She felt it keenly. They were now a miserable trio,
confined within doors by a series of rain and snow,
with nothing to do and no variety to hope for. Angry as
she was with Edmund for adhering to his own notions,
and acting on them in defiance of her (and she had been
so angry that they had hardly parted friends at the ball),
she could not help thinking of him continually when absent,
dwelling on his merit and affection, and longing again
for the almost daily meetings they lately had. His absence
was unnecessarily long. He should not have planned such
an absence--he should not have left home for a week,
when her own departure from Mansfield was so near.
Then she began to blame herself. She wished she had not
spoken so warmly in their last conversation. She was afraid
she had used some strong, some contemptuous expressions
in speaking of the clergy, and that should not have been.
It was ill-bred; it was wrong. She wished such words unsaid
with all her heart.
Her vexation did not end with the week. All this was bad,
but she had still more to feel when Friday came round
again and brought no Edmund; when Saturday came and still
no Edmund; and when, through the slight communication
with the other family which Sunday produced, she learned
that he had actually written home to defer his return,
having promised to remain some days longer with his friend.
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