feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/cliffnotes/Sense and Sensibility/section_16_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: Sense and Sensibility.chapters 23-24
feat_summary_id: chapters 23-24
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapters 23-24", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201101060302/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/s/sense-and-sensibility/summary-and-analysis/chapters-2324", "summary": "Reflecting on Edward's behavior towards herself, Elinor decided that \"his affection was all her own.\" She attributed his and Lucy's engagement to a youthful infatuation and felt that he would never be satisfied with a wife like her -- \"illiterate, artful, and selfish.\" Grieving \"for him more than for herself,\" Elinor concealed both the secret and her deep distress from her mother and Marianne. Much though the conversation with Lucy had upset her, she was eager to \"hear many particulars of their engagement repeated again.\" She wanted to judge the sincerity of Lucy's feelings for Edward. And above all, she wanted to convince Lucy that she wasn't hurt by Lucy's revelation. So, during a visit to Barton Hall, she offered to help Lucy finish a basket which she was making for Annamaria. She and Lucy discussed Edward's dependence on his mother, and Lucy asked Elinor to use her influence with John Dashwood to persuade him to give the Norland living to Edward. Elinor coolly pointed out that since Mrs. John Dashwood was Edward's sister, \"that must be recommendation enough to her husband\" But Lucy reminded her that \"Mrs. John Dashwood would not much approve of Edward's going into orders.\" Conversation between the two became very stilted when Elinor refused to give her opinion of Lucy's situation, and finally, Lucy asked Elinor if she would be staying in London that winter. She was obviously pleased by Elinor's \"Certainly not.\" The conversation ended, and Elinor decided \"that Edward was not only without affection for the person who was to be his wife, but that he had not even the chance of being tolerably happy in marriage.\" After that day, Elinor never mentioned the subject of Edward again. But Lucy \"seldom missed an opportunity of introducing it, and was particularly careful to inform her confidante of her happiness whenever she received a letter from Edward.\"", "analysis": "Elinor, in this chapter, shows herself to be of flesh and blood. She is hurt by Lucy's revelation of the engagement and wishes to assure herself that Edward could not be in love with a woman such as Lucy seems to be. She also doesn't want Lucy to have any advantage over her by suspecting Elinor's anguish. So, Elinor too is capable of insincerity in order to discover all she wants to know."}
text: 
  
  However small Elinor's general dependence on Lucy's veracity might be,
  it was impossible for her on serious reflection to suspect it in the
  present case, where no temptation could be answerable to the folly of
  inventing a falsehood of such a description.  What Lucy had asserted to
  be true, therefore, Elinor could not, dared not longer doubt; supported
  as it was too on every side by such probabilities and proofs, and
  contradicted by nothing but her own wishes.  Their opportunity of
  acquaintance in the house of Mr. Pratt was a foundation for the rest,
  at once indisputable and alarming; and Edward's visit near Plymouth,
  his melancholy state of mind, his dissatisfaction at his own prospects,
  his uncertain behaviour towards herself, the intimate knowledge of the
  Miss Steeles as to Norland and their family connections, which had
  often surprised her, the picture, the letter, the ring, formed
  altogether such a body of evidence, as overcame every fear of
  condemning him unfairly, and established as a fact, which no partiality
  could set aside, his ill-treatment of herself.--Her resentment of such
  behaviour, her indignation at having been its dupe, for a short time
  made her feel only for herself; but other ideas, other considerations,
  soon arose.  Had Edward been intentionally deceiving her?  Had he
  feigned a regard for her which he did not feel?  Was his engagement to
  Lucy an engagement of the heart?  No; whatever it might once have been,
  she could not believe it such at present.  His affection was all her
  own.  She could not be deceived in that.  Her mother, sisters, Fanny,
  all had been conscious of his regard for her at Norland; it was not an
  illusion of her own vanity.  He certainly loved her.  What a softener
  of the heart was this persuasion!  How much could it not tempt her to
  forgive!  He had been blamable, highly blamable, in remaining at
  Norland after he first felt her influence over him to be more than it
  ought to be.  In that, he could not be defended; but if he had injured
  her, how much more had he injured himself; if her case were pitiable,
  his was hopeless.  His imprudence had made her miserable for a while;
  but it seemed to have deprived himself of all chance of ever being
  otherwise.  She might in time regain tranquillity; but HE, what had he
  to look forward to?  Could he ever be tolerably happy with Lucy Steele;
  could he, were his affection for herself out of the question, with his
  integrity, his delicacy, and well-informed mind, be satisfied with a
  wife like her--illiterate, artful, and selfish?
  
  The youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally blind him to every
  thing but her beauty and good nature; but the four succeeding
  years--years, which if rationally spent, give such improvement to the
  understanding, must have opened his eyes to her defects of education,
  while the same period of time, spent on her side in inferior society
  and more frivolous pursuits, had perhaps robbed her of that simplicity
  which might once have given an interesting character to her beauty.
  
  If in the supposition of his seeking to marry herself, his difficulties
  from his mother had seemed great, how much greater were they now likely
  to be, when the object of his engagement was undoubtedly inferior in
  connections, and probably inferior in fortune to herself.  These
  difficulties, indeed, with a heart so alienated from Lucy, might not
  press very hard upon his patience; but melancholy was the state of the
  person by whom the expectation of family opposition and unkindness,
  could be felt as a relief!
  
  As these considerations occurred to her in painful succession, she wept
  for him, more than for herself.  Supported by the conviction of having
  done nothing to merit her present unhappiness, and consoled by the
  belief that Edward had done nothing to forfeit her esteem, she thought
  she could even now, under the first smart of the heavy blow, command
  herself enough to guard every suspicion of the truth from her mother
  and sisters.  And so well was she able to answer her own expectations,
  that when she joined them at dinner only two hours after she had first
  suffered the extinction of all her dearest hopes, no one would have
  supposed from the appearance of the sisters, that Elinor was mourning
  in secret over obstacles which must divide her for ever from the object
  of her love, and that Marianne was internally dwelling on the
  perfections of a man, of whose whole heart she felt thoroughly
  possessed, and whom she expected to see in every carriage which drove
  near their house.
  
  The necessity of concealing from her mother and Marianne, what had been
  entrusted in confidence to herself, though it obliged her to unceasing
  exertion, was no aggravation of Elinor's distress.  On the contrary it
  was a relief to her, to be spared the communication of what would give
  such affliction to them, and to be saved likewise from hearing that
  condemnation of Edward, which would probably flow from the excess of
  their partial affection for herself, and which was more than she felt
  equal to support.
  
  From their counsel, or their conversation, she knew she could receive
  no assistance, their tenderness and sorrow must add to her distress,
  while her self-command would neither receive encouragement from their
  example nor from their praise.  She was stronger alone, and her own
  good sense so well supported her, that her firmness was as unshaken,
  her appearance of cheerfulness as invariable, as with regrets so
  poignant and so fresh, it was possible for them to be.
  
  Much as she had suffered from her first conversation with Lucy on the
  subject, she soon felt an earnest wish of renewing it; and this for
  more reasons than one.  She wanted to hear many particulars of their
  engagement repeated again, she wanted more clearly to understand what
  Lucy really felt for Edward, whether there were any sincerity in her
  declaration of tender regard for him, and she particularly wanted to
  convince Lucy, by her readiness to enter on the matter again, and her
  calmness in conversing on it, that she was no otherwise interested in
  it than as a friend, which she very much feared her involuntary
  agitation, in their morning discourse, must have left at least
  doubtful.  That Lucy was disposed to be jealous of her appeared very
  probable: it was plain that Edward had always spoken highly in her
  praise, not merely from Lucy's assertion, but from her venturing to
  trust her on so short a personal acquaintance, with a secret so
  confessedly and evidently important.  And even Sir John's joking
  intelligence must have had some weight.  But indeed, while Elinor
  remained so well assured within herself of being really beloved by
  Edward, it required no other consideration of probabilities to make it
  natural that Lucy should be jealous; and that she was so, her very
  confidence was a proof.  What other reason for the disclosure of the
  affair could there be, but that Elinor might be informed by it of
  Lucy's superior claims on Edward, and be taught to avoid him in future?
  She had little difficulty in understanding thus much of her rival's
  intentions, and while she was firmly resolved to act by her as every
  principle of honour and honesty directed, to combat her own affection
  for Edward and to see him as little as possible; she could not deny
  herself the comfort of endeavouring to convince Lucy that her heart was
  unwounded.  And as she could now have nothing more painful to hear on
  the subject than had already been told, she did not mistrust her own
  ability of going through a repetition of particulars with composure.
  
  But it was not immediately that an opportunity of doing so could be
  commanded, though Lucy was as well disposed as herself to take
  advantage of any that occurred; for the weather was not often fine
  enough to allow of their joining in a walk, where they might most
  easily separate themselves from the others; and though they met at
  least every other evening either at the park or cottage, and chiefly at
  the former, they could not be supposed to meet for the sake of
  conversation.  Such a thought would never enter either Sir John or Lady
  Middleton's head; and therefore very little leisure was ever given for
  a general chat, and none at all for particular discourse.  They met for
  the sake of eating, drinking, and laughing together, playing at cards,
  or consequences, or any other game that was sufficiently noisy.
  
  One or two meetings of this kind had taken place, without affording
  Elinor any chance of engaging Lucy in private, when Sir John called at
  the cottage one morning, to beg, in the name of charity, that they
  would all dine with Lady Middleton that day, as he was obliged to
  attend the club at Exeter, and she would otherwise be quite alone,
  except her mother and the two Miss Steeles.  Elinor, who foresaw a
  fairer opening for the point she had in view, in such a party as this
  was likely to be, more at liberty among themselves under the tranquil
  and well-bred direction of Lady Middleton than when her husband united
  them together in one noisy purpose, immediately accepted the
  invitation; Margaret, with her mother's permission, was equally
  compliant, and Marianne, though always unwilling to join any of their
  parties, was persuaded by her mother, who could not bear to have her
  seclude herself from any chance of amusement, to go likewise.
  
  The young ladies went, and Lady Middleton was happily preserved from
  the frightful solitude which had threatened her.  The insipidity of the
  meeting was exactly such as Elinor had expected; it produced not one
  novelty of thought or expression, and nothing could be less interesting
  than the whole of their discourse both in the dining parlour and
  drawing room: to the latter, the children accompanied them, and while
  they remained there, she was too well convinced of the impossibility of
  engaging Lucy's attention to attempt it.  They quitted it only with the
  removal of the tea-things.  The card-table was then placed, and Elinor
  began to wonder at herself for having ever entertained a hope of
  finding time for conversation at the park.  They all rose up in
  preparation for a round game.
  
  "I am glad," said Lady Middleton to Lucy, "you are not going to finish
  poor little Annamaria's basket this evening; for I am sure it must hurt
  your eyes to work filigree by candlelight.  And we will make the dear
  little love some amends for her disappointment to-morrow, and then I
  hope she will not much mind it."
  
  This hint was enough, Lucy recollected herself instantly and replied,
  "Indeed you are very much mistaken, Lady Middleton; I am only waiting
  to know whether you can make your party without me, or I should have
  been at my filigree already.  I would not disappoint the little angel
  for all the world: and if you want me at the card-table now, I am
  resolved to finish the basket after supper."
  
  "You are very good, I hope it won't hurt your eyes--will you ring the
  bell for some working candles?  My poor little girl would be sadly
  disappointed, I know, if the basket was not finished tomorrow, for
  though I told her it certainly would not, I am sure she depends upon
  having it done."
  
  Lucy directly drew her work table near her and reseated herself with an
  alacrity and cheerfulness which seemed to infer that she could taste no
  greater delight than in making a filigree basket for a spoilt child.
  
  Lady Middleton proposed a rubber of Casino to the others.  No one made
  any objection but Marianne, who with her usual inattention to the forms
  of general civility, exclaimed, "Your Ladyship will have the goodness
  to excuse ME--you know I detest cards.  I shall go to the piano-forte;
  I have not touched it since it was tuned."  And without farther
  ceremony, she turned away and walked to the instrument.
  
  Lady Middleton looked as if she thanked heaven that SHE had never made
  so rude a speech.
  
  "Marianne can never keep long from that instrument you know, ma'am,"
  said Elinor, endeavouring to smooth away the offence; "and I do not
  much wonder at it; for it is the very best toned piano-forte I ever
  heard."
  
  The remaining five were now to draw their cards.
  
  "Perhaps," continued Elinor, "if I should happen to cut out, I may be
  of some use to Miss Lucy Steele, in rolling her papers for her; and
  there is so much still to be done to the basket, that it must be
  impossible I think for her labour singly, to finish it this evening.  I
  should like the work exceedingly, if she would allow me a share in it."
  
  "Indeed I shall be very much obliged to you for your help," cried Lucy,
  "for I find there is more to be done to it than I thought there was;
  and it would be a shocking thing to disappoint dear Annamaria after
  all."
  
  "Oh! that would be terrible, indeed," said Miss Steele-- "Dear little
  soul, how I do love her!"
  
  "You are very kind," said Lady Middleton to Elinor; "and as you really
  like the work, perhaps you will be as well pleased not to cut in till
  another rubber, or will you take your chance now?"
  
  Elinor joyfully profited by the first of these proposals, and thus by a
  little of that address which Marianne could never condescend to
  practise, gained her own end, and pleased Lady Middleton at the same
  time.  Lucy made room for her with ready attention, and the two fair
  rivals were thus seated side by side at the same table, and, with the
  utmost harmony, engaged in forwarding the same work.  The pianoforte at
  which Marianne, wrapped up in her own music and her own thoughts, had
  by this time forgotten that any body was in the room besides herself,
  was luckily so near them that Miss Dashwood now judged she might
  safely, under the shelter of its noise, introduce the interesting
  subject, without any risk of being heard at the card-table.
  
  
  
  
  In a firm, though cautious tone, Elinor thus began.
  
  "I should be undeserving of the confidence you have honoured me with,
  if I felt no desire for its continuance, or no farther curiosity on its
  subject.  I will not apologize therefore for bringing it forward again."
  
  "Thank you," cried Lucy warmly, "for breaking the ice; you have set my
  heart at ease by it; for I was somehow or other afraid I had offended
  you by what I told you that Monday."
  
  "Offended me! How could you suppose so? Believe me," and Elinor spoke
  it with the truest sincerity, "nothing could be farther from my
  intention than to give you such an idea.  Could you have a motive for
  the trust, that was not honourable and flattering to me?"
  
  "And yet I do assure you," replied Lucy, her little sharp eyes full of
  meaning, "there seemed to me to be a coldness and displeasure in your
  manner that made me quite uncomfortable.  I felt sure that you was
  angry with me; and have been quarrelling with myself ever since, for
  having took such a liberty as to trouble you with my affairs.  But I am
  very glad to find it was only my own fancy, and that you really do not
  blame me.  If you knew what a consolation it was to me to relieve my
  heart speaking to you of what I am always thinking of every moment of
  my life, your compassion would make you overlook every thing else I am
  sure."
  
  "Indeed, I can easily believe that it was a very great relief to you,
  to acknowledge your situation to me, and be assured that you shall
  never have reason to repent it.  Your case is a very unfortunate one;
  you seem to me to be surrounded with difficulties, and you will have
  need of all your mutual affection to support you under them.  Mr.
  Ferrars, I believe, is entirely dependent on his mother."
  
  "He has only two thousand pounds of his own; it would be madness to
  marry upon that, though for my own part, I could give up every prospect
  of more without a sigh.  I have been always used to a very small
  income, and could struggle with any poverty for him; but I love him too
  well to be the selfish means of robbing him, perhaps, of all that his
  mother might give him if he married to please her.  We must wait, it
  may be for many years.  With almost every other man in the world, it
  would be an alarming prospect; but Edward's affection and constancy
  nothing can deprive me of I know."
  
  "That conviction must be every thing to you; and he is undoubtedly
  supported by the same trust in your's.  If the strength of your
  reciprocal attachment had failed, as between many people, and under
  many circumstances it naturally would during a four years' engagement,
  your situation would have been pitiable, indeed."
  
  Lucy here looked up; but Elinor was careful in guarding her countenance
  from every expression that could give her words a suspicious tendency.
  
  "Edward's love for me," said Lucy, "has been pretty well put to the
  test, by our long, very long absence since we were first engaged, and
  it has stood the trial so well, that I should 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."
  
  "Oh," cried Miss Steele, looking significantly round at them, "I dare
  say Lucy's beau is quite as modest and pretty behaved as Miss
  Dashwood's."
  
  Elinor blushed in spite of herself.  Lucy bit her lip, and looked
  angrily at her sister.  A mutual silence took place for some time.
  Lucy first put an end to it by saying in a lower tone, though Marianne
  was then giving them the powerful protection of a very magnificent
  concerto--
  
  "I will honestly tell you of one scheme which has lately come into my
  head, for bringing matters to bear; indeed I am bound to let you into
  the secret, for you are a party concerned.  I dare say you have seen
  enough of Edward to know that he would prefer the church to every other
  profession; now my plan is that he should take orders as soon as he
  can, and then through your interest, which I am sure you would be kind
  enough to use out of friendship for him, and I hope out of some regard
  to me, your brother might be persuaded to give him Norland living;
  which I understand is a very good one, and the present incumbent not
  likely to live a great while.  That would be enough for us to marry
  upon, and we might trust to time and chance for the rest."
  
  "I should always be happy," replied Elinor, "to show any mark of my
  esteem and friendship for Mr. Ferrars; but do you not perceive that my
  interest on such an occasion would be perfectly unnecessary?  He is
  brother to Mrs. John Dashwood--THAT must be recommendation enough to
  her husband."
  
  "But Mrs. John Dashwood would not much approve of Edward's going into
  orders."
  
  "Then I rather suspect that my interest would do very little."
  
  They were again silent for many minutes.  At length Lucy exclaimed with
  a deep sigh,
  
  "I believe it would be the wisest way to put an end to the business at
  once by dissolving the engagement.  We seem so beset with difficulties
  on every side, that though it would make us miserable for a time, we
  should be happier perhaps in the end.  But you will not give me your
  advice, Miss Dashwood?"
  
  "No," answered Elinor, with a smile, which concealed very agitated
  feelings, "on such a subject I certainly will not.  You know very well
  that my opinion would have no weight with you, unless it were on the
  side of your wishes."
  
  "Indeed you wrong me," replied Lucy, with great solemnity; "I know
  nobody of whose judgment I think so highly as I do of yours; and I do
  really believe, that if you was to say to me, 'I advise you by all
  means to put an end to your engagement with Edward Ferrars, it will be
  more for the happiness of both of you,' I should resolve upon doing it
  immediately."
  
  Elinor blushed for the insincerity of Edward's future wife, and
  replied, "This compliment would effectually frighten me from giving any
  opinion on the subject had I formed one.  It raises my influence much
  too high; the power of dividing two people so tenderly attached is too
  much for an indifferent person."
  
  "'Tis because you are an indifferent person," said Lucy, with some
  pique, and laying a particular stress on those words, "that your
  judgment might justly have such weight with me.  If you could be
  supposed to be biased in any respect by your own feelings, your opinion
  would not be worth having."
  
  Elinor thought it wisest to make no answer to this, lest they might
  provoke each other to an unsuitable increase of ease and unreserve; and
  was even partly determined never to mention the subject again.  Another
  pause therefore of many minutes' duration, succeeded this speech, and
  Lucy was still the first to end it.
  
  "Shall you be in town this winter, Miss Dashwood?" said she with all
  her accustomary complacency.
  
  "Certainly not."
  
  "I am sorry for that," returned the other, while her eyes brightened at
  the information, "it would have gave me such pleasure to meet you
  there!  But I dare say you will go for all that.  To be sure, your
  brother and sister will ask you to come to them."
  
  "It will not be in my power to accept their invitation if they do."
  
  "How unlucky that is! I had quite depended upon meeting you there.
  Anne and me are to go the latter end of January to some relations who
  have been wanting us to visit them these several years!  But I only go
  for the sake of seeing Edward.  He will be there in February, otherwise
  London would have no charms for me; I have not spirits for it."
  
  Elinor was soon called to the card-table by the conclusion of the first
  rubber, and the confidential discourse of the two ladies was therefore
  at an end, to which both of them submitted without any reluctance, for
  nothing had been said on either side to make them dislike each other
  less than they had done before; and Elinor sat down to the card table
  with the melancholy persuasion that Edward was not only without
  affection for the person who was to be his wife; but that he had not
  even the chance of being tolerably happy in marriage, which sincere
  affection on HER side would have given, for self-interest alone could
  induce a woman to keep a man to an engagement, of which she seemed so
  thoroughly aware that he was weary.
  
  From this time the subject was never revived by Elinor, and when
  entered on by Lucy, who seldom missed an opportunity of introducing it,
  and was particularly careful to inform her confidante, of her happiness
  whenever she received a letter from Edward, it was treated by the
  former with calmness and caution, and dismissed as soon as civility
  would allow; for she felt such conversations to be an indulgence which
  Lucy did not deserve, and which were dangerous to herself.
  
  The visit of the Miss Steeles at Barton Park was lengthened far beyond
  what the first invitation implied.  Their favour increased; they could
  not be spared; Sir John would not hear of their going; and in spite of
  their numerous and long arranged engagements in Exeter, in spite of the
  absolute necessity of returning to fulfill them immediately, which was
  in full force at the end of every week, they were prevailed on to stay
  nearly two months at the park, and to assist in the due celebration of
  that festival which requires a more than ordinary share of private
  balls and large dinners to proclaim its importance.
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Chapters 23-24
target: Reflecting on Edward's behavior towards herself, Elinor decided that "his affection was all her own." She attributed his and Lucy's engagement to a youthful infatuation and felt that he would never be satisfied with a wife like her -- "illiterate, artful, and selfish." Grieving "for him more than for herself," Elinor concealed both the secret and her deep distress from her mother and Marianne. Much though the conversation with Lucy had upset her, she was eager to "hear many particulars of their engagement repeated again." She wanted to judge the sincerity of Lucy's feelings for Edward. And above all, she wanted to convince Lucy that she wasn't hurt by Lucy's revelation. So, during a visit to Barton Hall, she offered to help Lucy finish a basket which she was making for Annamaria. She and Lucy discussed Edward's dependence on his mother, and Lucy asked Elinor to use her influence with John Dashwood to persuade him to give the Norland living to Edward. Elinor coolly pointed out that since Mrs. John Dashwood was Edward's sister, "that must be recommendation enough to her husband" But Lucy reminded her that "Mrs. John Dashwood would not much approve of Edward's going into orders." Conversation between the two became very stilted when Elinor refused to give her opinion of Lucy's situation, and finally, Lucy asked Elinor if she would be staying in London that winter. She was obviously pleased by Elinor's "Certainly not." The conversation ended, and Elinor decided "that Edward was not only without affection for the person who was to be his wife, but that he had not even the chance of being tolerably happy in marriage." After that day, Elinor never mentioned the subject of Edward again. But Lucy "seldom missed an opportunity of introducing it, and was particularly careful to inform her confidante of her happiness whenever she received a letter from Edward."
feat_summary_analysis: Elinor, in this chapter, shows herself to be of flesh and blood. She is hurt by Lucy's revelation of the engagement and wishes to assure herself that Edward could not be in love with a woman such as Lucy seems to be. She also doesn't want Lucy to have any advantage over her by suspecting Elinor's anguish. So, Elinor too is capable of insincerity in order to discover all she wants to know.