Sense and Sensibility (Signet Classics)

by Jane Austen

they could go directly to their own room, where hartshorn restored her a little to herself.

But that won’t do nowadays; nothing in the way of pleasure can ever be given up by the young men of this age.”

Elinor had not needed this to be assured of the injustice to which her sister was often led in her opinion of others by the irritable refinement of her own mind, and the too-great importance placed by her on the delicacies of a strong sensibility and the graces of a polished manner.

She expected from other people the same opinions and feelings as her own, and she judged of their motives by the immediate effect of their actions on herself.

She felt the loss of Willoughby’s character yet more heavily than she had felt the loss of his heart;

He had just compunction enough for having done nothing for his sisters himself to be exceedingly anxious that everybody else should do a great deal; and an offer from Colonel Brandon, or a legacy from Mrs. Jennings, was the easiest means of atoning for his own neglect.

There was a kind of cold-hearted selfishness on both sides which mutually attracted them; and they sympathized with each other in an insipid propriety of demeanour and a general want of understanding.

Elinor could not

John Dashwood had not much to say for himself that was worth hearing, and his wife had still less. But there was no peculiar disgrace in this, for it was very much the case with the chief of their visitors, who almost all laboured under one or other of these disqualifications for being agreeable: want of sense, either natural or improved; want of elegance, want of spirits, or want of temper.

would not allow the presence of Lucy, nor the consciousness of some injustice towards herself, to deter her from saying that she was happy to see him, and that she had very much regretted being from home when he called before in Berkeley Street.

And I really believe he has the most delicate conscience in the world, the most scrupulous in performing every engagement however minute, and however it may make against his interest or pleasure. He is the most fearful of giving pain, of wounding expectation, and the most incapable of being selfish of anybody I ever saw. Edward, it is so and I will say it. What! Are you never to hear yourself praised! Then you must be no friend of mine, for those who will accept of my love and esteem must submit to my open commendation.”

Marianne looked at her steadily, and said, “You know, Elinor, that this is a kind of talking which I cannot bear. If you only hope to have your assertion contradicted, as I must suppose to be the case, you ought to recollect that I am the last person in the world to do it. I cannot descend to be tricked out of assurances that are not really wanted.”

She then left the room, and Elinor dared not follow her to say more, for bound as she was by her promise of secrecy to Lucy, she could give no information that would convince Marianne, and painful as the consequences of her still continuing in an error might be, she was obliged to submit to it. All that she could hope was that Edward would not often expose her or himself to the distress of hearing Marianne’s mistaken warmth, nor to the repetition of any other part of the pain that had attended their recent meeting—and this she had every reason to expect.

They had too much sense to be desirable companions to the former; and by the latter they were considered with a jealous eye as intruding on their ground and sharing the kindness which they wanted to monopolize. Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton’s behaviour to Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all. Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not believe them good-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she fancied them satirical, perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to be satirical, but that did not signify. It was censure in common use, and easily given.

But while the imaginations of other people will carry them away to form wrong judgments of our conduct and to decide on it by slight appearances, one’s happiness must in some measure be always at the mercy of chance.

In the present instance, this last-arrived lady allowed her fancy so far to outrun truth and probability that on merely hearing the name of the Miss Dashwoods and understanding them to be Mr. Dashwood’s sisters, she immediately concluded them to be staying in Harley Street, and this misconstruction produced within a day or two afterwards cards of invitation for them, as well as for their brother and sister, to a small musical party at her house.

when people are determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be wrong, they feel injured by the expectation of anything better from them.

The impertinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally concluded with a compliment, which though meant as its douceur, was considered by Marianne as the greatest impertinence of all,

Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the compliment of rational opposition.

I have no notion of people’s making such a to-do about money and greatness. There is no reason on earth why Mr. Edward and Lucy should not marry, for I am sure Mrs. Ferrars may afford to do very well by her son, and though Lucy has next to nothing herself, she knows better than anybody how to make the most of everything; and I dare say, if Mrs. Ferrars would only allow him five hundred a year, she would make as good an appearance with it as anybody else would with eight.

She was very far from wishing to dwell on her own feelings or to represent herself as suffering much, any otherwise than as the self-command she had practised since her first knowledge of Edward’s engagement might suggest a hint of what was practicable to Marianne. Her narration was clear and simple; and though it could not be given without emotion, it was not accompanied by violent agitation nor impetuous grief.

was very far from wishing to dwell on her own feelings or to represent herself

Elinor was to be the comforter of others in her own distresses no less than in theirs;

“By feeling that I was doing my duty. My promise to Lucy obliged me to be secret. I owed it to her, therefore, to avoid giving any hint of the truth; and I owed it to my family and friends not to create in them a solicitude about me which it could not be in my power to satisfy.”

But I did not love only him; and while the comfort of others were dear to me, I was glad to spare them from knowing how much I felt. Now I can think and speak of it with little emotion. I would not have you suffer on my account, for I assure you I no longer suffer materially myself.

I am not conscious of having provoked the disappointment by any imprudence ot my own, and I have borne it as much as possible without spreading it farther.

I wish him very happy; and I am so sure of his always doing his duty that though now he may harbour some regre...

It was told me, it was in a manner forced on me by the very person herself whose prior engagement ruined all my prospects, and told me, as I thought, with triumph. This person’s suspicions, therefore, I have had to oppose by endeavouring to appear indifferent where I have been most deeply interested; and it has not been only once; I have had her hopes and exultation to listen to again and again.

I have had to contend against the unkindness of his sister and the insolence of his mother, and have suffered the punishment of an attachment without enjoying its advantages.

If you can think me capable of ever feeling, surely you may suppose that I have suffered now.

The composure of mind with which I have brought myself at present to consider the matter, the consolation that I have been willing to admit, have been the effect of constant and painful exertion; they did not spring up of themselves; they did not occur to relieve my spirits at first.

Then, if I had not been bound to silence, perhaps nothing could have kept me entirely—not even what I owed to my dearest friends—from op...

Such advances towards heroism in her sister made Elinor feel equal to anything herself.

John Dashwood was greatly astonished; but his nature was calm, not open to provocation, and he never wished to offend anybody, especially anybody of good fortune.

Everybody has a way of their own. But I don’t think mine would be to make one son independent because another had plagued me.”

how small was the consolation, beyond the consciousness of doing right, that could remain to him in the loss of friends and fortune. Elinor gloried in his integrity and Marianne forgave all his offences in compassion for his punishment.

but whatever minor feelings less pure, less pleasing, might have a share in that emotion, her esteem for the general benevolence, and her gratitude for the particular friendship, which together prompted Colonel Brandon to this act, were strongly felt and warmly expressed.

when a man has once made up his mind to such a thing, somehow or other he will soon find an opportunity. Well, my dear, I wish you joy of it again and again; and if ever there was a happy couple in the world, I think I shall soon know where to look for them.”

“Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man that he rather wished anyone to announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself.”

“The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find friendship anywhere.”

Robert, who, by the gay unconcern, the happy self-complacency of his manner while enjoying so unfair a division of his mother’s love and liberality to the prejudice of his banished brother, earned only by his own dissipated course of life and that brother’s integrity, was confirming her most unfavourable opinion of his head and heart.

Elinor, while she waited in silence and immovable gravity the conclusion of such folly, could not restrain her eyes from being fixed on him with a look that spoke all the contempt it excited. It was a look, however, very well bestowed, for it relieved her own feelings and gave no intelligence to him. He was recalled from wit to wisdom, not by any reproof of hers but by his own sensibility.

her kindness, recommended by so pretty a face, was engaging; her folly, though evident, was not disgusting because it was not conceited; and Elinor could have forgiven everything but her laugh.

Elinor could not be cheerful. Her joy was of a different kind and led to anything rather than to gaiety. Marianne restored to life, health, friends, and to her doting mother was an idea to fill her heart with sensations of exquisite comfort and expand it in fervent gratitude; but it led to no outward demonstrations of joy, no words, no smiles. All within Elinor’s breast was satisfaction, silent and strong.

Oh! how slow was the progress of time which yet kept them in ignorance!

Do not think yourself excused by any weakness, any natural defect of understanding on her side, in the wanton cruelty so evident on yours. You must have known that while you were enjoying yourself in Devonshire, pursuing fresh schemes, always gay, always happy, she was reduced to the extremest indigence.”

My affection for Marianne, my thorough conviction of her attachment to me—it was all insufficient to outweigh that dread of poverty, or get the better of those false ideas of the necessity of riches, which I was naturally inclined to feel and expensive society had increased.

Well, I went, left all that I loved, and went to those to whom at best I was only indifferent.

He stopped.

“Marianne’s