She tried to be calm, and leave things to take their course, and tried

to dwell much on this argument of rational dependence:--"Surely, if

there be constant attachment on each side, our hearts must understand

each other ere long. We are not boy and girl, to be captiously

irritable, misled by every moment's inadvertence, and wantonly playing

with our own happiness." And yet, a few minutes afterwards, she felt

as if their being in company with each other, under their present

circumstances, could only be exposing them to inadvertencies and

misconstructions of the most mischievous kind.

"Anne," cried Mary, still at her window, "there is Mrs Clay, I am sure,

standing under the colonnade, and a gentleman with her. I saw them

turn the corner from Bath Street just now. They seemed deep in talk.

Who is it? Come, and tell me. Good heavens! I recollect. It is Mr

Elliot himself."

"No," cried Anne, quickly, "it cannot be Mr Elliot, I assure you. He

was to leave Bath at nine this morning, and does not come back till

to-morrow."

As she spoke, she felt that Captain Wentworth was looking at her, the

consciousness of which vexed and embarrassed her, and made her regret

that she had said so much, simple as it was.

Mary, resenting that she should be supposed not to know her own cousin,

began talking very warmly about the family features, and protesting

still more positively that it was Mr Elliot, calling again upon Anne to

come and look for herself, but Anne did not mean to stir, and tried to

be cool and unconcerned. Her distress returned, however, on perceiving

smiles and intelligent glances pass between two or three of the lady

visitors, as if they believed themselves quite in the secret. It was

evident that the report concerning her had spread, and a short pause

succeeded, which seemed to ensure that it would now spread farther.

"Do come, Anne" cried Mary, "come and look yourself. You will be too

late if you do not make haste. They are parting; they are shaking

hands. He is turning away. Not know Mr Elliot, indeed! You seem to

have forgot all about Lyme."

To pacify Mary, and perhaps screen her own embarrassment, Anne did move

quietly to the window. She was just in time to ascertain that it

really was Mr Elliot, which she had never believed, before he

disappeared on one side, as Mrs Clay walked quickly off on the other;

and checking the surprise which she could not but feel at such an

appearance of friendly conference between two persons of totally

opposite interest, she calmly said, "Yes, it is Mr Elliot, certainly.

He has changed his hour of going, I suppose, that is all, or I may be

mistaken, I might not attend;" and walked back to her chair,

recomposed, and with the comfortable hope of having acquitted herself

well.




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