least.”
“Indeed, I do say it. I never saw anybody in my life spell harder for an invitation. Poor man! I was really in pain for him; for your hard-hearted sister, Miss Anne, seems bent on cruelty.”
“Oh!” cried Elizabeth, “I have been rather too much used to the game to be soon overcome by a gentleman’s hints. However, when I found how excessively he was regretting that he should miss my father this morning, I gave way immediately, for I would never really omit an opportunity of bringing him and Sir Walter together. They appear to so much advantage in company with each other. Each behaving so pleasantly. Mr. Elliot looking up with so much respect.”
“Quite delightful!” cried Mrs. Clay, not daring, however, to turn her eyes towards Anne. “Exactly like father and son! Dear Miss Elliot, may I not say father and son?”
“Oh! I lay no embargo on anybody’s words. If you will have such ideas! But, upon my word, I am scarcely sensible of his attentions being beyond those of other men.”
“My dear Miss Elliot!” exclaimed Mrs. Clay, lifting up her hands and eyes, and sinking all the rest of her astonishment in a convenient silence.
“Well, my dear Penelope, you need not be so alarmed about him. I did invite him, you know. I sent him away with smiles. When I found he was really going to his friends at Thornberry Park for the whole day tomorrow, I had compassion on him.”
Anne admired the good acting of the friend, in being able to show such pleasure as she did, in the expectation and in the actual arrival of the very person whose presence must really be interfering with her prime object. It was impossible but that Mrs. Clay must hate the sight of Mr. Elliot;