Mrs. Dashwood now looked at her daughter; but Elinor knew better than
to expect them. She recognised the whole of Lucy in the message, and
was very confident that Edward would never come near them. She
observed in a low voice, to her mother, that they were probably going
down to Mr. Pratt's, near Plymouth.

Thomas's intelligence seemed over. Elinor looked as if she wished to
hear more.

"Did you see them off, before you came away?"

"No, ma'am--the horses were just coming out, but I could not bide any
longer; I was afraid of being late."

"Did Mrs. Ferrars look well?"

"Yes, ma'am, she said how she was very well; and to my mind she was
always a very handsome young lady--and she seemed vastly contented."

Mrs. Dashwood could think of no other question, and Thomas and the
tablecloth, now alike needless, were soon afterwards dismissed.
Marianne had already sent to say, that she should eat nothing more.
Mrs. Dashwood's and Elinor's appetites were equally lost, and Margaret
might think herself very well off, that with so much uneasiness as
both her sisters had lately experienced, so much reason as they had
often had to be careless of their meals, she had never been obliged to
go without her dinner before.

When the dessert and the wine were arranged, and Mrs. Dashwood and
Elinor were left by themselves, they remained long together in a
similarity of thoughtfulness and silence. Mrs. Dashwood feared to
hazard any remark, and ventured not to offer consolation. She now
found that she had erred in relying on Elinor's representation of
herself; and justly concluded that every thing had been expressly
softened at the time, to spare her from an increase of unhappiness,
suffering as she then had suffered for Marianne. She found that she
had been misled by the careful, the considerate attention of her
daughter, to think the attachment, which once she had so well
understood, much slighter in reality, than she had been wont to
believe, or than it was now proved to be. She feared that under this
persuasion she had been unjust, inattentive, nay, almost unkind, to
her Elinor; that Marianne's affliction, because more acknowledged,
more immediately before her, had too much engrossed her tenderness,
and led her away to forget that in Elinor she might have a daughter
suffering almost as much, certainly with less self-provocation, and
greater fortitude.

CHAPTER XLVIII

Elinor now found the difference between the expecta