“Either from the consciousness, however, that his friend had recovered, or from some other consciousness, he went no farther; and Anne, who—in spite of the agitated voice in which the latter part had been uttered, and in spite of all the various noises of the room, the almost ceaseless slam of the door, and ceaseless buzz of persons walking through—had distinguished every word, was struck, gratified, confused, and beginning to breathe very quick, and feel a hundred things in a moment.”
The entrance-door opens again, and “Lady Dalrymple, Lady Dalrymple!” is the welcome sound. Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, escorted by Mr. Elliot and Colonel Wallis, advance into the room. Anne is included in the group and separated from Captain Wentworth. But she has learnt in the last ten minutes more of his feelings towards Louisa, more of all his feelings, than she dares to think of.
Upon Lady Russell’s appearance, the whole party proceed to go into the concert-room, and be of all the consequence in their power; draw as many eyes, excite as many whispers, and disturb as many people as they can.
“Very, very happy were both Elizabeth and Anne Elliot as they walked in. Elizabeth, arm-in-arm with Miss Carteret, and looking on the broad back of the Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple before her, had nothing to wish for which did not seem within her reach; and Anne—but it would be an insult to the nature of Anne’s felicity to draw any comparison between it and her sister’s—the origin of one all selfish vanity, of the other all generous attachment.
“Anne saw nothing, thought nothing of the brilliancy of the room; the happiness was from within. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks glowed, but she knew nothing about it. His choice of subjects, his expressions, and still more his manner and look, had been such as she could see in only one light. His opinion of Louisa Musgrove’s inferiority—an opinion which he had seemed solicitous to give—his wonder at Captain Benwick, his feelings as to a fresh, strong attachment, sentences begun which he could not finish, his half-averted eyes, and more than half-expressive glances—all, all declared that he had a heart returning to her at least; that anger, resentment, avoidance were no more, and that they were succeeded, not merely by friendship and regard, but by the tenderness of the past; yes, some share of the tenderness of the past! He must love her.”
Anne Elliot is from first to last full of delicate self-respect and retiring womanliness, yet Jane Austen makes her as incapable of resentful obduracy to Captain Wentworth’s tardy relenting, as of coquettish trifling with his revived affection. Anne is eager and willing to meet his overtures half way, and relieve him of the awkwardness of making them unsupported. To see her manner quite in the right light, one must remember what she owed him, for the wrong which she had done to both when she gave him up in the past. Her present free forgiveness of his recent avoidance and neglect hardly balances her renunciation of him eight years before.
“The party were divided and disposed of on two contiguous benches: Anne was among those on the foremost, and Mr. Elliot had manœuvred so well, with the assistance of his friend Colonel Wallis, as to have a seat by her. Miss Elliot, surrounded by her cousins, and the principal object of Colonel Wallis’s gallantry, was quite contented.”
Anne has never liked a concert better—at least, during the first act. Towards the close of it, the necessity of explaining the words of an Italian song[79] to Mr. Elliot, brings down upon her rather too many gallant compliments from the gentleman. In the course of his praise, he manages to rouse her curiosity by hinting that he may have had longer acquaintance with her tastes and pursuits than she is aware of. In answer to her questions, he assures her that he has known her by report, long before she came to Bath. He has heard her described by one who knew her intimately. Her person, disposition, accomplishments, manner, were all familiar to him many years before.
Jane Austen remarks with great truth that no one can withstand the charm of such a mystery. “To have been described, long ago, to a recent acquaintance by nameless people, is irresistible. She wondered and questioned him eagerly, but in vain. He delighted in being asked, but he would not tell.”
Anne can only think of Mr. Wentworth, the former curate of Monksford, in whose company Mr. Elliot may have been, but she does not mention the name.