次日清晨，埃莉诺和玛丽安一同散步时，妹妹向她透露了一则消息。尽管埃莉诺早已熟知玛丽安的轻率与欠思量，这消息仍以极其荒唐的例证令她震惊。玛丽安兴高采烈地告诉她，威洛比送了她一匹马，那是他在萨默塞特郡庄园里自己养的，恰好适合女子骑乘。她全然不顾母亲本无养马之意；即便母亲为收下这礼物而改变主意，还得另买一匹给仆人、雇人骑乘，到头来还须盖座马厩安置——她毫不犹豫地受了赠，并喜不自胜地讲给姐姐听。
“他打算即刻派马夫去萨默塞特郡接它，”她补充道，“等到了，我们天天去骑。你与我同乘。想想吧，亲爱的埃莉诺，在这些丘陵间纵马奔驰是何等快事。”
她万不愿从如此幸福的幻梦中醒来，去面对此事伴生的种种不幸实情；有那么一阵，她拒不承认。至于添个仆人，开销算不得什么；妈妈定不会反对；随便什么马都配他——他总能在庄园里弄到一匹；至于马厩，最简陋的棚子便够。埃莉诺这才斗胆质疑：收一个相识甚浅、至少方才结识的男子的如此厚礼，是否妥当。这话太过分了。
“你错了，埃莉诺，”她热切地说，“若以为我对威洛比知之甚少，那就错了。我确与他相识不久，却比世上除你与妈妈外的任何人都更了解他。决定亲疏的不是时间或机会，而是性情。七年未必能使某些人相知，七日却足以令另一些人熟稔。若收兄长之马，比收威洛比之马更失礼，我才该自责。约翰虽同住多年，我却不甚了解；对威洛比，我早有定评。”
埃莉诺以为此话题不宜再碰。她知妹妹脾性：在此敏感事上相左，只会令她更执己见。然则诉以对母亲之爱，陈说那慈母若（多半会）应允添丁增马，必自招烦累，玛丽安不久便被说服；她许诺不提此事以诱母亲行此轻率之善，并待再见威洛比时，告之必须婉拒。
她信守诺言；当日威洛比来小屋，埃莉诺听见她低声向他诉说自己被迫弃受赠礼的失望。缘由同时道明，令他再难相劝。然其关切显见；恳切表露后，他同样低声添道——“可是，玛丽安，马仍是你的，虽你现在不能用。我只替你留着，等你来领。待你离了巴顿，去更长久的家安身，女王马布自会迎你。”
达什伍德小姐全听了去；整句话里，他说话的神气，以及只唤她妹妹教名，她顿时看出一种确凿的亲昵、直白的意味，显是两人已心照不宣。自此她毫不疑心他们已订终身；这信认只令她讶异：以二人如此坦率性情，竟由亲友偶然窥破，而非明告。
次日玛格丽特告她一事，令此情更明。威洛比前夜在彼，玛格丽特独留客厅与二人相处片刻，得有机观察，便板着极要紧的脸，于无人时禀于长姐。
“哦，埃莉诺！”她叫道，“我有玛丽安的秘密告诉你。我敢说她很快便嫁威洛比先生了。”
“你自他们初遇于高教堂丘便几乎日日如此说，”埃莉诺答，“信不信由你，相识未周，你便笃定她颈间挂着他画像；结果不过是大伯父的微型像。”
“可这回大不同。我确知他们很快成婚，因他得了她一缕发。”
“小心，玛格丽特。许只是他某位大伯父的头发。”
“但，埃莉诺，实是玛丽安的。我几乎确知，因我见他剪下。昨夜茶后，你与妈妈出房，他们亟亟低语，似他乞她何物，旋即执剪，割她长发一缕——发本垂背上；他吻之，折入白纸，藏入皮夹。”
如此细节，出自如此见证，埃莉诺不能不信；亦不愿不信，因与所闻所见恰相吻合。
玛格丽特之聪慧，却不总令姐姐满意。一夜在庄园，詹宁斯太太逼问埃莉诺心仪青年之名——此疑久萦其心——玛格丽特望姐而答：“我不能说，可么，埃莉诺？”
众皆大笑；埃莉诺亦强笑。然笑得苦。她料玛格丽特所指之人，其名她不能平静听作詹宁斯太太口头笑话。
玛丽安真心怜她；却弄巧成拙，面赤怒对玛格丽特道：
“记着，任你猜度什么，也无权复说。”
“我从未猜度，”玛格丽特答，“是你自告诉我的。”
举座更笑，玛格丽特被促多言。
“哦！玛格丽特小姐，说与我们听，”詹宁斯太太道，“那先生何名？”
“不能说，太太。然我深知其名，亦知他在何处。”
“是是，我们猜得到他在何处；自在他诺兰德宅中。我敢说是教区牧师。”
“不，那他不是。他毫无职业。”
“玛格丽特，”玛丽安极恼道，“你知这都是你捏造，世间并无此人。”
“好，那么他新近死了，玛丽安，因我确知曾有这人，其名以F起头。”
埃莉诺极感米德顿夫人此时插言“雨下得正紧”——虽她信此打断非为体贴她，乃夫人素恶此类令夫与母愉悦的粗鄙调笑。然其语即被布兰登上校接去，他逢场必念他人感受；二人就雨议论纷纷。威洛比启琴，请玛丽安就座；于众人各谋脱题之际，话头遂落。然埃莉诺却难从此惊中平复。
是夜议定次日去游巴顿十二里外一名园，属布兰登上校妹夫；无其引介不能入，因主人在外，严命如此。园景绝美，约翰爵士盛赞，或堪为评——十年来每夏至少组游两次。中有浩渺湖水；泛舟为上午乐事；备冷食，乘敞车，一切如常游仪。
少数人觉以时令论、兼半月阴雨，此行颇勇；达什伍德太太已患伤风，埃莉诺劝留家中。
As Elinor and Marianne were walking together the next morning the
latter communicated a piece of news to her sister, which in spite of
all that she knew before of Marianne’s imprudence and want of thought,
surprised her by its extravagant testimony of both. Marianne told her,
with the greatest delight, that Willoughby had given her a horse, one
that he had bred himself on his estate in Somersetshire, and which was
exactly calculated to carry a woman. Without considering that it was
not in her mother’s plan to keep any horse, that if she were to alter
her resolution in favour of this gift, she must buy another for the
servant, and keep a servant to ride it, and after all, build a stable
to receive them, she had accepted the present without hesitation, and
told her sister of it in raptures.
“He intends to send his groom into Somersetshire immediately for it,”
she added, “and when it arrives we will ride every day. You shall share
its use with me. Imagine to yourself, my dear Elinor, the delight of a
gallop on some of these downs.”
Most unwilling was she to awaken from such a dream of felicity to
comprehend all the unhappy truths which attended the affair; and for
some time she refused to submit to them. As to an additional servant,
the expense would be a trifle; Mama she was sure would never object to
it; and any horse would do for _him;_ he might always get one at the
park; as to a stable, the merest shed would be sufficient. Elinor then
ventured to doubt the propriety of her receiving such a present from a
man so little, or at least so lately known to her. This was too much.
“You are mistaken, Elinor,” said she warmly, “in supposing I know very
little of Willoughby. I have not known him long indeed, but I am much
better acquainted with him, than I am with any other creature in the
world, except yourself and mama. It is not time or opportunity that is
to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be
insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven
days are more than enough for others. I should hold myself guilty of
greater impropriety in accepting a horse from my brother, than from
Willoughby. Of John I know very little, though we have lived together
for years; but of Willoughby my judgment has long been formed.”
Elinor thought it wisest to touch that point no more. She knew her
sister’s temper. Opposition on so tender a subject would only attach
her the more to her own opinion. But by an appeal to her affection for
her mother, by representing the inconveniences which that indulgent
mother must draw on herself, if (as would probably be the case) she
consented to this increase of establishment, Marianne was shortly
subdued; and she promised not to tempt her mother to such imprudent
kindness by mentioning the offer, and to tell Willoughby when she saw
him next, that it must be declined.
She was faithful to her word; and when Willoughby called at the
cottage, the same day, Elinor heard her express her disappointment to
him in a low voice, on being obliged to forego the acceptance of his
present. The reasons for this alteration were at the same time related,
and they were such as to make further entreaty on his side impossible.
His concern however was very apparent; and after expressing it with
earnestness, he added, in the same low voice,—“But, Marianne, the horse
is still yours, though you cannot use it now. I shall keep it only till
you can claim it. When you leave Barton to form your own establishment
in a more lasting home, Queen Mab shall receive you.”
This was all overheard by Miss Dashwood; and in the whole of the
sentence, in his manner of pronouncing it, and in his addressing her
sister by her Christian name alone, she instantly saw an intimacy so
decided, a meaning so direct, as marked a perfect agreement between
them. From that moment she doubted not of their being engaged to each
other; and the belief of it created no other surprise than that she, or
any of their friends, should be left by tempers so frank, to discover
it by accident.
Margaret related something to her the next day, which placed this
matter in a still clearer light. Willoughby had spent the preceding
evening with them, and Margaret, by being left some time in the parlour
with only him and Marianne, had had opportunity for observations,
which, with a most important face, she communicated to her eldest
sister, when they were next by themselves.
“Oh, Elinor!” she cried, “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 on High-church Down; and they had not known each other a week, I
believe, before you were certain that Marianne wore his picture round
her neck; but it turned out to be only the miniature of our great
uncle.”
“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.”
“Take care, Margaret. It may be only the hair of some great uncle of
_his_.”
“But, indeed, Elinor, it is Marianne’s. I am almost sure it is, for I
saw him cut it off. Last night after tea, when you and mama went out of
the room, they were whispering and talking together as fast as could
be, and he seemed to be begging something of her, and presently he took
up her scissors and cut off a long lock of her hair, for it was all
tumbled down her back; and he kissed it, and folded it up in a piece of
white paper; and put it into his pocket-book.”
For such particulars, stated on such authority, Elinor could not
withhold her credit; nor was she disposed to it, for the circumstance
was in perfect unison with what she had heard and seen herself.
Margaret’s sagacity was not always displayed in a way so 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, which had been long a matter of great curiosity to her,
Margaret answered by looking at her sister, and saying, “I must not
tell, may I, Elinor?”
This of course made every body laugh; and Elinor tried to laugh too.
But the effort was painful. She was convinced that Margaret had fixed
on a person whose name she could not bear with composure to become a
standing joke with Mrs. Jennings.
Marianne felt for her most sincerely; but she did more harm than good
to the cause, by turning very red and saying in an angry manner to
Margaret,
“Remember that whatever your conjectures may be, you have no right to
repeat them.”
“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, and Margaret was eagerly
pressed to say something more.
“Oh! pray, 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. He is of no profession at all.”
“Margaret,” said Marianne with great warmth, “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.”
Most grateful did Elinor feel to Lady Middleton for observing, at this
moment, “that it rained very hard,” though she believed the
interruption to proceed less from any attention to her, than from her
ladyship’s great dislike of all such inelegant subjects of raillery as
delighted her husband and mother. The idea however started by her, was
immediately pursued by Colonel Brandon, who was on every occasion
mindful of the feelings of others; and much was said on the subject of
rain by both of them. Willoughby opened the piano-forte, and asked
Marianne to sit down to it; and thus amidst the various endeavours of
different people to quit the topic, it fell to the ground. But not so
easily did Elinor recover from the alarm into which it had thrown her.
A party was formed this evening for going on the following day to see a
very fine place about twelve miles from Barton, belonging to a
brother-in-law of Colonel Brandon, without whose interest it could not
be seen, as the proprietor, who was then abroad, had left strict orders
on that head. The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful, and Sir
John, who was particularly warm in their praise, might be allowed to be
a tolerable judge, for he had formed parties to visit them, at least,
twice every summer for the last ten years. They contained a noble piece
of water; a sail on which was to form a great part of the morning’s
amusement; cold provisions were to be taken, open carriages only to be
employed, and every thing conducted in the usual style of a complete
party of pleasure.
To some few of the company it appeared rather a bold undertaking,
considering the time of year, and that it had rained every day for the
last fortnight;—and Mrs. Dashwood, who had already a cold, was
persuaded by Elinor to stay at home.
