Elinor cannot suspect Lucy of inventing a falsehood this large, where no temptation would answer the folly of it. Mr Pratt's house, the visit near Plymouth, the melancholy, the uncertain behaviour, the picture, the letter, and the ring are contradicted by nothing but her own wishes. For a short time she feels only the resentment of having been a dupe. Then she cannot believe the engagement is, at present, an engagement of the heart. His affection is her own. Her mother, her sisters, and Fanny all saw it at Norland. He was highly blamable in remaining there after he felt more than he ought, and if he injured her, he injured himself more. She may regain tranquillity. He has before him a wife she now names as illiterate, artful, and selfish. She weeps for him more than for herself.
Two hours later she sits down to dinner, and no one would suppose she is mourning, or that Marianne expects Willoughby in every carriage near the house. Hiding the confidence is a relief. She is spared their sorrow, and spared a condemnation of him she does not feel equal to hearing. She is stronger alone. She soon wants the particulars again, so that a calm second hearing may show Lucy she is interested only as a friend. The confidence itself looks like jealousy. It was meant to teach her Lucy's superior claims, and to teach her to avoid him. She will act by honour, combat her own affection, and see him as little as possible. She will still try to seem unwounded.
They meet to eat, drink, laugh, and play at cards, and nobody supposes they meet in order to talk. Sir John begs them to dine at the Park, in the name of charity, because he must attend the club at Exeter. Elinor accepts. A quieter party may give her the opening. It does not, while the children remain, and it does not when the card table is set for a round game. Lady Middleton hopes Lucy is not finishing Annamaria's filigree basket by candlelight. Lucy will not disappoint the little angel, and will finish the basket after supper if she is wanted at cards. Marianne says she detests cards, and without ceremony goes to the pianoforte. Elinor smooths the offence. It is the best toned pianoforte she has ever heard. Then she offers to roll papers if she should happen to cut out, and she joyfully stays out until another rubber. By a little of that address which Marianne could never condescend to practise, she sits beside Lucy at the same work, and the pianoforte is near enough that its noise may cover the subject. Will the music hold, or will a pause let the card table hear what she has arranged the seat to say?
Coming Up in Chapter 24
Mrs. Jennings laughs and says Miss Dashwood's young man is not a great coxcomb. He is one of the modestest, prettiest behaved young men she ever saw. Lucy, she adds, is such a sly little creature that nobody can find out whom she likes.
