he had tried to engage her regard without a thought of returning it; that afterwards he grew sincerely fond of her, but put off from day to day paying her his formal addresses and that just at the moment when he was going to make a regular proposal to her, Mrs. Smith’s discovery of his liaison with Miss Williams, and his refusal to right matters by marrying the young lady, dismissed him from his relative’s house and favour, prevented him from declaring his love to Marianne, and, in the embarrassed state of his finances, seemed to render marriage with a wealthy woman his only chance of salvation.  He repudiated the charge of having deserted Miss Williams, declaring that he did not know the straits to which she had been reduced.  He also alluded to the violence of her passion, and the weakness of her understanding, as some excuses for the apparent heartlessness of his own conduct.

He then went on to explain his treatment of Marianne’s letters; how he had already—­previous to the arrival of the Dashwoods in town—­become engaged to Miss Sophia Grey; how, with his head and heart full of Marianne, he was forced to play the happy lover to Sophia; and how Sophia, in her jealousy, had opened Marianne’s third letter and dictated the reply.

“What do you think of my wife’s style of letter-writing?  Delicate, tender, fully feminine, was it not?” said he.

“You are very wrong, Mr. Willoughby,” said Elinor.  “You ought not to speak in this way either of Mrs. Willoughby or my sister.  You have made your own choice.  It was not forced on you.  Your wife has a claim to your politeness—­to your respect, at least.”  She must be attached to you, or she would not have married you.”

“Do not talk to me of my wife,” said he, with a heavy sigh.  “She does not deserve your compassion.  She knew I had no regard for her when we married.  And now, do you pity me, Miss Dashwood?  Have I explained away any part of my guilt?”

“Yes.  You have certainly removed something—­a little,” said Elinor.  “You have proved yourself, on the whole, less faulty than I had believed you.”

When Mrs. Dashwood arrived at Cleveland, Elinor at once gave her the joyful news of Marianne’s material improvement in health and, after an affectionate but nearly silent interview had taken place between mother and sick child, the former proceeded to express to Elinor her admiration for Colonel Brandon’s disposition and manners, and her expectation that he and Marianne would make a match of it.  The Colonel, it seemed, had told Mrs. Dashwood on the way of his affection for her daughter.

Marianne, however, at first seemed to have other plans.  When the family got back to Barton Cottage, she announced that she had determined to enter on a course of serious study, and to devote six hours a day to improving herself by reading.  But with such a confederacy against her as that formed by her mother and Elinor—­with a knowledge so intimate of Colonel Brandon’s goodness—­what could she do?