lay should be of the party in the
carriage; and they had just reached this point, when Anne, as she sat
near the window, descried, most decidedly and distinctly, Captain
Wentworth walking down the street.

Her start was perceptible only to herself; but she instantly felt that
she was the greatest simpleton in the world, the most unaccountable and
absurd! For a few minutes she saw nothing before her; it was all
confusion. She was lost, and when she had scolded back her senses, she
found the others still waiting for the carriage, and Mr Elliot (always
obliging) just setting off for Union Street on a commission of Mrs
Clay's.

She now felt a great inclination to go to the outer door; she wanted to
see if it rained. Why was she to suspect herself of another motive?
Captain Wentworth must be out of sight. She left her seat, she would
go; one half of her should not be always so much wiser than the other
half, or always suspecting the other of being worse than it was. She
would see if it rained. She was sent back, however, in a moment by the
entrance of Captain Wentworth himself, among a party of gentlemen and
ladies, evidently his acquaintance, and whom he must have joined a
little below Milsom Street. He was more obviously struck and confused
by the sight of her than she had ever observed before; he looked quite
red. For the first time, since their renewed acquaintance, she felt
that she was betraying the least sensibility of the two. She had the
advantage of him in the preparation of the last few moments. All the
overpowering, blinding, bewildering, first effects of strong surprise
were over with her. Still, however, she had enough to feel! It was
agitation, pain, pleasure, a something between delight and misery.

He spoke to her, and then turned away. The character of his manner was
embarrassment. She could not have called it either cold or friendly,
or anything so certainly as embarrassed.

After a short interval, however, he came towards her, and spoke again.
Mutual enquiries on common subjects passed: neither of them, probably,
much the wiser for what they heard, and Anne continuing fully sensible
of his being less at ease than formerly. They had by dint of being so
very much together, got to speak to each other with a considerable
portion of apparent indifference and calmness; but he could not do it
now. Time had changed him, or Louisa had changed him. There was
consciousness of some sort or other