her arm under his,

a gentle and embarrassed glance, and a "Good morning to you!"

being all that she had time for, as she passed away.
  
  

As soon as they were out of sight, the ladies of Captain Wentworth's party

began talking of them.
  
  

"Mr Elliot does not dislike his cousin, I fancy?"
  
  

"Oh! no, that is clear enough.  One can guess what will happen there.

He is always with them; half lives in the family, I believe.

What a very good-looking man!"
  
  

"Yes, and Miss Atkinson, who dined with him once at the Wallises,

says he is the most agreeable man she ever was in company with."
  
  

"She is pretty, I think; Anne Elliot; very pretty, when one comes

to look at her.  It is not the fashion to say so, but I confess

I admire her more than her sister."
  
  

"Oh! so do I."
  
  

"And so do I.  No comparison.  But the men are all wild after Miss Elliot.

Anne is too delicate for them."
  
  

Anne would have been particularly obliged to her cousin, if he would have

walked by her side all the way to Camden Place, without saying a word.

She had never found it so difficult to listen to him, though nothing

could exceed his solicitude and care, and though his subjects

were principally such as were wont to be always interesting:

praise, warm, just, and discriminating, of Lady Russell,

and insinuations highly rational against Mrs Clay.  But just now

she could think only of Captain Wentworth.  She could not understand

his present feelings, whether he were really suffering much

from disappointment or not; and till that point were settled,

she could not be quite herself.
  
  

She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time; but alas! alas!

she must confess to herself that she was not wise yet.
  
  

Another circumstance very essential for her to know, was how long

he meant to be in Bath; he had not mentioned it, or she could not

recollect it.  He might be only passing through.  But it was more probable

that he should be come to stay.  In that case, so liable as every body was

to meet every body in Bath, Lady Russell would in all likelihood

see him somewhere.  Would she recollect him?  How would it all be?
  
  

She had already been obliged to tell Lady Russell that Louisa Musgrove

was to marry Captain Benwick.  It had cost her something to encounter

Lady Russell's surprise; and now, if she were by any chance

to be thrown into company with Captain Wentworth, her imperfect knowledge

of the matter might add another shade of prejudice against him.
  
  

The following morning Anne was out with her friend, and for the first hour,

in an incessant and fearful sort of watch for him in vain; but at last,

in returning down Pulteney Street, she distinguished him

on the right hand pavement at such a distance as to have him in view

the greater part of the street.  There were many other men about him,

many groups walking the same way, but there was no mistaking him.

She looked instinctively at Lady Russell; but not from any mad idea

of her recognising him so soon as she did herself.  No, it was

not to be supposed that Lady Russell would perceive him till they

were nearly opposite.  She looked at her however, from time to time,

anxiously; and when the moment approached which must point him out,

though not daring to look again (for her own countenance she knew

was unfit to be seen), she was yet perfectly conscious of

Lady Russell's eyes being turned exactly in the direction for him--

of her being, in short, intently observing him.  She could thoroughly

comprehend the sort of fascination he must possess over Lady Russell's mind,

the difficulty it must be for her to withdraw her eyes, the astonishment

she must be feeling that eight or nine years should have passed over him,

and in foreign climes and in active service too, without robbing him

of one personal grace!
  
  

At last, Lady Russell drew back her head.  "Now, how would she

speak of him?"
  
  

"You will wonder," said she, "what has been fixing my eye so long;

but I was looking after some window-curtains, which Lady Alicia and

Mrs Frankland were telling me of last night.  They described

the drawing-room window-curtains of one of the houses on this

side of the way, and this part of the street, as being the handsomest

and best hung of any in Bath, but could not recollect the exact number,

and I have been trying to find out which it could be; but I confess

I can see no curtains hereabouts that answer their description."
  
  

Anne sighed and blushed and smiled, in pity and disdain,

either at her friend or herself.  The part which provoked her most,

was that in all this waste of foresight and caution, she should have

lost the right moment for seeing whether he saw them.
  
  

A day or two passed without producing anything.  The theatre or the rooms,

where he was most likely to be, were not fashionable enough

for the Elliots, whose evening amusements were solely in the

elegant stupidity of private parties, in which they were getting

more and more engaged; and Anne, wearied of such a state of stagnation,

sick of knowing nothing, and fancying herself stronger because

her strength was not tried, was quite impatient for the concert evening.

It was a concert for the benefit of a person patronised by Lady Dalrymple.

Of course they must attend.  It was really expected to be a good one,

and Captain Wentworth was very fond of music.  If she could only have

a few minutes conversation with him again, she fancied she should

be satisfied; and as to the power of addressing him, she felt all over

courage if the opportunity occurred.  Elizabeth had turned from him,

Lady Russell overlooked him; her nerves were strengthened

by these circumstances; she felt that she owed him attention.
  
  

She had once partly promised Mrs Smith to spend the evening with her;

but in a short hurried call she excused herself and put it off,

with the more decided promise of a longer visit on the morrow.

Mrs Smith gave a most good-humoured acquiescence.
  
  

"By all means," said she; "only tell me all about it, when you do come.

Who is your party?"
  
  

Anne named them all.  Mrs Smith made no reply; but when she was

leaving her said, and with an expression half serious, half arch,

"Well, I heartily wish your concert may answer; and do not fail me

to-morrow if you can come; for I begin to have a foreboding

that I may not have many more visits from you."
  
  

Anne was startled and confused; but after standing in a moment's suspense,

was obliged, and not sorry to be obliged, to hurry away.

Chapter 20
Sir Walter, his two daughters, and Mrs Clay, were the earliest of all their party at the rooms in the evening; and as Lady Dalrymple must be waited for, they took their station by one of the fires in the Octagon Room.  But hardly were they so settled, when the door opened again, and Captain Wentworth walked in alone.  Anne was the nearest to him, and making yet a little advance, she instantly spoke. He was preparing only to bow and pass on, but her gentle "How do you do?"
brought him out of the straight line to stand near her, and make enquiries in return, in spite of the formidable father and sister in the back ground. Their being in the back ground was a support to Anne; she knew nothing of their looks, and felt equal to everything which she believed right to be done.
While they were speaking, a whispering between her father and Elizabeth caught her ear.  She could not distinguish, but she must guess the subject; and on Captain Wentworth's making a distant bow, she comprehended that her father had judged so well as to give him that simple acknowledgement of acquaintance, and she was just in time
by a side glance to see a slight curtsey from Elizabeth herself.
This, though late, and reluctant, and ungracious, was yet better than nothing, and her spirits improved. After talking, however, of the weather, and Bath, and the concert, their conversation began to flag, and so little was said at last, that she was expecting him to go every moment, but he did not; he seemed in no hurry to leave her; and presently with renewed spirit, with a little smile, a little glow, he said-- "I have hardly seen you since our day at Lyme.  I am  you must have suffered from the shock, and the more from its not overpowering you at the time." She assured him that she had not.
"It was a frightful hour," said he, "a frightful day!" and he passed his hand across his eyes, as if the remembrance were still too painful, but in a moment, half smiling again, added, "The day has produced some effects however; has had some consequences which must be considered as the very reverse of frightful. When you had the presence of mind to suggest that Benwick would be the properest person to fetch a surgeon, you could have little idea of his being eventually one of those most concerned in her recovery." "Certainly I could have none.  But it appears--I should hope it would be a very happy match.  There are on both sides good principles and good temper." "Yes," said he, looking not exactly forward; "but there, I think, ends the resemblance.  With all my soul I wish them happy, and rejoice over every circumstance in favour of it.  They have no difficulties to contend with at home, no opposition, no caprice, no delays.
The Musgroves are behaving like themselves, most honourably and kindly, only anxious with true parental hearts to promote their daughter's comfort.
All this is much, very much in favour of their happiness; Are than perhaps--" He stopped.  A sudden recollection seemed to occur, and to give him some taste of that emotion which was reddening Anne's cheeks
and fixing her eyes on the ground.  After clearing his throat, however, he proceeded thus-- "I confess that I do think there is a disparity, too great a disparity, and in a point no less essential than mind.  I regard Louisa Musgrove as a very amiable, sweet-tempered girl, and not deficient in understanding, but Benwick is something more.  He is a clever man, a reading man; and I confess, that I do consider his attaching himself to her with some surprise.  Had it been the effect of gratitude, had he learnt to love her, because he believed her to be preferring him, it would have been another thing.  But I have no reason to suppose it so.
It seems, on the contrary, to have been a perfectly spontaneous,
untaught feeling on his side, and this surprises me.  A man like him,
in his situation! with a heart pierced, wounded, almost broken!
Fanny Harville was a very superior creature, and his attachment to her was indeed attachment.  A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman.  He ought not; he does not."
Either from the consciousness, however, that his friend had recovered, or from other consciousness, he went no farther; and Anne who, in spite of the agitated voice in which the latter part had been uttered, and in spite of all the various noises of the room, the almost ceaseless slam of the door, and ceaseless buzz of persons walking through, had distinguished every word, was struck, gratified, confused, and beginning to breathe very quick, and feel an hundred things in a moment.  It was impossible for her to enter on such a subject; and yet, after a pause, feeling the necessity of speaking,
and having not the smallest wish for a total change, she only deviated so far as to say-- "You were a good while at Lyme, I think?"
"About a fortnight.  I could not leave it till Louisa's doing well
was quite ascertained.  I had been too deeply concerned in the mischief to be soon at peace.  It had been my doing, solely mine.
She would not have been obstinate if I had not been weak.
The country round Lyme is very fine.  I walked and rode a great deal;
and the more I saw, the more I found to admire."
"I should very much like to see Lyme again," said Anne.
"Indeed!  I should not have supposed that you could have found
anything in Lyme to inspire such a feeling.  The horror and distress
you were involved in, the stretch of mind, the wear of spirits!
I should have thought your last impressions of Lyme must have been
strong disgust." "The last hours were certainly very painful," replied Anne; "but when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure.
One does not love a place the less for having suffered in it,
unless it has been all suffering, nothing but suffering, which was
by no means the case at Lyme.  We were only in anxiety and distress
during the last two hours, and previously there had been a great deal
of enjoyment.  So much novelty and beauty! I have travelled so little, that every fresh place would be interesting to me; but there is real beauty at Lyme; and in short" (with a faint blush at some recollections), "altogether my impressions of the place are very agreeable." As she ceased, the entrance door opened again, and the very party appeared for whom they were waiting.  "Lady Dalrymple, Lady Dalrymple,"was the rejoicing sound; and with all the eagerness compatible with anxious elegance, Sir Walter and his two ladies stepped forward to meet her.  Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, escorted by Mr Elliot and Colonel Wallis, who had happened to arrive nearly at the same instant, advanced into the room.  The others joined them, and it was a group in which Anne found herself also necessarily included. She was divided from Captain Wentworth.  Their interesting, almost too interesting conversation must be broken up for a time, but slight was the penance compared with the happiness which brought it on! She had learnt, in the last ten minutes, more of his feelings towards Louisa, more of all his feelings than she dared to think of; and she gave herself up to the demands of the party, to the needful civilities of the moment, with exquisite, though agitated sensations.
She was in good humour with all.  She had received ideas which
disposed her to be courteous and kind to all, and to pity every one,
as being less happy than herself.
The delightful emotions were a little subdued, when on stepping back
from the group, to be joined again by Captain Wentworth, she saw
that he was gone.  She was just in time to see him turn into
the Concert Room.  He was gone; he had disappeared, she felt
a moment's regret.  But "they should meet again.  He would look for her, he would find her out before the evening were over, and at present, perhaps, it was as well to be asunder.  She was in need of
a little interval for recollection."
Upon Lady Russell's appearance soon afterwards, the whole party
was collected, and all that remained was to marshal themselves,
and proceed into the Concert Room; and be of all the consequence
in their power, draw as many eyes, excite as many whispers,
and disturb as many people as they could.
Very, very happy were both Elizabeth and Anne Elliot as they walked in. Elizabeth arm in arm with Miss Carteret, and looking on the broad back of the dowager Viscountess Dalrymple before her, had nothing to wish for which did not seem within her reach; and Anne--but it would be an insult to the nature of Anne's felicity, to draw any comparison
between it and her sister's; the origin of one all selfish vanity,
of the other all generous attachment.
Anne saw nothing, thought nothing of the brilliancy of the room.
Her happiness was from within.  Her eyes were bright and her cheeks glowed; but she knew nothing about it.  She was thinking only of
the last half hour, and as they passed to their seats, her mind took
a hasty range over it.  His choice of subjects, his expressions,
and still more his manner and look, had been such as she could see
in only one light.  His opinion of Louisa Musgrove's inferiority,
an opinion which he had seemed solicitous to give, his wonder
at Captain Benwick, his feelings as to a first, strong attachment;
sentences begun which he could not finish, his half averted eyes
and more than half expressive glance, all, all declared that he had
a heart returning to her at least; that anger, resentment, avoidance,
were no more; and that they were succeeded, not merely by friendship
and regard, but by the tenderness of the past.  Yes, some share of
the tenderness of the past.  She could not contemplate the change
as implying less.  He must love her.
These were thoughts, with their attendant visions, which occupied
and flurried her too much to leave her any power of observation;
and she passed along the room without having a glimpse of him, Without even trying to discern him.  When their places were determined on, and they were all properly arranged, she looked round to see if he should happen to be in the same part of the room, but he was not; her eye could not reach him; and the concert being just opening, She must consent for a time to be happy in a humbler way.
The party was divided and disposed of on two contiguous benches:
Anne was among those on the foremost, and Mr Elliot had manoeuvred so well, with the assistance of his friend Colonel Wallis, as to have a seat by her.
Miss Elliot, surrounded by her cousins, and the principal object
of Colonel Wallis's gallantry, was quite contented.
Anne's mind was in a most favourable state for the entertainment
of the evening; it was just occupation enough:  she had feelings for
the tender, spirits for the gay, attention for the scientific, and patience for the wearisome; and had never liked a concert better, at least during the first act.  Towards the close of it, in the interval succeeding an Italian song, she explained the words of the song to Mr Elliot.  They had a concert bill between them.
"This," said she, "is nearly the sense, or rather the meaning of the words, for certainly the sense of an Italian love-song must not be talked of, but it is as nearly the meaning as I can give; for I do not pretend to understand the language.  I am a very poor Italian scholar." "Yes, yes, I see you are.  I see you know nothing of the matter. You have only knowledge enough of the language to translate at sight these inverted, transposed, curtailed Italian lines, into clear, comprehensible, elegant English.  You need not say anything more of your ignorance.  Here is complete proof."
"I will not oppose such kind politeness; but I should be sorry to be
examined by a real proficient."
"I have not had the pleasure of visiting in Camden Place so long,"
replied he, "without knowing something of Miss Anne Elliot;
and I do regard her as one who is too modest for the world in general
to be aware of half her accomplishments, and too highly accomplished
for modesty to be natural in any other woman."
"For shame! for shame! this is too much flattery.  I forget what we are to have next," turning to the bill.
"erhaps," said Mr Elliot, speaking low, "I have had a longer acquaintance with your character than you are aware of."
"Indeed!  How so?  You can have been acquainted with it only since
I came to Bath, excepting as you might hear me previously spoken of
in my own family." "I knew you by report long before you came to Bath.  I had heard you described by those who knew you intimately.  I have been acquainted with you by character many years.  Your person, your disposition, accomplishments, manner; they were all present to me." Mr Elliot was not disappointed in the interest he hoped to raise. No one can withstand the charm of such a mystery.  To have been described long ago to a recent acquaintance, by nameless people,
is irresistible; and Anne was all curiosity.  She wondered, and questioned him eagerly; but in vain.  He delighted in being asked,
but he would not tell.
"No, no, some time or other, perhaps, but not now.  He would mention
no names now; but such, he could assure her, had been the fact.
He had many years ago received such a description of Miss Anne Elliot
as had inspired him with the highest idea of her merit, and excited
the warmest curiosity to know her." Anne could think of no one so likely to have spoken with partiality of her many years ago as the Mr Wentworth of Monkford, Captain Wentworth's brother.  He might have been in Mr Elliot's company, but she had not courage to ask the question.
"The name of Anne Elliot," said he, "has long had an interesting sound to me. Very long has it possessed a charm over my fancy; and, if I dared, I would breathe my wishes that the name might never change." Such, she believed, were his words; but scarcely had she
received their sound, than her attention was caught by other sounds
immediately behind her, which rendered every thing else trivial.
Her father and Lady Dalrymple were speaking.
"A well-looking man," said Sir Walter, "a very well-looking man."
"A very fine young man indeed!" said Lady Dalrymple.  "More air
than one often sees in Bath.  Irish, I dare say."
"No, I just know his name.  A bowing acquaintance.  Wentworth;
Captain Wentworth of the navy.  His sister married my tenant
in Somersetshire, the Croft, who rents Kellynch."Before Sir Walter had reached this point, Anne's eyes had caught the right direction, and distinguished Captain Wentworth standing among a cluster of men at a little distance.  As her eyes fell on him, his seemed to be withdrawn from her.  It had that appearance.
It seemed as if she had been one moment too late; and as long as she
dared observe, he did not look again:  but the performance was recommencing, and she was forced to seem to restore her attention
to the orchestra and look straight forward.
When she could give another glance, he had moved away.  He could not have come nearer to her if he would; she was so surrounded and shut in: but she would rather have caught his eye.
Mr Elliot's speech, too, distressed her.  She had no longer any inclination to talk to him.  She wished him not so near her.
The first act was over.  Now she hoped for some beneficial change;
and, after a period of nothing-saying amongst the party, some of them
did decide on going in quest of tea.  Anne was one of the few who
did not choose to move.  She remained in her seat, and so did Lady Russell; but she had the pleasure of getting rid of Mr Elliot; and she did not mean, whatever she might feel on Lady Russell's account, to shrink from conversation with Captain Wentworth, if he gave her the opportunity. She was persuaded by Lady Russell's countenance that she had seen him.He did not come however.  Anne sometimes fancied she discerned him at a distance, but he never came.  The anxious interval
wore away unproductively.  The others returned, the room filled again, benches were reclaimed and repossessed, and another hour of pleasure or of penance was to be sat out, another hour of music was to give delight or the gapes, as real or affected taste for it prevailed. To Anne, it chiefly wore the prospect of an hour of agitation. She could not quit that room in peace without seeing Captain Wentworth once more, without the interchange of one friendly look. In re-settling themselves there were now many changes, the result of which was favourable for her.  Colonel Wallis declined sitting down again, and Mr Elliot was invited by Elizabeth and Miss Carteret, in a manner not to be refused, to sit between them; and by some other removals, and a little scheming of her own,  Anne was enabled to place herself much nearer the end of the bench than she had been before, much more within reach of a passer-by.  She could not do so, without comparing herself with Miss Larolles, the inimitable Miss Larolles; but still she did it, and not with much happier effect; though by what seemed prosperity in the shape of an early abdication in her next neighbours, she found herself at the very end of the bench before the concert closed.
Such was her situation, with a vacant space at hand, when Captain Wentworth was again in sight.  She saw him not far off.  He saw her too; yet he looked grave, and seemed irresolute, and only by very slow degrees came at last near enough to speak to her.  She felt that something must be the matter.  The change was indubitable.  The difference between his present air and what it had been in the Octagon Room was strikingly great.  Why was it?  She thought of her father, of Lady Russell.  Could there have been any unpleasant ances?
He began by speaking of the concert gravely, more like the Captain
Wentworth of Uppercross; owned himself disappointed, had expected singing; and in short, must confess that he should not be sorry when it was over. Anne replied, and spoke in defense of the performance so well, and yet in allowance for his feelings so pleasantly, that his countenance improved, and he replied again with almost a smile.  They talked for a few minutes more; the improvement held; he even looked down towards the bench, as if he saw a place on it well worth occupying; when at that moment a touch on her shoulder obliged Anne to turn round. It came from Mr Elliot.  He begged her pardon, but she must be applied to, to explain Italian again.  Miss Carteret was very anxious to have a general idea of what was next to be sung.  Anne could not refuse; but never had she sacrificed to politeness with a more suffering spirit.
A few minutes, though as few as possible, were inevitably consumed;
and when her own mistress again, when able to turn and look as she had done before, she found herself accosted by Captain Wentworth,
in a reserved yet hurried sort of farewell.  "He must wish her good night; he was going; he should get home as fast as he could." "Is not this song worth staying for?" said Anne, suddenly struck by an idea which made her yet more anxious to be encouraging.
"No!" he replied impressively, "there is nothing worth my staying for;" and he was gone directly.
Jealousy of Mr Elliot!  It was the only intelligible motive.
Captain Wentworth jealous of her affection!  Could she have believed it a week ago; three hours ago!  For a moment the gratification was exquisite. But, alas! there were very different thoughts to succeed.
How was such jealousy to be quieted?  How was the truth to reach him?
How, in all the peculiar disadvantages of their respective situations, would he ever learn of her real sentiments?  It was misery to think of Mr Elliot's attentions.  Their evil was incalculable.

Thank you very much.