Oh, Mary, such a disappointment.
There was no picnic after all. So I’ve heard, ma’am. Such a shame. You knew, then? Oh, yes, miss. I had it from Miss Marianne
and the young gentleman. – They’re here?
– Mr. Willoughby? Oh, yes, ma’am. They’ve been home here an hour or more.
Would you like me to get the tea things? Oh, yes, thank you, Mary. If you would. Oh, dear. How dreadfully unwise she is. Yes, Elinor, my dear.
It was not really prudent, I grant you. But I cannot believe that dear Marianne,
or Willoughby either, for that matter, would ever do anything that was not right. – We have a visitor, I understand?
– Please, Mama. – Marianne?
– Mother, leave her. (Door slams) Mr. Willoughby? What is the matter? Is she ill? I think not, Mrs. Dashwood,
merely upset and disappointed. But no more so than I am. – I have to return at once to London.
– Oh! This morning
it was Colonel Brandon and now you. This dashing to London
has become quite an epidemic. When the picnic party
was canceled this morning, I decided to take Marianne
and show her Allenham House which as you probably know
will one day be my property. You mean without the knowledge
and consent of the present owner? Was that wise? Well, in the event, it was not, because my elderly kinswoman
who owns the property decided to exercise the privilege of riches
over a poor dependent by dispatching me instantly to London
on urgent business. I am to leave immediately. When do you return? Well, my invitations to Allenham
are somewhat infrequent. I shall not be in this neighborhood
for another 12 month, I’m afraid. Not for a year? No, I’m afraid not, madam. But is Allenham the only house in the district
where you may stay? Oh, for shame, Mr. Willoughby. You will always be more than welcome
at Barton Cottage. You know that. Yes. You are too good, madam. But my engagements at the moment
are of such a nature that… …I think perhaps
it would be unwise to commit myself. Very well, Mr. Willoughby. I will leave it entirely
to your own good judgment, of course. Well, it is folly to linger in this manner. I shall not torment myself further by remaining among friends
whose company I can no longer enjoy. – Goodbye, madam.
– Goodbye. Miss Dashwood. Poor Marianne. (Birdsong) She looks so pale, poor darling. Yet already I fancy she is
a little better, perhaps. Only yesterday she offered
to help me count the washing. I hope you let her, Mama. It is simple practical employment
she most needs. The worst thing in the world for her is that
she should sit there and dwell upon the past, listening for someone
whom she knows in her heart will not come. However little she wants my company,
I must go to her. (Birdsong) – Are you not cold, sitting there?
– No, thank you. These sweet williams have come on well,
have they not? I really must find some time
to remove some of these dead blooms. Well, perhaps you’d be good enough
to help me sometime. Yes, of course I will. – There’s so much tidying up to do…
– (Horse galloping) Shh! Just a moment. – Why, what is the matter?
– I thought I heard a horse. – Oh, Marianne!
– Yes, can’t you hear it? It’s he, it must be. It’s much more likely to be Sir John
or someone from Barton Park. But he always comes on foot or on a dog cart. Why should… Oh. – Mr. Ferrars.
– Edward. Forgive me for calling upon you
unannounced in this fashion but I happened to be traveling
in the neighborhood. – Have you been away from Sussex long?
– Not long. I’ve been here in Devon
this last fortnight only, to be exact. Oh! You have been in Devonshire a fortnight
and have only just come to see us? Shame upon you. Marianne, the poor man is quite free
to have other acquaintances, is he not? No, he is not. None that take precedence over us, anyhow. Never mind, Edward, we will forgive you. The main thing is that you’re here, and now that we’ve got you,
how long may we keep you? Well, if I might beg
board and lodging for tonight. Tomorrow I have to be on my way
back to Sussex again, I’m afraid. For one night only?
But I thought at least a week. However, we must count ourselves lucky
that we have you at all, I suppose. Well, if… if you will both forgive me, I will go and see to my cob. – Another cup of tea, Edward?
– Er… no, thank you, Mrs. Dashwood. Take Edward’s cup, one of you. – I will.
– Thank you. – I never saw you wear a ring before, Edward!
– Oh, did you not? – May I see?
– Oh, Marianne dear. Is that your sister’s hair?
I’d have thought it was a lot darker. It depends upon the light. It’s very handsome. And what are your mother’s views for you
at present, Edward? Are you still to be a great orator
in spite of yourself? No. I hope my mother is now convinced
that I have no talent for a public life and that I am by nature
an idle, helpless sort of a fellow. Do not decry yourself, Edward.
It’s a form of vanity. Take no notice of her, Edward. In any case, we can never agree
on a choice of profession. I would have preferred the Church
but this was not smart enough for my family. Oh! They would have me enter the law at least, and be one of those fine young men
who drive around town in knowing gigs. But I have no ambition
but to be happy in my own way. Oh, quite right, Edward. What are wealth and grandeur
to do with happiness? Grandeur has but little, I grant you,
but wealth, I’m afraid, has. Oh, Elinor, for shame! Wealth can give nothing. A mere competence
is all one needs for true happiness. Perhaps your competence and my wealth
are one and the same thing. Come now, what is your idea of a competence? I could manage very well,
I think, on about 1,800 or 2,000 a year. Two thousand? – Oh, my darling.
– Two thousand is only a moderate income. And a proper establishment of servants,
a carriage or two, and hunters, cannot be supported on less, I fancy. Why hunters? Everyone does not hunt. No. But many do. Let us hope that you are both
suddenly left a large fortune. Yes, indeed. Though where it is to come from,
I’m afraid I do not know. But then what magnificent orders
would travel from Barton to London. What a happy day for the booksellers
and print shops, eh, Elinor? And as for Marianne,
I know her greatness of soul. She would buy up every copy
of her favorite authors – to prevent them falling into unworthy hands.
– Oh, yes. How well you know her, Edward. I’m sorry if I am saucy, but I wanted to show
you that I had not forgot our old disputes. I love to be reminded of the past, Edward. You’ll never offend me
by talking of former times. Or perhaps you would bestow an award
for the ablest defense of your favorite maxim, that nobody can ever be in love
more than once in their life. For your opinion on that point
is unchanged, I presume? Most certainly. And I’m more than ever sure
that nothing now will change it. Marianne is much as before, you see.
She is not at all altered. No? A little graver, more solemn, perhaps,
as becomes her advancing years. Nay, Edward, you need not reproach me. When you first arrived this morning,
your own manner was hardly of the gayest. Marianne, I wish you would not
make such personal remarks. You need not defend me, ma’am.
I can look after myself, I think. Well said, Edward. But you are right.
Gaiety was never part of my character. (Sighs) The truth is I am so foolishly shy
that I often seem negligent when in reality I’m only kept back
by a kind of awkwardness. (Sighs) In fact, I frequently think that I must
be intended by nature for low company. I am so little at ease
among people of gentility. There are times when I share your aversion. But Marianne hasn’t shyness to excuse her. No, indeed. She knows her worth too well
for false modesty. Shyness is the effect
of a sense of inferiority. If I could only convince myself that my…
manners were perfectly easy and graceful, I should not be shy. Yes, but you’d still be reserved,
which is worse. I? Reserved? Marianne, you cannot mean it. You are. Very. Reserved? In what way? What am I
supposed to have withheld from you? – Edward!
– (Knock at door) Marianne calls everyone reserved
who doesn’t talk as much as herself or go into fine raptures
at the slightest provocation. No, indeed I do not! – (Sir John) How merry, my dears!
– One moment, my dears. (Sir John) Oh, good… – Sir John Middleton, our neighbor.
– Oh, not come round here? – Are the Middletons pleasant people?
– Oh, no, not at all. – (Chatter next door)
– Oh, Marianne, how can you be so unjust? You’re always welcome, sir.
As you see, we have a visitor. I was aware of that, ma’am,
and that was partly the object of my call. You knew of his coming, Sir John?
Then you knew more than we did. Ah, news travels fast in these parts,
Miss Marianne. You’d be surprised. May I introduce Mr. Edward Ferrars,
Sir John Middleton. – Sir.
– Delighted, my boy, delighted! Well, you’re not the only ones
to have visitors, for we have my wife’s sister, Charlotte Palmer,
and her husband with us, not to mention a number
of other young people arriving tomorrow, and we thought it a splendid opportunity
to give a little dance. Oh, just a few of our closest friends,
and that means all at Barton College, including this young gentleman, of course. How kind, Sir John. Eh, girls? You’ll have to leave me out of your reckoning.
I have to move on early tomorrow morning. Oh, come, sir. This will not do. Cannot you
postpone your departure until another day? I’m afraid not, Sir John. I have business which
makes it absolutely necessary for me to leave, much as I should prefer not to. – Have you no influence upon him?
– None, I’m afraid, Sir John. Oh! Very well, then. Well, we shall be confoundedly
short of young men, by the looks of it. I wish with all my heart
young Willoughby was still here. Why, he’s as good as half a dozen
fellows in himself, is he not? And who is Willoughby? I think a certain young lady of my acquaintance
would agree with me there, eh? – Mr. Willoughby, I suspect, hunts. Am I right?
– You are quite right. Well, now, I must be on my way.
I’ve others to call upon. If you should change your mind,
young fellow, you’ll be more than welcome. – Thank you, sir.
– Goodbye, ladies. Well said, Edward! I’m sure we don’t want to lose you, but I was
so glad to hear you stick to your guns. Really, the rent of this cottage
is said to be low. Well, we have it on very hard terms, if we have to dine at the Park every time there
is anybody staying either with them or with us. (Chatter) Delightful! Delightful! – And you’ll meet them both tonight.
– Oh, how nice. There they are! Lovely to see you here tonight. Come along,
come along, my dears. That’s right. Now… Oh, you must meet my younger daughter and
her husband, Mrs. and Mrs. Palmer from London. Charlotte dear! This is Miss Dashwood!
Miss Marianne Dashwood. How do you do? I’m so glad you’ve come. It’s
such a shocking day, I was afraid you might not. And dear Mama has been telling me
so much about you both, haven’t you, Mama? (Both laugh) Charlie dear, I really think
you should not stand any more. She expects to be confined
soon after Christmas. Oh, Mama! I should I hope they don’t imagine
my figure is usually this shape! Isn’t she wonderful? Oh, well, shall we take the sofa? – May I sit between you?
– Please do. If there’s room, eh? Oh, there we are, then. – Oh, I’m so sorry.
– I beg your pardon. Mr. Palmer and I were hoping we might see
something of you both in London this winter. – Were we not, Mr. Palmer?
– (Elinor) In London? What gave you the notion
we might be going to London, Mrs. Palmer? Oh, don’t call me that. Call me Charlotte. And I will call you Elinor
and you Marianne, if I may. Please do. Oh, you must come to London. Everybody does. I shall be quite heartbroken if you do not. And so will Mr. Palmer, won’t you, my love? (Mrs. Palmer giggles) Mr. Palmer is so droll.
He never hears a word I say. Mr. Palmer! I was just telling the Miss Dashwoods that they positively must come to London
this winter, must they not? Must they, my love? Why? (Giggles) Oh, do listen to him! He comes out with the most unexpected
remarks, one cannot help but laugh. Ha-ha-ha! Well, Marianne, my dear, you won’t have been able to take your usual
walk to Allenham today, what a shame! To Allenham, Mrs. Jennings?
Why should I go to Allenham? Oh, you sly thing.
You need not pretend before us. And I admire your taste very much,
I do assure you. For the gentleman in question
is a near neighbor of ours in the country. – Do you live in Somerset?
– Oh, when we’re not in London, yes! Not above ten miles from
the gentleman’s estate, are we, my love? Thirty, to be precise. Ten, thirty. What’s the difference? The difference is thirty miles, my love. (Giggles) Oh, Mr. Palmer is so droll.
He’s always out of humor. Oh! Ah, come on!
Well, well, well! What’s all this, then? All you young ladies not dancing? How’s that, then, eh? Well, we can’t have this,
you know. We cannot have this. – We’re quite content, thank you, Sir John.
– Miss Marianne. In the absence of a certain gentleman
who shall be nameless, may I have the honor? Oh, Sir John, I was hoping
perhaps I might be let off this evening. – Oh!
– Marianne, how can you be so ill-mannered? Thank you, Sir John. My sister
will be very pleased to dance, I’m sure. – Very well.
– Splendid! We’ll show them a thing or two! It isn’t often I get the chance to jig it
with the prettiest girl in the room. Ladies, lead your partners. You know, Sir John has
such a tremendous sense of fun, has he not? You know, Mr. Palmer will not allow it, but then Mr. Palmer loves to be contrary
especially where his wife is concerned! Mary. Ah, I’ve found you at last, Miss Dashwood. May I introduce you to the Miss Steeles,
who are particularly anxious to meet you. – To meet me, Lady Middleton?
– Yes, excuse me, Charlotte. Oh. Miss Steele. Miss Lucy Steele. – Miss Dashwood.
– How do you do? Oh, delighted to meet you, Miss Dashwood.
We have heard so much about you. – Haven’t we, Lucy?
– Oh, yes, to be sure. About me, Miss Steele? From whom? – A certain person. Can you not guess?
– I’m afraid I have no idea. The Miss Steeles have made the greatest
impression upon my little William. Do you know, I’ve never seen him
take quite such a liking to anyone before. – Have you seen little William?
– Yes. Is he not the sweetest thing
in the whole world? Perhaps Miss Dashwood doesn’t share
your partiality for children, sister. Oh, I just dote upon them,
especially little boys. Do you know, he would not go to sleep until
she had been up to wish him good night? I thought he would quite tumble your hair
with his playfulness. (Chuckles) He’s just full of mischief.
A proper little boy. I declare, he quite hurt me here.
Look, where he bruised me wrist. But there, I love to see a child
full of spirits. Don’t you? Oh… yes. I cannot bear it
if they are tame and quiet. Well, to be quite honest,
while I’m at Barton Park I never think of tame and quiet children
with any great abhorrence. Well, now, you should be dancing. To whom would you like me to introduce you? Oh, I don’t know, really I don’t. I said to Lucy as we come in, “I declare,
I don’t know when I’ve seen so many smart…” – Come on, my dears, come on!
– John… (Chatter) How enchanting! (Laughter) Oh, my dear! Miss Dashwood, I think we have a certain
acquaintance in common, have we not? Have we, Miss Steele?
If so, I was not aware of it. A certain Mr. Edward Ferrars. Oh. – You know Mr. Edward Ferrars?
– Oh, Lord, Miss Dashwood, I should do. He was for four years a pupil at my uncle’s
tutorial establishment near Plymouth. – Did you not know?
– I knew that he’d been educated by a tutor. Oh, Edward, he’s a great favorite in
our household, I can tell you, Miss Dashwood. We all delight in his company. He was with us again,
as a matter of fact, quite recently. – He was with you?
– Oh, yes. For two weeks. He comes back regularly. Has he not told you? How odd. Perhaps he didn’t consider it
of sufficient importance. I am not aware of all his movements, of course. But did he not call upon you, on his way home? Oh, but perhaps he had not sufficient time.
I feel sure he would have done so otherwise. Do you know his mother, Miss Dashwood?
She sounds a real Tartar. He’s greatly in awe of her, poor fellow, because, if you ask me,
she holds the purse strings. – Indeed.
– Now, now, now! We simply cannot allow you two young ladies
to hide yourselves away like this, now, can we? Elinor dear! Oh, Elinor! Ooh! I do believe you’re sulking
because a certain person is not here. Eh? Is that not so? We must forgive Miss Dashwood.
Her heart is engaged elsewhere. Now come along, my dears. There are a number of very pretty young men
still without partners. We can continue our conversation tomorrow,
perhaps. I quite agree that if a certain type of society
is totally disagreeable to one, then it is perhaps not polite
to make it apparent by one’s manner. – But at the same time, Elinor…
– (Knock at door) …I consider it dishonest to behave
as though one positively enjoyed it. Then nobody could have accused you
of dishonesty last night, sister. Thank you, sister. Whatever its intention,
I take that remark as a compliment. Elinor, my dear, there is a young person
at the door who says you are expecting her. – A Miss Steele.
– Oh, dear. And I shall go up to my room. I am sorry, Mama.
She’s a guest from Barton Park. Oh. Miss Steele. Do please come in. (Whispers) Thank you. I am so sorry.
I have not introduced you to my mother. Oh. How do you do, ma’am? – Oh, what a pretty room!
– Oh, do you think so? Thank you. I declare, it’s the prettiest room
that ever I saw. I do really. Well, I’ll leave you two young people
together, then. I expect you’d like to have a talk. How young your mother looks, Elinor. I may call you Elinor, I hope. And it’s plain to see
where you and your sister get your good looks. – Would you care to sit down?
– Oh, thank you. Oh, Elinor. I have been biting my tongue off
for what I told you last night. About Mr. Ferrars, I mean. You have not told anyone else, I hope? No, of course not. What is there to tell? Oh, thank goodness. There. I knew you’d be discreet. I said to myself a hundred times in the night,
“Elinor is not one to talk,” I said. You see, no one in the world knows
of our engagement, except my sister. Your engagement? I was afraid you would think I was taking
a great liberty in telling you all this. We haven’t known each other long, to be sure. But I’ve heard so much about your family that I felt almost as though
you was an old acquaintance. You say that you are engaged
to Mr. Edward Ferrars? Oh, yes, and have been these four years now. My sister Nancy is the only other person
besides yourself that knows of it. And I’m in constant fear that
she will say something unwise up at the Park. I have trusted you because Mr. Ferrars
has the highest opinion of your family and looks upon yourself and Miss Marianne
quite as his own sisters. Oh, I only wonder that I am alive, after what I
have suffered, for Edward’s sake, all this time. (Sniffs) With everything
in such suspense and uncertainty… (Sighs)… I’m sure if it were not for
his letters, I could not contain myself. But he’s such a faithful correspondent. I have his most recent letter here,
as a matter of fact. He has a beautiful, sensitive hand, has he not? I expect you would recognize it. He writes very handsomely, certainly. Edward’s love for me has been pretty well put
to the test by our long absences, I must say. At first I used to worry greatly, because, I have to confess,
I am of a rather jealous temper by nature. But I am sure that if he had felt
a particular preference for any young lady of his acquaintance, I should know it instantly by his manner. However, I’m quite happy on that score because I am quite certain that there is
nobody for whom he has such a feeling. Quite certain. That must be a great comfort to you, I am sure. Oh, it is, I do assure you. (Giggles) Oh, I had almost forgot
what I had come about. Did you come about something else
as well, then? Lady Middleton asked me to say that you and Miss Marianne are expected
to dine up at the Park tomorrow. – Again? But, really, we cannot.
– Oh, but you must. Mr. and Mrs. Palmer are gone home,
and Sir John is to dine in Exeter. So poor Lady Middleton will be all on her own. But you and your sister will be there,
surely, and Mrs. Jennings. That’s right,
but there will be no gentlemen present. So we ladies can chatter away
to our hearts’ content. And you and I have plenty
of private matter for gossip, have we not, eh, Elinor? (Giggles) Oh. Well, I must not disturb you any longer. Er… please convey my kindest regards
to your mother. But I hope that we shall be meeting often
while we are at Barton. (Clears throat) Oh. (Chuckles) Oh. Oh! Oh, dear. Well, now. Er… I expect you young people would all like
to play some jolly round game, would you not? – What’s it to be? Cards or Consequences?
– Consequences. Oh, Mrs. Jennings, Consequences. In my experience
they always lead to improprieties. – What improprieties?
– Oh, there. What have I said? A rubber of Casino, perhaps, Mama? Er… oh, well, cards, then. Now, you young ladies,
who will help me with the table? If you will all excuse me.
You know I detest cards, Lady Middleton. Um… if I may play the harpsichord. Marianne cannot keep away
from that instrument. – It has a perfect tone.
– Indeed. Now, Miss Lucy! Don’t sit all alone over there.
Come over here and join us. Excuse me, Mrs. Jennings, but I promised
little William that I’d finish his scarf. I couldn’t bear to disappoint him,
the little love. Oh, there. I told him not to expect it. But I know the lamb
is secretly counting upon it. – The dear little boy!
– Are you sure it will not hurt your eyes? Not the least little bit,
I do assure you, ma’am. Really? Are you quite sure? Well, then, we shall be just four at cards. Excellent. – I was about to say that…
– (Harpsichord plays) …perhaps Elinor would be good enough
to help me wind my wool. But that would leave us
only three at cards, miss. If you ask me, ma’am, they wish to be together
to chat about their particular beaus, and we are not to hear, I fancy. Well, I can answer for it, that Miss Dashwood’s
is a very fine young fellow indeed. Is that not so, Elinor? Ha-ha-ha! But as for Miss Lucy there, she’s such a sly little creature
I’m sure I don’t know where her heart lies. Well, I do, I assure you. And I can tell you, in confidence, that her
beau is every bit as smart as Miss Elinor’s. Is he not, Lucy? Well, if there are only to be three of us
at cards, let us cut to see who is to sit out. All right, dear. Elinor? If you would be so kind. Oh, that sister of mine. Just let her wait
until we’re in our bedroom tonight, that’s all. No, no, please. You two play. It is of no consequence to me,
I can assure you. – Oh, please, Lady Middleton…
– (Whispers) No, no. I’m glad to have this opportunity
of speaking with you, because since our last little talk together,
my mind has formed a plan and you, Elinor, are to be part of it. I? Well, what plan is this? You probably know, do you not, that if Edward has any preference
for one profession above another – it is for the Church.
– I believe that is so, yes. Well, my idea is that he should take orders
as soon as possible, and that through your good offices, your brother might be persuaded
to give him the living of Norland, and on the strength of that,
we might marry almost at once. There, is that not a splendid idea? I wonder I had not thought of it before. But, Lucy, surely my interest
will not be necessary. Mrs. Dashwood is his sister. I would naturally be only too happy
to do anything I could for Mr. Ferrars and yourself, of course, but, really, I feel my word
would not make any difference. Oh, Mrs. John Dashwood would never agree
to his going into the Church. Surely you realize that. It doesn’t stand nearly high enough
in the social scale for her liking. And neither, I suspect, do I. Oh! – Oh!
– Look at how you get it all tangled. – No, leave it to me!
– I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. (Sighs) Oh, dear. I sometimes think it would be the wisest thing
to put an end to the whole engagement, if no one at all is prepared to help us. I didn’t say that. I only said that my help
should not be necessary. What would you advise me to do? Carry on against all opposition, and follow the dictates of our hearts, or give in to the wishes of his family? I would very much like to know
your opinion, Elinor. Surely the opinion of a… a totally
indifferent person such as myself is of no great value in a matter like this. It is because you are totally indifferent,
as you say, that I ask you. If I thought for one moment
that you had a personal interest of any kind, your opinion would not be worth having. However, I see you are unwilling
to give me your advice. Please forgive me for mentioning it. I’m sorry to appear unhelpful, but I really
fail to see what I can be expected to do. – Now… Oh!
– There you are! Really, Miss Steele!
You’re the luckiest creature alive. Ha-ha! – Elinor, my dear.
– I’m afraid we must go home now. – Must you go so soon, dear?
– Yes, really, Mrs. Jennings. Oh, my dear. Look, my dear. I’m glad of this moment
to speak to you on your own. I should love above all things to have you and your sister to come and stay
with me for a while when I go back to London. – Let me have a word with your mother.
– How exceedingly kind of you, Mrs. Jennings. – But really…
– Don’t fancy you’ll be any inconvenience. For I shan’t put myself at all
out of my way for you. And if when we get to town, you do not
like to go wherever I do, well and good. Here’s Miss Marianne.
Let’s see what she has to say about it. I was just telling your sister here, how much I should enjoy
the company of you two young ladies when I return home next week. – Now, Sir John…
– You mean go with you to London, ma’am? That’s right! Now, Sir John and my daughter Mary are
returning quite soon, as you probably know, and the Misses Steele. And Charlotte and Mr. Palmer
will be there already, so we shall be the same jolly party
as we’ve been at Barton! – But, Mrs. Jennings…
– I know what you’re going to say, Elinor dear. I’m sure your mother
cannot possibly object to the suggestion… No! …for I have had such good luck
getting my own two girls off my hands that she will surely think me the properest
person alive to take charge of. – I’m sure she will not…
– Now, what does Miss Marianne say? Thank you, ma’am.
Your invitation is exceedingly kind. On my own behalf,
I’d like to accept it if I may. – Marianne.
– Well! Oh, my dear! Mwah! Oh, that’s excellent. Oh, splendid. Oh, we’ll all have such fun together,
shall we not? Now, if you can but persuade your sister here
that she will be quite safe in my charge… – It’s not that, ma’am.
…I will at once speak to your mother. Oh, you sweet things. Oh, I’m so delighted. It’ll be like having my own dear daughters
back with me again. And if you get tired of me, you can talk about
me behind my back and laugh at my odd ways, and I shan’t mind a bit. I am delighted with the plan.
It is exactly what I could wish. But, Mama, will you not be lonely? Me? No, of course not.
Mary will look after me and keep me company. No, it is very right
that you should go to town. Every young woman should learn about the
manners of London at some time in her life. And besides, I have a little scheme
of redecoration for your bedrooms which can now be performed
without inconvenience. – So go along, will you?
– Oh, thank you, Mama! There is still one objection
that in my opinion cannot be removed. – Oh? And what is that, pray?
– Yes, prudent Elinor? My objection is this. Though I think very well
of Mrs. Jennings’ heart, she is not a woman whose constant society
can afford as much pleasure or whose protection will give us consequence. That is true, my love, but you will be
much in the company of Lady Middleton. Is that really so much better? If… if Elinor has such fine scruples about whom
her companions shall be, then I have not! I’m sure I can put up with
every inconvenience with very little effort! Mama, you know
why she’s suddenly in favor of this trip. You mean it is in the hope
of seeing Willoughby again? Yes, Mama. He has not once written to her
from the day he left, not once. Poor, poor Marianne.
She has such a warm, impetuous heart. Yes, and I’m afraid she will suffer for it because he will only think that she’s followed
him to London to force her affections upon him, which will indeed be quite true. Then you must look after her
and try to prevent her behaving foolishly. You always had the wisest head in the family. (Door closes) Marianne. If we are truly to go on this trip to London,
then I think we should first discuss thoroughly… Yes? What did you want to say? No matter. I see that it is already too late. (Driver mutters) (Man shouts) (Laughing) Oh, my dear! Oh! – Oh, my goodness! Oh!
– There you go. Come indoors. It’s cold. Oh! Well! Oh! Ho-ho! Well, come along in, my dears.
Come along in. Oh, there. Oh, what a relief
to be out of that carriage. (Chuckles) Rodgers, we’re all quite frozen. I hope you have good fires everywhere,
especially in the Miss Dashwoods’ room. Oh, yes, ma’am, they’ve been alight all day. I expect you’re as eager
to get in front of a fire as I am. Thank you. My feet always suffer most
on these occasions. – No amount of wrapping will keep them warm.
– Good. Now let me show you to your room. Oh! – Oh, we may expect callers soon, I see!
– Callers, Mrs. Jennings? I’ll warrant there’s at least
one young gentleman who won’t be slow in presenting himself where
the two Miss Dashwoods are staying, hey? Oh, don’t be alarmed, my dear. I can be quite
deaf upon occasion. You ask my Charlotte. She will give me an excellent testimonial
as a chaperon. Come along upstairs. My feet still have no feeling in them at all. – He’s here! He’s come!
– Willoughby? I knew he would.
Oh, I’m certain there’s some perfectly… What is the matter? It’s not he. I thought… (Brandon) I’ll show myself up, thank you. – Oh, confound it!
– (Elinor) Marianne! (Door slams) Colonel Brandon? What a pleasant surprise. I was told of your coming so I hoped I would be allowed to extend
to you both a very sincere welcome. How very kind of you. We’ve not seen you since the day you were
obliged to leave Devonshire so suddenly. – Would you care to sit down?
– No, I won’t, thank you. I shall not stay long. No, that was most unfortunate. It was indeed. And have you been obliged
to stay in London since? Yes, ever since, unfortunately. You do not care for London,
then, Colonel Brandon? – Your sister is not ill, I hope?
– No. – No, merely a little fatigued after her journey.
– I’m glad to hear that. And when may I congratulate you
on the acquisition of a new brother? What do you mean, Colonel Brandon? I mean your sister’s engagement to Willoughby
is pretty generally known, Miss Dashwood. It cannot be very generally known
if her own family don’t know of it. Well, then I humbly beg your pardon. – From whom did you hear this?
– From several people. Mrs. Palmer, principally. Oh. Charlotte. You mean that it is not true? Or more probably, that it is true in essence,
but you are not yet free to admit it publicly. In which case I owe you a double apology
for my blundering stupidity. Pray forgive me. Colonel Brandon, don’t go. Let me be quite honest with you. I know of your concern for my sister. So I will speak freely
and tell you what little I can. That she has a regard for Mr. Willoughby
is beyond denying. And that he returns it is equally obvious. But on what terms they stand with each other,
I know no more than you do. And that is the honest truth. Thank you, Miss Dashwood,
for dealing so openly with me. To your sister, then,
I wish every imaginable happiness. To Willoughby
merely that he may attempt to deserve her. Oh, Colonel Brandon!
I’m monstrous glad to see you. Pray forgive my not coming down before but there are a world
of little things to see to on one’s return! Though I fancy I’m not
the chief reason for your visit. My reason for coming, madam, I almost forgot. It was to ask you
if I could be of any assistance in escorting yourself and
the Miss Dashwoods on Wednesday night. Wednesday night? Oh! And where, pray,
do you propose to escort us? – To the ball at Lady Mellors.
– Oh? You are to join Lady Middleton
and Mrs. Palmer’s party. Did you not know? Oh, I have not heard one word of it,
but never mind. Ha-ha-ha!
That’s typical of my girls, is it not? Then I beg your pardon. Mrs. Palmer will no
doubt be calling upon you herself very shortly. You’ve seen my Charlotte, have you? And how was she, pray? (Chuckling) I’ll warrant
she’s a fine old size by this time. But thank you for the offer of your company,
Colonel. We shall be there. You may depend upon it. Lord and Lady Mellors. As I was saying, this fellow, he says to me, “If it’s a pointer bitch you’re after, sir,
I have the very thing for you.” “I very much doubt it, my good fellow,” says I. “But if it gives you any pleasure,
you may show her to me.” And out he comes with the sorriest,
mangiest brute that ever stood on four legs. – Well, three in this instance.
– Mrs. Jennings. – If that’s your idea of a pointer bitch…
– Miss Dashwood, and Miss Marianne Dashwood. Miss Dashwood? Did he say Miss Dashwood? Oh, yes, indeed, sir. Two of the jolliest, most delightful girls
in the world they are, are they not? – Are they indeed? I must say you surprise me.
– You are acquainted with them already, sir? Not I, sir, no,
but my brother Edward knows them. He actually paid them a visit in their cottage. – Then you are Mr. Edward Ferrars’ brother?
– I have that doubtful honor, sir. Oh, then let me shake you by the hand, sir.
Come, let me introduce you to them. I won’t, no. Sister, I see Sir John bearing down upon us
with a captor. Pretend to be occupied. (Whispers) Elinor, he’s here. – Willoughby?
– Over there, look. Gracious heavens! Why does he not
look this way? He must have seen us. – Marianne, do please compose yourself.
– I must go to him. I must. My Willoughby! Willoughby, will you not speak to me? Miss Dashwood. Would you excuse me for a moment, please? I was not aware that you were to be here. Tell me what the matter is. Have you not received my letters? I did myself the honor of calling upon you
at your lodgings the other day but I was unfortunate enough
to find you not at home. – My note was not mislaid, I trust?
– Your note? I’ve had no note, nothing! Indeed, I’m sorry. Have you not received mine? I’ve written to you innumerable times
and no answer! Yes, well, I do beg your pardon. If you would excuse me. Some other occasion, perhaps. – Elinor, stop him!
– Marianne, please, I cannot. – Oh! Oh!
– Darling, do try and compose yourself! Marianne! Marianne! Marianne!