He stays a week and leaves when enjoyment is at its height. He never speaks of going without a sigh. His time is wholly disengaged. He doubts where he should go. Still, go he must. What he says gives the lie to what he does. He has no pleasure at Norland, detests town, and must go to one or the other. His greatest happiness is being with them. Yet he leaves at the end of a week, with no restraint on his time. Elinor places all that is astonishing to his mother's account. Mrs. Ferrars is imperfectly known enough to excuse everything strange in the son. For comfort Elinor turns to every mark of regard at Barton, and above all to the proof he constantly wears round his finger.
A profession, Mrs. Dashwood says, would at least tell him where to go when he left them. He has long thought so. He preferred the church. Not smart enough for his family. The army was too smart for him. The law he had no inclination for. The navy came too late. Idleness was pronounced the most advantageous and honourable course, since he might be as dashing without a red coat as with one. He was entered at Oxford and has been properly idle ever since. His sons will be brought up to be as unlike him as possible, in everything. She tells him to call patience hope. How much may not a few months do? He thinks he may defy many months to produce any good to him.
Elinor is determined to subdue the impression of the parting, and not to appear to suffer more than the whole family suffers. She does not adopt Marianne's method, on a similar occasion, of seeking silence, solitude, and idleness in order to augment and fix the sorrow. As soon as he is out of the house she sits down to her drawing-table, busy the whole day, neither seeking nor avoiding his name. If this does not lessen the grief, it at least prevents an unnecessary increase. To Marianne such behaviour has no merit. With strong affections self-command is impossible. With calm ones it can have no merit. She blushes to acknowledge that her sister's affections are calm, and of the strength of her own she gives a proof by still loving that sister in spite of the conviction. One morning, alone at the drawing-table, Elinor sees a large party at the gate. Mrs. Palmer comes in smiling, smiles the whole visit, and smiles when she goes. She admires the parlour. Her husband does not raise his eyes from the newspaper. On leaving he says the room is very low pitched, and the ceiling crooked. Sir John will not accept an excuse for dinner the next day. The carriage shall be sent. Marianne asks why they are invited. The rent of the cottage is said to be low, but they have it on very hard terms if they must dine at the park whenever anyone is staying. Elinor says the Middletons mean no less to be kind now than a few weeks ago. The alteration is not in them. If their parties have grown tedious, the change must be looked for elsewhere. Will a few months do what Mrs. Dashwood promises, or will he still be able to defy them?
Coming Up in Chapter 20
Mrs. Palmer begs a favour. Will they come and spend some time at Cleveland this Christmas, and come while the Westons are with them? She cannot think how happy she will be. Mr. Palmer, she tells them, is just the kind of man she likes.
