In re-settling themselves there were now many changes, the result of which was favourable for her.  Colonel Wallis declined sitting down again, and Mr Elliot was invited by Elizabeth and Miss Carteret, in a manner not to be refused, to sit between them; and by some other removals, and a little scheming of her own, Anne was enabled to place herself much nearer the end of the bench than she had been before, much more within reach of a passer-by.  She could not do so, without comparing herself with Miss Larolles, the inimitable Miss Larolles; but still she did it, and not with much happier effect; though by what seemed prosperity in the shape of an early abdication in her next neighbours, she found herself at the very end of the bench before the concert closed.

Such was her situation, with a vacant space at hand, when Captain Wentworth was again in sight.  She saw him not far off.  He saw her too; yet he looked grave, and seemed irresolute, and only by very slow degrees came at last near enough to speak to her.  She felt that something must be the matter.  The change was indubitable.  The difference between his present air and what it had been in the Octagon Room was strikingly great.  Why was it?  She thought of her father, of Lady Russell.  Could there have been any unpleasant glances?  He began by speaking of the concert gravely, more like the Captain Wentworth of Uppercross; owned himself disappointed, had expected singing; and in short, must confess that he should not be sorry when it was over.  Anne replied, and spoke in defence of the performance so well, and yet in allowance for his feelings so pleasantly, that his countenance improved, and he replied again with almost a smile.  They talked for a few minutes more; the improvement held; he even looked down towards the bench, as if he saw a place on it well worth occupying; when at that moment a touch on her shoulder obliged Anne to turn round.  It came from Mr Elliot.  He begged her pardon, but she must be applied to, to explain Italian again.  Miss Carteret was very anxious to have a general idea of what was next to be sung.  Anne could not refuse; but never had she sacrificed to politeness with a more suffering spirit.

A few minutes, though as few as possible, were inevitably consumed; and when her own mistress again, when able to turn and look as she had done before, she found herself accosted by Captain Wentworth, in a reserved yet hurried sort of farewell.  “He must wish her good night; he was going; he should get home as fast as he could.”

“Is not this song worth staying for?” said Anne, suddenly struck by an idea which made her yet more anxious to be encouraging.

“No!” he replied impressively, “there is nothing worth my staying for;” and he was gone directly.

Jealousy of Mr Elliot!  It was the only intelligible motive.  Captain Wentworth jealous of her affection!  Could she have believed it a week ago; three hours ago!  For a moment the gratification was exquisite.  But, alas! there were very different thoughts to succeed.  How was such jealousy to be quieted?  How was the truth to reach him?  How, in all the peculiar disadvantages of their respective situations, would he ever learn of her real sentiments?  It was misery to think of Mr Elliot’s attentions.  Their evil was incalculable.