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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter twenty three. However small Eleanor's general dependence on Lucy's
veracity might be, it was impossible for her, on serious
reflection to suspect it in the present case, where no
temptation could be answerable to the folly of inventing a
falsehood of such a description what Lucy had asserted to
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be true. Therefore, Eleanor could not dared not longer doubt supported,
as it was too on every side by such probabilities
and proofs, and contradicted by nothing but her own wishes.
Their opportunity of acquaintance in the house of mister Pratt
was a foundation for the rest, at once indisputable and alarming,
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and Edward's visit near Plymouth, his melancholy state of mind,
his dissatisfaction at his own prospects, his uncertain behavior towards herself,
the intimate knowledge of the miss Steeles as to Norland
and their family connections, which had often surprised her. The
picture the letter the Ring formed altogether such a body
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of evidence as overcame every fear of condemning him unfairly,
and established as a fact which no partiality could set
aside his ill treatment of herself her resentment of such behavior,
her indignation at having been its dupe for a short time,
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made her feel only for herself. But other ideas, other
considerations soon arose. Had Edward been intentionally deceiving her? Had
he feigned a regard for her which he did not feel?
Was his engagement to Lucy an engagement of the heart? No,
whatever it might once have been, she could not believe
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it such. At present his affection was all her own.
She could not be deceived in that her mother, sisters
Fanny all had been conscious of his regard for her
at Norland. It was not an illusion of her own vanity.
He certainly loved her. What a softener of the heart
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was this persuasion? How much could it not tempt her
to forgive? He had been blameable, highly blameable, in remaining
at Norland after he first felt her influence over him
to be more than it ought to be, in that
he could not be defended. But if he had injured her,
how much more had he injured himself? If her case
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were pitiable, his was hopeless. His imprudence had made her
miserable for a while, but it seemed to have deprived
himself of all chance of ever being otherwise, she might
in time regain tranquility. But he what had he to
look forward to? Could he ever be tolerably happy with
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Lucy Steele? Could he were his affection for herself out
of the question, with his integrity, his delicacy, and well
informed mind be satisfied with a wife like her, illiterate, artful,
and selfish. The youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally blind
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him to everything but her beauty and good nature. But
the four succeeding years, years which, if rationally spent, give
such improvement to the understanding, must have opened his eyes
to her defects of education, while the same period of
time spent on her side in inferior society and more
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frivolous pursuits, had perhaps robbed her of that simplicity which
might once have given an interesting character to her beauty.
If in the supposition of his seeking to marry herself,
his difficulties from his mother had seemed great, how much
greater were they now likely to be when the object
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of his engagement was undoubtedly inferior in connections and probably
inferior in fortune to herself. These difficulties, indeed, with a
heart so alienated from Lucy might not press very hard
upon his patients. But melancholy was the state of the
person by whom the expectation of family, opposition, and unkindness
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could be felt as a relief. As these considerations occurred
to her in painful succession, she wept for him more
than for herself. Supported by the conviction of having done
nothing to merit her present unhappiness, and consoled by the
belief that Edward had done nothing to forfeit her esteem,
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she thought she could, even now, under the first smart
of the heavy blow, command herself enough to guard every
suspicion of the truth from her mother and sisters. And
so well was she able to answer her own expectations that,
when she joined them at dinner, only two hours after
she had first suffered the extinction of all her dearest hopes,
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no one would have supposed from the appearance of the
sisters that Eleanor was mourning in secret over obstacles which
must divide her forever from the object of her love,
and that mary Anne was internally dwelling on the perfections
of a man of whose whole heart she felt thoroughly
possessed and whom she expected to see in every carriage
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which drove near their house. The necessity of concealing from
her mother and mary Anne what had been entrusted in
confidence to herself, though it obliged her to unceasing exertion,
was no aggravation of Eleanor's distress. On the contrary, it
was a relief to her to be spared the communication
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of what would give such affliction to them, and to
be saved likewise from hearing that condemnation of Edward, which
would probably flow from the excess of their partial affection
for herself, and which was more than she felt equal
to support from their counsel or their conversation. She knew
she could receive no assistance. Their tenderness and sorrow must
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add to her distress, while her self command would neither
receive encouragement from their example nor from their praise. She
was stronger alone, and her own good sense so well
supported her that her firmness was as unshaken, her appearance
of cheerfulness as invariable, as with regrets so poignant and
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so fresh, it was possible for them to be much
as she had suffered from her first conversation with Lucy
on the subject, she soon felt an earnest wish of
renewing it, And this for more reasons than one wanted
to hear many particulars of their engagement repeated again. She
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wanted more clearly to understand what Lucy really felt for Edward,
whether there were any sincerity in her declaration of tender
regard for him, And she particularly wanted to convince Lucy,
by her readiness to enter on the matter again and
her calmness in conversing on it, that she was no
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otherwise interested in it than as a friend, which she
very much feared. Her involuntary agitation in their morning discourse
must have left at least doubtful that Lucy was disposed
to be jealous of her appeared very probable. It was
plain that Edward had always spoken highly in her praise,
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not merely from Lucy's assertion, but from her venturing to
trust her on so short a personal acquaintance with a
secret so confessedly and evidently important, and even Sir John's
joking intelligence must have had some weight. But indeed, while
Eleanor remained so well assured within herself of being really
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beloved by Edward, it required no other consideration of probabilities
to make it natural that Lucy should be jealous, and
that she was so. Her very confidence was a proof.
What other reason for the disclosure of the affair could
there be but that Eleanor might be informed by it
of Lucy's superior claims on Edward and be taught to
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avoid him in future. She had little difficulty in understanding
thus much of her rival's intentions, And while she was
firmly resolved to act by her as every principle of
honor and honesty directed to combat her own affection for
Edward and to see him as little as possible, she
could not deny herself the comfort of endeavoring to convince
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Lucy that her heart was unwoman, And as she could
now have nothing more painful to hear on the subject
than had already been told, she did not mistrust her
own ability of going through a repetition of particulars with composure.
But it was not immediately that an opportunity of doing
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so could be commanded, though Lucy was as well disposed
as herself to take advantage of any that occurred, for
the weather was not often fine enough to allow of
their joining in a walk where they might most easily
separate themselves from the others. And though they met at
least every other evening, either at the park or cottage,
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and chiefly at the former, they could not be supposed
to meet for the sake of conversation. Such a thought
would never enter either Sir John or Lady Middleton's head,
and therefore very little leisure was ever given for a
general chat, and none at all for particular discourse. They
met for the sake of ea drinking and laughing together,
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playing at cards or Consequences, or any other game that
was sufficiently noisy. One or two meetings of this kind
had taken place without affording Eleanor any chance of engaging
Lucy in private. When Sir John called at the cottage
one morning to beg in the name of charity, that
they would all dine with Lady Middleton that day, as
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he was obliged to attend the club at Exeter, and
she would otherwise be quite alone except her mother and
the two miss Steeles. Eleanor, who foresaw a fairer opening
for the point she had in view in such a party,
as this was likely to be more at liberty among
themselves under the tranquil and well bred direction of Lady
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Middleton than when her husband united them together in one
noisy purpose, immediately accepted the invitation. Margaret, with her mother's permission,
was equally compliant, and mary Anne, though always unwilling to
join any of their parties, was persuaded by her mother,
who could not bear to have her seclude herself from
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any chance of amusement, to go. Likewise, the young ladies went,
and Lady Middleton was happily preserved from the frightful solitude
which had threatened her. The insipidity of the meeting was
exactly such as Eleanor had expected. It produced not one
novelty of thought or expression, and nothing could be less
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interesting than the whole of their discourse, both in the
dining parlor and drawing room. To the latter, the children
accompanied them, and while they remained there, she was too
well convinced of the impossibility of engaging Lucy's attention to
attempt it. They quitted it only with the removal of
the tea things. The card table was then placed, and
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Eleanor began to wonder at herself for having ever entertained
a hope of finding time for conversation at the park,
they all rose up in preparation for a round game.
I am glad, said Lady Middleton to Lucy.
Speaker 2 (12:11):
You are not going to finish po little Anna Maria's
basket this evening, for I am sure it must hurt
your eyes to work fullygree by candle light, and we
will make the dear little love summerments for her disappointment
to morrow, and then I hope she will not much
mind it.
Speaker 1 (12:27):
This hint was enough. Lucy recollected herself instantly and replied, indeed,
you are.
Speaker 3 (12:34):
Very much mistake in, Lady Middleton. I am only waiting
to know whether you can make your party without me,
or I should have been at my filigree already. I
would not disappoint the little angel for all the world.
And if you want me at the card table now,
I am resolved to finish the basket after supper.
Speaker 2 (12:54):
You are very good. I hope it won't hurt your eyes.
Will you ring the bell for some working candles? My
poor little girl would be sadly disappointed, I know if
the basket was not finished to morrow, for though I
told you it sadly would not. I am sure she
depends upon having it done.
Speaker 1 (13:12):
Lucy directly drew her work table near her and reseated
herself with an alacrity and cheerfulness which seemed to infer
that she could taste no greater delight than in making
a filigree basket for a spoilt child. Lady Middleton proposed
a rubber of casino to the others. No one made
any objection, but Marie Anne, who with her usual inattention
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to the forms of general civility, exclaimed.
Speaker 3 (13:40):
Your ladyship will have the goodness to excuse me, you
know I detest cards. I shall go to the pianoforte.
I have not touched it since it was.
Speaker 1 (13:49):
Tuned, And without farther ceremony, she turned away and walked
to the instrument. Lady Middleton looked as if she thanked
Heaven that she had never made so rude a speech.
Speaker 4 (14:01):
Mary Anne can never keep long from that instrument, you know.
Speaker 1 (14:04):
Ma'am, said Eleanor, endeavoring to smooth away the offense.
Speaker 4 (14:09):
And I do not much wonder at it, for it
is the very best time pianoforte I ever heard.
Speaker 1 (14:14):
The remaining five were now to draw their cards. Perhaps,
continued Eleanor, if.
Speaker 4 (14:20):
I should happen to cut out. I may be of
some use to Miss Lucy Steele in rolling her papers
for her. And there is so much still to be
done to the basket that it must be impossible, I think,
for her labor singly to finish it this evening. I
should like the work exceedingly if she would allow me
a share in it.
Speaker 3 (14:35):
Indeed, I shall be very much obliged to you for
your help, cried Lucy, for I find there is more
to be done to it than I thought there was,
and it would be a shocking thing to disappoint dear
Anna Maria after all.
Speaker 2 (14:49):
Oh, that would be terrible.
Speaker 1 (14:50):
Indeed, said Miss Steele.
Speaker 2 (14:53):
Dear little soul, how I do love her. You are very.
Speaker 1 (14:57):
Kind, said Lady Middleton to Eleanor.
Speaker 2 (15:00):
And as you really like the work, perhaps you will
be as well pleased not to cut into another rubber
or will you take your chance now?
Speaker 1 (15:08):
Eleanor, joyfully profited by the first of these proposals, and
thus by a little of that address, which Mary Anne
could never condescend to practice, gained her own end and
pleased Lady Middleton. At the same time, Lucy made room
for her with ready attention, and the two fair rivals
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were thus seated side by side at the same table,
and with the utmost harmony engaged in forwarding the same work,
The Pianoforte, at which mary Anne, wrapped up in her
own music and her own thoughts, had by this time
forgotten that anybody was in the room besides herself, was
luckily so near them that Miss Dashwood now judged she
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might safely, under the shelter of its noise, introduce the
interesting subject without any risk of being heard at the
card table. End of Chapter twenty three,