Mrs Dashwood hears Willoughby's vindication moved, but not as she would have heard it from his own face. She can be sorry for him. Nothing restores him with a faith unbroken, and nothing removes the guilt of his conduct toward Eliza. Nothing, therefore, injures Colonel Brandon's interest. Elinor will declare only the simple truth, without an embellishment of tenderness. In the evening Marianne speaks of her own accord, with a rising colour and an unsteady voice. She sees everything as they can desire. What she was told that morning is exactly what she wished to hear. She never could have been happy with him, after knowing all this. Her mother would have the blame rest on her own imprudence. Marianne will not let her go on. Elinor says the whole of his behaviour was grounded on selfishness. His own enjoyment was, in every particular, the ruling principle. Marianne answers that her happiness never was his object. She has nothing to regret but her own folly. One observation Elinor thinks fair: every later difficulty began in the first offence, his behaviour to Eliza Williams. Marianne assents. She does not look as if much of the praise of Colonel Brandon, which follows, is heard. Margaret returns, and the cottage is quiet again.
Elinor has heard nothing of Edward since London. In the first of John's letters there is one sentence. They know nothing of their unfortunate Edward, can make no inquiries on so prohibited a subject, and conclude him still at Oxford. After that, his name is not mentioned. Their man comes back from Exeter and, waiting at table, offers it of his own accord. He supposes they know that Mr Ferrars is married. Marianne starts, sees Elinor turn pale, and falls back in her chair in hysterics. Thomas saw him that morning in Exeter, and his lady too, Miss Steele as was. They were stopped in a chaise at the New London Inn. It was the youngest Miss Steele. She knew him, asked after the family, especially Miss Marianne, and sent their best compliments. They were in a great hurry, going farther for a little while, and when they came back they would be sure to call. She smiled, and said she had changed her name since she was in these parts. He wished her joy. Mr Ferrars was in the carriage, leaning back. He did not look up. He never was a gentleman much for talking. Only the two of them. Straight from town.
Elinor can account for his not putting himself forward. She recognises Lucy in the message, and she is sure Edward will never come near them. They are probably going down to Mr Pratt's, near Plymouth. Appetites are lost. Margaret, who has so often had reason to go without notice, is the one who still has her dinner. When the two are left alone, Mrs Dashwood does not venture consolation. She sees that she had trusted a softened account, given while Marianne was the one visibly suffering, and had come to think Elinor's attachment slighter than it is. She fears she has been almost unkind to the daughter who provoked her own pain less, and bore it with greater fortitude. Will the man who would not look up still be the brother they have already settled on?
