believe she does. But her own father had himself two wives. It’s strange.”
After a short pause he resumed the conversation,
“Does your sister make no distinction in her objections against a second attachment? Or is it equally criminal in everybody? Must those who were disappointed in their first choice, be equally indifferent during the rest of their lives?”
“I am not acquainted with her principles. I only know she does not admit the second attachment. It’s not pardonable.”
“This,” said he, “cannot last long; but a change, a total change of sentiments – no, no, do not desire it. I speak from experience. I once knew a lady who greatly resembled your sister, who thought and judged like her, but who – from a series of unfortunate circumstances – ”
Here he stopped suddenly.
Chapter XII
One day Margaret cried,
“Oh, Elinor! I have such a secret to tell you about Marianne. I am sure she will be married to Mr. Willoughby very soon.”
“You have said so,” replied Elinor, “almost every day since they first met.”
“But indeed this is quite another thing. I am sure they will be married very soon, for he has got a lock of her hair[11]. He cut it off. I saw it! Last night after tea, when you and mama went out of the room, they were whispering and talking together. Then he begged something of her, and took up her scissors and cut off a long lock of her hair. And he kissed it, and folded it up in a piece of white paper; and put it into his pocket-book.”
Margaret’s sagacity was not always satisfactory to her sister. When Mrs. Jennings attacked her one evening at the park, to give the name of the young man who was Elinor’s particular favourite – it was a matter of great curiosity to her, – Margaret said, “I must not tell, right, Elinor?”
This of course made everybody laugh; and Elinor tried to laugh too. But the effort was painful. She did not like Mrs. Jennings’s jokes.
Marianne turned red and said in an angry manner to Margaret,
“Remember that you have no right to repeat your conjectures.”
“I never had any conjectures about it,” replied Margaret; “it was you who told me of it yourself.”
This increased the mirth of the company.
“Oh! Miss Margaret, let us know all about it,” said Mrs. Jennings. “What is the gentleman’s name?”
“I must not tell, ma’am. But I know very well what it is; and I know where he is too.”
“Yes, yes, we can guess where he is; at his own house at Norland to be sure. He is the curate of the parish I dare say.”
“No, that he is not.”
“Margaret,” said Marianne, “you know that all this is an invention of your own, and that there is no such person in existence.”
“Well, then, he is lately dead, Marianne, for I am sure there was such a man once, and his name begins with an F.”
Lady Middleton observed, at this moment, “that it rained very hard”. The idea was immediately pursued by Colonel Brandon. Willoughby opened the piano-forte, and asked Marianne to sit down to it.
A party was formed this evening for going on the following day to see a very fine place about twelve miles from Barton. It belonged to a brother-in-law of Colonel Brandon, who was then abroad.
To somebody it appeared rather a bold undertaking, considering the time of year, and that it had rained everyday for the last fortnight. Elinor persuaded Mrs. Dashwood, who had already a cold, to stay at home.
Chapter XIII
Their excursion to Whitwell turned out very different from what Elinor had expected. She was prepared to be wet through, fatigued, and frightened; but the event was still more unfortunate, for they did not go at all.
By ten o’clock the whole party was assembled at the park, where they ready to breakfast. The morning was rather favourable, though it had rained all night.
While they were at breakfast the letters were brought in. Among the rest there was one for Colonel Brandon. He took it, looked at the direction, changed colour, and immediately left the room.
“What is the matter with Brandon?” said Sir John.
Nobody could tell.
“I hope he has had no bad news,” said Lady Middleton. “It must be something extraordinary that could make Colonel Brandon leave my breakfast table so suddenly.”
In about five minutes he returned.
“No bad news, Colonel, I hope;” said Mrs. Jennings, as soon as he entered the room.
“None at all, ma’am, I thank you.”
“Was it from Avignon? I hope it is not to say that your sister is worse.”
“No, ma’am. It came from town, and is merely a letter of business.”
“But why does it discompose you so much, if it is only a letter of business? Come, come, Colonel; so let us hear the truth of it.”
“My dear madam,” said Lady Middleton, “recollect what you are saying.”
“Well, then, I know who it is from, Colonel. And I hope she is well.”
“Whom do you mean, ma’am?” said he.
“Oh! you know who I mean.”
“I am particularly sorry, ma’am,” said he, addressing Lady Middleton, “that I receive this letter today, for it is on business which requires my immediate attendance in town.”
“In town!” cried Mrs. Jennings. “What will you do in town at this time of year?”
“I am very sorry,” he continued, “to leave you; as I fear my presence is necessary to gain your admittance at Whitwell.”
“But if you write a note to the housekeeper, Mr. Brandon,” said Marianne, eagerly, “will it not be sufficient?”
He shook his head.
“We must go,” said Sir John. “You cannot go to town till tomorrow, Brandon, that is all.”
“It is not in my power to delay my journey for one day!”
“Let us know what your business is,” said Mrs. Jennings, “and we’ll see whether it can be put off or not.”
Elinor then heard Willoughby say, in a low voice to Marianne,
“There are some people who cannot bear a party of pleasure. Brandon is one of them. He is afraid of catching cold I dare say, and invented this trick. The letter is of his own writing.”
“I have no doubt of it,” replied Marianne.
“Well,
lock of her hair – её локон
