Mr Elliot was rational, discreet, polished, but he
was not open. There was never any burst of feeling,
any warmth of indignation or delight, at the evil
or good of others. This, to Anne, was a decided
imperfection. Her early impressions were incurable.
She prized the frank, the open-hearted, the eager
character beyond all others. Warmth and enthusiasm
did captivate her still. She felt that she could
so much more depend upon the sincerity of those who
sometimes looked or said a careless or a hasty thing,
than of those whose presence of mind never varied,
whose tongue never slipped.
Mr Elliot was too generally agreeable. Various
as were the tempers in her father’s house, he
pleased them all. He endured too well, stood
too well with every body. He had spoken to her
with some degree of openness of Mrs Clay; had appeared
completely to see what Mrs Clay was about, and to
hold her in contempt; and yet Mrs Clay found him as
agreeable as any body.
Lady Russell saw either less or more than her young
friend, for she saw nothing to excite distrust.
She could not imagine a man more exactly what he
ought to be than Mr Elliot; nor did she ever enjoy
a sweeter feeling than the hope of seeing him receive
the hand of her beloved Anne in Kellynch church, in
the course of the following autumn.
It was the beginning of February; and Anne, having
been a month in Bath, was growing very eager for news
from Uppercross and Lyme. She wanted to hear
much more than Mary had communicated. It was
three weeks since she had heard at all. She only
knew that Henrietta was at home again; and that Louisa,
though considered to be recovering fast, was still
in Lyme; and she was thinking of them all very intently
one evening, when a thicker letter than usual from
Mary was delivered to her; and, to quicken the pleasure
and surprise, with Admiral and Mrs Croft’s compliments.
The Crofts must be in Bath! A circumstance to
interest her. They were people whom her heart
turned to very naturally.
“What is this?” cried Sir Walter.
“The Crofts have arrived in Bath? The
Crofts who rent Kellynch? What have they brought
you?”
“A letter from Uppercross Cottage, Sir.”
“Oh! those letters are convenient passports.
They secure an introduction.
I should have visited Admiral Croft, however, at any
rate.
I know what is due to my tenant.”
Anne could listen no longer; she could not even have
told how the poor Admiral’s complexion escaped;
her letter engrossed her. It had been begun several
days back.
“February 1st.
