"Quite delightful!" cried Mrs Clay, not daring, however, to turn her
eyes towards Anne. "Exactly like father and son! Dear Miss Elliot,
may I not say father and son?"
"Oh! I lay no embargo on any body's words. If you will have such
ideas! But, upon my word, I am scarcely sensible of his attentions
being beyond those of other men."
"My dear Miss Elliot!" exclaimed Mrs Clay, lifting her hands and eyes,
and sinking all the rest of her astonishment in a convenient silence.
"Well, my dear Penelope, you need not be so alarmed about him. I did
invite him, you know. I sent him away with smiles. When I found he
was really going to his friends at Thornberry Park for the whole day
to-morrow, I had compassion on him."
Anne admired the good acting of the friend, in being able to shew such
pleasure as she did, in the expectation and in the actual arrival of
the very person whose presence must really be interfering with her
prime object. It was impossible but that Mrs Clay must hate the sight
of Mr Elliot; and yet she could assume a most obliging, placid look,
and appear quite satisfied with the curtailed license of devoting
herself only half as much to Sir Walter as she would have done
otherwise.
To Anne herself it was most distressing to see Mr Elliot enter the
room; and quite painful to have him approach and speak to her. She had
been used before to feel that he could not be always quite sincere, but
now she saw insincerity in everything. His attentive deference to her
father, contrasted with his former language, was odious; and when she
thought of his cruel conduct towards Mrs Smith, she could hardly bear
the sight of his present smiles and mildness, or the sound of his
artificial good sentiments.
She meant to avoid any such alteration of manners as might provoke a
remonstrance on his side. It was a great object to her to escape all
enquiry or eclat; but it was her intention to be as decidedly cool to
him as might be compatible with their relationship; and to retrace, as
quietly as she could, the few steps of unnecessary intimacy she had
been gradually led along. She was accordingly more guarded, and more
cool, than she had been the night before.
He wanted to animate her curiosity again as to how and where he could
have heard her formerly praised; wanted very much to be gratified by
more solicitation; but the charm was broken: he found that the heat and
animation of a public room was necessary to kindle his modest cousin's
vanity; he found, at least, that it was not to be done now, by any of
those attempts which he could hazard among the too-commanding claims of
the others. He little surmised that it was a subject acting now
exactly against his interest, bringing immediately to her thoughts all
those parts of his conduct which were least excusable.