The events of this evening were not very remarkable. The party， like other musical parties， comprehended a great many people who had real taste for the performance， and a great many more who had none at all； and the performers themselves were， as usual， in their own estimation， and that of their immediate friends， the first private performers in England.
As Elinor was neither musical， nor affecting to be so， she made no scruple of turning her eyes from the grand pianoforté， whenever it suited her， and unrestrained even by the presence of a harp， and violoncello， would fix them at pleasure on any other object in the room. In one of these excursive glances she perceived among a group of young men， the very he， who had given them a lecture on toothpick-cases at Gray’s. She perceived him soon afterwards looking at herself， and speaking familiarly to her brother； and had just determined to find out his name from the latter， when they both came towards her， and Mr. Dashwood introduced him to her as Mr. Robert Ferrars.
He addressed her with easy civility， and twisted his head into a bow which assured her as plainly as words could have done， that he was exactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by Lucy. Happy had it been for her， if her regard for Edward had depended less on his own merit， than on the merit of his nearest relations！ For then his brother’s bow must have given the finishing stroke to what the ill-humour of his mother and sister would have begun. But while she wondered at the difference of the two young men， she did not find that the emptiness of conceit of the one， put her out of all charity with the modesty and worth of the other. Why they were different， Robert exclaimed to her himself in the course of a quarter of an hour’s conversation； for， talking of his brother， and lamenting the extreme gaucherie which he really believed kept him from mixing in proper society， he candidly and generously attributed it much less to any natural deficiency， than to the misfortune of a private education； while he himself， though probably without any particular， any material superiority by nature， merely from the advantage of a public school， was as well fitted to mix in the world as any other man.
“Upon my soul，” he added， “I believe it is nothing more； and so I often tell my mother， when she is grieving about it. ‘My dear Madam，’ I always say to her， ‘you must make yourself easy. Theevil is now irremediable， and it has been entirely your own doing. Why would you be persuaded by my uncle， Sir Robert， against your own judgment， to place Edward under private tuition， at the most critical time of his life？ If you had only sent him to Westminster as well as myself， instead of sending him to Mr. Pratt’s， all this would have been prevented.’ This is the way in which I always consider the matter， and my mother is perfectly convinced of her error.”
Elinor would not oppose his opinion， because， whatever might be her general estimation of the advantage of a public school， she could not think of Edward’s abode in Mr. Pratt’s family， with any satisfaction.
“You reside in Devonshire， I think，”—was his next observation，“in a cottage near Dawlish.”
Elinor set him right as to its situation； and it seemed rather surprising to him that anybody could live in Devonshire， without living near Dawlish. He bestowed his hearty approbation however on their species of house.
“For my own part，” said he， “I am excessively fond of a cottage；there is always so much comfort， so much elegance about them. And I protest， if I had any money to spare， I should buy a little land and build one myself， within a short distance of London， where I might drive myself down at any time， and collect a few friends about me， and be happy. I advise every body who is going to build， to build a cottage. My friend Lord Courtland came to me the other day on purpose to ask my advice， and laid before me three different plans of Bonomi’s. I was to decide on the best of them. ‘My dear Courtland，’ said I， immediately throwing them all into the fire， ‘do not adopt either of them， but by all means build a cottage.’ And that I fancy， will be the end of it.
