round with surprise to see and welcome
Edward Ferrars.

[Illustration: _Begging her to stop._]

He was the only person in the world who could at that moment be
forgiven for not being Willoughby; the only one who could have gained
a smile from her; but she dispersed her tears to smile on _him_, and
in her sister's happiness forgot for a time her own disappointment.

He dismounted, and giving his horse to his servant, walked back with
them to Barton, whither he was purposely coming to visit them.

He was welcomed by them all with great cordiality, but especially by
Marianne, who showed more warmth of regard in her reception of him
than even Elinor herself. To Marianne, indeed, the meeting between
Edward and her sister was but a continuation of that unaccountable
coldness which she had often observed at Norland in their mutual
behaviour. On Edward's side, more particularly, there was a deficiency
of all that a lover ought to look and say on such an occasion. He was
confused, seemed scarcely sensible of pleasure in seeing them, looked
neither rapturous nor gay, said little but what was forced from him by
questions, and distinguished Elinor by no mark of affection. Marianne
saw and listened with increasing surprise. She began almost to feel a
dislike of Edward; and it ended, as every feeling must end with her,
by carrying back her thoughts to Willoughby, whose manners formed a
contrast sufficiently striking to those of his brother elect.

After a short silence which succeeded the first surprise and enquiries
of meeting, Marianne asked Edward if he came directly from London. No,
he had been in Devonshire a fortnight.

"A fortnight!" she repeated, surprised at his being so long in the
same county with Elinor without seeing her before.

He looked rather distressed as he added, that he had been staying with
some friends near Plymouth.

"Have you been lately in Sussex?" said Elinor.

"I was at Norland about a month ago."

"And how does dear, dear Norland look?" cried Marianne.

"Dear, dear Norland," said Elinor, "probably looks much as it always
does at this time of the year--the woods and walks thickly covered
with dead leaves."

"Oh," cried Marianne, "with what transporting sensation have I
formerly seen them fall! How have I delighted, as I walked, to see
them driven in showers about me by the wind! What feelings have they,
the season, the air altogether inspired! Now there is no one to regard
them. They are se