“There is no use in staying here; I must be off.”

“Are you going back to town?”

“No⁠—to Combe Magna. I have business there; from thence to town in a day or two. Goodbye.”

He held out his hand. She could not refuse to give him hers: he pressed it with affection.

“And you do think something better of me than you did?” said he, letting it fall, and leaning against the mantelpiece as if forgetting he was to go.

Elinor assured him that she did;⁠—that she forgave, pitied, wished him well⁠—was even interested in his happiness⁠—and added some gentle counsel as to the behaviour most likely to promote it. His answer was not very encouraging.