to
the footman who then entered with the parcels. She was answered in the
negative. "Are you quite sure of it?" she replied. "Are you certain
that no servant, no porter has left any letter or note?"

The man replied that none had.

"How very odd!" said she, in a low and disappointed voice, as she
turned away to the window.

"How odd, indeed!" repeated Elinor within herself, regarding her
sister with uneasiness. "If she had not known him to be in town she
would not have written to him, as she did; she would have written to
Combe Magna; and if he is in town, how odd that he should neither come
nor write! Oh! my dear mother, you must be wrong in permitting an
engagement between a daughter so young, a man so little known, to be
carried on in so doubtful, so mysterious a manner! I long to inquire;
and how will _my_ interference be borne."

She determined, after some consideration, that if appearances
continued many days longer as unpleasant as they now were, she would
represent in the strongest manner to her mother the necessity of some
serious enquiry into the affair.

Mrs. Palmer and two elderly ladies of Mrs. Jennings's intimate
acquaintance, whom she had met and invited in the morning, dined with
them. The former left them soon after tea to fulfill her evening
engagements; and Elinor was obliged to assist in making a whist table
for the others. Marianne was of no use on these occasions, as she
would never learn the game; but though her time was therefore at her
own disposal, the evening was by no means more productive of pleasure
to her than to Elinor, for it was spent in all the anxiety of
expectation and the pain of disappointment. She sometimes endeavoured
for a few minutes to read; but the book was soon thrown aside, and she
returned to the more interesting employment of walking backwards and
forwards across the room, pausing for a moment whenever she came to
the window, in hopes of distinguishing the long-expected rap.

CHAPTER XXVII

"If this open weather holds much longer," said Mrs. Jennings, when
they met at breakfast the following morning, "Sir John will not like
leaving Barton next week; 'tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a
day's pleasure. Poor souls! I always pity them when they do; they seem
to take it so much to heart."

"That is true," cried Marianne, in a cheerful voice, and walking to
the window as she spoke, to examine the day. "I had not thought of
that. This weather will keep m