达什伍德太太和她的女儿们刚到德文郡时，简直想不到竟会有这么多应酬很快接踵而至，也想不到会有如此频繁的邀请和络绎不绝的访客，让她们几乎抽不出空来做正经事。然而事实正是如此。玛丽安康复之后，约翰爵士此前筹划的种种室内外游乐便一一付诸实行。庄园里的私人舞会就此开场；只要十月里阵雨暂歇，水上泛游的聚会便也常办常成。每一次这样的聚会都少不了威洛比；而这种聚会自然带来的轻松与熟稔，恰恰有助于他和达什伍德一家人日渐亲密，让他得以有机会见证玛丽安的种种优点，看出他对她那热烈不加掩饰的倾慕，并从玛丽安对他的态度中，得到她情意最明确的印证。
埃莉诺对他们俩的互相爱慕并不感到意外。她只希望这种感情不要表现得如此公开；有一两次，她甚至斗胆向玛丽安建议，适当克制自己才是得体之举。但玛丽安厌恶一切遮掩，只要坦率本身并不带来真正的耻辱。在她看来，去约束那些本无可厚非的情感，不但是多此一举，更是理智向庸俗谬见的可耻屈服。威洛比想法相同；他们平日的举止，便是对其观念的最好注解。
他在场时，她眼里便再无旁人。他做的一切，都恰到好处。他说的每句话，都机智聪慧。若庄园的夜晚以牌戏收场，他便算计着自己并耍赖赢尽众人，好替她抓一手好牌。若夜间以跳舞为乐，他们便有一半时间结伴而舞；即便不得不分开跳一两支舞，也必定紧挨而立，几乎不与别人搭一句话。这般做派自然引得众人极尽取笑；然而嘲讽羞不倒他们，似乎也激恼不了他们分毫。
达什伍德太太以满腔热忱体察着他们的心绪，根本无意去遏止这过分流露的情感。对她而言，这不过是一颗年轻炽热的心中浓烈爱意的自然结果。
对玛丽安来说，这正是幸福的时节。她的心全然交付给威洛比，而她自苏塞克斯带来的对诺兰德的眷恋，竟比她从前以为的可能更易被软化——他相伴所带来的魅力，为她如今的居所平添了光彩。
埃莉诺的幸福却没那么圆满。她心里不那么坦然，从这些玩乐中得到的满足也不那么纯粹。它们没能给她一个足以弥补故土之失的同伴，也没谁能教她想起诺兰德时，比以往少一分怅惘。米德尔顿夫人与詹宁斯太太都补不上她所缺失的谈吐；虽然后者是个永不停歇的碎嘴子，且从一开始便以慈爱待她，确保她听了自己一大堆唠叨。她已把自身经历向埃莉诺复述了三四遍；若埃莉诺的记性配得上这般的“进修”机会，早在这交情初起时，她便能熟知詹宁斯先生临终前那场病的种种细节，以及他咽气前几分钟对妻子说了什么。米德尔顿夫人比她母亲稍可人意之处，只在更寡言。埃莉诺稍加观察便看出，她的矜持不过是一种与见识无关的安然态度。对丈夫和母亲，她与对旁人一般无二；因此既不必指望、也不该奢求什么亲近。她今日所言，无不是昨日说过的。她的乏味始终如一，连心绪都日日雷同；虽则不反对丈夫安排的聚会，只要一切排场得体、两个长子傍身，她从中得到的欢愉，似乎与枯坐家中并无二致；——而她于人谈笑间毫无助兴之能，众人有时竟只因她操心那两个淘气小子，才想起她在场。
在所有新交中，唯独布兰登上校让埃莉诺觉得，是个多少堪以才识见重、引动友情之趣、或堪为良伴的人。威洛比自不消说。她的钦慕与关切，连姊妹之情也算他的，但他是个情人；他的殷勤全系在玛丽安身上，换个远不讨喜的人，说不定还更得众人欢心。布兰登上校不幸在于，并无这等诱因教他只念着玛丽安，而与埃莉诺交谈时，他倒从她妹妹的冷淡里，寻得莫大慰藉。
埃莉诺对他渐生怜惜，因她有理由疑心，那失恋的苦楚他早已尝过。疑心起于一日傍晚在庄园，众人起舞，他俩默契同坐，他偶然漏出的一句话。他目光落在玛丽安身上，默然数分钟后，淡然一笑道：“据我所知，令妹不赞成第二次恋爱。”
“不赞成，”埃莉诺答，“她的见解全是一派浪漫。”
“或不如说，如我所信，她以为那根本不可能存在。”
“我也这么想。只是她怎生做到不牵连同为两度娶妻的亡父品性，我就不得而知了。不过几年，常情与阅历自会把她的见解安顿于理智之基；到那时，除她自己外，旁人或许更易说清、也更易为那见解正名。”
“多半如此，”他答，“可年轻人胸中成见自有其可爱处，教人不忍见其让位于更世俗的见解。”
“这点我不敢苟同，”埃莉诺道，“玛丽安这般心性自有不便，那点热忱与不经世事的魅力，无论如何也抵不过。她的那套主张，全把规矩体统弃如敝履；我倒盼她多识些世情，那才是她最大的幸事。”
略顿片刻，他重拾话头：
“令妹反对第二次恋爱，可有什么分别？还是视众人一概有罪？那些初选落空的人，无论因对象变心，还是境遇乖违，余生便都得一般淡漠？”
“说实在，她主张的细枝末节我并不熟。只知至今未听她饶过任何第二次恋爱的例子。”
“这，”他说，“说不通；可若说变，说全心意的变——不，不，莫作此想；年轻人浪漫的纤细心思一旦被迫退让，取而代之的，往往是太常见也太危险的那类念头！此乃经验之谈。我曾识得一位小姐，性情心思与令妹极像，所思所断如出一辙，却因一场逼不得已的变故——因一连串不幸的遭际——”他忽而住口；似觉言多，神色间引出的揣测，本未必入埃莉诺之脑。若非他教达什伍德小姐明白，关乎那人的事不该出自他口，那女士本可安然无嫌。既如此，只消些许遐想，便能将他的动情连于对旧日情愫的温柔追忆。埃莉诺没再追问。换作玛丽安，必不只此。以她活跃的想象，整段故事顷刻便编就；一切皆按凄婉的失恋之序，排得明明白白。
Little had Mrs. Dashwood or her daughters imagined when they first came
into Devonshire, that so many engagements would arise to occupy their
time as shortly presented themselves, or that they should have such
frequent invitations and such constant visitors as to leave them little
leisure for serious employment. Yet such was the case. When Marianne
was recovered, the schemes of amusement at home and abroad, which Sir
John had been previously forming, were put into execution. The private
balls at the park then began; and parties on the water were made and
accomplished as often as a showery October would allow. In every
meeting of the kind Willoughby was included; and the ease and
familiarity which naturally attended these parties were exactly
calculated to give increasing intimacy to his acquaintance with the
Dashwoods, to afford him opportunity of witnessing the excellencies of
Marianne, of marking his animated admiration of her, and of receiving,
in her behaviour to himself, the most pointed assurance of her
affection.
Elinor could not be surprised at their attachment. She only wished that
it were less openly shown; and once or twice did venture to suggest the
propriety of some self-command to Marianne. But Marianne abhorred all
concealment where no real disgrace could attend unreserve; and to aim
at the restraint of sentiments which were not in themselves illaudable,
appeared to her not merely an unnecessary effort, but a disgraceful
subjection of reason to common-place and mistaken notions. Willoughby
thought the same; and their behaviour at all times, was an illustration
of their opinions.
When he was present she had no eyes for any one else. Every thing he
did, was right. Every thing he said, was clever. If their evenings at
the park were concluded with cards, he cheated himself and all the rest
of the party to get her a good hand. If dancing formed the amusement of
the night, they were partners for half the time; and when obliged to
separate for a couple of dances, were careful to stand together and
scarcely spoke a word to any body else. Such conduct made them of
course most exceedingly laughed at; but ridicule could not shame, and
seemed hardly to provoke them.
Mrs. Dashwood entered into all their feelings with a warmth which left
her no inclination for checking this excessive display of them. To her
it was but the natural consequence of a strong affection in a young and
ardent mind.
This was the season of happiness to Marianne. Her heart was devoted to
Willoughby, and the fond attachment to Norland, which she brought with
her from Sussex, was more likely to be softened than she had thought it
possible before, by the charms which his society bestowed on her
present home.
Elinor’s happiness was not so great. Her heart was not so much at ease,
nor her satisfaction in their amusements so pure. They afforded her no
companion that could make amends for what she had left behind, nor that
could teach her to think of Norland with less regret than ever. Neither
Lady Middleton nor Mrs. Jennings could supply to her the conversation
she missed; although the latter was an everlasting talker, and from the
first had regarded her with a kindness which ensured her a large share
of her discourse. She had already repeated her own history to Elinor
three or four times; and had Elinor’s memory been equal to her means of
improvement, she might have known very early in their acquaintance all
the particulars of Mr. Jennings’s last illness, and what he said to his
wife a few minutes before he died. Lady Middleton was more agreeable
than her mother only in being more silent. Elinor needed little
observation to perceive that her reserve was a mere calmness of manner
with which sense had nothing to do. Towards her husband and mother she
was the same as to them; and intimacy was therefore neither to be
looked for nor desired. She had nothing to say one day that she had not
said the day before. Her insipidity was invariable, for even her
spirits were always the same; and though she did not oppose the parties
arranged by her husband, provided every thing were conducted in style
and her two eldest children attended her, she never appeared to receive
more enjoyment from them than she might have experienced in sitting at
home;—and so little did her presence add to the pleasure of the others,
by any share in their conversation, that they were sometimes only
reminded of her being amongst them by her solicitude about her
troublesome boys.
In Colonel Brandon alone, of all her new acquaintance, did Elinor find
a person who could in any degree claim the respect of abilities, excite
the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion. Willoughby
was out of the question. Her admiration and regard, even her sisterly
regard, was all his own; but he was a lover; his attentions were wholly
Marianne’s, and a far less agreeable man might have been more generally
pleasing. Colonel Brandon, unfortunately for himself, had no such
encouragement to think only of Marianne, and in conversing with Elinor
he found the greatest consolation for the indifference of her sister.
Elinor’s compassion for him increased, as she had reason to suspect
that the misery of disappointed love had already been known to him.
This suspicion was given by some words which accidentally dropped from
him one evening at the park, when they were sitting down together by
mutual consent, while the others were dancing. His eyes were fixed on
Marianne, and, after a silence of some minutes, he said, with a faint
smile, “Your sister, I understand, does not approve of second
attachments.”
“No,” replied Elinor, “her opinions are all romantic.”
“Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible to exist.”
“I believe she does. But how she contrives it without reflecting on the
character of her own father, who had himself two wives, I know not. A
few years however will settle her opinions on the reasonable basis of
common sense and observation; and then they may be more easy to define
and to justify than they now are, by any body but herself.”
“This will probably be the case,” he replied; “and yet there is
something so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, that one is
sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions.”
“I cannot agree with you there,” said Elinor. “There are inconveniences
attending such feelings as Marianne’s, which all the charms of
enthusiasm and ignorance of the world cannot atone for. Her systems
have all the unfortunate tendency of setting propriety at nought; and a
better acquaintance with the world is what I look forward to as her
greatest possible advantage.”
After a short pause he resumed the conversation by saying,—
“Does your sister make no distinction in her objections against a
second attachment? or is it equally criminal in every body? Are those
who have been disappointed in their first choice, whether from the
inconstancy of its object, or the perverseness of circumstances, to be
equally indifferent during the rest of their lives?”
“Upon my word, I am not acquainted with the minutiae of her principles.
I only know that I never yet heard her admit any instance of a second
attachment’s being pardonable.”
“This,” said he, “cannot hold; but a change, a total change of
sentiments—No, no, do not desire it; for when the romantic refinements
of a young mind are obliged to give way, how frequently are they
succeeded by such opinions as are but too common, and too dangerous! I
speak from experience. I once knew a lady who in temper and mind
greatly resembled your sister, who thought and judged like her, but who
from an enforced change—from a series of unfortunate circumstances—”
Here he stopt suddenly; appeared to think that he had said too much,
and by his countenance gave rise to conjectures, which might not
otherwise have entered Elinor’s head. The lady would probably have
passed without suspicion, had he not convinced Miss Dashwood that what
concerned her ought not to escape his lips. As it was, it required but
a slight effort of fancy to connect his emotion with the tender
recollection of past regard. Elinor attempted no more. But Marianne, in
her place, would not have done so little. The whole story would have
been speedily formed under her active imagination; and every thing
established in the most melancholy order of disastrous love.
