d it out."

"Well, sir, and what said Mrs. Smith?"

"She taxed me with the offence at once, and my confusion may be
guessed. The purity of her life, the formality of her notions, her
ignorance of the world,--every thing was against me. The matter itself
I could not deny, and vain was every endeavour to soften it. She was
previously disposed, I believe, to doubt the morality of my conduct in
general, and was moreover discontented with the very little attention,
the very little portion of my time that I had bestowed on her, in my
present visit. In short, it ended in a total breach. By one measure I
might have saved myself. In the height of her morality, good woman!
she offered to forgive the past, if I would marry Eliza. That could
not be; and I was formally dismissed from her favour and her house.
The night following this affair--I was to go the next morning--was
spent by me in deliberating on what my future conduct should be. The
struggle was great, but it ended too soon. My affection for Marianne,
my thorough conviction of her attachment to me--it was all
insufficient to outweigh that dread of poverty, or get the better of
those false ideas of the necessity of riches, which I was naturally
inclined to feel, and expensive society had increased. I had reason to
believe myself secure of my present wife, if I chose to address her,
and I persuaded myself to think that nothing else in common prudence
remained for me to do. A heavy scene however awaited me, before I
could leave Devonshire: I was engaged to dine with you on that very
day; some apology was therefore necessary for my breaking this
engagement. But whether I should write this apology, or deliver it in
person, was a point of long debate. To see Marianne, I felt, would be
dreadful, and I even doubted whether I could see her again, and keep
to my resolution. In that point, however, I undervalued my own
magnanimity, as the event declared; for I went, I saw her, and saw her
miserable, and left her miserable;--and left her hoping never to see
her again."

"Why did you call, Mr. Willoughby?" said Elinor, reproachfully; "a
note would have answered every purpose. Why was it necessary to
call?"

[Illustration: "_I was formally dismissed._"]

"It was necessary to my own pride. I could not bear to leave the
country in a manner that might lead you, or the rest of the
neighbourhood, to suspect any part of what had really passed between
Mrs. Smith and myself, and I resolv