s forced to put
them up, and could not even kiss them. And the lock of hair--that too
I had always carried about me in the same pocket-book, which was now
searched by Madam with the most ingratiating virulence,--the dear
lock--all, every memento was torn from me."
"You are very wrong, Mr. Willoughby, very blamable," said Elinor,
while her voice, in spite of herself, betrayed her compassionate
emotion; "you ought not to speak in this way, either of Mrs.
Willoughby or my sister. You had made your own choice. It was not
forced on you. Your wife has a claim to your politeness, to your
respect, at least. She must be attached to you, or she would not have
married you. To treat her with unkindness, to speak of her slightingly
is no atonement to Marianne--nor can I suppose it a relief to your own
conscience."
"Do not talk to me of my wife," said he with a heavy sigh. "She does
not deserve your compassion. She knew I had no regard for her when we
married. Well, married we were, and came down to Combe Magna to be
happy, and afterwards returned to town to be gay. And now do you pity
me, Miss Dashwood? or have I said all this to no purpose? Am I,--be
it only one degree,--am I less guilty in your opinion than I was
before? My intentions were not always wrong. Have I explained away any
part of my guilt?"
"Yes, you have certainly removed something--a little. You have proved
yourself, on the whole, less faulty than I had believed you. You have
proved your heart less wicked, much less wicked. But I hardly
know--the misery that you have inflicted--I hardly know what could
have made it worse."
"Will you repeat to your sister when she is recovered, what I have
been telling you?--Let me be a little lightened too in her opinion as
well as in yours. You tell me that she has forgiven me already. Let me
be able to fancy that a better knowledge of my heart, and of my
present feelings, will draw from her a more spontaneous, more natural,
more gentle, less dignified, forgiveness. Tell her of my misery and my
penitence--tell her that my heart was never inconstant to her, and if
you will, that at this moment she is dearer to me than ever."
"I will tell her all that is necessary to what may comparatively be
called, your justification. But you have not explained to me the
particular reason of your coming now, nor how you heard of her
illness."
"Last night, in Drury Lane lobby, I ran against Sir John Middleton,
and when he saw who I was,
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