“I beg your pardon, my dear Miss Elliot,” she cried, in her natural tone of cordiality, “I beg your pardon for the short answers I have been giving you, but I have been uncertain what I ought to do.  I have been doubting and considering as to what I ought to tell you.  There were many things to be taken into the account.  One hates to be officious, to be giving bad impressions, making mischief.  Even the smooth surface of family-union seems worth preserving, though there may be nothing durable beneath.  However, I have determined; I think I am right; I think you ought to be made acquainted with Mr Elliot’s real character.  Though I fully believe that, at present, you have not the smallest intention of accepting him, there is no saying what may happen.  You might, some time or other, be differently affected towards him.  Hear the truth, therefore, now, while you are unprejudiced.  Mr Elliot is a man without heart or conscience; a designing, wary, cold-blooded being, who thinks only of himself; whom for his own interest or ease, would be guilty of any cruelty, or any treachery, that could be perpetrated without risk of his general character.  He has no feeling for others.  Those whom he has been the chief cause of leading into ruin, he can neglect and desert without the smallest compunction.  He is totally beyond the reach of any sentiment of justice or compassion.  Oh! he is black at heart, hollow and black!”

Anne’s astonished air, and exclamation of wonder, made her pause, and in a calmer manner, she added,

“My expressions startle you.  You must allow for an injured, angry woman.  But I will try to command myself.  I will not abuse him.  I will only tell you what I have found him.  Facts shall speak.  He was the intimate friend of my dear husband, who trusted and loved him, and thought him as good as himself.  The intimacy had been formed before our marriage.  I found them most intimate friends; and I, too, became excessively pleased with Mr Elliot, and entertained the highest opinion of him.  At nineteen, you know, one does not think very seriously; but Mr Elliot appeared to me quite as good as others, and much more agreeable than most others, and we were almost always together.  We were principally in town, living in very good style.  He was then the inferior in circumstances; he was then the poor one; he had chambers in the Temple, and it was as much as he could do to support the appearance of a gentleman.  He had always a home with us whenever he chose it; he was always welcome; he was like a brother.  My poor Charles, who had the finest, most generous spirit in the world, would have divided his last farthing with him; and I know that his purse was open to him; I know that he often assisted him.”

“This must have been about that very period of Mr Elliot’s life,” said Anne, “which has always excited my particular curiosity.  It must have been about the same time that he became known to my father and sister.  I never knew him myself; I only heard of him; but there was a something in his conduct then, with regard to my father and sister, and afterwards in the circumstances of his marriage, which I never could quite reconcile with present times.  It seemed to announce a different sort of man.”