ould be unpardonable to doubt
it now. I can safely say that he has never gave me one moment's alarm
on that account from the first."

Elinor hardly knew whether to smile or sigh at this assertion.

Lucy went on. "I am rather of a jealous temper too by nature, and from
our different situations in life, from his being so much more in the
world than me, and our continual separation, I was enough inclined for
suspicion, to have found out the truth in an instant, if there had
been the slightest alteration in his behaviour to me when we met, or
any lowness of spirits that I could not account for, or if he had
talked more of one lady than another, or seemed in any respect less
happy at Longstaple than he used to be. I do not mean to say that I am
particularly observant or quick-sighted in general, but in such a case
I am sure I could not be deceived."

"All this," thought Elinor, "is very pretty; but it can impose upon
neither of us."

"But what," said she after a short silence, "are your views? or have
you none but that of waiting for Mrs. Ferrars's death, which is a
melancholy and shocking extremity?--Is her son determined to submit to
this, and to all the tediousness of the many years of suspense in
which it may involve you, rather than run the risk of her displeasure
for a while by owning the truth?"

"If we could be certain that it would be only for a while! But Mrs.
Ferrars is a very headstrong proud woman, and in her first fit of
anger upon hearing it, would very likely secure every thing to Robert,
and the idea of that, for Edward's sake, frightens away all my
inclination for hasty measures."

"And for your own sake too, or you are carrying your disinterestedness
beyond reason."

Lucy looked at Elinor again, and was silent.

"Do you know Mr. Robert Ferrars?" asked Elinor.

"Not at all--I never saw him; but I fancy he is very unlike his
brother--silly and a great coxcomb."

"A great coxcomb!" repeated Miss Steele, whose ear had caught those
words by a sudden pause in Marianne's music. "Oh, they are talking of
their favourite beaux, I dare say."

"No sister," cried Lucy, "you are mistaken there, our favourite beaux
are _not_ great coxcombs."

"I can answer for it that Miss Dashwood's is not," said Mrs. Jennings,
laughing heartily; "for he is one of the modestest, prettiest behaved
young men I ever saw; but as for Lucy, she is such a sly little
creature, there is no finding out who _she_ likes."

[Illust