“I am much obliged to you,” was her answer, “but I am not going with them.  The carriage would not accommodate so many.  I walk:  I prefer walking.”

“But it rains.”

“Oh! very little, Nothing that I regard.”

After a moment’s pause he said:  “Though I came only yesterday, I have equipped myself properly for Bath already, you see,” (pointing to a new umbrella); “I wish you would make use of it, if you are determined to walk; though I think it would be more prudent to let me get you a chair.”

She was very much obliged to him, but declined it all, repeating her conviction, that the rain would come to nothing at present, and adding, “I am only waiting for Mr Elliot.  He will be here in a moment, I am sure.”

She had hardly spoken the words when Mr Elliot walked in.  Captain Wentworth recollected him perfectly.  There was no difference between him and the man who had stood on the steps at Lyme, admiring Anne as she passed, except in the air and look and manner of the privileged relation and friend.  He came in with eagerness, appeared to see and think only of her, apologised for his stay, was grieved to have kept her waiting, and anxious to get her away without further loss of time and before the rain increased; and in another moment they walked off together, her arm under his, a gentle and embarrassed glance, and a “Good morning to you!” being all that she had time for, as she passed away.

As soon as they were out of sight, the ladies of Captain Wentworth’s party began talking of them.

“Mr Elliot does not dislike his cousin, I fancy?”

“Oh! no, that is clear enough.  One can guess what will happen there.  He is always with them; half lives in the family, I believe.  What a very good-looking man!”

“Yes, and Miss Atkinson, who dined with him once at the Wallises, says he is the most agreeable man she ever was in company with.”

“She is pretty, I think; Anne Elliot; very pretty, when one comes to look at her.  It is not the fashion to say so, but I confess I admire her more than her sister.”

“Oh! so do I.”

“And so do I. No comparison.  But the men are all wild after Miss Elliot.  Anne is too delicate for them.”

Anne would have been particularly obliged to her cousin, if he would have walked by her side all the way to Camden Place, without saying a word.  She had never found it so difficult to listen to him, though nothing could exceed his solicitude and care, and though his subjects were principally such as were wont to be always interesting:  praise, warm, just, and discriminating, of Lady Russell, and insinuations highly rational against Mrs Clay.  But just now she could think only of Captain Wentworth.  She could not understand his present feelings, whether he were really suffering much from disappointment or not; and till that point were settled, she could not be quite herself.