midst of a heavy rain.

His manly beauty and more than common gracefulness were instantly the
theme of general admiration, and the laugh which his gallantry raised
against Marianne received particular spirit from his exterior
attractions. Marianne herself had seen less of his person than the
rest, for the confusion which crimsoned over her face, on his lifting
her up, had robbed her of the power of regarding him after their
entering the house. But she had seen enough of him to join in all the
admiration of the others, and with an energy which always adorned her
praise. His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn
for the hero of a favourite story; and in his carrying her into the
house with so little previous formality, there was a rapidity of
thought which particularly recommended the action to her. Every
circumstance belonging to him was interesting. His name was good, his
residence was in their favourite village, and she soon found out that
of all manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming. Her
imagination was busy, her reflections were pleasant, and the pain of a
sprained ankle was disregarded.

Sir John called on them as soon as the next interval of fair weather
that morning allowed him to get out of doors; and Marianne's accident
being related to him, he was eagerly asked whether he knew any
gentleman of the name of Willoughby at Allenham.

"Willoughby!" cried Sir John; "what, is _he_ in the country? That is
good news however; I will ride over tomorrow, and ask him to dinner on
Thursday."

"You know him then," said Mrs. Dashwood.

"Know him! to be sure I do. Why, he is down here every year."

"And what sort of a young man is he?"

"As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you. A very decent
shot, and there is not a bolder rider in England."

"And is that all you can say for him?" cried Marianne, indignantly.
"But what are his manners on more intimate acquaintance? What his
pursuits, his talents, and genius?"

Sir John was rather puzzled.

"Upon my soul," said he, "I do not know much about him as to all
_that._ But he is a pleasant, good humoured fellow, and has got the
nicest little black bitch of a pointer I ever saw. Was she out with
him today?"

But Marianne could no more satisfy him as to the colour of Mr.
Willoughby's pointer, than he could describe to her the shades of his
mind.

"But who is he?" said Elinor. "Where does he come from? Has he a house
at A