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fied already,—for Marianne does—she has long forgiven you.”
“Has she?”—he cried, in the same eager tone.—“Then she has forgiven me before she ought to have done it. But she shall forgive me again, and on more reasonable grounds.—Now will you listen to me?”
Elinor bowed her assent.
“I do not know,” said he, after a pause of expectation on her side, and thoughtfulness on his own,—“how you may have accounted for my behaviour to your sister, or what diabolical motive you may have imputed to me.—Perhaps you will hardly think the better of me,—it is worth the trial however, and you shall hear every thing.—When I first became intimate in your family, I had no other intention, no other view in the acquaintance than to pass my time pleasantly while I was obliged to re-
