Though they had now been acquainted a month, she could not be satisfied

that she really knew his character. That he was a sensible man, an

agreeable man, that he talked well, professed good opinions, seemed to

judge properly and as a man of principle, this was all clear enough.

He certainly knew what was right, nor could she fix on any one article

of moral duty evidently transgressed; but yet she would have been

afraid to answer for his conduct. She distrusted the past, if not the

present. The names which occasionally dropt of former associates, the

allusions to former practices and pursuits, suggested suspicions not

favourable of what he had been. She saw that there had been bad

habits; that Sunday travelling had been a common thing; that there had

been a period of his life (and probably not a short one) when he had

been, at least, careless in all serious matters; and, though he might

now think very differently, who could answer for the true sentiments of

a clever, cautious man, grown old enough to appreciate a fair

character? How could it ever be ascertained that his mind was truly

cleansed?

Mr Elliot was rational, discreet, polished, but he was not open. There

was never any burst of feeling, any warmth of indignation or delight,

at the evil or good of others. This, to Anne, was a decided

imperfection. Her early impressions were incurable. She prized the

frank, the open-hearted, the eager character beyond all others. Warmth

and enthusiasm did captivate her still. She felt that she could so

much more depend upon the sincerity of those who sometimes looked or

said a careless or a hasty thing, than of those whose presence of mind

never varied, whose tongue never slipped.

Mr Elliot was too generally agreeable. Various as were the tempers in

her father's house, he pleased them all. He endured too well, stood

too well with every body. He had spoken to her with some degree of

openness of Mrs Clay; had appeared completely to see what Mrs Clay was

about, and to hold her in contempt; and yet Mrs Clay found him as

agreeable as any body.

Lady Russell saw either less or more than her young friend, for she saw

nothing to excite distrust. She could not imagine a man more exactly

what he ought to be than Mr Elliot; nor did she ever enjoy a sweeter

feeling than the hope of seeing him receive the hand of her beloved

Anne in Kellynch church, in the course of the following autumn.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024