“Do you call me happy, Marianne? Ah! if you knew! And can you believe me to be so, while I see you so wretched!”

“Forgive me, forgive me,” throwing her arms round her sister’s neck; “I know you feel for me; I know what a heart you have; but yet you are⁠—you must be happy; Edward loves you⁠—what, oh what, can do away such happiness as that?”

“Many, many circumstances,” said Elinor, solemnly.

“No, no, no,” cried Marianne wildly, “he loves you, and only you. You can have no grief.”

“I can have no pleasure while I see you in this state.”

“And you will never see me otherwise. Mine is a misery which nothing can do away.”