The last office of the four carriage-horses was to draw Sir Walter, Miss Elliot, and Mrs Clay to Bath.  The party drove off in very good spirits; Sir Walter prepared with condescending bows for all the afflicted tenantry and cottagers who might have had a hint to show themselves, and Anne walked up at the same time, in a sort of desolate tranquillity, to the Lodge, where she was to spend the first week.

Her friend was not in better spirits than herself.  Lady Russell felt this break-up of the family exceedingly.  Their respectability was as dear to her as her own, and a daily intercourse had become precious by habit.  It was painful to look upon their deserted grounds, and still worse to anticipate the new hands they were to fall into; and to escape the solitariness and the melancholy of so altered a village, and be out of the way when Admiral and Mrs Croft first arrived, she had determined to make her own absence from home begin when she must give up Anne.  Accordingly their removal was made together, and Anne was set down at Uppercross Cottage, in the first stage of Lady Russell’s journey.

Uppercross was a moderate-sized village, which a few years back had been completely in the old English style, containing only two houses superior in appearance to those of the yeomen and labourers; the mansion of the squire, with its high walls, great gates, and old trees, substantial and unmodernized, and the compact, tight parsonage, enclosed in its own neat garden, with a vine and a pear-tree trained round its casements; but upon the marriage of the young ’squire, it had received the improvement of a farm-house elevated into a cottage, for his residence, and Uppercross Cottage, with its veranda, French windows, and other prettiness, was quite as likely to catch the traveller’s eye as the more consistent and considerable aspect and premises of the Great House, about a quarter of a mile farther on.

Here Anne had often been staying.  She knew the ways of Uppercross as well as those of Kellynch.  The two families were so continually meeting, so much in the habit of running in and out of each other’s house at all hours, that it was rather a surprise to her to find Mary alone; but being alone, her being unwell and out of spirits was almost a matter of course.  Though better endowed than the elder sister, Mary had not Anne’s understanding nor temper.  While well, and happy, and properly attended to, she had great good humour and excellent spirits; but any indisposition sunk her completely.  She had no resources for solitude; and inheriting a considerable share of the Elliot self-importance, was very prone to add to every other distress that of fancying herself neglected and ill-used.  In person, she was inferior to both sisters, and had, even in her bloom, only reached the dignity of being “a fine girl.”  She was now lying on the faded sofa of the pretty little drawing-room, the once elegant furniture of which had been gradually growing shabby, under the influence of four summers and two children; and, on Anne’s appearing, greeted her with—­