Captain Harville, who had in truth been hearing none of it, now left his seat, and moved to a window, and Anne seeming to watch him, though it was from thorough absence of mind, became gradually sensible that he was inviting her to join him where he stood.  He looked at her with a smile, and a little motion of the head, which expressed, “Come to me, I have something to say;” and the unaffected, easy kindness of manner which denoted the feelings of an older acquaintance than he really was, strongly enforced the invitation.  She roused herself and went to him.  The window at which he stood was at the other end of the room from where the two ladies were sitting, and though nearer to Captain Wentworth’s table, not very near.  As she joined him, Captain Harville’s countenance re-assumed the serious, thoughtful expression which seemed its natural character.

“Look here,” said he, unfolding a parcel in his hand, and displaying a small miniature painting, “do you know who that is?”

“Certainly:  Captain Benwick.”

“Yes, and you may guess who it is for.  But,” (in a deep tone,) “it was not done for her.  Miss Elliot, do you remember our walking together at Lyme, and grieving for him?  I little thought then—­ but no matter.  This was drawn at the Cape.  He met with a clever young German artist at the Cape, and in compliance with a promise to my poor sister, sat to him, and was bringing it home for her; and I have now the charge of getting it properly set for another!  It was a commission to me!  But who else was there to employ?  I hope I can allow for him.  I am not sorry, indeed, to make it over to another.  He undertakes it;” (looking towards Captain Wentworth,) “he is writing about it now.”  And with a quivering lip he wound up the whole by adding, “Poor Fanny! she would not have forgotten him so soon!”

“No,” replied Anne, in a low, feeling voice.  “That I can easily believe.”

“It was not in her nature.  She doted on him.”

“It would not be the nature of any woman who truly loved.”

Captain Harville smiled, as much as to say, “Do you claim that for your sex?” and she answered the question, smiling also, “Yes.  We certainly do not forget you as soon as you forget us.  It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit.  We cannot help ourselves.  We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us.  You are forced on exertion.  You have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately, and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions.”

“Granting your assertion that the world does all this so soon for men (which, however, I do not think I shall grant), it does not apply to Benwick.  He has not been forced upon any exertion.  The peace turned him on shore at the very moment, and he has been living with us, in our little family circle, ever since.”

“True,” said Anne, “very true; I did not recollect; but what shall we say now, Captain Harville?  If the change be not from outward circumstances, it must be from within; it must be nature, man’s nature, which has done the business for Captain Benwick.”