was interesting. His name was good, his residence was in

their favourite village, and she soon found out that of all

manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming.

Her imagination was busy, her reflections were pleasant,

and the pain of a sprained ankle was disregarded.

Sir John called on them as soon as the next interval

of fair weather that morning allowed him to get out

of doors; and Marianne's accident being related to him,

he was eagerly asked whether he knew any gentleman

of the name of Willoughby at Allenham.

"Willoughby!" cried Sir John; "what, is HE

in the country? That is good news however; I will

ride over tomorrow, and ask him to dinner on Thursday."

"You know him then," said Mrs. Dashwood.

"Know him! to be sure I do. Why, he is down here

every year."

"And what sort of a young man is he?"

"As good a kind of fellow as ever lived, I assure you.

A very decent shot, and there is not a bolder rider

in England."

"And is that all you can say for him?" cried Marianne,

indignantly. "But what are his manners on more intimate

acquaintance? What his pursuits, his talents, and genius?"

Sir John was rather puzzled.

"Upon my soul," said he, "I do not know much about him

as to all THAT. But he is a pleasant, good humoured fellow,

and has got the nicest little black bitch of a pointer

I ever saw. Was she out with him today?"

But Marianne could no more satisfy him as to the

colour of Mr. Willoughby's pointer, than he could

describe to her the shades of his mind.

"But who is he?" said Elinor. "Where does he come

from? Has he a house at Allenham?"