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“No—to Combe Magna. I have business there; from thence to town in a day or two. Good bye.”
He held out his hand. She could not refuse to give him her’s;—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 mantle-piece 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.
“As to that,” said he, “I must rub through the world as well as I can. Domestic happiness is out of the question. If, however, I am allowed to think that you and yours
feel
