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“Well then; I guess that Mr. Willoughby hunts.”
Marianne was surprised and confused; yet she could not help smiling at the quiet archness of his manner, and, after a moment’s silence, said,
“Oh! Edward! How can you?—But the time will come I hope. . . . I am sure you will like him.”
“I do not doubt it,” replied he, rather astonished at her earnestness and warmth; for had he not imagined it to be a joke for the good of her acquaintance in general, founded only on a something or a nothing between Mr. Willoughby and herself, he would not have ventured to mention it.
CHAPTER
