101:003,00[U ]| 101:003,01[' ]| About thirty years ago, Miss*Maria*Ward of Huntingdon, 101:003,02[' ]| with only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck 101:003,03[' ]| to captivate Sir*Thomas*Bertram, of Mansfield*Park, in 101:003,04[' ]| the county of Northampton, and to be thereby raised to 101:003,05[' ]| the rank of a baronet's lady, with all the comforts and 101:003,06[' ]| consequences of an handsome house and large income. 101:003,07[' ]| All Huntingdon exclaimed on the greatness of the match, 101:003,08[' ]| and her uncle, the lawyer, himself, allowed her to be at 101:003,09[' ]| least three thousand pounds short of any equitable claim 101:003,10[' ]| to it. She had two sisters to be benefited by her elevation; 101:003,11[' ]| and such of their acquaintance as thought Miss*Ward 101:003,12[' ]| and Miss*Frances quite as handsome as Miss*Maria, 101:003,13[' ]| did not scruple to predict their marrying with almost 101:003,14[' ]| equal advantage. But there certainly are not so many 101:003,15[' ]| men of large fortune in the world, as there are pretty 101:003,16[' ]| women to deserve them. Miss*Ward, at the end of half 101:003,17[' ]| a dozen years, found herself obliged to be attached to 101:003,18[' ]| the Rev*Mr%*Norris, a friend of her brother-in-law, with 101:003,19[' ]| scarcely any private fortune, and Miss*Frances fared yet 101:003,20[' ]| worse. Miss*Ward's match, indeed, when it came to the 101:003,21[' ]| point, was not contemptible, Sir*Thomas being happily 101:003,22[' ]| able to give his friend an income in the living of Mansfield, 101:003,23[' ]| and Mr% and Mrs%*Norris began their career of conjugal 101:003,24[' ]| felicity with very little less than a thousand a year. But 101:003,25[' ]| Miss*Frances married, in the common phrase, to disoblige 101:003,26[' ]| her family, and by fixing on a Lieutenant of Marines, 101:003,27[' ]| without education, fortune, or connections, did it very 101:003,28[' ]| thoroughly. She could hardly have made a more untoward 101:003,29[' ]| choice. Sir*Thomas*Bertram had interest, which, from 101:004,01[' ]| principle as well as pride, from a general wish of doing 101:004,02[' ]| right, and a desire of seeing all that were connected with 101:004,03[' ]| him in situations of respectability, he would have been 101:004,04[' ]| glad to exert for the advantage of Lady*Bertram's sister; 101:004,05[' ]| but her husband's profession was such as no interest could 101:004,06[' ]| reach; and before he had time to devise any other method 101:004,07[' ]| of assisting them, an absolute breach between the sisters 101:004,08[' ]| had taken place. It was the natural result of the conduct 101:004,09[' ]| of each party, and such as a very imprudent marriage 101:004,10[' ]| almost always produces. To save herself from useless 101:004,11[' ]| remonstrance, Mrs%*Price never wrote to her family on 101:004,12[' ]| the subject till actually married. Lady*Bertram, who 101:004,13[' ]| was a woman of very tranquil feelings, and a temper 101:004,14[' ]| remarkably easy and indolent, would have contented herself 101:004,15[' ]| with merely giving up her sister, and thinking no 101:004,16[' ]| more of the matter: but Mrs%*Norris had a spirit of 101:004,17[' ]| activity, which could not be satisfied till she had written 101:004,18[' ]| a long and angry letter to Fanny, to point out the folly 101:004,19[' ]| of her conduct, and threaten her with all its possible ill*consequences. 101:004,20[' ]| Mrs%*Price in her turn was injured and 101:004,21[' ]| angry; and an answer which comprehended each sister 101:004,22[' ]| in its bitterness, and bestowed such very disrespectful 101:004,23[' ]| reflections on the pride of Sir*Thomas, as Mrs%*Norris 101:004,24[' ]| could not possibly keep to herself, put an end to all intercourse 101:004,25[' ]| between them for a considerable period. 101:004,26[' ]| Their homes were so distant, and the circles in which 101:004,27[' ]| they moved so distinct, as almost to preclude the means 101:004,28[' ]| of ever hearing of each other's existence during the eleven 101:004,29[' ]| following years, or at least to make it very wonderful to 101:004,30[' ]| Sir*Thomas, that Mrs%*Norris should ever have it in her 101:004,31[' ]| power to tell them, as she now and then did in an angry 101:004,32[' ]| voice, that Fanny had got another child. By the end of 101:004,33[' ]| eleven years, however, Mrs%*Price could no longer afford 101:004,34[' ]| to cherish pride or resentment, or to lose one connection 101:004,35[' ]| that might possibly assist her. A large and still increasing 101:004,36[' ]| family, an husband disabled for active service, but not 101:004,37[' ]| the less equal to company and good liquor, and a very 101:004,38[' ]| small income to supply their wants, made her eager to 101:005,01[' ]| regain the friends she had so carelessly sacrificed; and 101:005,02[' ]| she addressed Lady*Bertram in a letter which spoke so 101:005,03[' ]| much contrition and despondence, such a superfluity of 101:005,04[' ]| children, and such a want of almost every*thing else, as 101:005,05[' ]| could not but dispose them all to a reconciliation. She 101:005,06[' ]| was preparing for her ninth lying-in, and after bewailing 101:005,07[' ]| the circumstance, and imploring their countenance as 101:005,08[' ]| sponsors to the expected child, she could not conceal how 101:005,09[' ]| important she felt they might be to the future maintenance 101:005,10[' ]| of the eight already in being. 101:005,10@p | Her eldest was 101:005,11@p | a boy of ten years old, a fine spirited fellow who longed 101:005,12@p | to be out in the world; but what could she do? Was 101:005,13@p | there any chance of his being hereafter useful to Sir*Thomas 101:005,14@p | in the concerns of his West*Indian property? 101:005,15@p | No situation would be beneath him ~~ or what did Sir*Thomas 101:005,16@p | think of Woolwich? or how could a boy be sent 101:005,17@p | out to the East? 101:005,18[' ]| The letter was not unproductive. It re-established 101:005,19[' ]| peace and kindness. Sir*Thomas sent friendly advice 101:005,20[' ]| and professions, Lady*Bertram dispatched money and 101:005,21[' ]| baby-linen, and Mrs%*Norris wrote the letters. 101:005,22[' ]| Such were its immediate effects, and within a twelve-month 101:005,23[' ]| a more important advantage to Mrs%*Price resulted 101:005,24[' ]| from it. Mrs%*Norris was often observing to the others, 101:005,25[' ]| that 101:005,25@j | she could not get her poor sister and her family out 101:005,26@j | of her head, 101:005,26[' ]| and that 101:005,26@j | much as they had all done for her, 101:005,27@j | she seemed to be wanting to do more: and at length 101:005,28@j | she could not but own it to be her wish, that poor 101:005,29@j | Mrs%*Price should be relieved from the charge and expense 101:005,30@j | of one child entirely out of her great number. 101:005,30[J ]| "What 101:005,31[J ]| if they were among them to undertake the care of her 101:005,32[J ]| eldest daughter, a girl now nine years old, of an age to 101:005,33[J ]| require more attention than her poor mother could possibly 101:005,34[J ]| give? The trouble and expense of it to them, 101:005,35[J ]| would be nothing compared with the benevolence of the 101:005,36[J ]| action." 101:005,36[' ]| Lady*Bertram agreed with her instantly. 101:005,36[F ]| "I 101:005,37[F ]| think we cannot do better," 101:005,37[' ]| said she, 101:005,37[F ]| "let us send for 101:005,38[F ]| the child." 101:006,01[' ]| Sir*Thomas could not give so instantaneous and unqualified 101:006,02[' ]| a consent. He debated and hesitated; ~~ 101:006,02@e | it was 101:006,03@e | a serious charge; ~~ a girl so brought up must be adequately 101:006,04@e | provided for, or there would be cruelty instead of kindness 101:006,05@e | in taking her from her family. 101:006,05@e | He thought of his own 101:006,06@e | four children ~~ of his two sons ~~ of cousins in love, &c%; ~~ 101:006,07[' ]| but no sooner had he deliberately begun to state his 101:006,08[' ]| objections, than Mrs%*Norris interrupted him with a reply 101:006,09[' ]| to them all whether stated or not. 101:006,10[J ]| "My dear Sir*Thomas, I perfectly comprehend you, 101:006,11[J ]| and do justice to the generosity and delicacy of your 101:006,12[J ]| notions, which indeed are quite of a piece with your 101:006,13[J ]| general conduct; and I entirely agree with you in the 101:006,14[J ]| main as to the propriety of doing every*thing one could 101:006,15[J ]| by way of providing for a child one had in a manner 101:006,16[J ]| taken into one's own hands; and I am sure I should 101:006,17[J ]| be the last person in the world to withhold my mite upon 101:006,18[J ]| such an occasion. Having no children of my own, who 101:006,19[J ]| should I look to in any little matter I may ever have to 101:006,20[J ]| bestow, but the children of my sisters? ~~ and I am sure 101:006,21[J ]| Mr%*Norris is too just ~~ but you know I am a woman of 101:006,22[J ]| few words and professions. Do not let us be frightened 101:006,23[J ]| from a good deed by a trifle. Give a girl an education, 101:006,24[J ]| and introduce her properly into the world, and ten to 101:006,25[J ]| one but she has the means of settling well, without farther 101:006,26[J ]| expense to any*body. A niece of our's, Sir*Thomas, I may 101:006,27[J ]| say, or, at least of \your's\, would not grow up in this 101:006,28[J ]| neighbourhood without many advantages. I don't say 101:006,29[J ]| she would be so handsome as her cousins. I dare say 101:006,30[J ]| she would not; but she would be introduced into the 101:006,31[J ]| society of this country under such very favourable circumstances 101:006,32[J ]| as, in all human probability, would get her 101:006,33[J ]| a creditable establishment. You are thinking of your 101:006,34[J ]| sons ~~ but do not you know that of all things upon earth 101:006,35[J ]| \that\ is the least likely to happen; brought up, as they 101:006,36[J ]| would be, always together like brothers and sisters? It 101:006,37[J ]| is morally impossible. I never knew an instance of it. 101:006,38[J ]| It is, in fact, the only sure way of providing against the 101:007,01[J ]| connection. Suppose her a pretty girl, and seen by Tom 101:007,02[J ]| or Edmund for the first time seven years hence, and 101:007,03[J ]| I dare say there would be mischief. The very idea of 101:007,04[J ]| her having been suffered to grow up at a distance from 101:007,05[J ]| us all in poverty and neglect, would be enough to make 101:007,06[J ]| either of the dear sweet-tempered boys in love with her. 101:007,07[J ]| But breed her up with them from this time, and suppose 101:007,08[J ]| her even to have the beauty of an angel, and she will 101:007,09[J ]| never be more to either than a sister." 101:007,10[E ]| "There is a great deal of truth in what you say," 101:007,11[' ]| replied Sir*Thomas, 101:007,11[E ]| "and far be it from me to throw 101:007,12[E ]| any fanciful impediment in the way of a plan which 101:007,13[E ]| would be so consistent with the relative situations of 101:007,14[E ]| each. I only meant to observe, that it ought not to be 101:007,15[E ]| lightly engaged in, and that to make it really serviceable 101:007,16[E ]| to Mrs%*Price, and creditable to ourselves, we must secure 101:007,17[E ]| to the child, or consider ourselves engaged to secure to 101:007,18[E ]| her hereafter, as circumstances may arise, the provision 101:007,19[E ]| of a gentlewoman, if no such establishment should offer 101:007,20[E ]| as you are so sanguine in expecting." 101:007,21[J ]| "I thoroughly understand you," 101:007,21[' ]| cried Mrs%*Norris; 101:007,22[J ]| "you are every*thing that is generous and considerate, 101:007,23[J ]| and I am sure we shall never disagree on this point. 101:007,24[J ]| Whatever I can do, as you well know, I am always ready 101:007,25[J ]| enough to do for the good of those I love; and, though 101:007,26[J ]| I could never feel for this little girl the hundredth part 101:007,27[J ]| of the regard I bear your own dear children, nor consider 101:007,28[J ]| her, in any respect, so much my own, I should hate 101:007,29[J ]| myself if I were capable of neglecting her. Is not she 101:007,30[J ]| a sister's child? and could I bear to see her want, while 101:007,31[J ]| I had a bit of bread to give her? My dear Sir*Thomas, 101:007,32[J ]| with all my faults I have a warm heart: and, poor as 101:007,33[J ]| I am, would rather deny myself the necessaries of life, 101:007,34[J ]| than do an ungenerous thing. So, if you are not against 101:007,35[J ]| it, I will write to my poor sister to-morrow, and make 101:007,36[J ]| the proposal; and, as soon as matters are settled, \I\ will 101:007,37[J ]| engage to get the child to Mansfield; \you\ shall have no 101:007,38[J ]| trouble about it. My own trouble, you know, I never 101:008,01[J ]| regard. I will send Nanny to London on purpose, and 101:008,02[J ]| she may have a bed at her cousin, the sadler's, and the 101:008,03[J ]| child be appointed to meet her there. They may easily 101:008,04[J ]| get her from Portsmouth to town by the coach, under 101:008,05[J ]| the care of any creditable person that may chance to be 101:008,06[J ]| going. I dare say there is always some reputable tradesman's 101:008,07[J ]| wife or other going up." 101:008,08[' ]| Except to the attack on Nanny's cousin, Sir*Thomas 101:008,09[' ]| no longer made any objection, and a more respectable 101:008,10[' ]| though less economical rendezvous being accordingly substituted, 101:008,11[' ]| every*thing was considered as settled, and the 101:008,12[' ]| pleasures of so benevolent a scheme were already enjoyed. 101:008,13[' ]| The division of gratifying sensations ought not, in strict 101:008,14[' ]| justice, to have been equal; for Sir*Thomas was fully 101:008,15[' ]| resolved to be the real and consistent patron of the 101:008,16[' ]| selected child, and Mrs%*Norris had not the least intention 101:008,17[' ]| of being at any expense whatever in her maintenance. 101:008,18[' ]| As far as walking, talking, and contriving reached, she 101:008,19[' ]| was thoroughly benevolent, and nobody knew better how 101:008,20[' ]| to dictate liberality to others: but her love of money 101:008,21[' ]| was equal to her love of directing, and she knew quite 101:008,22[' ]| as well how to save her own as to spend that of her 101:008,23[' ]| friends. Having married on a narrower income than 101:008,24[' ]| she had been used to look forward to, she had, from 101:008,25[' ]| the first, fancied a very strict line of economy necessary; 101:008,26[' ]| and what was begun as a matter of prudence, 101:008,27[' ]| soon grew into a matter of choice, as an object of 101:008,28[' ]| that needful solicitude, which there were no children 101:008,29[' ]| to supply. Had there been a family to provide for, 101:008,30[' ]| Mrs%*Norris might never have saved her money; but 101:008,31[' ]| having no care of that kind, there was nothing to impede 101:008,32[' ]| her frugality, or lessen the comfort of making a yearly 101:008,33[' ]| addition to an income which they had never lived up 101:008,34[' ]| to. Under this infatuating principle, counteracted by no 101:008,35[' ]| real affection for her sister, it was impossible for her to 101:008,36[' ]| aim at more than the credit of projecting and arranging 101:008,37[' ]| so expensive a charity; though perhaps she might so 101:008,38[' ]| little know herself, as to walk home to the Parsonage 101:009,01[' ]| after this conversation, in the happy belief of being the 101:009,02[' ]| most liberal-minded sister and aunt in the world. 101:009,03[' ]| When the subject was brought forward again, her views 101:009,04[' ]| were more fully explained; and, in reply to Lady*Bertram's 101:009,05[' ]| calm inquiry of 101:009,05[F ]| "Where shall the child come to 101:009,06[F ]| first, sister, to you or to us?" 101:009,06[' ]| Sir*Thomas heard, with 101:009,07[' ]| some surprise, that it would be totally out of Mrs%*Norris's 101:009,08[' ]| power to take any share in the personal charge of her. 101:009,09[' ]| He had been considering her as a particularly welcome 101:009,10[' ]| addition at the Parsonage, as a desirable companion to 101:009,11[' ]| an aunt who had no children of her own; but he found 101:009,12[' ]| himself wholly mistaken. Mrs%*Norris was sorry to say, 101:009,13[' ]| that 101:009,13@j | the little girl's staying with them, at least as things 101:009,14@j | then were, was quite out of the question. Poor Mr%*Norris's 101:009,15@j | indifferent state of health made it an impossibility: he 101:009,16@j | could no more bear the noise of a child than he could 101:009,17@j | fly; if indeed he should ever get well of his gouty complaints, 101:009,18@j | it would be a different matter: she should then 101:009,19@j | be glad to take her turn, and think nothing of the inconvenience; 101:009,20@j | but just now, poor Mr%*Norris took up every 101:009,21@j | moment of her time, and the very mention of such 101:009,22@j | a thing she was sure would distract him. 101:009,23[F ]| "Then she had better come to us," 101:009,23[' ]| said Lady*Bertram 101:009,24[' ]| with the utmost composure. After a short pause, Sir*Thomas 101:009,25[' ]| added with dignity, 101:009,25[E ]| "Yes, let her home be in 101:009,26[E ]| this house. We will endeavour to do our duty by her, 101:009,27[E ]| and she will at least have the advantage of companions 101:009,28[E ]| of her own age, and of a regular instructress." 101:009,29[J ]| "Very true," 101:009,29[' ]| cried Mrs%*Norris, 101:009,29[J ]| "which are both very 101:009,30[J ]| important considerations: and it will be just the same 101:009,31[J ]| to Miss*Lee, whether she has three girls to teach, or only 101:009,32[J ]| two ~~ there can be no difference. I only wish I could be 101:009,33[J ]| more useful; but you see I do all in my power. I am 101:009,34[J ]| not one of those that spare their own trouble; and 101:009,35[J ]| Nanny shall fetch her, however it may put me to inconvenience 101:009,36[J ]| to have my chief counsellor away for three days. 101:009,37[J ]| I suppose, sister, you will put the child in the little white 101:009,38[J ]| attic, near the old nurseries. It will be much the best 101:010,01[J ]| place for her, so near Miss*Lee, and not far from the 101:010,02[J ]| girls, and close by the housemaids, who could either of 101:010,03[J ]| them help dress her you know, and take care of her 101:010,04[J ]| clothes, for I suppose you would not think it fair to 101:010,05[J ]| expect Ellis to wait on her as well as the others. Indeed, 101:010,06[J ]| I do not see that you could possibly place her any*where 101:010,07[J ]| else." 101:010,08[' ]| Lady*Bertram made no opposition. 101:010,09[J ]| "I hope she will prove a well-disposed girl," 101:010,09[' ]| continued 101:010,10[' ]| Mrs%*Norris, 101:010,10[J ]| "and be sensible of her uncommon good 101:010,11[J ]| fortune in having such friends." 101:010,12[E ]| "Should her disposition be really bad," 101:010,12[' ]| said Sir*Thomas, 101:010,13[E ]| "we must not, for our own children's sake, continue her 101:010,14[E ]| in the family; but there is no reason to expect so great 101:010,15[E ]| an evil. We shall probably see much to wish altered in 101:010,16[E ]| her, and must prepare ourselves for gross ignorance, some 101:010,17[E ]| meanness of opinions, and very distressing vulgarity of 101:010,18[E ]| manner; but these are not incurable faults ~~ nor, I trust, 101:010,19[E ]| can they be dangerous for her associates. Had my 101:010,20[E ]| daughters been \younger\ than herself, I should have considered 101:010,21[E ]| the introduction of such a companion, as a matter 101:010,22[E ]| of very serious moment; but as it is, I hope there can 101:010,23[E ]| be nothing to fear for \them\, and every*thing to hope for 101:010,24[E ]| \her\, from the association." 101:010,25[J ]| "That is exactly what I think," 101:010,25[' ]| cried Mrs%*Norris, 101:010,26[J ]| "and what I was saying to my husband this morning. 101:010,27[J ]| It will be an education for the child said I, only being 101:010,28[J ]| with her cousins; if Miss*Lee taught her nothing, she 101:010,29[J ]| would learn to be good and clever from \them\." 101:010,30[F ]| "I hope she will not tease my poor pug," 101:010,30[' ]| said Lady*Bertram 101:010,31[F ]| "I have but just got Julia to leave it alone." 101:010,32[E ]| "There will be some difficulty in our way, Mrs%*Norris," 101:010,33[' ]| observed Sir*Thomas, 101:010,33[E ]| "as to the distinction proper to be 101:010,34[E ]| made between the girls as they grow up; how to preserve 101:010,35[E ]| in the minds of my \daughters\ the consciousness of what 101:010,36[E ]| they are, without making them think too lowly of their 101:010,37[E ]| cousin; and how, without depressing her spirits too far, 101:010,38[E ]| to make her remember that she is not a \Miss*Bertram\. 101:011,01[E ]| I should wish to see them very good friends, and would, 101:011,02[E ]| on no account, authorize in my girls the smallest degree 101:011,03[E ]| of arrogance towards their relation; but still they cannot 101:011,04[E ]| be equals. Their rank, fortune, rights, and expectations, 101:011,05[E ]| will always be different. It is a point of great delicacy, 101:011,06[E ]| and you must assist us in our endeavours to choose exactly 101:011,07[E ]| the right line of conduct." 101:011,08[' ]| Mrs%*Norris was quite at his service; and though she 101:011,09[' ]| perfectly agreed with him as to its being a most difficult 101:011,10[' ]| thing, encouraged him to hope that between them it 101:011,11[' ]| would be easily managed. 101:011,12[' ]| It will be readily believed that Mrs%*Norris did not 101:011,13[' ]| write to her sister in vain. Mrs%*Price seemed 101:011,13@p | rather 101:011,14@p | surprised that a girl should be fixed on, when she had 101:011,15@p | so many fine boys, but accepted the offer most thankfully, 101:011,16@p | assuring them of her daughter's being a very well-disposed, 101:011,17@p | good-humoured girl, and trusting they would 101:011,18@p | never have cause to throw her off. 101:011,18[' ]| She spoke of her 101:011,19[' ]| farther as 101:011,19@p | somewhat delicate and puny, but was sanguine 101:011,20@p | in the hope of her being materially better for change of 101:011,21@p | air. 101:011,21[' ]| Poor woman! she probably thought change of air 101:011,22[' ]| might agree with many of her children. 102:012,01[' ]| The little girl performed her long journey in safety, 102:012,02[' ]| and at Northampton was met by Mrs%*Norris, who thus 102:012,03[' ]| regaled in the credit of being foremost to welcome her, 102:012,04[' ]| and in the importance of leading her in to the others, 102:012,05[' ]| and recommending her to their kindness. 102:012,06[' ]| Fanny*Price was at this time just ten years old, and 102:012,07[' ]| though there might not be much in her first appearance 102:012,08[' ]| to captivate, there was, at least, nothing to disgust her 102:012,09[' ]| relations. She was small of her age, with no glow of 102:012,10[' ]| complexion, nor any other striking beauty; exceedingly 102:012,11[' ]| timid and shy, and shrinking from notice; but her air, 102:012,12[' ]| though awkward, was not vulgar, her voice was sweet, 102:012,13[' ]| and when she spoke, her countenance was pretty. Sir*Thomas 102:012,14[' ]| and Lady*Bertram received her very kindly, and 102:012,15[' ]| Sir*Thomas seeing how much she needed encouragement, 102:012,16[' ]| tried to be all that was conciliating; but he had to work 102:012,17[' ]| against a most untoward gravity of deportment ~~ and 102:012,18[' ]| Lady*Bertram, without taking half so much trouble, or 102:012,19[' ]| speaking one word where he spoke ten, by the mere aid 102:012,20[' ]| of a good-humoured smile, became immediately the less 102:012,21[' ]| awful character of the two. 102:012,22[' ]| The young people were all at home, and sustained their 102:012,23[' ]| share in the introduction very well, with much good*humour, 102:012,24[' ]| and no embarrassment, at least on the part of 102:012,25[' ]| the sons, who at seventeen and sixteen, and tall of their 102:012,26[' ]| age, had all the grandeur of men in the eyes of their 102:012,27[' ]| little cousin. The two girls were more at a loss from 102:012,28[' ]| being younger and in greater awe of their father, who 102:012,29[' ]| addressed them on the occasion with rather an injudicious 102:012,30[' ]| particularity. But they were too much used to company 102:012,31[' ]| and praise, to have any*thing like natural shyness, and 102:012,32[' ]| their confidence increasing from their cousin's total want 102:013,01[' ]| of it, they were soon able to take a full survey of her face 102:013,02[' ]| and her frock in easy indifference. 102:013,03[' ]| They were a remarkably fine family, the sons very 102:013,04[' ]| well-looking, the daughters decidedly handsome, and all 102:013,05[' ]| of them well-grown and forward of their age, which produced 102:013,06[' ]| as striking a difference between the cousins in 102:013,07[' ]| person, as education had given to their address; and no*one 102:013,08[' ]| would have supposed the girls so nearly of an age 102:013,09[' ]| as they really were. There was in fact two years 102:013,10[' ]| between the youngest and Fanny. Julia*Bertram was 102:013,11[' ]| only twelve, and Maria but a year older. The little 102:013,12[' ]| visitor meanwhile was as unhappy as possible. Afraid 102:013,13[' ]| of every*body, ashamed of herself, and longing for the 102:013,14[' ]| home she had left, she knew not how to look up, and 102:013,15[' ]| could scarcely speak to be heard, or without crying. 102:013,16[' ]| Mrs%*Norris had been talking to her the whole way from 102:013,17[' ]| Northampton of her wonderful good fortune, and the 102:013,18[' ]| extraordinary degree of gratitude and good behaviour 102:013,19[' ]| which it ought to produce, and her consciousness of 102:013,20[' ]| misery was therefore increased by the idea of its being 102:013,21[' ]| a wicked thing for her not to be happy. The fatigue 102:013,22[' ]| too, of so long a journey, became soon no trifling evil. 102:013,23[' ]| In vain were the well-meant condescensions of Sir*Thomas, 102:013,24[' ]| and all the officious prognostications of Mrs%*Norris that 102:013,25[' ]| she would be a good girl; in vain did Lady*Bertram smile 102:013,26[' ]| and make her sit on the sofa with herself and pug, and 102:013,27[' ]| vain was even the sight of a gooseberry tart towards 102:013,28[' ]| giving her comfort; she could scarcely swallow two 102:013,29[' ]| mouthfuls before tears interrupted her, and sleep seeming 102:013,30[' ]| to be her likeliest friend, she was taken to finish her 102:013,31[' ]| sorrows in bed. 102:013,32[J ]| "This is not a very promising beginning," 102:013,32[' ]| said Mrs%*Norris 102:013,33[' ]| when Fanny had left the room. ~~ 102:013,33[J ]| "After all that 102:013,34[J ]| I said to her as we came along, I thought she would have 102:013,35[J ]| behaved better; I told her how much might depend upon 102:013,36[J ]| her acquitting herself well at first. I wish there may not 102:013,37[J ]| be a little sulkiness of temper ~~ her poor mother had 102:013,38[J ]| a good deal; but we must make allowances for such 102:014,01[J ]| a child ~~ and I do not know that her being sorry to leave 102:014,02[J ]| her home is really against her, for, with all its faults, it 102:014,03[J ]| \was\ her home, and she cannot as yet understand how much 102:014,04[J ]| she has changed for the better; but then there is moderation 102:014,05[J ]| in all things." 102:014,06[' ]| It required a longer time, however, than Mrs%*Norris 102:014,07[' ]| was inclined to allow, to reconcile Fanny to the novelty 102:014,08[' ]| of Mansfield*Park, and the separation from every*body 102:014,09[' ]| she had been used to. Her feelings were very acute, and 102:014,10[' ]| too little understood to be properly attended to. Nobody 102:014,11[' ]| meant to be unkind, but nobody put themselves out of 102:014,12[' ]| their way to secure her comfort. 102:014,13[' ]| The holiday allowed to the Miss*Bertrams the next 102:014,14[' ]| day on purpose to afford leisure for getting acquainted 102:014,15[' ]| with, and entertaining their young cousin, produced little 102:014,16[' ]| union. They could not but hold her cheap on finding 102:014,17[' ]| that she had but two sashes, and had never learnt French; 102:014,18[' ]| and when they perceived her to be little struck with the 102:014,19[' ]| duet they were so good as to play, they could do no more 102:014,20[' ]| than make her a generous present of some of their least 102:014,21[' ]| valued toys, and leave her to herself, while they adjourned 102:014,22[' ]| to whatever might be the favourite holiday sport of the 102:014,23[' ]| moment, making artificial flowers or wasting gold paper. 102:014,24[' ]| Fanny, whether near or from her cousins, whether in 102:014,25[' ]| the school-room, the drawing-room, or the shrubbery, was 102:014,26[' ]| equally forlorn, finding something to fear in every person 102:014,27[' ]| and place. She was disheartened by Lady*Bertram's 102:014,28[' ]| silence, awed by Sir*Thomas's grave looks, and quite 102:014,29[' ]| overcome by Mrs%*Norris's admonitions. Her elder cousins 102:014,30[' ]| mortified her by reflections on her size, and abashed her 102:014,31[' ]| by noticing her shyness; Miss*Lee wondered at her 102:014,32[' ]| ignorance, and the maid-servants sneered at her clothes; 102:014,33[' ]| and when to these sorrows was added the idea of the 102:014,34[' ]| brothers and sisters among whom she had always been 102:014,35[' ]| important as play-fellow, instructress, and nurse, the 102:014,36[' ]| despondence that sunk her little heart was severe. 102:014,37[' ]| The grandeur of the house astonished, but could not 102:014,38[' ]| console her. The rooms were too large for her to move 102:015,01[' ]| in with ease; whatever she touched she expected to 102:015,02[' ]| injure, and she crept about in constant terror of something 102:015,03[' ]| or other; often retreating towards her own chamber to 102:015,04[' ]| cry; and the little girl who was spoken of in the drawing-room 102:015,05[' ]| when she left it at night, as seeming so desirably 102:015,06[' ]| sensible of her peculiar good fortune, ended every day's 102:015,07[' ]| sorrows by sobbing herself to sleep. A week had passed 102:015,08[' ]| in this way, and no suspicion of it conveyed by her quiet 102:015,09[' ]| passive manner, when she was found one morning by her 102:015,10[' ]| cousin Edmund, the youngest of the sons, sitting crying 102:015,11[' ]| on the attic stairs. 102:015,12[B ]| "My dear little cousin," 102:015,12[' ]| said he with all the gentleness 102:015,13[' ]| of an excellent nature, 102:015,13[B ]| "what can be the matter?" 102:015,13[' ]| And 102:015,14[' ]| sitting down by her, was at great pains to overcome her 102:015,15[' ]| shame in being so surprised, and persuade her to speak 102:015,16[' ]| openly. 102:015,16[B ]| "Was she ill? or was any*body angry with 102:015,17[B ]| her? or had she quarrelled with Maria and Julia? or 102:015,18[B ]| was she puzzled about any*thing in her lesson that he 102:015,19[B ]| could explain? Did she, in short, want any*thing he 102:015,20[B ]| could possibly get her, or do for her?" 102:015,20[' ]| For a long while 102:015,21[' ]| no answer could be obtained beyond a 102:015,21[A ]| "no, no ~~ not at 102:015,22[A ]| all ~~ no, thank you;" 102:015,22[' ]| but he still persevered, and no 102:015,23[' ]| sooner had he begun to revert to her own home, than 102:015,24[' ]| her increased sobs explained to him where the grievance 102:015,25[' ]| lay. He tried to console her. 102:015,26[B ]| "You are sorry to leave Mamma, my dear little Fanny," 102:015,27[' ]| said he, 102:015,27[B ]| "which shows you to be a very good girl; but 102:015,28[B ]| you must remember that you are with relations and 102:015,29[B ]| friends, who all love you, and wish to make you happy. 102:015,30[B ]| Let us walk out in the park, and you shall tell me all 102:015,31[B ]| about your brothers and sisters." 102:015,32[' ]| On pursuing the subject, he found that dear as all 102:015,33[' ]| these brothers and sisters generally were, there was one 102:015,34[' ]| among them who ran more in her thoughts than the rest. 102:015,35[' ]| It was William whom she talked of most and wanted 102:015,36[' ]| most to see. William, the eldest, a year older than herself, 102:015,37[' ]| her constant companion and friend; her advocate with 102:015,38[' ]| her mother (of whom he was the darling) in every distress. 102:016,01[A ]| "William did not like she should come away ~~ he had 102:016,02[A ]| told her he should miss her very much indeed." 102:016,02[B ]| "But 102:016,03[B ]| William will write to you, I dare say." 102:016,03[A ]| "Yes, he had 102:016,04[A ]| promised he would, but he had told \her\ to write first." 102:016,05[B ]| "And when shall you do it?" 102:016,05[' ]| She hung her head and 102:016,06[' ]| answered, hesitatingly, 102:016,06[A ]| "she did not know; she had not 102:016,07[A ]| any paper." 102:016,08[B ]| "If that be all your difficulty, I will furnish you with 102:016,09[B ]| paper and every other material, and you may write your 102:016,10[B ]| letter whenever you choose. Would it make you happy 102:016,11[B ]| to write to William?" 102:016,12[A ]| "Yes, very." 102:016,13[B ]| "Then let it be done now. Come with me into the 102:016,14[B ]| breakfast*room, we shall find every*thing there, and be 102:016,15[B ]| sure of having the room to ourselves." 102:016,16[A ]| "But cousin ~~ will it go to the post?" 102:016,17[B ]| "Yes, depend upon me it shall; it shall go with the 102:016,18[B ]| other letters; and as your uncle will frank it, it will cost 102:016,19[B ]| William nothing." 102:016,20[A ]| "My uncle!" 102:016,20[' ]| repeated Fanny with a frightened look. 102:016,21[B ]| "Yes, when you have written the letter, I will take it 102:016,22[B ]| to my father to frank." 102:016,23[' ]| Fanny thought it a bold measure, but offered no farther 102:016,24[' ]| resistance; and they went together into the breakfast-room, 102:016,25[' ]| where Edmund prepared her paper, and ruled her 102:016,26[' ]| lines with all the good*will that her brother could himself 102:016,27[' ]| have felt, and probably with somewhat more exactness. 102:016,28[' ]| He continued with her the whole time of her writing, 102:016,29[' ]| to assist her with his penknife or his orthography, as 102:016,30[' ]| either were wanted; and added to these attentions, which 102:016,31[' ]| she felt very much, a kindness to her brother, which 102:016,32[' ]| delighted her beyond all the rest. He wrote with his 102:016,33[' ]| own hand his love to his cousin William, and sent him 102:016,34[' ]| half a guinea under the seal. Fanny's feelings on the 102:016,35[' ]| occasion were such as she believed herself incapable of 102:016,36[' ]| expressing; but her countenance and a few artless words 102:016,37[' ]| fully conveyed all their gratitude and delight, and her 102:016,38[' ]| cousin began to find her an interesting object. He talked 102:017,01[' ]| to her more, and from all that she said, was convinced 102:017,02[' ]| of her having an affectionate heart, and a strong desire 102:017,03[' ]| of doing right; and he could perceive her to be farther 102:017,04[' ]| entitled to attention, by great sensibility of her situation, 102:017,05[' ]| and great timidity. He had never knowingly given her 102:017,06[' ]| pain, but he now felt that she required more positive 102:017,07[' ]| kindness, and with that view endeavoured, in the first 102:017,08[' ]| place, to lessen her fears of them all, and gave her 102:017,09[' ]| especially a great deal of good advice as to playing with 102:017,10[' ]| Maria and Julia, and being as merry as possible. 102:017,11[' ]| From this day Fanny grew more comfortable. She felt 102:017,12[' ]| that she had a friend, and the kindness of her cousin 102:017,13[' ]| Edmund gave her better spirits with every*body else. 102:017,14[' ]| The place became less strange, and the people less formidable; 102:017,15[' ]| and if there were some amongst them whom 102:017,16[' ]| she could not cease to fear, she began at least to know 102:017,17[' ]| their ways, and to catch the best manner of conforming 102:017,18[' ]| to them. The little rusticities and awkwardnesses which 102:017,19[' ]| had at first made grievous inroads on the tranquillity of 102:017,20[' ]| all, and not least of herself, necessarily wore away, and 102:017,21[' ]| she was no longer materially afraid to appear before her 102:017,22[' ]| uncle, nor did her aunt Norris's voice make her start very 102:017,23[' ]| much. To her cousins she became occasionally an acceptable 102:017,24[' ]| companion. Though unworthy, from inferiority of 102:017,25[' ]| age and strength, to be their constant associate, their 102:017,26[' ]| pleasures and schemes were sometimes of a nature to 102:017,27[' ]| make a third very useful, especially when that third was 102:017,28[' ]| of an obliging, yielding temper; and they could not but 102:017,29[' ]| own, when their aunt inquired into her faults, or their 102:017,30[' ]| brother Edmund urged her claims to their kindness, that 102:017,31[Y ]| "Fanny was good-natured enough." 102:017,32[' ]| Edmund was uniformly kind himself, and she had 102:017,33[' ]| nothing worse to endure on the part of Tom, than that 102:017,34[' ]| sort of merriment which a young man of seventeen will 102:017,35[' ]| always think fair with a child of ten. He was just entering 102:017,36[' ]| into life, full of spirits, and with all the liberal dispositions 102:017,37[' ]| of an eldest son, who feels born only for expense and 102:017,38[' ]| enjoyment. His kindness to his little cousin was consistent 102:018,01[' ]| with his situation and rights; he made her some 102:018,02[' ]| very pretty presents, and laughed at her. 102:018,03[' ]| As her appearance and spirits improved, Sir*Thomas 102:018,04[' ]| and Mrs%*Norris thought with greater satisfaction of their 102:018,05[' ]| benevolent plan; and it was pretty soon decided between 102:018,06[' ]| them, that though far from clever, she showed a tractable 102:018,07[' ]| disposition, and seemed likely to give them little trouble. 102:018,08[' ]| A mean opinion of her abilities was not confined to \them\. 102:018,09[' ]| Fanny could read, work, and write, but she had been 102:018,10[' ]| taught nothing more; and as her cousins found her 102:018,11[' ]| ignorant of many things with which they had been long 102:018,12[' ]| familiar, they thought her 102:018,12@y | prodigiously stupid, 102:018,12[' ]| and for 102:018,13[' ]| the first two or three weeks were continually bringing 102:018,14[' ]| some fresh report of it into the drawing-room. 102:018,14[Y ]| "Dear 102:018,15[Y ]| Mamma, only think, my cousin cannot put the map of 102:018,16[Y ]| Europe together ~~ or my cousin cannot tell the principal 102:018,17[Y ]| rivers of Russia ~~ or she never heard of Asia*Minor ~~ or 102:018,18[Y ]| she does not know the difference between water-colours 102:018,19[Y ]| and crayons! ~~ How strange! ~~ Did you ever hear any*thing 102:018,20[Y ]| so stupid?" 102:018,21[J ]| "My dear," 102:018,21[' ]| their considerate aunt would reply; 102:018,21[J ]| "it 102:018,22[J ]| is very bad, but you must not expect every*body to be 102:018,23[J ]| as forward and quick at learning as yourself." 102:018,24[H ]| "But, aunt, she is really so very ignorant! ~~ Do you 102:018,25[H ]| know, we asked her last night, which way she would go 102:018,26[H ]| to get to Ireland; and she said, she should cross to the 102:018,27[H ]| Isle*of*Wight. She thinks of nothing but the Isle*of*Wight, 102:018,28[H ]| and she calls it \the\ \Island\, as if there were no 102:018,29[H ]| other island in the world. I am sure I should have been 102:018,30[H ]| ashamed of myself, if I had not known better long before 102:018,31[H ]| I was so old as she is. I cannot remember the time when 102:018,32[H ]| I did not know a great deal that she has not the least 102:018,33[H ]| notion of yet. How long ago it is, aunt, since we used 102:018,34[H ]| to repeat the chronological order of the kings of England, 102:018,35[H ]| with the dates of their accession, and most of the principal 102:018,36[H ]| events of their reigns!" 102:018,37[I ]| "Yes," 102:018,37[' ]| added the other; 102:018,37[I ]| "and of the Roman emperors 102:018,38[I ]| as low as Severus; besides a great deal of the Heathen 102:019,01[I ]| Mythology, and all the Metals, Semi-Metals, Planets, and 102:019,02[I ]| distinguished philosophers." 102:019,03[J ]| "Very true, indeed, my dears, but you are blessed with 102:019,04[J ]| wonderful memories, and your poor cousin has probably 102:019,05[J ]| none at all. There is a vast deal of difference in memories, 102:019,06[J ]| as well as in every*thing else, and therefore you must 102:019,07[J ]| make allowance for your cousin, and pity her deficiency. 102:019,08[J ]| And remember that, if you are ever so forward and clever 102:019,09[J ]| yourselves, you should always be modest; for, much as 102:019,10[J ]| you know already, there is a great deal more for you to 102:019,11[J ]| learn." 102:019,12[H ]| "Yes, I know there is, till I am seventeen. But I must 102:019,13[H ]| tell you another thing of Fanny, so odd and so stupid. 102:019,14[H ]| Do you know, she says she does not want to learn either 102:019,15[H ]| music or drawing." 102:019,16[J ]| "To be sure, my dear, that is very stupid indeed, and 102:019,17[J ]| shows a great want of genius and emulation. But all 102:019,18[J ]| things considered, I do not know whether it is not as 102:019,19[J ]| well that it should be so, for, though you know (owing 102:019,20[J ]| to me) your papa and mamma are so good as to bring 102:019,21[J ]| her up with you, it is not at all necessary that she should 102:019,22[J ]| be as accomplished as you are; ~~ on the contrary, it is 102:019,23[J ]| much more desirable that there should be a difference." 102:019,24[' ]| Such were the counsels by which Mrs%*Norris assisted 102:019,25[' ]| to form her nieces' minds; and it is not very wonderful 102:019,26[' ]| that with all their promising talents and early information, 102:019,27[' ]| they should be entirely deficient in the less common 102:019,28[' ]| acquirements of self-knowledge, generosity, and humility. 102:019,29[' ]| In every*thing but disposition, they were admirably 102:019,30[' ]| taught. Sir*Thomas did not know what was wanting, 102:019,31[' ]| because, though a truly anxious father, he was not outwardly 102:019,32[' ]| affectionate, and the reserve of his manner repressed 102:019,33[' ]| all the flow of their spirits before him. 102:019,34[' ]| To the education of her daughters, Lady*Bertram paid 102:019,35[' ]| not the smallest attention. She had not time for such 102:019,36[' ]| cares. She was a woman who spent her days in sitting 102:019,37[' ]| nicely dressed on a sofa, doing some long piece of needlework, 102:019,38[' ]| of little use and no beauty, thinking more of her 102:020,01[' ]| pug than her children, but very indulgent to the latter, 102:020,02[' ]| when it did not put herself to inconvenience, guided in 102:020,03[' ]| every*thing important by Sir*Thomas, and in smaller 102:020,04[' ]| concerns by her sister. Had she possessed greater leisure 102:020,05[' ]| for the service of her girls, she would probably have 102:020,06[' ]| supposed it unnecessary, for 102:020,06@f | they were under the care of 102:020,07@f | a governess, with proper masters, and could want nothing 102:020,08@f | more. As for Fanny's being stupid at learning, 102:020,08[F ]| "she 102:020,09[F ]| could only say it was very unlucky, but some people 102:020,10[F ]| \were\ stupid, and Fanny must take more pains; she did 102:020,11[F ]| not know what else was to be done; and except her 102:020,12[F ]| being so dull, she must add, she saw no harm in the poor 102:020,13[F ]| little thing ~~ and always found her very handy and quick 102:020,14[F ]| in carrying messages, and fetching what she wanted." 102:020,15[' ]| Fanny, with all her faults of ignorance and timidity, 102:020,16[' ]| was fixed at Mansfield*Park, and learning to transfer in 102:020,17[' ]| its favour much of her attachment to her former home, 102:020,18[' ]| grew up there not unhappily among her cousins. There 102:020,19[' ]| was no positive ill-nature in Maria or Julia; and though 102:020,20[' ]| Fanny was often mortified by their treatment of her, she 102:020,21[' ]| thought too lowly of her own claims to feel injured by it. 102:020,22[' ]| From about the time of her entering the family, Lady*Bertram, 102:020,23[' ]| in consequence of a little ill-health, and a great 102:020,24[' ]| deal of indolence, gave up the house in town, which she 102:020,25[' ]| had been used to occupy every spring, and remained 102:020,26[' ]| wholly in the country, leaving Sir*Thomas to attend his 102:020,27[' ]| duty in Parliament, with whatever increase or diminution 102:020,28[' ]| of comfort might arise from her absence. In the 102:020,29[' ]| country, therefore, the Miss*Bertrams continued to exercise 102:020,30[' ]| their memories, practise their duets, and grow tall 102:020,31[' ]| and womanly; and their father saw them becoming in 102:020,32[' ]| person, manner, and accomplishments, every*thing that 102:020,33[' ]| could satisfy his anxiety. 102:020,33@e | His eldest son was careless and 102:020,34@e | extravagant, and had already given him much uneasiness; 102:020,35@e | but his other children promised him nothing but good. 102:020,36@e | His daughters he felt, while they retained the name of 102:020,37@e | Bertram, must be giving it new grace, and in quitting it 102:020,38@e | he trusted would extend its respectable alliances; and 102:021,01@e | the character of Edmund, his strong good sense and 102:021,02@e | uprightness of mind, bid most fairly for utility, honour, 102:021,03@e | and happiness to himself and all his connections. 102:021,03[' ]| He 102:021,04[' ]| was to be a clergyman. 102:021,05[' ]| Amid the cares and the complacency which his own 102:021,06[' ]| children suggested, Sir*Thomas did not forget to do what 102:021,07[' ]| he could for the children of Mrs%*Price; he assisted her 102:021,08[' ]| liberally in the education and disposal of her sons as they 102:021,09[' ]| became old enough for a determinate pursuit: and Fanny, 102:021,10[' ]| though almost totally separated from her family, was 102:021,11[' ]| sensible of the truest satisfaction in hearing of any kindness 102:021,12[' ]| towards them, or of any*thing at all promising in 102:021,13[' ]| their situation or conduct. Once, and once only in the 102:021,14[' ]| course of many years, had she the happiness of being 102:021,15[' ]| with William. Of the rest she saw nothing; nobody 102:021,16[' ]| seemed to think of her ever going amongst them again, 102:021,17[' ]| even for a visit, nobody at home seemed to want her; 102:021,18[' ]| but William determining, soon after her removal, to be 102:021,19[' ]| a sailor, was invited to spend a week with his sister in 102:021,20[' ]| Northamptonshire, before he went to sea. Their eager 102:021,21[' ]| affection in meeting, their exquisite delight in being 102:021,22[' ]| together, their hours of happy mirth, and moments of 102:021,23[' ]| serious conference, may be imagined; as well as the 102:021,24[' ]| sanguine views and spirits of the boy even to the last, 102:021,25[' ]| and the misery of the girl when he left her. Luckily 102:021,26[' ]| the visit happened in the Christmas holidays, when 102:021,27[' ]| she could directly look for comfort to her cousin 102:021,28[' ]| Edmund; and he told her such charming things of what 102:021,29[' ]| William was to do, and be hereafter, in consequence of 102:021,30[' ]| his profession, as made her gradually admit that the 102:021,31[' ]| separation might have some use. Edmund's friendship 102:021,32[' ]| never failed her: his leaving Eton for Oxford made no 102:021,33[' ]| change in his kind dispositions, and only afforded more 102:021,34[' ]| frequent opportunities of proving them. Without any 102:021,35[' ]| display of doing more than the rest, or any fear of doing 102:021,36[' ]| too much, he was always true to her interests, and considerate 102:021,37[' ]| of her feelings, trying to make her good qualities 102:021,38[' ]| understood, and to conquer the diffidence which prevented 102:022,01[' ]| their being more apparent; giving her advice, consolation, 102:022,02[' ]| and encouragement. 102:022,03[' ]| Kept back as she was by every*body else, his single 102:022,04[' ]| support could not bring her forward, but his attentions 102:022,05[' ]| were otherwise of the highest importance in assisting the 102:022,06[' ]| improvement of her mind, and extending its pleasures. 102:022,07[' ]| He knew her to be clever, to have a quick apprehension 102:022,08[' ]| as well as good sense, and a fondness for reading, which, 102:022,09[' ]| properly directed, must be an education in itself. Miss*Lee 102:022,10[' ]| taught her French, and heard her read the daily 102:022,11[' ]| portion of History; but he recommended the books which 102:022,12[' ]| charmed her leisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and 102:022,13[' ]| corrected her judgment; he made reading useful by 102:022,14[' ]| talking to her of what she read, and heightened its attraction 102:022,15[' ]| by judicious praise. In return for such services she 102:022,16[' ]| loved him better than any*body in the world except 102:022,17[' ]| William; her heart was divided between the two. 103:023,01[' ]| The first event of any importance in the family was 103:023,02[' ]| the death of Mr%*Norris, which happened when Fanny 103:023,03[' ]| was about fifteen, and necessarily introduced alterations 103:023,04[' ]| and novelties. Mrs%*Norris, on quitting the parsonage, 103:023,05[' ]| removed first to the park, and afterwards to a small house 103:023,06[' ]| of Sir*Thomas's in the village, and consoled herself for 103:023,07[' ]| the loss of her husband by considering that she could do 103:023,08[' ]| very well without him, and for her reduction of income 103:023,09[' ]| by the evident necessity of stricter economy. 103:023,10[' ]| The living was hereafter for Edmund, and had his uncle 103:023,11[' ]| died a few years sooner, it would have been duly given 103:023,12[' ]| to some friend to hold till he were old enough for orders. 103:023,13[' ]| But Tom's extravagance had, previous to that event, 103:023,14[' ]| been so great, as to render a different disposal of the next 103:023,15[' ]| presentation necessary, and the younger brother must 103:023,16[' ]| help to pay for the pleasures of the elder. There was 103:023,17[' ]| another family-living actually held for Edmund; but 103:023,18[' ]| though this circumstance had made the arrangement 103:023,19[' ]| somewhat easier to Sir*Thomas's conscience, 103:023,19@e | he could not 103:023,20@e | but feel it to be an act of injustice, 103:023,20[' ]| and he earnestly tried 103:023,21[' ]| to impress his eldest son with the same conviction, in the 103:023,22[' ]| hope of its producing a better effect than any*thing he 103:023,23[' ]| had yet been able to say or do. 103:023,24[E ]| "I blush for you, Tom," 103:023,24[' ]| said he, in his most dignified 103:023,25[' ]| manner; 103:023,25[E ]| "I blush for the expedient which I am driven 103:023,26[E ]| on, and I trust I may pity your feelings as a brother on 103:023,27[E ]| the occasion. You have robbed Edmund for ten, twenty, 103:023,28[E ]| thirty years, perhaps for life, of more than half the income 103:023,29[E ]| which ought to be his. It may hereafter be in my power, 103:023,30[E ]| or in your's (I hope it will), to procure him better 103:023,30[E ]| preferment; 103:023,31[E ]| but it must not be forgotten, that no benefit of 103:023,32[E ]| that sort would have been beyond his natural claims on 103:024,01[E ]| us, and that nothing can, in fact, be an equivalent for 103:024,02[E ]| the certain advantage which he is now obliged to forego 103:024,03[E ]| through the urgency of your debts." 103:024,04[' ]| Tom listened with some shame and some sorrow; but 103:024,05[' ]| escaping as quickly as possible, could soon with cheerful 103:024,06[' ]| selfishness reflect, 103:024,06@g | 1st, that he had not been half so much 103:024,07@g | in debt as some of his friends; 2dly, that his father had 103:024,08@g | made a most tiresome piece of work of it; and 3dly, 103:024,09@g | that the future incumbent, whoever he might be, would, 103:024,10@g | in all probability, die very soon. 103:024,11[' ]| On Mr%*Norris's death, the presentation became the 103:024,12[' ]| right of a Dr%*Grant, who came consequently to reside 103:024,13[' ]| at Mansfield, and on proving to be a hearty man of forty-five, 103:024,14[' ]| seemed likely to disappoint Mr%*Bertram's calculations. 103:024,15[' ]| But 103:024,15[G ]| "no, he was a short-neck'd, apoplectic sort 103:024,16[G ]| of fellow, and, plied well with good things, would soon 103:024,17[G ]| pop off." 103:024,18[' ]| He had a wife about fifteen years his junior, but no 103:024,19[' ]| children, and they entered the neighbourhood with the 103:024,20[' ]| usual fair report of being very respectable, agreeable 103:024,21[' ]| people. 103:024,22[' ]| The time was now come when Sir*Thomas expected 103:024,23@e | his sister-in-law to claim her share in their niece, the 103:024,24@e | change in Mrs%*Norris's situation, and the improvement 103:024,25@e | in Fanny's age, seeming not merely to do away any 103:024,26@e | former objection to their living together, but even to 103:024,27@e | give it the most decided eligibility; and as his own 103:024,28@e | circumstances were rendered less fair than heretofore, 103:024,29@e | by some recent losses on his West*India*Estate, in addition 103:024,30@e | to his eldest son's extravagance, it became not undesirable 103:024,31@e | to himself to be relieved from the expense of her support, 103:024,32@e | and the obligation of her future provision. 103:024,32[' ]| In the fulness 103:024,33[' ]| of his belief that such a thing must be, he mentioned its 103:024,34[' ]| probability to his wife; and the first time of the subject's 103:024,35[' ]| occurring to her again, happening to be when Fanny was 103:024,36[' ]| present, she calmly observed to her, 103:024,36[F ]| "So, Fanny, you are 103:024,37[F ]| going to leave us, and live with my sister. How shall 103:024,38[F ]| you like it?" 103:025,01[' ]| Fanny was too much surprised to do more than repeat 103:025,02[' ]| her aunt's words, 103:025,02[A ]| "Going to leave you?" 103:025,03[F ]| "Yes, my dear, why should you be astonished? You 103:025,04[F ]| have been five years with us, and my sister always meant 103:025,05[F ]| to take you when Mr%*Norris died. But you must come 103:025,06[F ]| up and tack on my patterns all the same." 103:025,07[' ]| The news was as disagreeable to Fanny as it had been 103:025,08[' ]| unexpected. 103:025,08@a | She had never received kindness from her 103:025,09@a | aunt Norris, and could not love her. 103:025,10[A ]| "I shall be very sorry to go away," 103:025,10[' ]| said she, with 103:025,11[' ]| a faltering voice. 103:025,12[F ]| "Yes, I dare say you will; \that's\ natural enough. 103:025,13[F ]| I suppose you have had as little to vex you, since you 103:025,14[F ]| came into this house, as any creature in the world." 103:025,15[A ]| "I hope I am not ungrateful, aunt," 103:025,15[' ]| said Fanny, 103:025,16[' ]| modestly. 103:025,17[F ]| "No, my dear; I hope not. I have always found you 103:025,18[F ]| a very good girl." 103:025,19[A ]| "And am I never to live here again?" 103:025,20[F ]| "Never, my dear; but you are sure of a comfortable 103:025,21[F ]| home. It can make very little difference to you, whether 103:025,22[F ]| you are in one house or the other." 103:025,23[' ]| Fanny left the room with a very sorrowful heart; 103:025,23@a | she 103:025,24@a | could not feel the difference to be so small, she could not 103:025,25@a | think of living with her aunt with any*thing like satisfaction. 103:025,26[' ]| As soon as she met with Edmund, she told him 103:025,27[' ]| her distress. 103:025,28[A ]| "Cousin," 103:025,28[' ]| said she, 103:025,28[A ]| "something is going to happen 103:025,29[A ]| which I do not like at all; and though you have often 103:025,30[A ]| persuaded me into being reconciled to things that I disliked 103:025,31[A ]| at first, you will not be able to do it now. I am 103:025,32[A ]| going to live entirely with my aunt Norris." 103:025,33[B ]| "Indeed!" 103:025,34[A ]| "Yes, my aunt Bertram has just told me so. It is 103:025,35[A ]| quite settled. I am to leave Mansfield*Park, and go to the 103:025,36[A ]| White*house, I suppose, as soon as she is removed there." 103:025,37[B ]| "Well, Fanny, and if the plan were not unpleasant to 103:025,38[B ]| you, I should call it an excellent one." 103:026,01[A ]| "Oh! Cousin!" 103:026,02[B ]| "It has every*thing else in its favour. My aunt is acting 103:026,03[B ]| like a sensible woman in wishing for you. She is choosing 103:026,04[B ]| a friend and companion exactly where she ought, and 103:026,05[B ]| I am glad her love of money does not interfere. You 103:026,06[B ]| will be what you ought to be to her. I hope it does not 103:026,07[B ]| distress you very much, Fanny." 103:026,08[A ]| "Indeed it does. I cannot like it. I love this house 103:026,09[A ]| and every*thing in it. I shall love nothing there. You 103:026,10[A ]| know how uncomfortable I feel with her." 103:026,11[B ]| "I can say nothing for her manner to you as a child; 103:026,12[B ]| but it was the same with us all, or nearly so. She never 103:026,13[B ]| knew how to be pleasant to children. But you are now 103:026,14[B ]| of an age to be treated better; I think she \is\ behaving 103:026,15[B ]| better already; and when you are her only companion, 103:026,16[B ]| you \must\ be important to her." 103:026,17[A ]| "I can never be important to any*one." 103:026,18[B ]| "What is to prevent you?" 103:026,19[A ]| "Every*thing ~~ my situation ~~ my foolishness and 103:026,20[A ]| awkwardness." 103:026,21[B ]| "As to your foolishness and awkwardness, my dear 103:026,22[B ]| Fanny, believe me, you never have a shadow of either, 103:026,23[B ]| but in using the words so improperly. There is no 103:026,24[B ]| reason in the world why you should not be important 103:026,25[B ]| where you are known. You have good sense, and a sweet 103:026,26[B ]| temper, and I am sure you have a grateful heart, that 103:026,27[B ]| could never receive kindness without wishing to return it. 103:026,28[B ]| I do not know any better qualifications for a friend and 103:026,29[B ]| companion." 103:026,30[A ]| "You are too kind," 103:026,30[' ]| said Fanny, colouring at such 103:026,31[' ]| praise; 103:026,31[A ]| "how shall I ever thank you as I ought, for 103:026,32[A ]| thinking so well of me? Oh! cousin, if I am to go 103:026,33[A ]| away, I shall remember your goodness, to the last moment 103:026,34[A ]| of my life." 103:026,35[B ]| "Why, indeed, Fanny, I should hope to be remembered 103:026,36[B ]| at such a distance as the White*house. You speak as if 103:026,37[B ]| you were going two hundred miles off, instead of only 103:026,38[B ]| across the park. But you will belong to us almost as 103:027,01[B ]| much as ever. The two families will be meeting every 103:027,02[B ]| day in the year. The only difference will be, that living 103:027,03[B ]| with your aunt, you will necessarily be brought forward, 103:027,04[B ]| as you ought to be. \Here\, there are too many, whom 103:027,05[B ]| you can hide behind; but with \her\ you will be forced to 103:027,06[B ]| speak for yourself." 103:027,07[A ]| "Oh! do not say so." 103:027,08[B ]| "I must say it, and say it with pleasure. Mrs%*Norris 103:027,09[B ]| is much better fitted than my mother for having the 103:027,10[B ]| charge of you now. She is of a temper to do a great 103:027,11[B ]| deal for any*body she really interests herself about, 103:027,12[B ]| and she will force you to do justice to your natural 103:027,13[B ]| powers." 103:027,14[' ]| Fanny sighed, and said, 103:027,14[A ]| "I cannot see things as you 103:027,15[A ]| do; but I ought to believe you to be right rather than 103:027,16[A ]| myself, and I am very much obliged to you for trying to 103:027,17[A ]| reconcile me to what must be. If I could suppose my 103:027,18[A ]| aunt really to care for me, it would be delightful to feel 103:027,19[A ]| myself of consequence to any*body! ~~ \Here\, I know I am 103:027,20[A ]| of none, and yet I love the place so well." 103:027,21[B ]| "The place, Fanny, is what you will not quit, though 103:027,22[B ]| you quit the house. You will have as free a command 103:027,23[B ]| of the park and gardens as ever. Even \your\ constant 103:027,24[B ]| little heart need not take fright at such a nominal change. 103:027,25[B ]| You will have the same walks to frequent, the same 103:027,26[B ]| library to choose from, the same people to look at, the 103:027,27[B ]| same horse to ride." 103:027,28[A ]| "Very true. Yes, dear old grey poney. Ah! cousin, 103:027,29[A ]| when I remember how much I used to dread riding, what 103:027,30[A ]| terrors it gave me to hear it talked of as likely to do me 103:027,31[A ]| good; ~~ (Oh! how I have trembled at my uncle's opening 103:027,32[A ]| his lips if horses were talked of) and then think of the 103:027,33[A ]| kind pains you took to reason and persuade me out of 103:027,34[A ]| my fears, and convince me that I should like it after 103:027,35[A ]| a little while, and feel how right you proved to be, I am 103:027,36[A ]| inclined to hope you may always prophesy as well." 103:027,37[B ]| "And I am quite convinced that your being with 103:027,38[B ]| Mrs%*Norris, will be as good for your mind, as riding has 103:028,01[B ]| been for your health ~~ and as much for your ultimate 103:028,02[B ]| happiness, too." 103:028,03[' ]| So ended their discourse, which, for any very appropriate 103:028,04[' ]| service it could render Fanny, might as well have 103:028,05[' ]| been spared, for Mrs%*Norris had not the smallest intention 103:028,06[' ]| of taking her. It had never occurred to her, on the 103:028,07[' ]| present occasion, but as a thing to be carefully avoided. 103:028,08[' ]| To prevent its being expected, she had fixed on the 103:028,09[' ]| smallest habitation which could rank as genteel among 103:028,10[' ]| the buildings of Mansfield parish; the White*house being 103:028,11[' ]| only just large enough to receive herself and her servants, 103:028,12[' ]| and allow a spare*room for a friend, of which she made 103:028,13[' ]| a very particular point; ~~ the spare-rooms at the parsonage 103:028,14[' ]| had never been wanted, but the absolute necessity 103:028,15[' ]| of a spare-room for a friend was now never forgotten. 103:028,16[' ]| Not all her precautions, however, could save her from 103:028,17[' ]| being suspected of something better; or, perhaps, her 103:028,18[' ]| very display of the importance of a spare-room, might 103:028,19[' ]| have misled Sir*Thomas to suppose it really intended for 103:028,20[' ]| Fanny. Lady*Bertram soon brought the matter to a 103:028,21[' ]| certainty, by carelessly observing to Mrs%*Norris, ~~ 103:028,22[F ]| "I think, sister, we need not keep Miss*Lee any longer, 103:028,23[F ]| when Fanny goes to live with you?" 103:028,24[' ]| Mrs%*Norris almost started. 103:028,24[J ]| "Live with me, dear Lady*Bertram, 103:028,25[J ]| what do you mean?" 103:028,26[F ]| "Is not she to live with you? ~~ I thought you had 103:028,27[F ]| settled it with Sir*Thomas?" 103:028,28[J ]| "Me! never. I never spoke a syllable about it to 103:028,29[J ]| Sir*Thomas, nor he to me. Fanny live with me! the 103:028,30[J ]| last thing in the world for me to think of, or for any*body 103:028,31[J ]| to wish that really knows us both. Good heaven! what 103:028,32[J ]| could I do with Fanny? ~~ Me! a poor helpless, forlorn 103:028,33[J ]| widow, unfit for any*thing, my spirits quite broke down, 103:028,34[J ]| what could I do with a girl at her time of life, a girl of 103:028,35[J ]| fifteen! the very age of all others to need most attention 103:028,36[J ]| and care, and put the cheerfullest spirits to the test. 103:028,37[J ]| Sure Sir*Thomas could not seriously expect such a thing! 103:028,38[J ]| Sir*Thomas is too much my friend. Nobody that wishes 103:029,01[J ]| me well, I am sure, would propose it. How came Sir*Thomas 103:029,02[J ]| to speak to you about it?" 103:029,03[F ]| "Indeed, I do not know. I suppose he thought it 103:029,04[F ]| best." 103:029,05[J ]| "But what did he say? ~~ He could not say he \wished\ 103:029,06[J ]| me to take Fanny. I am sure in his heart he could not 103:029,07[J ]| wish me to do it." 103:029,08[F ]| "No, he only said he thought it very likely ~~ and 103:029,09[F ]| I thought so too. We both thought it would be a comfort 103:029,10[F ]| to you. But if you do not like it, there is no more to be 103:029,11[F ]| said. She is no incumbrance here." 103:029,12[J ]| "Dear sister! If you consider my unhappy state, 103:029,13[J ]| how can she be any comfort to me? Here am I a poor 103:029,14[J ]| desolate widow, deprived of the best of husbands, my 103:029,15[J ]| health gone in attending and nursing him, my spirits 103:029,16[J ]| still worse, all my peace in this world destroyed, with 103:029,17[J ]| barely enough to support me in the rank of a gentlewoman, 103:029,18[J ]| and enable me to live so as not to disgrace the 103:029,19[J ]| memory of the dear departed ~~ what possible comfort 103:029,20[J ]| could I have in taking such a charge upon me as Fanny! 103:029,21[J ]| If I could wish it for my own sake, I would not do so 103:029,22[J ]| unjust a thing by the poor girl. She is in good hands, 103:029,23[J ]| and sure of doing well. I must struggle through my 103:029,24[J ]| sorrows and difficulties as I can." 103:029,25[F ]| "Then you will not mind living by yourself quite 103:029,26[F ]| alone?" 103:029,27[J ]| "Dear Lady*Bertram! what am I fit for but solitude? 103:029,28[J ]| Now and then I shall hope to have a friend in my little 103:029,29[J ]| cottage (I shall always have a bed for a friend); but the 103:029,30[J ]| most part of my future days will be spent in utter seclusion. 103:029,31[J ]| If I can but make both ends meet, that's all 103:029,32[J ]| I ask for." 103:029,33[F ]| "I hope, sister, things are not so very bad with you 103:029,34[F ]| neither ~~ considering. Sir*Thomas says you will have 103:029,35[F ]| six hundred a year." 103:029,36[J ]| "Lady*Bertram, I do not complain. I know I cannot 103:029,37[J ]| live as I have done, but I must retrench where I can, and 103:029,38[J ]| learn to be a better manager. I \have\ \been\ a liberal 103:030,01[J ]| housekeeper enough, but I shall not be ashamed to 103:030,02[J ]| practice economy now. My situation is as much altered 103:030,03[J ]| as my income. A great many things were due from 103:030,04[J ]| poor Mr%*Norris as clergyman of the parish, that cannot 103:030,05[J ]| be expected from me. It is unknown how much was 103:030,06[J ]| consumed in our kitchen by odd comers and goers. At 103:030,07[J ]| the White*house, matters must be better looked after. 103:030,08[J ]| I \must\ live within my income, or I shall be miserable; 103:030,09[J ]| and I own it would give me great satisfaction to be able 103:030,10[J ]| to do rather more ~~ to lay by a little at the end of the 103:030,11[J ]| year." 103:030,12[F ]| "I dare say you will. You always do, don't you?" 103:030,13[J ]| "My object, Lady*Bertram, is to be of use to those 103:030,14[J ]| that come after me. It is for your children's good that 103:030,15[J ]| I wish to be richer. I have nobody else to care for, but 103:030,16[J ]| I should be very glad to think I could leave a little trifle 103:030,17[J ]| among them, worth their having." 103:030,18[F ]| "You are very good, but do not trouble yourself about 103:030,19[F ]| them. They are sure of being well provided for. Sir*Thomas 103:030,20[F ]| will take care of that." 103:030,21[J ]| "Why, you know Sir*Thomas's means will be rather 103:030,22[J ]| straitened, if the Antigua estate is to make such poor 103:030,23[J ]| returns." 103:030,24[F ]| "Oh! \that\ will soon be settled. Sir*Thomas has been 103:030,25[F ]| writing about it, I know." 103:030,26[J ]| "Well, Lady*Bertram," 103:030,26[' ]| said Mrs%*Norris, moving to 103:030,27[' ]| go, 103:030,27[J ]| "I can only say that my sole desire is to be of use to 103:030,28[J ]| your family ~~ and so if Sir*Thomas should ever speak 103:030,29[J ]| again about my taking Fanny, you will be able to say, 103:030,30[J ]| that my health and spirits put it quite out of the question ~~ 103:030,31[J ]| besides that, I really should not have a bed to give 103:030,32[J ]| her, for I must keep a spare*room for a friend." 103:030,33[' ]| Lady*Bertram repeated enough of this conversation 103:030,34[' ]| to her husband, to convince him how much he had 103:030,35[' ]| mistaken his sister-in-law's views; and she was from 103:030,36[' ]| that moment perfectly safe from all expectation, or the 103:030,37[' ]| slightest allusion to it from him. 103:030,37@e | He could not but 103:030,38@e | wonder at her refusing to do any*thing for a niece, whom 103:031,01@e | she had been so forward to adopt; 103:031,01[' ]| but as she took early 103:031,02[' ]| care to make him, as well as Lady*Bertram, understand 103:031,03[' ]| that whatever she possessed was designed for their family, 103:031,04[' ]| he soon grew reconciled to a distinction, which 103:031,04@e | at the 103:031,05@e | same time that it was advantageous and complimentary 103:031,06@e | to them, would enable him better to provide for Fanny 103:031,07@e | himself. 103:031,08[' ]| Fanny soon learnt how unnecessary had been her fears 103:031,09[' ]| of a removal; and her spontaneous, untaught felicity on 103:031,10[' ]| the discovery, conveyed some consolation to Edmund 103:031,11[' ]| for his disappointment in what he had expected to be so 103:031,12[' ]| essentially serviceable to her. Mrs%*Norris took possession 103:031,13[' ]| of the White*house, the Grants arrived at the parsonage, 103:031,14[' ]| and these events over, every*thing at Mansfield went 103:031,15[' ]| on for some time as usual. 103:031,16[' ]| The Grants showing a disposition to be friendly and 103:031,17[' ]| sociable, gave great satisfaction in the main among their 103:031,18[' ]| new acquaintance. They had their faults, and Mrs%*Norris 103:031,19[' ]| soon found them out. The Dr% was very fond of 103:031,20[' ]| eating, and would have a good dinner every day; and 103:031,21[' ]| Mrs%*Grant, instead of contriving to gratify him at little 103:031,22[' ]| expense, gave her cook as high wages as they did at 103:031,23[' ]| Mansfield*Park, and was scarcely ever seen in her offices. 103:031,24[' ]| Mrs%*Norris could not speak with any temper of such 103:031,25[' ]| grievances, nor of the quantity of butter and eggs that 103:031,26[' ]| were regularly consumed in the house. 103:031,26[J ]| "Nobody loved 103:031,27[J ]| plenty and hospitality more than herself ~~ nobody more 103:031,28[J ]| hated pitiful doings ~~ the parsonage she believed had 103:031,29[J ]| never been wanting in comforts of any sort, had never 103:031,30[J ]| borne a bad character in \her\ \time\, but this was a way of 103:031,31[J ]| going on that she could not understand. A fine lady in 103:031,32[J ]| a country parsonage was quite out of place. \Her\ store-room 103:031,33[J ]| she thought might have been good enough for Mrs%*Grant 103:031,34[J ]| to go into. Enquire where she would, she could 103:031,35[J ]| not find out that Mrs%*Grant had ever had more than 103:031,36[J ]| five thousand pounds." 103:031,37[' ]| Lady*Bertram listened without much interest to this 103:031,38[' ]| sort of invective. She could not enter into the wrongs 103:032,01[' ]| of an economist, but she felt all the injuries of beauty 103:032,02[' ]| in Mrs%*Grant's being so well settled in life without being 103:032,03[' ]| handsome, and expressed her astonishment on that point 103:032,04[' ]| almost as often, though not so diffusely, as Mrs%*Norris 103:032,05[' ]| discussed the other. 103:032,06[' ]| These opinions had been hardly canvassed a year, 103:032,07[' ]| before another event arose of such importance in the 103:032,08[' ]| family, as might fairly claim some place in the thoughts 103:032,09[' ]| and conversation of the ladies. Sir*Thomas found it 103:032,10[' ]| expedient to go to Antigua himself, for the better arrangement 103:032,11[' ]| of his affairs, and he took his eldest son with him 103:032,12[' ]| in the hope of detaching him from some bad connections 103:032,13[' ]| at home. They left England with the probability of 103:032,14[' ]| being nearly a twelvemonth absent. 103:032,15[' ]| The necessity of the measure in a pecuniary light, and 103:032,16[' ]| the hope of its utility to his son, reconciled Sir*Thomas 103:032,17[' ]| to the effort of quitting the rest of his family, and of 103:032,18[' ]| leaving his daughters to the direction of others at their 103:032,19[' ]| present most interesting time of life. He could not 103:032,20[' ]| think Lady*Bertram quite equal to supply his place with 103:032,21[' ]| them, or rather to perform what should have been her 103:032,22[' ]| own; but in Mrs%*Norris's watchful attention, and in 103:032,23[' ]| Edmund's judgment, he had sufficient confidence to make 103:032,24[' ]| him go without fears for their conduct. 103:032,25[' ]| Lady*Bertram did not at all like to have her husband 103:032,26[' ]| leave her; but she was not disturbed by any alarm for 103:032,27[' ]| his safety, or solicitude for his comfort, being one of 103:032,28[' ]| those persons who think nothing can be dangerous or 103:032,29[' ]| difficult, or fatiguing to any*body but themselves. 103:032,30[' ]| The Miss*Bertrams were much to be pitied on the 103:032,31[' ]| occasion; not for their sorrow, but for their want of it. 103:032,32[' ]| Their father was no object of love to them, he had never 103:032,33[' ]| seemed the friend of their pleasures, and his absence 103:032,34[' ]| was unhappily most welcome. They were relieved by it 103:032,35[' ]| from all restraint; and without aiming at one gratification 103:032,36[' ]| that would probably have been forbidden by Sir*Thomas, 103:032,37[' ]| they felt themselves immediately at their own disposal, 103:032,38[' ]| and to have every indulgence within their reach. Fanny's 103:033,01[' ]| relief, and her consciousness of it, were quite equal to 103:033,02[' ]| her cousins', but a more tender nature suggested that her 103:033,03[' ]| feelings were ungrateful, and she really grieved because 103:033,04[' ]| she could not grieve. 103:033,04[A ]| "Sir*Thomas, who had done so 103:033,05[A ]| much for her and her brothers, and who was gone perhaps 103:033,06[A ]| never to return! that she should see him go without 103:033,07[A ]| a tear! ~~ it was a shameful insensibility." 103:033,07[' ]| He had said 103:033,08[' ]| to her moreover, on the very last morning, that 103:033,08@e | he hoped 103:033,09@e | she might see William again in the course of the ensuing 103:033,10@e | winter, and had charged her to write and invite him to 103:033,11@e | Mansfield as soon as the squadron to which he belonged 103:033,12@e | should be known to be in England. 103:033,12[A ]| "This was so 103:033,13[A ]| thoughtful and kind!" 103:033,13@a | ~~ and would he only have smiled 103:033,14@a | upon her and called her "my dear Fanny," while he said 103:033,15@a | it, every former frown or cold address might have been 103:033,16@a | forgotten. 103:033,16[' ]| But he had ended his speech in a way to sink 103:033,17[' ]| her in sad mortification, by adding, 103:033,17[E ]| "If William does 103:033,18[E ]| come to Mansfield, I hope you may be able to convince 103:033,19[E ]| him that the many years which have passed since you 103:033,20[E ]| parted, have not been spent on your side entirely without 103:033,21[E ]| improvement ~~ though I fear he must find his sister at 103:033,22[E ]| sixteen in some respects too much like his sister at ten." 103:033,23[' ]| She cried bitterly over this reflection when her uncle was 103:033,24[' ]| gone; and her cousins, on seeing her with red eyes, set 103:033,25[' ]| her down as a hypocrite. 104:034,01[' ]| Tom*Bertram had of late spent so little of his time 104:034,02[' ]| at home, that he could be only nominally missed; and 104:034,03[' ]| Lady*Bertram was soon 104:034,03@f | astonished to find how very well 104:034,04@f | they did even without his father, how well Edmund could 104:034,05@f | supply his place in carving, talking to the steward, 104:034,06@f | writing to the attorney, settling with the servants, 104:034,06[' ]| and 104:034,07[' ]| equally saving her from all possible fatigue or exertion 104:034,08[' ]| in every particular, but that of directing her letters. 104:034,09[' ]| The earliest intelligence of the travellers' safe arrival 104:034,10[' ]| in Antigua after a favourable voyage, was received; 104:034,11[' ]| though not before Mrs%*Norris had been indulging in very 104:034,12[' ]| dreadful fears, and trying to make Edmund participate 104:034,13[' ]| them whenever she could get him alone; and as she 104:034,14[' ]| depended on being the first person made acquainted with 104:034,15[' ]| any fatal catastrophe, she had already arranged the 104:034,16[' ]| manner of breaking it to all the others, when Sir*Thomas's 104:034,17[' ]| assurances of their both being alive and well, made it 104:034,18[' ]| necessary to lay by her agitation and affectionate preparatory 104:034,19[' ]| speeches for a while. 104:034,20[' ]| The winter came and passed without their being called 104:034,21[' ]| for; the accounts continued perfectly good; ~~ and Mrs%*Norris 104:034,22[' ]| in promoting gaieties for her nieces, assisting their 104:034,23[' ]| toilettes, displaying their accomplishments, and looking 104:034,24[' ]| about for their future husbands, had so much to do as, 104:034,25[' ]| in addition to all her own household cares, some interference 104:034,26[' ]| in those of her sister, and Mrs%*Grant's wasteful 104:034,27[' ]| doings to overlook, left her very little occasion to be 104:034,28[' ]| occupied even in fears for the absent. 104:034,29[' ]| The Miss*Bertrams were now fully established among 104:034,30[' ]| the belles of the neighbourhood; and as they joined to 104:034,31[' ]| beauty and brilliant acquirements, a manner naturally 104:034,32[' ]| easy, and carefully formed to general civility and obligingness, 104:034,33[' ]| they possessed its favour as well as its admiration. 104:035,01[' ]| Their vanity was in such good order, that they seemed 104:035,02[' ]| to be quite free from it, and gave themselves no airs; 104:035,03[' ]| while the praises attending such behaviour, secured, and 104:035,04[' ]| brought round by their aunt, served to strengthen them 104:035,05[' ]| in believing they had no faults. 104:035,06[' ]| Lady*Bertram did not go into public with her daughters. 104:035,07[' ]| She was too indolent even to accept a mother's gratification 104:035,08[' ]| in witnessing their success and enjoyment at the 104:035,09[' ]| expense of any personal trouble, and the charge was made 104:035,10[' ]| over to her sister, who desired nothing better than a post 104:035,11[' ]| of such honourable representation, and very thoroughly 104:035,12[' ]| relished the means it afforded her of mixing in society 104:035,13[' ]| without having horses to hire. 104:035,14[' ]| Fanny had no share in the festivities of the season; 104:035,15[' ]| but she enjoyed being avowedly useful as her aunt's 104:035,16[' ]| companion, when they called away the rest of the family; 104:035,17[' ]| and as Miss*Lee had left Mansfield, she naturally became 104:035,18[' ]| every*thing to Lady*Bertram during the night of a ball 104:035,19[' ]| or a party. She talked to her, listened to her, read to 104:035,20[' ]| her; and the tranquillity of such evenings, her perfect 104:035,21[' ]| security in such a \te^te-a`-te^te\ from any sound of unkindness, 104:035,22[' ]| was unspeakably welcome to a mind which had seldom 104:035,23[' ]| known a pause in its alarms or embarrassments. 104:035,23@a | As to 104:035,24@a | her cousins' gaieties, she loved to hear an account of them, 104:035,25@a | especially of the balls, and whom Edmund had danced 104:035,26@a | with; but thought too lowly of her own situation to 104:035,27@a | imagine she should ever be admitted to the same, and 104:035,28@a | listened therefore without an idea of any nearer concern 104:035,29@a | in them. Upon the whole, it was a comfortable winter 104:035,30@a | to her; for though it brought no William to England, 104:035,31@a | the never failing hope of his arrival was worth much. 104:035,32[' ]| The ensuing spring deprived her of her valued friend 104:035,33[' ]| the old grey poney, and for some time she was in danger 104:035,34[' ]| of feeling the loss in her health as well as in her affections, 104:035,35[' ]| for in spite of the acknowledged importance of her riding 104:035,36[' ]| on horseback, no measures were taken for mounting her 104:035,37[' ]| again, 104:035,37[Y ]| "because," 104:035,37[' ]| as it was observed by her aunts, 104:035,37[Y ]| "she 104:035,38[Y ]| might ride one of her cousins' horses at any time when 104:036,01[Y ]| they did not want them;" 104:036,01[' ]| and as the Miss*Bertrams 104:036,02[' ]| regularly wanted their horses every fine day, and had 104:036,03[' ]| no idea of carrying their obliging manners to the sacrifice 104:036,04[' ]| of any real pleasure, that time of course never came. 104:036,05[' ]| They took their cheerful rides in the fine mornings of 104:036,06[' ]| April and May; and Fanny either sat at home the whole 104:036,07[' ]| day with one aunt, or walked beyond her strength at the 104:036,08[' ]| instigation of the other; Lady*Bertram holding exercise 104:036,09[' ]| to be as unnecessary for every*body as it was unpleasant 104:036,10[' ]| to herself; and Mrs%*Norris, who was walking all day, 104:036,11[' ]| thinking every*body ought to walk as much. Edmund 104:036,12[' ]| was absent at this time, or the evil would have been 104:036,13[' ]| earlier remedied. When he returned to understand how 104:036,14[' ]| Fanny was situated, and perceive its ill effects, there 104:036,15[' ]| seemed with him but one thing to be done, and that 104:036,16[B ]| "Fanny must have a horse," 104:036,16[' ]| was the resolute declaration 104:036,17[' ]| with which he opposed whatever could be urged by the 104:036,18[' ]| supineness of his mother, or the economy of his aunt, to 104:036,19[' ]| make it appear unimportant. Mrs%*Norris 104:036,19@j | could not help 104:036,20@j | thinking that some steady old thing might be found 104:036,21@j | among the numbers belonging to the Park, that would do 104:036,22@j | vastly well, or that one might be borrowed of the steward, 104:036,23@j | or that perhaps Dr%*Grant might now and then lend 104:036,24@j | them the poney he sent to the post. She could not but 104:036,25@j | consider it as absolutely unnecessary, and even improper, 104:036,26@j | that Fanny should have a regular lady's horse of her own 104:036,27@j | in the style of her cousins. She was sure Sir*Thomas 104:036,28@j | had never intended it; and she must say, that to be 104:036,29@j | making such a purchase in his absence, and adding to 104:036,30@j | the great expenses of his stable at a time when a large 104:036,31@j | part of his income was unsettled, seemed to her very 104:036,32@j | unjustifiable. 104:036,32[B ]| "Fanny must have a horse," 104:036,32[' ]| was Edmund's 104:036,33[' ]| only reply. Mrs%*Norris could not see it in the same light. 104:036,34[' ]| Lady*Bertram did; 104:036,34@f | she entirely agreed with her son as 104:036,35@f | to the necessity of it, and as to its being considered 104:036,36@f | necessary by his father; ~~ she only pleaded against there 104:036,37@f | being any hurry, she only wanted him to wait till Sir*Thomas's 104:036,38@f | return, and then Sir*Thomas might settle it all 104:037,01@f | himself. He would be at home in September, and where 104:037,02@f | would be the harm of only waiting till September? 104:037,03[' ]| Though Edmund was much more displeased with his 104:037,04[' ]| aunt than with his mother, as evincing least regard for 104:037,05[' ]| her niece, he could not help paying more attention to 104:037,06[' ]| what she said, and at length determined on a method 104:037,07[' ]| of proceeding which would obviate the risk of his father's 104:037,08[' ]| thinking he had done too much, and at the same time 104:037,09[' ]| procure for Fanny the immediate means of exercise, 104:037,10[' ]| which he could not bear she should be without. He had 104:037,11[' ]| three horses of his own, but not one that would carry 104:037,12[' ]| a woman. Two of them were hunters; the third, 104:037,13[' ]| a useful road-horse: this third he resolved to exchange 104:037,14[' ]| for one that his cousin might ride; he knew where such 104:037,15[' ]| a one was to be met with, and having once made up his 104:037,16[' ]| mind, the whole business was soon completed. The new 104:037,17[' ]| mare proved a treasure; with a very little trouble, she 104:037,18[' ]| became exactly calculated for the purpose, and Fanny 104:037,19[' ]| was then put in almost full possession of her. She had 104:037,20[' ]| not supposed before, that any*thing could ever suit her 104:037,21[' ]| like the old grey poney; but 104:037,21@a | her delight in Edmund's 104:037,22@a | mare was far beyond any former pleasure of the sort; 104:037,23@a | and the addition it was ever receiving in the consideration 104:037,24@a | of that kindness from which her pleasure sprung, 104:037,25@a | was beyond all her words to express. She regarded her 104:037,26@a | cousin as an example of every*thing good and great, as 104:037,27@a | possessing worth, which no*one but herself could ever 104:037,28@a | appreciate, and as entitled to such gratitude from her, 104:037,29@a | as no feelings could be strong enough to pay. 104:037,29[' ]| Her 104:037,30[' ]| sentiments towards him were compounded of all that 104:037,31[' ]| was respectful, grateful, confiding, and tender. 104:037,32[' ]| As the horse continued in name as well as fact, the 104:037,33[' ]| property of Edmund, Mrs%*Norris could tolerate its being 104:037,34[' ]| for Fanny's use; and had Lady*Bertram ever thought 104:037,35[' ]| about her own objection again, he might have been 104:037,36[' ]| excused in her eyes, for not waiting till Sir*Thomas's 104:037,37[' ]| return in September, for when September came, Sir*Thomas 104:037,38[' ]| was still abroad, and without any near prospect 104:038,01[' ]| of finishing his business. Unfavourable circumstances 104:038,02[' ]| had suddenly arisen at a moment when he was beginning 104:038,03[' ]| to turn all his thoughts towards England, and the very 104:038,04[' ]| great uncertainty in which every*thing was then involved, 104:038,05[' ]| determined him on sending home his son, and waiting 104:038,06[' ]| the final arrangement by himself. Tom arrived safely, 104:038,07[' ]| bringing an excellent account of his father's health; but 104:038,08[' ]| to very little purpose, as far as Mrs%*Norris was concerned. 104:038,09[' ]| Sir*Thomas's sending away his son, seemed to her 104:038,09@j | so like 104:038,10@j | a parent's care, under the influence of a foreboding of 104:038,11@j | evil to himself, that she could not help feeling dreadful 104:038,12@j | presentiments; and as the long evenings of autumn 104:038,13@j | came on, was so terribly haunted by these ideas, in 104:038,14@j | the sad solitariness of her cottage, as to be obliged to 104:038,15@j | take daily refuge in the dining*room of the park. 104:038,15[' ]| The 104:038,16[' ]| return of winter engagements, however, was not without 104:038,17[' ]| its effect; and in the course of their progress, her mind 104:038,18[' ]| became so pleasantly occupied in superintending the 104:038,19[' ]| fortunes of her eldest niece, as tolerably to quiet her 104:038,20[' ]| nerves. 104:038,20@j | "If poor Sir*Thomas were fated never to return, 104:038,21@j | it would be peculiarly consoling to see their dear Maria 104:038,22@j | well married," 104:038,22[' ]| she very often thought; always when they 104:038,23[' ]| were in the company of men of fortune, and particularly 104:038,24[' ]| on the introduction of a young man who had recently 104:038,25[' ]| succeeded to one of the largest estates and finest places 104:038,26[' ]| in the country. 104:038,27[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth was from the first struck with the 104:038,28[' ]| beauty of Miss*Bertram, and being inclined to marry, 104:038,29[' ]| soon fancied himself in love. He was a heavy young 104:038,30[' ]| man, with not more than common sense; but as there 104:038,31[' ]| was nothing disagreeable in his figure or address, the 104:038,32[' ]| young lady was well pleased with her conquest. Being 104:038,33[' ]| now in her twenty-first year, Maria*Bertram was beginning 104:038,34[' ]| to think matrimony a duty; and as a marriage 104:038,35[' ]| with Mr%*Rushworth would give her the enjoyment of 104:038,36[' ]| a larger income than her father's, as well as ensure her 104:038,37[' ]| the house in town, which was now a prime object, it 104:038,38[' ]| became, by the same rule of moral obligation, her evident 104:039,01[' ]| duty to marry Mr%*Rushworth if she could. Mrs%*Norris 104:039,02[' ]| was most zealous in promoting the match, by every 104:039,03[' ]| suggestion and contrivance, likely to enhance its desirableness 104:039,04[' ]| to either party; and, among other means, by 104:039,05[' ]| seeking an intimacy with the gentleman's mother, who 104:039,06[' ]| at present lived with him, and to whom she even forced 104:039,07[' ]| Lady*Bertram to go through ten miles of indifferent road, 104:039,08[' ]| to pay a morning visit. It was not long before a good 104:039,09[' ]| understanding took place between this lady and herself. 104:039,10[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth acknowledged herself 104:039,10@l | very desirous that 104:039,11@l | her son should marry, 104:039,11[' ]| and declared that 104:039,11@l | of all the young 104:039,12@l | ladies she had ever seen, Miss*Bertram seemed, by her 104:039,13@l | amiable qualities and accomplishments, the best adapted 104:039,14@l | to make him happy. 104:039,14[' ]| Mrs%*Norris accepted the compliment, 104:039,15[' ]| and admired the nice discernment of character 104:039,16[' ]| which could so well distinguish merit. 104:039,16@j | Maria was indeed 104:039,17@j | the pride and delight of them all ~~ perfectly faultless ~~ an 104:039,18@j | angel; and of course, so surrounded by admirers, must 104:039,19@j | be difficult in her choice; but yet as far as Mrs%*Norris 104:039,20@j | could allow herself to decide on so short an acquaintance, 104:039,21@j | Mr%*Rushworth appeared precisely the young man to 104:039,22@j | deserve and attach her. 104:039,23[' ]| After dancing with each other at a proper number of 104:039,24[' ]| balls, the young people justified these opinions, and an 104:039,25[' ]| engagement, with a due reference to the absent Sir*Thomas, 104:039,26[' ]| was entered into, much to the satisfaction of 104:039,27[' ]| their respective families, and of the general lookers-on 104:039,28[' ]| of the neighbourhood, who had, for many weeks past, 104:039,29[' ]| felt the expediency of Mr%*Rushworth's marrying Miss*Bertram. 104:039,30[' ]| 104:039,31[' ]| It was some months before Sir*Thomas's consent could 104:039,32[' ]| be received; but in the mean*while, as no*one felt a doubt 104:039,33[' ]| of his most cordial pleasure in the connection, the intercourse 104:039,34[' ]| of the two families was carried on without restraint, 104:039,35[' ]| and no other attempt made at secrecy, than Mrs%*Norris's 104:039,36[' ]| talking of it every*where as 104:039,36@j | a matter not to be talked of 104:039,37@j | at present. 104:039,38[' ]| Edmund was the only one of the family who could see 104:040,01[' ]| a fault in the business; but no representation of his 104:040,02[' ]| aunt's could induce him to find Mr%*Rushworth a desirable 104:040,03[' ]| companion. He could allow his sister to be the best 104:040,04[' ]| judge of her own happiness, but he was not pleased that 104:040,05[' ]| her happiness should centre in a large income; nor could 104:040,06[' ]| he refrain from often saying to himself, in Mr%*Rushworth's 104:040,07[' ]| company, 104:040,07[B ]| "If this man had not twelve thousand 104:040,08[B ]| a year, he would be a very stupid fellow." 104:040,09[' ]| Sir*Thomas, however, was truly happy in the prospect 104:040,10[' ]| of an alliance so unquestionably advantageous, and of 104:040,11[' ]| which he heard nothing but the perfectly good and 104:040,12[' ]| agreeable. 104:040,12@e | It was a connection exactly of the right sort; 104:040,13@e | in the same county, and the same interest; 104:040,13[' ]| and his most 104:040,14[' ]| hearty concurrence was conveyed as soon as possible. 104:040,15[' ]| He only conditioned that the marriage should not take 104:040,16[' ]| place before his return, which he was again looking 104:040,17[' ]| eagerly forward to. He wrote in April, 104:040,17@e | and had strong 104:040,18@e | hopes of settling every*thing to his entire satisfaction, 104:040,19@e | and leaving Antigua before the end of the summer. 104:040,20[' ]| Such was the state of affairs in the month of July, 104:040,21[' ]| and Fanny had just reached her eighteenth year, when 104:040,22[' ]| the society of the village received an addition in the 104:040,23[' ]| brother and sister of Mrs%*Grant, a Mr% and 104:040,23[' ]| Miss*Crawford, 104:040,24[' ]| the children of her mother by a second marriage. They 104:040,25[' ]| were young people of fortune. The son had a good 104:040,26[' ]| estate in Norfolk, the daughter twenty thousand pounds. 104:040,27[' ]| As children, their sister had been always very fond of 104:040,28[' ]| them; but, as her own marriage had been soon followed 104:040,29[' ]| by the death of their common parent, which left them to 104:040,30[' ]| the care of a brother of their father, of whom Mrs%*Grant 104:040,31[' ]| knew nothing, she had scarcely seen them since. In 104:040,32[' ]| their uncle's house they had found a kind home. 104:040,32[' ]| Admiral 104:040,33[' ]| and Mrs%*Crawford, though agreeing in nothing else, were 104:040,34[' ]| united in affection for these children, or at least were no 104:040,35[' ]| farther adverse in their feelings than that each had their 104:040,36[' ]| favourite, to whom they showed the greatest fondness 104:040,37[' ]| of the two. The Admiral delighted in the boy, Mrs%*Crawford 104:040,38[' ]| doated on the girl; and it was the lady's death 104:041,01[' ]| which now obliged her \protege=e\, after some months 104:041,02[' ]| further trial at her uncle's house, to find another home. 104:041,03[' ]| Admiral*Crawford was a man of vicious conduct, who 104:041,04[' ]| chose, instead of retaining his niece, to bring his mistress 104:041,05[' ]| under his own roof; and to this Mrs%*Grant was indebted 104:041,06[' ]| for her sister's proposal of coming to her, a measure quite 104:041,07[' ]| as welcome on one side, as it could be expedient on the 104:041,08[' ]| other; for Mrs%*Grant having by this time run through 104:041,09[' ]| the usual resources of ladies residing in the country 104:041,10[' ]| without a family of children; having more than filled 104:041,11[' ]| her favourite sitting-room with pretty furniture, and 104:041,12[' ]| made a choice collection of plants and poultry, was very 104:041,13[' ]| much in want of some variety at home. The arrival, 104:041,14[' ]| therefore, of a sister whom she had always loved, and 104:041,15[' ]| now hoped to retain with her as long as she remained 104:041,16[' ]| single, was highly agreeable; and her chief anxiety was 104:041,17[' ]| lest Mansfield should not satisfy the habits of a young 104:041,18[' ]| woman who had been mostly used to London. 104:041,19[' ]| Miss*Crawford was not entirely free from similar apprehensions, 104:041,20[' ]| though they arose principally from doubts of 104:041,21[' ]| her sister's style of living and tone of society; and it 104:041,22[' ]| was not till after she had tried in vain to persuade her 104:041,23[' ]| brother to settle with her at his own country-house, that 104:041,24[' ]| she could resolve to hazard herself among her other 104:041,25[' ]| relations. To any*thing like a permanence of abode, or 104:041,26[' ]| limitation of society, Henry*Crawford had, unluckily, 104:041,27[' ]| a great dislike; he could not accommodate his sister in 104:041,28[' ]| an article of such importance, but he escorted her, with 104:041,29[' ]| the utmost kindness, into Northamptonshire, and as 104:041,30[' ]| readily engaged to fetch her away again at half an hour's 104:041,31[' ]| notice, whenever she were weary of the place. 104:041,32[' ]| The meeting was very satisfactory on each side. Miss*Crawford 104:041,33[' ]| found 104:041,33@c | a sister without preciseness or rusticity ~~ 104:041,34@c | a sister's husband who looked the gentleman, and a house 104:041,35@c | commodious and well fitted up; 104:041,35[' ]| and Mrs%*Grant received 104:041,36@n | in those whom she hoped to love better than ever, a young 104:041,37@n | man and woman of very prepossessing appearance. 104:041,38[' ]| Mary*Crawford was remarkably pretty; Henry, though 104:042,01[' ]| not handsome, had air and countenance; the manners 104:042,02[' ]| of both were lively and pleasant, and Mrs%*Grant immediately 104:042,03[' ]| gave them credit for every*thing else. She was 104:042,04[' ]| delighted with each, but Mary was her dearest object; 104:042,05[' ]| and having never been able to glory in beauty of her own, 104:042,06[' ]| she thoroughly enjoyed the power of being proud of her 104:042,07[' ]| sister's. She had not waited her arrival to look out for 104:042,08[' ]| a suitable match for her; she had fixed on Tom*Bertram; 104:042,09@n | the eldest son of a Baronet was not too good for a girl 104:042,10@n | of twenty thousand pounds, with all the elegance and 104:042,11@n | accomplishments 104:042,11[' ]| which Mrs%*Grant foresaw in her; and 104:042,12[' ]| being a warm-hearted, unreserved woman, Mary had not 104:042,13[' ]| been three hours in the house before she told her what 104:042,14[' ]| she had planned. 104:042,15[' ]| Miss*Crawford was glad to find a family of such consequence 104:042,16[' ]| so very near them, and not at all displeased 104:042,17[' ]| either at her sister's early care, or the choice it had fallen 104:042,18[' ]| on. Matrimony was her object, provided she could marry 104:042,19[' ]| well, and having seen Mr%*Bertram in town, she knew 104:042,20[' ]| that objection could no more be made to his person than 104:042,21[' ]| to his situation in life. While she treated it as a joke, 104:042,22[' ]| therefore, she did not forget to think of it seriously. The 104:042,23[' ]| scheme was soon repeated to Henry. 104:042,24[N ]| "And now," 104:042,24[' ]| added Mrs%*Grant, 104:042,24[N ]| "I have thought of 104:042,25[N ]| something to make it quite complete. I should dearly 104:042,26[N ]| love to settle you both in this country, and therefore, 104:042,27[N ]| Henry, you shall marry the youngest Miss*Bertram, 104:042,28[N ]| a nice, handsome, good-humoured, accomplished girl, 104:042,29[N ]| who will make you very happy." 104:042,30[' ]| Henry bowed and thanked her. 104:042,31[C ]| "My dear sister," 104:042,31[' ]| said Mary, 104:042,31[C ]| "if you can persuade 104:042,32[C ]| him into any*thing of the sort, it will be a fresh matter 104:042,33[C ]| of delight to me, to find myself allied to any*body so 104:042,34[C ]| clever, and I shall only regret that you have not half-a-dozen 104:042,35[C ]| daughters to dispose of. If you can persuade 104:042,36[C ]| Henry to marry, you must have the address of a Frenchwoman. 104:042,37[C ]| All that English abilities can do, has been 104:042,38[C ]| tried already. I have three very particular friends who 104:043,01[C ]| have been all dying for him in their turn; and the pains 104:043,02[C ]| which they, their mothers, (very clever women,) as well 104:043,03[C ]| as my dear aunt and myself, have taken to reason, coax, 104:043,04[C ]| or trick him into marrying, is inconceivable! He is the 104:043,05[C ]| most horrible flirt that can be imagined. If your Miss*Bertrams 104:043,06[C ]| do not like to have their hearts broke, let them 104:043,07[C ]| avoid Henry." 104:043,08[N ]| "My dear brother, I will not believe this of you." 104:043,09[D ]| "No, I am sure you are too good. You will be kinder 104:043,10[D ]| than Mary. You will allow for the doubts of youth and 104:043,11[D ]| inexperience. I am of a cautious temper, and unwilling 104:043,12[D ]| to risk my happiness in a hurry. Nobody can think 104:043,13[D ]| more highly of the matrimonial state than myself. I consider 104:043,14[D ]| the blessing of a wife as most justly described in 104:043,15[D ]| those discreet lines of the poet, 104:043,15@z | "Heaven's \last\ best gift." 104:043,16[C ]| "There, Mrs%*Grant, you see how he dwells on one 104:043,17[C ]| word, and only look at his smile. I assure you he is very 104:043,18[C ]| detestable ~~ the admiral's lessons have quite spoiled him." 104:043,19[N ]| "I pay very little regard," 104:043,19[' ]| said Mrs%*Grant, 104:043,19[N ]| "to what 104:043,20[N ]| any young person says on the subject of marriage. If 104:043,21[N ]| they profess a disinclination for it, I only set it down that 104:043,22[N ]| they have not yet seen the right person." 104:043,23[' ]| Dr%*Grant laughingly congratulated Miss*Crawford on 104:043,24@m | feeling no disinclination to the state herself. 104:043,25[C ]| "Oh! yes, I am not at all ashamed of it. I would 104:043,26[C ]| have every*body marry if they can do it properly; I do 104:043,27[C ]| not like to have people throw themselves away; but 104:043,28[C ]| every*body should marry as soon as they can do it to 104:043,29[C ]| advantage." 105:044,01[' ]| The young people were pleased with each other from 105:044,02[' ]| the first. On each side there was much to attract, and 105:044,03[' ]| their acquaintance soon promised as early an intimacy 105:044,04[' ]| as good manners would warrant. Miss*Crawford's beauty 105:044,05[' ]| did her no disservice with the Miss*Bertrams. They were 105:044,06[' ]| too handsome themselves to dislike any woman for being so 105:044,07[' ]| too, and were almost as much charmed as their brothers, 105:044,08[' ]| with her lively dark eye, clear brown complexion, and 105:044,09[' ]| general prettiness. Had she been tall, full formed, and 105:044,10[' ]| fair, it might have been more of a trial; but as it was, 105:044,11[' ]| there could be no comparison, and she was most allowably 105:044,12[' ]| a sweet pretty girl, while they were the finest young 105:044,13[' ]| women in the country. 105:044,14@y | Her brother was not handsome; no, when they first 105:044,15@y | saw him, he was absolutely plain, black and plain; but 105:044,16@y | still he was the gentleman, with a pleasing address. The 105:044,17@y | second meeting proved him not so very plain; he was 105:044,18@y | plain, to be sure, but then he had so much countenance, 105:044,19@y | and his teeth were so good, and he was so well made, 105:044,20@y | that one soon forgot he was plain; 105:044,20[' ]| and after a third 105:044,21[' ]| interview, after dining in company with him at the 105:044,22[' ]| parsonage, he was no longer allowed to be called so by 105:044,23[' ]| any*body. He was, in fact, the most agreeable young 105:044,24[' ]| man the sisters had ever known, and they were equally 105:044,25[' ]| delighted with him. Miss*Bertram's engagement made 105:044,26[' ]| him in equity the property of Julia, of which Julia was 105:044,27[' ]| fully aware, and before he had been at Mansfield a week, 105:044,28[' ]| she was quite ready to be fallen in love with. 105:044,29[' ]| Maria's notions on the subject were more confused and 105:044,30[' ]| indistinct. She did not want to see or understand. 105:044,31[H ]| "There could be no harm in her liking an agreeable 105:044,32[H ]| man ~~ every*body knew her situation ~~ Mr%*Crawford 105:044,33[H ]| must take care of himself." 105:044,33[' ]| Mr%*Crawford did not mean 105:045,01[' ]| to be in any danger; 105:045,01@d | the Miss*Bertrams were worth 105:045,02@d | pleasing, and were ready to be pleased; 105:045,02[' ]| and he began 105:045,03[' ]| with no object but of making them like him. 105:045,03@d | He did 105:045,04@d | not want them to die of love; 105:045,04[' ]| but with sense and temper 105:045,05[' ]| which ought to have made him judge and feel better, he 105:045,06[' ]| allowed himself great latitude on such points. 105:045,07[D ]| "I like your Miss*Bertrams exceedingly, sister," 105:045,07[' ]| said he, 105:045,08[' ]| as he returned from attending them to their carriage 105:045,09[' ]| after the said dinner visit; 105:045,09[D ]| "they are very elegant, 105:045,10[D ]| agreeable girls." 105:045,11[N ]| "So they are, indeed, and I am delighted to hear you 105:045,12[N ]| say it. But you like Julia best." 105:045,13[D ]| "Oh! yes, I like Julia best." 105:045,14[N ]| "But do you really? for Miss*Bertram is in general 105:045,15[N ]| thought the handsomest." 105:045,16[D ]| "So I should suppose. She has the advantage in 105:045,17[D ]| every feature, and I prefer her countenance ~~ but I like 105:045,18[D ]| Julia best. Miss*Bertram is certainly the handsomest, 105:045,19[D ]| and I have found her the most agreeable, but I shall 105:045,20[D ]| always like Julia best, because you order me." 105:045,21[N ]| "I shall not talk to you, Henry, but I know you \will\ 105:045,22[N ]| like her best at last." 105:045,23[D ]| "Do not I tell you, that I like her best \at\ \first\?" 105:045,24[N ]| "And besides, Miss*Bertram is engaged. Remember 105:045,25[N ]| that, my dear brother. Her choice is made." 105:045,26[D ]| "Yes, and I like her the better for it. An engaged 105:045,27[D ]| woman is always more agreeable than a disengaged. 105:045,28[D ]| She is satisfied with herself. Her cares are over, and she 105:045,29[D ]| feels that she may exert all her powers of pleasing without 105:045,30[D ]| suspicion. All is safe with a lady engaged; no harm 105:045,31[D ]| can be done." 105:045,32[N ]| "Why as to that ~~ Mr%*Rushworth is a very good sort 105:045,33[N ]| of young man, and it is a great match for her." 105:045,34[D ]| "But Miss*Bertram does not care three straws for him; 105:045,35[D ]| \that\ is your opinion of your intimate friend. \I\ do not 105:045,36[D ]| subscribe to it. I am sure Miss*Bertram is very much 105:045,37[D ]| attached to Mr%*Rushworth. I could see it in her eyes, 105:045,38[D ]| when he was mentioned. I think too well of Miss*Bertram 105:046,01[D ]| to suppose she would ever give her hand without her 105:046,02[D ]| heart." 105:046,03[N ]| "Mary, how shall we manage him?" 105:046,04[C ]| "We must leave him to himself I believe. Talking 105:046,05[C ]| does no good. He will be taken in at last." 105:046,06[N ]| "But I would not have him \taken\ \in\, I would not have 105:046,07[N ]| him duped; I would have it all fair and honourable." 105:046,08[C ]| "Oh! dear ~~ Let him stand his chance and be taken in. 105:046,09[C ]| It will do just as well. Every*body is taken in at some 105:046,10[C ]| period or other." 105:046,11[N ]| "Not always in marriage, dear Mary." 105:046,12[C ]| "In marriage especially. With all due respect to such 105:046,13[C ]| of the present company as chance to be married, my dear 105:046,14[C ]| Mrs%*Grant, there is not one in a hundred of either sex, 105:046,15[C ]| who is not taken in when they marry. Look where I will, 105:046,16[C ]| I see that it \is\ so; and I feel that it \must\ be so, when 105:046,17[C ]| I consider that it is, of all transactions, the one in which 105:046,18[C ]| people expect most from others, and are least honest 105:046,19[C ]| themselves." 105:046,20[N ]| "Ah! You have been in a bad school for matrimony, 105:046,21[N ]| in Hill*Street." 105:046,22[C ]| "My poor aunt had certainly little cause to love the 105:046,23[C ]| state; but, however, speaking from my own observation, 105:046,24[C ]| it is a mano*euvring business. I know so many who have 105:046,25[C ]| married in the full expectation and confidence of some 105:046,26[C ]| one particular advantage in the connection, or accomplishment 105:046,27[C ]| or good quality in the person, who have found 105:046,28[C ]| themselves entirely deceived, and been obliged to put up 105:046,29[C ]| with exactly the reverse! What is this, but a take*in?" 105:046,30[N ]| "My dear child, there must be a little imagination here. 105:046,31[N ]| I beg your pardon, but I cannot quite believe you. 105:046,32[N ]| Depend upon it, you see but half. You see the evil, but 105:046,33[N ]| you do not see the consolation. There will be little rubs 105:046,34[N ]| and disappointments every*where, and we are all apt to 105:046,35[N ]| expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness 105:046,36[N ]| fails, human nature turns to another; if the first calculation 105:046,37[N ]| is wrong, we make a second better; we find comfort 105:046,38[N ]| somewhere ~~ and those evil-minded observers, dearest 105:047,01[N ]| Mary, who make much of a little, are more taken in and 105:047,02[N ]| deceived than the parties themselves." 105:047,03[C ]| "Well done, sister! I honour your \esprit*du*corps\. 105:047,04[C ]| When I am a wife, I mean to be just as staunch myself; 105:047,05[C ]| and I wish my friends in general would be so too. It 105:047,06[C ]| would save me many a heart-ache." 105:047,07[N ]| "You are as bad as your brother, Mary; but we will 105:047,08[N ]| cure you both. Mansfield shall cure you both ~~ and without 105:047,09[N ]| any taking in. Stay with us and we will cure you." 105:047,10[' ]| The Crawfords, without wanting to be cured, were very 105:047,11[' ]| willing to stay. Mary was satisfied with the parsonage 105:047,12[' ]| as a present home, and Henry equally ready to lengthen 105:047,13[' ]| his visit. He had come, intending to spend only a few 105:047,14[' ]| days with them, but 105:047,14@d | Mansfield promised well, and there 105:047,15@d | was nothing to call him elsewhere. 105:047,15[' ]| It delighted Mrs%*Grant 105:047,16[' ]| to keep them both with her, and Dr%*Grant was exceedingly 105:047,17[' ]| well contented to have it so; a talking pretty young 105:047,18[' ]| woman like Miss*Crawford, is always pleasant society to 105:047,19[' ]| an indolent, stay-at-home man; and Mr%*Crawford's being 105:047,20[' ]| his guest was an excuse for drinking claret every day. 105:047,21[' ]| The Miss*Bertrams' admiration of Mr%*Crawford was 105:047,22[' ]| more rapturous than any*thing which Miss*Crawford's 105:047,23[' ]| habits made her likely to feel. She acknowledged, however, 105:047,24[' ]| that 105:047,24@c | the Mr%*Bertrams were very fine young men, 105:047,25[' ]| that 105:047,25@c | two such young men were not often seen together 105:047,26@c | even in London, 105:047,26[' ]| and that 105:047,26@c | their manners, particularly 105:047,27@c | those of the eldest, were very good. \He\ had been much in 105:047,28@c | London, and had more liveliness and gallantry than 105:047,29@c | Edmund, and must, therefore, be preferred; and, indeed, 105:047,30@c | his being the eldest was another strong claim. She had 105:047,31@c | felt an early presentiment that she \should\ like the eldest 105:047,32@c | best. She knew it was her way. 105:047,33[' ]| Tom*Bertram must have been thought pleasant, indeed, 105:047,34[' ]| at any rate; he was the sort of young man to be generally 105:047,35[' ]| liked, his agreeableness was of the kind to be oftener 105:047,36[' ]| found agreeable than some endowments of a higher 105:047,37[' ]| stamp, for he had easy manners, excellent spirits, a large 105:047,38[' ]| acquaintance, and a great deal to say; and the reversion 105:048,01[' ]| of Mansfield*Park, and a baronetcy, did no harm to all 105:048,02[' ]| this. Miss*Crawford soon felt, that 105:048,02@c | he and his situation 105:048,03@c | might do. 105:048,03[' ]| She looked about her with due consideration, 105:048,04[' ]| and found 105:048,04@c | almost every*thing in his favour, a park, a real 105:048,05@c | park five miles round, a spacious modern-built house, so 105:048,06@c | well placed and well screened as to deserve to be in any 105:048,07@c | collection of engravings of gentlemen's seats in the 105:048,08@c | kingdom, and wanting only to be completely new furnished ~~ 105:048,09@c | pleasant sisters, a quiet mother, and an agreeable 105:048,10@c | man himself ~~ with the advantage of being tied up from 105:048,11@c | much gaming at present, by a promise to his father, 105:048,12@c | and of being Sir*Thomas hereafter. It might do very 105:048,13@c | well; she believed she should accept him; and she 105:048,14@c | began accordingly to interest herself a little about the 105:048,15@c | horse which he had to run at the B**** races. 105:048,16@c | These races were to call him away not long after their 105:048,17@c | acquaintance began; and as it appeared that the family 105:048,18@c | did not, from his usual goings*on, expect him back again 105:048,19@c | for many weeks, it would bring his passion to an early 105:048,20@c | proof. 105:048,20[' ]| Much was said on his side to induce her to attend 105:048,21[' ]| the races, and schemes were made for a large party to 105:048,22[' ]| them, with all the eagerness of inclination, but it would 105:048,23[' ]| only do to be talked of. 105:048,24[' ]| And Fanny, what was \she\ doing and thinking all this 105:048,25[' ]| while? and what was \her\ opinion of the new-comers? 105:048,26[' ]| Few young ladies of eighteen could be less called on to 105:048,27[' ]| speak their opinion than Fanny. In a quiet way, very 105:048,28[' ]| little attended to, she paid her tribute of admiration to 105:048,29[' ]| Miss*Crawford's beauty; but as she still continued to 105:048,30[' ]| think Mr%*Crawford very plain, in spite of her two cousins 105:048,31[' ]| having repeatedly proved the contrary, she never mentioned 105:048,32[' ]| \him\. The notice which she excited herself, was 105:048,33[' ]| to this effect. 105:048,33[C ]| "I begin now to understand you all, 105:048,34[C ]| except Miss*Price," 105:048,34[' ]| said Miss*Crawford, as she was walking 105:048,35[' ]| with the Mr%*Bertrams. 105:048,35[C ]| "Pray, is she out, or is she not? 105:048,36[C ]| ~~ I am puzzled. ~~ She dined at the parsonage, with the 105:048,37[C ]| rest of you, which seemed like being \out\; and yet she 105:048,38[C ]| says so little, that I can hardly suppose she \is\." 105:049,01[' ]| Edmund, to whom this was chiefly addressed, replied, 105:049,02[B ]| "I believe I know what you mean ~~ but I will not undertake 105:049,03[B ]| to answer the question. My cousin is grown up. 105:049,04[B ]| She has the age and sense of a woman, but the outs and 105:049,05[B ]| not outs are beyond me." 105:049,06[C ]| "And yet in general, nothing can be more easily ascertained. 105:049,07[C ]| The distinction is so broad. Manners as well as 105:049,08[C ]| appearance are, generally speaking, so totally different. 105:049,09[C ]| Till now, I could not have supposed it possible to be mistaken 105:049,10[C ]| as to a girl's being out or not. A girl not out, has 105:049,11[C ]| always the same sort of dress; a close bonnet for instance, 105:049,12[C ]| looks very demure, and never says a word. You may 105:049,13[C ]| smile ~~ but it is so I assure you ~~ and except that it is 105:049,14[C ]| sometimes carried a little too far, it is all very proper. 105:049,15[C ]| Girls should be quiet and modest. The most objectionable 105:049,16[C ]| part is, that the alteration of manners on being 105:049,17[C ]| introduced into company is frequently too sudden. They 105:049,18[C ]| sometimes pass in such very little time from reserve to 105:049,19[C ]| quite the opposite ~~ to confidence! \That\ is the faulty 105:049,20[C ]| part of the present system. One does not like to see 105:049,21[C ]| a girl of eighteen or nineteen so immediately up to every*thing ~~ 105:049,22[C ]| and perhaps when one has seen her hardly able to 105:049,23[C ]| speak the year before. Mr%*Bertram, I dare say \you\ 105:049,24[C ]| have sometimes met with such changes." 105:049,25[G ]| "I believe I have; but this is hardly fair; I see what 105:049,26[G ]| you are at. You are quizzing me and Miss*Anderson." 105:049,27[C ]| "No indeed. Miss*Anderson! I do not know who or 105:049,28[C ]| what you mean. I am quite in the dark. But I \will\ 105:049,29[C ]| quiz you with a great deal of pleasure, if you will tell me 105:049,30[C ]| what about." 105:049,31[G ]| "Ah! you carry it off very well, but I cannot be quite 105:049,32[G ]| so far imposed on. You must have had Miss*Anderson in 105:049,33[G ]| your eye, in describing an altered young lady. You 105:049,34[G ]| paint too accurately for mistake. It was exactly so. 105:049,35[G ]| The Andersons of Baker*Street. We were speaking of 105:049,36[G ]| them the other day, you know. Edmund, you have heard 105:049,37[G ]| me mention Charles*Anderson. The circumstance was 105:049,38[G ]| precisely as this lady has represented it. When Anderson 105:050,01[G ]| first introduced me to his family, about two years ago, his 105:050,02[G ]| sister was not \out\, and I could not get her to speak to me. 105:050,03[G ]| I sat there an hour one morning waiting for Anderson, 105:050,04[G ]| with only her and a little girl or two in the room ~~ the 105:050,05[G ]| governess being sick or run away, and the mother in and 105:050,06[G ]| out every moment with letters of business; and I could 105:050,07[G ]| hardly get a word or a look from the young lady ~~ nothing 105:050,08[G ]| like a civil answer ~~ she screwed up her mouth, and turned 105:050,09[G ]| from me with such an air! I did not see her again for 105:050,10[G ]| a twelvemonth. She was then \out\. I met her at Mrs%*Holford's ~~ 105:050,11[G ]| and did not recollect her. She came up to me, 105:050,12[G ]| claimed me as an acquaintance, stared me out of countenance, 105:050,13[G ]| and talked and laughed till I did not know which 105:050,14[G ]| way to look. I felt that I must be the jest of the room 105:050,15[G ]| at the time ~~ and Miss*Crawford, it is plain, has heard 105:050,16[G ]| the story." 105:050,17[C ]| "And a very pretty story it is, and with more truth in 105:050,18[C ]| it, I dare say, than does credit to Miss*Anderson. It is 105:050,19[C ]| too common a fault. Mothers certainly have not yet got 105:050,20[C ]| quite the right way of managing their daughters. I do 105:050,21[C ]| not know where the error lies. I do not pretend to set 105:050,22[C ]| people right, but I do see that they are often wrong." 105:050,23[G ]| "Those who are showing the world what female manners 105:050,24[G ]| \should\ \be\," 105:050,24[' ]| said Mr%*Bertram, gallantly, 105:050,24[G ]| "are doing 105:050,25[G ]| a great deal to set them right." 105:050,26[B ]| "The error is plain enough," 105:050,26[' ]| said the less courteous 105:050,27[' ]| Edmund; 105:050,27[B ]| "such girls are ill brought up. They are 105:050,28[B ]| given wrong notions from the beginning. They are 105:050,29[B ]| always acting upon motives of vanity ~~ and there is no 105:050,30[B ]| more real modesty in their behaviour \before\ they appear 105:050,31[B ]| in public than afterwards." 105:050,32[C ]| "I do not know," 105:050,32[' ]| replied Miss*Crawford hesitatingly. 105:050,33[C ]| "Yes, I cannot agree with you there. It is certainly the 105:050,34[C ]| modestest part of the business. It is much worse to 105:050,35[C ]| have girls \not\ \out\, give themselves the same airs and take 105:050,36[C ]| the same liberties as if they were, which I \have\ seen done. 105:050,37[C ]| \That\ is worse than any*thing ~~ quite disgusting!" 105:050,38[G ]| "Yes, \that\ is very inconvenient indeed," 105:050,38[' ]| said Mr%*Bertram. 105:051,01[G ]| "It leads one astray; one does not know what to 105:051,02[G ]| do. The close bonnet and demure air you describe so 105:051,03[G ]| well, (and nothing was ever juster,) tell one what is 105:051,04[G ]| expected; but I got into a dreadful scrape last year from 105:051,05[G ]| the want of them. I went down to Ramsgate for a week 105:051,06[G ]| with a friend last September ~~ just after my return from 105:051,07[G ]| the West*Indies ~~ my friend Sneyd ~~ you have heard me 105:051,08[G ]| speak of Sneyd, Edmund; his father and mother and 105:051,09[G ]| sisters were there, all new to me. When we reached Albion*place 105:051,10[G ]| they were out; we went after them, and found 105:051,11[G ]| them on the pier. Mrs% and the two Miss*Sneyds, with 105:051,12[G ]| others of their acquaintance. I made my bow in form, 105:051,13[G ]| and as Mrs%*Sneyd was surrounded by men, attached 105:051,14[G ]| myself to one of her daughters, walked by her side all the 105:051,15[G ]| way home, and made myself as agreeable as I could; the 105:051,16[G ]| young lady perfectly easy in her manners, and as ready 105:051,17[G ]| to talk as to listen. I had not a suspicion that I could 105:051,18[G ]| be doing any*thing wrong. They looked just the same; 105:051,19[G ]| both well dressed, with veils and parasols like other girls; 105:051,20[G ]| but I afterwards found that I had been giving all my 105:051,21[G ]| attention to the youngest, who was not \out\, and had most 105:051,22[G ]| excessively offended the eldest. Miss*Augusta ought not 105:051,23[G ]| to have been noticed for the next six months, and Miss*Sneyd, 105:051,24[G ]| I believe, has never forgiven me." 105:051,25[C ]| "That was bad indeed. Poor Miss*Sneyd! Though 105:051,26[C ]| I have no younger sister, I feel for her. To be neglected 105:051,27[C ]| before one's time, must be very vexatious. But it was 105:051,28[C ]| entirely the mother's fault. Miss*Augusta should have 105:051,29[C ]| been with her governess. Such half and half doings never 105:051,30[C ]| prosper. But now I must be satisfied about Miss*Price. 105:051,31[C ]| Does she go to balls? Does she dine out every*where, as 105:051,32[C ]| well as at my sister's?" 105:051,33[B ]| "No," 105:051,33[' ]| replied Edmund, 105:051,33[B ]| "I do not think she has ever 105:051,34[B ]| been to a ball. My mother seldom goes into company 105:051,35[B ]| herself, and dines no*where but with Mrs%*Grant, and 105:051,36[B ]| Fanny stays at home with \her\." 105:051,37[C ]| "Oh! then the point is clear. Miss*Price is \not\ out." 106:052,01[' ]| Mr%*Bertram set off for ****, and Miss*Crawford 106:052,02@c | was prepared to find a great chasm in their society, and 106:052,03@c | to miss him decidedly in the meetings which were now 106:052,04@c | becoming almost daily between the families; 106:052,04[' ]| and on 106:052,05[' ]| their all dining together at the park soon after his going, 106:052,06[' ]| she retook her chosen place near the bottom of the table, 106:052,07@c | fully expecting to feel a most melancholy difference in 106:052,08@c | the change of masters. It would be a very flat business, 106:052,09@c | she was sure. In comparison with his brother, Edmund 106:052,10@c | would have nothing to say. The soup would be sent 106:052,11@c | round in a most spiritless manner, wine drank without 106:052,12@c | any smiles, or agreeable trifling, and the venison cut up 106:052,13@c | without supplying one pleasant anecdote of any former 106:052,14@c | haunch, or a single entertaining story about "my friend 106:052,15@c | such a one." She must try to find amusement in what 106:052,16@c | was passing at the upper end of the table, and in observing 106:052,17@c | Mr%*Rushworth, 106:052,17[' ]| who was now making his appearance at 106:052,18[' ]| Mansfield, for the first time since the Crawfords' arrival. 106:052,19[' ]| He had been visiting a friend in a neighbouring county, 106:052,20[' ]| and that friend having recently had his grounds laid out 106:052,21[' ]| by an improver, Mr%*Rushworth was returned with his 106:052,22[' ]| head full of the subject, and very eager to be improving 106:052,23[' ]| his own place in the same way; and though not saying 106:052,24[' ]| much to the purpose, could talk of nothing else. The 106:052,25[' ]| subject had been already handled in the drawing-room; 106:052,26[' ]| it was revived in the dining-parlour. Miss*Bertram's 106:052,27[' ]| attention and opinion was evidently his chief aim; and 106:052,28[' ]| though her deportment showed rather conscious superiority 106:052,29[' ]| than any solicitude to oblige him, the mention of Sotherton*Court, 106:052,30[' ]| and the ideas attached to it, gave her a feeling 106:052,31[' ]| of complacency, which prevented her from being very 106:052,32[' ]| ungracious. 106:053,01[K ]| "I wish you could see Compton," 106:053,01[' ]| said he, 106:053,01[K ]| "it is the 106:053,02[K ]| most complete thing! I never saw a place so altered in 106:053,03[K ]| my life. I told Smith I did not know where I was. The 106:053,04[K ]| approach \now\ is one of the finest things in the country. 106:053,05[K ]| You see the house in the most surprising manner. I declare 106:053,06[K ]| when I got back to Sotherton yesterday, it looked like 106:053,07[K ]| a prison ~~ quite a dismal old prison." 106:053,08[J ]| "Oh! for shame!" 106:053,08[' ]| cried Mrs%*Norris. 106:053,08[J ]| "A prison, 106:053,09[J ]| indeed! Sotherton*Court is the noblest old place in the 106:053,10[J ]| world." 106:053,11[K ]| "It wants improvement, ma'am, beyond any*thing. 106:053,12[K ]| I never saw a place that wanted so much improvement in 106:053,13[K ]| my life; and it is so forlorn, that I do not know what can 106:053,14[K ]| be done with it." 106:053,15[N ]| "No wonder that Mr%*Rushworth should think so at 106:053,16[N ]| present," 106:053,16[' ]| said Mrs%*Grant to Mrs%*Norris, with a smile; 106:053,17[N ]| "but depend upon it, Sotherton will have \every\ improvement 106:053,18[N ]| in time which his heart can desire." 106:053,19[K ]| "I must try to do something with it," 106:053,19[' ]| said Mr%*Rushworth, 106:053,20[K ]| "but I do not know what. I hope I shall have 106:053,21[K ]| some good friend to help me." 106:053,22[H ]| "Your best friend upon such an occasion," 106:053,22[' ]| said Miss*Bertram, 106:053,23[' ]| calmly, 106:053,23[H ]| "would be Mr%*Repton, I imagine." 106:053,24[K ]| "That is what I was thinking of. As he has done so 106:053,25[K ]| well by Smith, I think I had better have him at once. His 106:053,26[K ]| terms are five guineas a day." 106:053,27[J ]| "Well, and if they were \ten\," 106:053,27[' ]| cried Mrs%*Norris, 106:053,27[J ]| "I am 106:053,28[J ]| sure \you\ need not regard it. The expense need not be 106:053,29[J ]| any impediment. If I were you, I should not think of 106:053,30[J ]| the expense. I would have every*thing done in the best 106:053,31[J ]| style, and made as nice as possible. Such a place as 106:053,32[J ]| Sotherton*Court deserves every*thing that taste and 106:053,33[J ]| money can do. You have space to work upon there, and 106:053,34[J ]| grounds that will well reward you. For my own part, if 106:053,35[J ]| I had any*thing within the fiftieth part of the size of 106:053,36[J ]| Sotherton, I should be always planting and improving, 106:053,37[J ]| for naturally I am excessively fond of it. It would be 106:053,38[J ]| too ridiculous for me to attempt any*thing where I am 106:054,01[J ]| now, with my little half acre. It would be quite a burlesque. 106:054,02[J ]| But if I had more room, I should take a prodigious 106:054,03[J ]| delight in improving and planting. We did a vast deal 106:054,04[J ]| in that way at the parsonage; we made it quite a different 106:054,05[J ]| place from what it was when we first had it. You young 106:054,06[J ]| ones do not remember much about it, perhaps. But if 106:054,07[J ]| dear Sir*Thomas were here, he could tell you what improvements 106:054,08[J ]| we made; and a great deal more would have been 106:054,09[J ]| done, but for poor Mr%*Norris's sad state of health. He 106:054,10[J ]| could hardly ever get out, poor man, to enjoy any*thing, 106:054,11[J ]| and \that\ disheartened me from doing several things that 106:054,12[J ]| Sir*Thomas and I used to talk of. If it had not been for 106:054,13[J ]| \that\, we should have carried on the garden wall, and made 106:054,14[J ]| the plantation to shut out the churchyard, just as Dr%*Grant 106:054,15[J ]| has done. We were always doing something, as it 106:054,16[J ]| was. It was only the spring twelvemonth before Mr%*Norris's 106:054,17[J ]| death, that we put in the apricot against the 106:054,18[J ]| stable wall, which is now grown such a noble tree, and 106:054,19[J ]| getting to such perfection, sir," 106:054,19[' ]| addressing herself then to 106:054,20[' ]| Dr%*Grant. 106:054,21[M ]| "The tree thrives well beyond a doubt, madam," 106:054,21[' ]| replied 106:054,22[' ]| Dr%*Grant. 106:054,22[M ]| "The soil is good; and I never pass it without 106:054,23[M ]| regretting, that the fruit should be so little worth 106:054,24[M ]| the trouble of gathering." 106:054,25[J ]| "Sir, it is a moor*park, we bought it as a moor*park, 106:054,26[J ]| and it cost us ~~ that is, it was a present from Sir*Thomas, 106:054,27[J ]| but I saw the bill, and I know it cost seven shillings, and 106:054,28[J ]| was charged as a moor*park." 106:054,29[M ]| "You were imposed on, ma'am," 106:054,29[' ]| replied Dr%*Grant; 106:054,30[M ]| "these potatoes have as much the flavour of a moor*park 106:054,31[M ]| apricot, as the fruit from that tree. It is an insipid fruit 106:054,32[M ]| at the best; but a good apricot is eatable, which none 106:054,33[M ]| from my garden are." 106:054,34[N ]| "The truth is, ma'am," 106:054,34[' ]| said Mrs%*Grant, pretending to 106:054,35[' ]| whisper across the table to Mrs%*Norris, 106:054,35[N ]| "that Dr%*Grant 106:054,36[N ]| hardly knows what the natural taste of our apricot is; he 106:054,37[N ]| is scarcely ever indulged with one, for it is so valuable 106:054,38[N ]| a fruit, with a little assistance, and ours is such a remarkably 106:055,01[N ]| large, fair sort, that with early tarts and preserves, 106:055,02[N ]| my cook contrives to get them all." 106:055,03[' ]| Mrs%*Norris, who had begun to redden, was appeased, 106:055,04[' ]| and, for a little while, other subjects took place of the 106:055,05[' ]| improvements of Sotherton. Dr%*Grant and Mrs%*Norris 106:055,06[' ]| were seldom good friends; their acquaintance had begun 106:055,07[' ]| in dilapidations, and their habits were totally dissimilar. 106:055,08[' ]| After a short interruption, Mr%*Rushworth began again. 106:055,09[K ]| "Smith's place is the admiration of all the country; and 106:055,10[K ]| it was a mere nothing before Repton took it in hand. 106:055,11[K ]| I think I shall have Repton." 106:055,12[F ]| "Mr%*Rushworth," 106:055,12[' ]| said Lady*Bertram, 106:055,12[F ]| "if I were you, 106:055,13[F ]| I would have a very pretty shrubbery. One likes to get 106:055,14[F ]| out into a shrubbery in fine weather." 106:055,15[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth was eager to assure her ladyship of his 106:055,16[' ]| acquiescence, and tried to make out something complimentary; 106:055,17[' ]| but between his submission to \her\ taste, and 106:055,18[' ]| his having always intended the same himself, with the 106:055,19[' ]| super-added objects of professing attention to the comfort 106:055,20[' ]| of ladies in general, and of insinuating, that there was one 106:055,21[' ]| only whom he was anxious to please, he grew puzzled; 106:055,22[' ]| and Edmund was glad to put an end to his speech by 106:055,23[' ]| a proposal of wine. Mr%*Rushworth, however, though 106:055,24[' ]| not usually a great talker, had still more to say on the 106:055,25[' ]| subject next his heart. 106:055,25[K ]| "Smith has not much above 106:055,26[K ]| a hundred acres altogether in his grounds, which is little 106:055,27[K ]| enough, and makes it more surprising that the place can 106:055,28[K ]| have been so improved. Now, at Sotherton, we have 106:055,29[K ]| a good seven hundred, without reckoning the water 106:055,30[K ]| meadows; so that I think, if so much could be done at 106:055,31[K ]| Compton, we need not despair. There have been two or 106:055,32[K ]| three fine old trees cut down that grew too near the house, 106:055,33[K ]| and it opens the prospect amazingly, which makes me 106:055,34[K ]| think that Repton, or any*body of that sort, would 106:055,35[K ]| certainly have the avenue at Sotherton down; the avenue 106:055,36[K ]| that leads from the west front to the top of the hill you 106:055,37[K ]| know," 106:055,37[' ]| turning to Miss*Bertram particularly as he spoke. 106:055,38[' ]| But Miss*Bertram thought it most becoming to reply: 106:056,01[H ]| "The avenue! Oh! I do not recollect it. I really know 106:056,02[H ]| very little of Sotherton." 106:056,03[' ]| Fanny, who was sitting on the other side of Edmund, 106:056,04[' ]| exactly opposite Miss*Crawford, and who had been attentively 106:056,05[' ]| listening, now looked at him, and said in a low voice, 106:056,06[A ]| "Cut down an avenue! What a pity! Does not it make 106:056,07[A ]| you think of Cowper? 106:056,07@z | ""Ye fallen avenues, once more 106:056,08@z | I mourn your fate unmerited.""" 106:056,09[' ]| He smiled as he answered, 106:056,09[B ]| "I am afraid the avenue 106:056,10[B ]| stands a bad chance, Fanny." 106:056,11[A ]| "I should like to see Sotherton before it is cut down, 106:056,12[A ]| to see the place as it is now, in its old state; but I do 106:056,13[A ]| not suppose I shall." 106:056,14[B ]| "Have you never been there? No, you never can; and 106:056,15[B ]| unluckily it is out of distance for a ride. I wish we could 106:056,16[B ]| contrive it." 106:056,17[A ]| "Oh! it does not signify. Whenever I do see it, you 106:056,18[A ]| will tell me how it has been altered." 106:056,19[C ]| "I collect," 106:056,19[' ]| said Miss*Crawford, 106:056,19[C ]| "that Sotherton is 106:056,20[C ]| an old place, and a place of some grandeur. In any 106:056,21[C ]| particular style of building?" 106:056,22[B ]| "The house was built in Elizabeth's time, and is a large, 106:056,23[B ]| regular, brick building ~~ heavy, but respectable looking, 106:056,24[B ]| and has many good rooms. It is ill placed. It stands in 106:056,25[B ]| one of the lowest spots of the park; in that respect, 106:056,26[B ]| unfavourable for improvement. But the woods are fine, 106:056,27[B ]| and there is a stream, which, I dare say, might be made 106:056,28[B ]| a good deal of. Mr%*Rushworth is quite right, I think, in 106:056,29[B ]| meaning to give it a modern dress, and I have no doubt 106:056,30[B ]| that it will be all done extremely well." 106:056,31[' ]| Miss*Crawford listened with submission, and said to 106:056,32[' ]| herself, 106:056,32[C ]| "He is a well*bred man; he makes the best of it." 106:056,33[B ]| "I do not wish to influence Mr%*Rushworth," 106:056,33[' ]| he continued, 106:056,34[B ]| "but had I a place to new fashion, I should not put 106:056,35[B ]| myself into the hands of an improver. I would rather 106:056,36[B ]| have an inferior degree of beauty, of my own choice, and 106:056,37[B ]| acquired progressively. I would rather abide by my 106:056,38[B ]| own blunders than by his." 106:057,01[C ]| "\You\ would know what you were about of course ~~ but 106:057,02[C ]| that would not suit \me\. I have no eye or ingenuity for 106:057,03[C ]| such matters, but as they are before me; and had I a place 106:057,04[C ]| of my own in the country, I should be most thankful to 106:057,05[C ]| any Mr%*Repton who would undertake it, and give me as 106:057,06[C ]| much beauty as he could for my money; and I should 106:057,07[C ]| never look at it, till it was complete." 106:057,08[A ]| "It would be delightful to \me\ to see the progress of it 106:057,09[A ]| all," 106:057,09[' ]| said Fanny. 106:057,10[C ]| "Ay ~~ you have been brought up to it. It was no part 106:057,11[C ]| of my education; and the only dose I ever had, being 106:057,12[C ]| administered by not the first favourite in the world, has 106:057,13[C ]| made me consider improvements \in\ \hand\ as the greatest 106:057,14[C ]| of nuisances. Three years ago, the admiral, my honoured 106:057,15[C ]| uncle, bought a cottage at Twickenham for us all to spend 106:057,16[C ]| our summers in; and my aunt and I went down to it 106:057,17[C ]| quite in raptures; but it being excessively pretty, it was 106:057,18[C ]| soon found necessary to be improved; and for three 106:057,19[C ]| months we were all dirt and confusion, without a gravel 106:057,20[C ]| walk to step on, or a bench fit for use. I would have 106:057,21[C ]| every*thing as complete as possible in the country, shrubberies 106:057,22[C ]| and flower gardens, and rustic seats innumerable; 106:057,23[C ]| but it must be all done without my care. Henry is 106:057,24[C ]| different, he loves to be doing." 106:057,25[' ]| Edmund was sorry to hear Miss*Crawford, whom he 106:057,26[' ]| was much disposed to admire, speak so freely of her uncle. 106:057,27[' ]| It did not suit his sense of propriety, and he was silenced, 106:057,28[' ]| till induced by further smiles and liveliness, to put the 106:057,29[' ]| matter by for the present. 106:057,30[C ]| "Mr%*Bertram," 106:057,30[' ]| said she, 106:057,30[C ]| "I have tidings of my harp 106:057,31[C ]| at last. I am assured that it is safe at Northampton; 106:057,32[C ]| and there it has probably been these ten days, in spite of 106:057,33[C ]| the solemn assurances we have so often received to the 106:057,34[C ]| contrary." 106:057,34[' ]| Edmund expressed his pleasure and surprise. 106:057,35[C ]| "The truth is, that our inquiries were too direct; we 106:057,36[C ]| sent a servant, we went ourselves: this will not do seventy 106:057,37[C ]| miles from London ~~ but this morning we heard of it in 106:057,38[C ]| the right way. It was seen by some farmer, and he told 106:058,01[C ]| the miller, and the miller told the butcher, and the butcher's 106:058,02[C ]| son-in-law left word at the shop." 106:058,03[B ]| "I am very glad that you have heard of it, by whatever 106:058,04[B ]| means; and hope there will be no farther delay." 106:058,05[C ]| "I am to have it to*morrow; but how do you think 106:058,06[C ]| it is to be conveyed? Not by a waggon or cart; ~~ Oh! no, 106:058,07[C ]| nothing of that kind could be hired in the village. I might 106:058,08[C ]| as well have asked for porters and a hand-barrow." 106:058,09[B ]| "You would find it difficult, I dare say, just now, in the 106:058,10[B ]| middle of a very late hay harvest, to hire a horse and 106:058,11[B ]| cart?" 106:058,12[C ]| "I was astonished to find what a piece of work was 106:058,13[C ]| made of it! To want a horse and cart in the country 106:058,14[C ]| seemed impossible, so I told my maid to speak for one 106:058,15[C ]| directly; and as I cannot look out of my dressing-closet 106:058,16[C ]| without seeing one farm*yard, nor walk in the shrubbery 106:058,17[C ]| without passing another, I thought it would be only ask 106:058,18[C ]| and have, and was rather grieved that I could not give 106:058,19[C ]| the advantage to all. Guess my surprise, when I found 106:058,20[C ]| that I had been asking the most unreasonable, most 106:058,21[C ]| impossible thing in the world, had offended all the farmers, 106:058,22[C ]| all the labourers, all the hay in the parish. As for Dr%*Grant's 106:058,23[C ]| bailiff, I believe I had better keep out of \his\ way; 106:058,24[C ]| and my brother-in-law himself, who is all kindness in 106:058,25[C ]| general, looked rather black upon me, when he found 106:058,26[C ]| what I had been at." 106:058,27[B ]| "You could not be expected to have thought on the 106:058,28[B ]| subject before, but when you \do\ think of it, you must see 106:058,29[B ]| the importance of getting in the grass. The hire of a cart 106:058,30[B ]| at any time, might not be so easy as you suppose; our 106:058,31[B ]| farmers are not in the habit of letting them out; but in 106:058,32[B ]| harvest, it must be quite out of their power to spare a 106:058,33[B ]| horse." 106:058,34[C ]| "I shall understand all your ways in time; but coming 106:058,35[C ]| down with the true London maxim, that every*thing is to 106:058,36[C ]| be got with money, I was a little embarrassed at first by 106:058,37[C ]| the sturdy independence of your country customs. However, 106:058,38[C ]| I am to have my harp fetched to-morrow. Henry, 106:059,01[C ]| who is good-nature itself, has offered to fetch it in his 106:059,02[C ]| barouche. Will it not be honourably conveyed?" 106:059,03[' ]| Edmund spoke of the harp as his favourite instrument, 106:059,04[' ]| and hoped to be soon allowed to hear her. Fanny had 106:059,05[' ]| never heard the harp at all, and wished for it very much. 106:059,06[C ]| "I shall be most happy to play to you both," 106:059,06[' ]| said 106:059,07[' ]| Miss*Crawford; 106:059,07[C ]| "at least, as long as you can like to listen; 106:059,08[C ]| probably much longer, for I dearly love music myself, and 106:059,09[C ]| where the natural taste is equal, the player must always 106:059,10[C ]| be best off, for she is gratified in more ways than one. 106:059,11[C ]| Now, Mr%*Bertram, if you write to your brother, I entreat 106:059,12[C ]| you to tell him that my harp \is\ come, he heard so much 106:059,13[C ]| of my misery about it. And you may say, if you please, 106:059,14[C ]| that I shall prepare my most plaintive airs against his 106:059,15[C ]| return, in compassion to his feelings, as I know his horse 106:059,16[C ]| will lose." 106:059,17[B ]| "If I write, I will say whatever you wish me; but I do 106:059,18[B ]| not at present foresee any occasion for writing." 106:059,19[C ]| "No, I dare say, nor if he were to be gone a twelvemonth, 106:059,20[C ]| would you ever write to him, nor he to you, if it could 106:059,21[C ]| be helped. The occasion would never be foreseen. What 106:059,22[C ]| strange creatures brothers are! You would not write to 106:059,23[C ]| each other but upon the most urgent necessity in the 106:059,24[C ]| world; and when obliged to take up the pen to say that 106:059,25[C ]| such a horse is ill, or such a relation dead, it is done in the 106:059,26[C ]| fewest possible words. You have but one style among you. 106:059,27[C ]| I know it perfectly. Henry, who is in every other respect 106:059,28[C ]| exactly what a brother should be, who loves me, consults 106:059,29[C ]| me, confides in me, and will talk to me by the hour 106:059,30[C ]| together, has never yet turned the page in a letter; and 106:059,31[C ]| very often it is nothing more than, ""Dear Mary, I am 106:059,32[C ]| just arrived. Bath seems full, and every*thing as usual. 106:059,33[C ]| Your's sincerely."" That is the true manly style; that is 106:059,34[C ]| a complete brother's letter." 106:059,35[A ]| "When they are at a distance from all their family," 106:059,36[' ]| said Fanny, colouring for William's sake, 106:059,36[A ]| "they can 106:059,37[A ]| write long letters." 106:059,38[B ]| "Miss*Price has a brother at sea," 106:059,38[' ]| said Edmund, 106:060,01[B ]| "whose excellence as a correspondent, makes her think 106:060,02[B ]| you too severe upon us." 106:060,03[C ]| "At sea, has she? ~~ In the King's service of course." 106:060,04[' ]| Fanny would rather have had Edmund tell the story, 106:060,05[' ]| but his determined silence obliged her to relate her brother's 106:060,06[' ]| situation; her voice was animated in speaking of 106:060,07[' ]| his profession, and the foreign stations he had been on, 106:060,08[' ]| but she could not mention the number of years that he 106:060,09[' ]| had been absent without tears in her eyes. Miss*Crawford 106:060,10[' ]| civilly wished him an early promotion. 106:060,11[B ]| "Do you know any*thing of my cousin's captain?" 106:060,12[' ]| said Edmund; 106:060,12[B ]| "Captain*Marshall? You have a large 106:060,13[B ]| acquaintance in the navy, I conclude?" 106:060,14[C ]| "Among Admirals, large enough; but," 106:060,14[' ]| with an air 106:060,15[' ]| of grandeur; 106:060,15[C ]| "we know very little of the inferior ranks. 106:060,16[C ]| Post captains may be very good sort of men, but they do 106:060,17[C ]| not belong to \us\. Of various admirals, I could tell you 106:060,18[C ]| a great deal; of them and their flags, and the gradation 106:060,19[C ]| of their pay, and their bickerings and jealousies. But in 106:060,20[C ]| general, I can assure you that they are all passed over, 106:060,21[C ]| and all very ill*used. Certainly, my home at my uncle's 106:060,22[C ]| brought me acquainted with a circle of admirals. Of 106:060,23[C ]| \Rears\, and \Vices\, I saw enough. Now, do not be suspecting 106:060,24[C ]| me of a pun, I entreat." 106:060,25[' ]| Edmund again felt grave, and only replied, 106:060,25[B ]| "It is a noble 106:060,26[B ]| profession." 106:060,27[C ]| "Yes, the profession is well enough under two circumstances; 106:060,28[C ]| if it make the fortune, and there be discretion 106:060,29[C ]| in spending it. But, in short, it is not a favourite profession 106:060,30[C ]| of mine. It has never worn an amiable form 106:060,31[C ]| to \me\." 106:060,32[' ]| Edmund reverted to the harp, and was again very 106:060,33[' ]| happy in the prospect of hearing her play. 106:060,34[' ]| The subject of improving grounds meanwhile was still 106:060,35[' ]| under consideration among the others; and Mrs%*Grant 106:060,36[' ]| could not help addressing her brother, though it was 106:060,37[' ]| calling his attention from Miss*Julia*Bertram. 106:060,37[N ]| "My 106:060,38[N ]| dear Henry, have \you\ nothing to say? You have been 106:061,01[N ]| an improver yourself, and from what I hear of Everingham, 106:061,02[N ]| it may vie with any place in England. Its natural 106:061,03[N ]| beauties, I am sure, are great. Everingham as it \used\ 106:061,04[N ]| to be was perfect in my estimation; such a happy fall of 106:061,05[N ]| ground, and such timber! What would not I give to see 106:061,06[N ]| it again!" 106:061,07[D ]| "Nothing could be so gratifying to me as to hear your 106:061,08[D ]| opinion of it," 106:061,08[' ]| was his answer. 106:061,08[D ]| "But I fear there would 106:061,09[D ]| be some disappointment. You would not find it equal 106:061,10[D ]| to your present ideas. In extent it is a mere nothing ~~ 106:061,11[D ]| you would be surprised at its insignificance; and as for 106:061,12[D ]| improvement, there was very little for me to do; too 106:061,13[D ]| little ~~ I should like to have been busy much longer." 106:061,14[I ]| "You are fond of the sort of thing?" 106:061,14[' ]| said Julia. 106:061,15[D ]| "Excessively: but what with the natural advantages 106:061,16[D ]| of the ground, which pointed out even to a very young 106:061,17[D ]| eye what little remained to be done, and my own consequent 106:061,18[D ]| resolutions, I had not been of age three months 106:061,19[D ]| before Everingham was all that it is now. My plan was 106:061,20[D ]| laid at Westminster ~~ a little altered perhaps at Cambridge, 106:061,21[D ]| and at one*and*twenty executed. I am inclined to envy 106:061,22[D ]| Mr%*Rushworth for having so much happiness yet before 106:061,23[D ]| him. I have been a devourer of my own." 106:061,24[I ]| "Those who see quickly, will resolve quickly and act 106:061,25[I ]| quickly," 106:061,25[' ]| said Julia. 106:061,25[I ]| "\You\ can never want employment. 106:061,26[I ]| Instead of envying Mr%*Rushworth, you should assist him 106:061,27[I ]| with your opinion." 106:061,28[' ]| Mrs%*Grant hearing the latter part of this speech, enforced 106:061,29[' ]| it warmly, persuaded that no judgment could be 106:061,30[' ]| equal to her brother's; and as Miss*Bertram caught at 106:061,31[' ]| the idea likewise, and gave it her full support, declaring 106:061,32[' ]| that 106:061,32@h | in her opinion it was infinitely better to consult with 106:061,33@h | friends and disinterested advisers, than immediately to 106:061,34@h | throw the business into the hands of a professional man, 106:061,35[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth was very ready to request the favour of 106:061,36[' ]| Mr%*Crawford's assistance; and Mr%*Crawford after properly 106:061,37[' ]| depreciating his own abilities, was quite at his service 106:061,38[' ]| in any way that could be useful. Mr%*Rushworth then 106:062,01[' ]| began to propose Mr%*Crawford's doing him the honour of 106:062,02[' ]| coming over to Sotherton, and taking a bed there; when 106:062,03[' ]| Mrs%*Norris, as if reading in her two nieces' minds their 106:062,04[' ]| little approbation of a plan which was to take Mr%*Crawford 106:062,05[' ]| away, interposed with an amendment. 106:062,05[J ]| "There can 106:062,06[J ]| be no doubt of Mr%*Crawford's willingness; but why 106:062,07[J ]| should not more of us go? ~~ Why should not we make 106:062,08[J ]| a little party? Here are many that would be interested 106:062,09[J ]| in your improvements, my dear Mr%*Rushworth, and 106:062,10[J ]| that would like to hear Mr%*Crawford's opinion on the 106:062,11[J ]| spot, and that might be of some small use to you with 106:062,12[J ]| \their\ opinions; and for my own part I have been long 106:062,13[J ]| wishing to wait upon your good mother again; nothing 106:062,14[J ]| but having no horses of my own, could have made me so 106:062,15[J ]| remiss; but now I could go and sit a few hours with 106:062,16[J ]| Mrs%*Rushworth while the rest of you walked about and 106:062,17[J ]| settled things, and then we could all return to a late dinner 106:062,18[J ]| here, or dine at Sotherton just as might be most agreeable 106:062,19[J ]| to your mother, and have a pleasant drive home by moonlight. 106:062,20[J ]| I dare say Mr%*Crawford would take my two 106:062,21[J ]| nieces and me in his barouche, and Edmund can go on 106:062,22[J ]| horseback, you know, sister, and Fanny will stay at home 106:062,23[J ]| with you." 106:062,24[' ]| Lady*Bertram made no objection, and every*one concerned 106:062,25[' ]| in the going, was forward in expressing their ready 106:062,26[' ]| concurrence, excepting Edmund, who heard it all and 106:062,27[' ]| said nothing. 107:063,01[B ]| "Well Fanny, and how do you like Miss*Crawford 107:063,02[B ]| \now\?" 107:063,02[' ]| said Edmund the next day, after thinking some 107:063,03[' ]| time on the subject himself. 107:063,03[B ]| "How did you like her 107:063,04[B ]| yesterday?" 107:063,05[A ]| "Very well ~~ very much. I like to hear her talk. 107:063,06[A ]| She entertains me; and she is so extremely pretty, that 107:063,07[A ]| I have great pleasure in looking at her." 107:063,08[B ]| "It is her countenance that is so attractive. She has 107:063,09[B ]| a wonderful play of feature! But was there nothing in her 107:063,10[B ]| conversation that struck you Fanny, as not quite right?" 107:063,11[A ]| "Oh! yes, she ought not to have spoken of her uncle 107:063,12[A ]| as she did. I was quite astonished. An uncle with whom 107:063,13[A ]| she has been living so many years, and who, whatever his 107:063,14[A ]| faults may be, is so very fond of her brother, treating him, 107:063,15[A ]| they say, quite like a son. I could not have believed it!" 107:063,16[B ]| "I thought you would be struck. It was very wrong ~~ 107:063,17[B ]| very indecorous." 107:063,18[A ]| "And very ungrateful I think." 107:063,19[B ]| "Ungrateful is a strong word. I do not know that her 107:063,20[B ]| uncle has any claim to her \gratitude\; his wife certainly 107:063,21[B ]| had; and it is the warmth of her respect for her aunt's 107:063,22[B ]| memory which misleads her here. She is awkwardly 107:063,23[B ]| circumstanced. With such warm feelings and lively 107:063,24[B ]| spirits it must be difficult to do justice to her affection for 107:063,25[B ]| Mrs%*Crawford, without throwing a shade on the admiral. 107:063,26[B ]| I do not pretend to know which was most to blame in 107:063,27[B ]| their disagreements, though the admiral's present conduct 107:063,28[B ]| might incline one to the side of his wife: but it is natural 107:063,29[B ]| and amiable that Miss*Crawford should acquit her aunt 107:063,30[B ]| entirely. I do not censure her \opinions\; but there 107:063,31[B ]| certainly \is\ impropriety in making them public." 107:063,32[A ]| "Do not you think," 107:063,32[' ]| said Fanny, after a little consideration, 107:063,33[A ]| "that this impropriety is a reflection itself upon 107:064,01[A ]| Mrs%*Crawford, as her niece has been entirely brought up 107:064,02[A ]| by her? She cannot have given her right notions of what 107:064,03[A ]| was due to the admiral." 107:064,04[B ]| "That is a fair remark. Yes, we must suppose the 107:064,05[B ]| faults of the niece to have been those of the aunt; and it 107:064,06[B ]| makes one more sensible of the disadvantages she has 107:064,07[B ]| been under. But I think her present home must do her 107:064,08[B ]| good. Mrs%*Grant's manners are just what they ought 107:064,09[B ]| to be. She speaks of her brother with a very pleasing 107:064,10[B ]| affection." 107:064,11[A ]| "Yes, except as to his writing her such short letters. 107:064,12[A ]| She made me almost laugh; but I cannot rate so very 107:064,13[A ]| highly the love or good*nature of a brother, who will not 107:064,14[A ]| give himself the trouble of writing any*thing worth 107:064,15[A ]| reading, to his sisters, when they are separated. I am 107:064,16[A ]| sure William would never have used \me\ so, under any 107:064,17[A ]| circumstances. And what right had she to suppose, that 107:064,18[A ]| \you\ would not write long letters when you were absent?" 107:064,19[B ]| "The right of a lively mind, Fanny, seizing whatever 107:064,20[B ]| may contribute to its own amusement or that of others; 107:064,21[B ]| perfectly allowable, when untinctured by ill*humour or 107:064,22[B ]| roughness; and there is not a shadow of either in the 107:064,23[B ]| countenance or manner of Miss*Crawford, nothing sharp, 107:064,24[B ]| or loud, or coarse. She is perfectly feminine, except in 107:064,25[B ]| the instances we have been speaking of. \There\ she 107:064,26[B ]| cannot be justified. I am glad you saw it all as I did." 107:064,27[' ]| Having formed her mind and gained her affections, 107:064,28[' ]| he had a good chance of her thinking like him; though 107:064,29[' ]| at this period, and on this subject, there began now to 107:064,30[' ]| be some danger of dissimilarity, for he was in a line of 107:064,31[' ]| admiration of Miss*Crawford, which might lead him 107:064,32[' ]| where Fanny could not follow. Miss*Crawford's attractions 107:064,33[' ]| did not lessen. The harp arrived, and rather added 107:064,34[' ]| to her beauty, wit, and good*humour, for she played 107:064,35[' ]| with the greatest obligingness, with an expression and 107:064,36[' ]| taste which were peculiarly becoming, and there was 107:064,37[' ]| something clever to be said at the close of every air. 107:064,38[' ]| Edmund was at the parsonage every day to be indulged 107:065,01[' ]| with his favourite instrument; one morning secured an 107:065,02[' ]| invitation for the next, for the lady could not be unwilling 107:065,03[' ]| to have a listener, and every*thing was soon in a fair 107:065,04[' ]| train. 107:065,05[' ]| A young woman, pretty, lively, with a harp as elegant 107:065,06[' ]| as herself; and both placed near a window, cut down 107:065,07[' ]| to the ground, and opening on a little lawn, surrounded 107:065,08[' ]| by shrubs in the rich foliage of summer, was enough to 107:065,09[' ]| catch any man's heart. The season, the scene, the air, 107:065,10[' ]| were all favourable to tenderness and sentiment. Mrs%*Grant 107:065,11[' ]| and her tambour frame were not without their 107:065,12[' ]| use; it was all in harmony; and as every*thing will 107:065,13[' ]| turn to account when love is once set going, even the 107:065,14[' ]| sandwich tray, and Dr%*Grant doing the honours of it, 107:065,15[' ]| were worth looking at. Without studying the business, 107:065,16[' ]| however, or knowing what he was about, Edmund was 107:065,17[' ]| beginning at the end of a week of such intercourse, to be 107:065,18[' ]| a good deal in love; and to the credit of the lady it may 107:065,19[' ]| be added, that without his being a man of the world or 107:065,20[' ]| an elder brother, without any of the arts of flattery or 107:065,21[' ]| the gaieties of small talk, he began to be agreeable to her. 107:065,22[' ]| She felt it to be so, though she had not foreseen and could 107:065,23[' ]| hardly understand it; for 107:065,23@c | he was not pleasant by any 107:065,24@c | common rule, he talked no nonsense, he paid no compliments, 107:065,25@c | his opinions were unbending, his attentions 107:065,26@c | tranquil and simple. 107:065,26[' ]| There was a charm, perhaps, in his 107:065,27[' ]| sincerity, his steadiness, his integrity, which Miss*Crawford 107:065,28[' ]| might be equal to feel, though not equal to discuss 107:065,29[' ]| with herself. She did not think very much about it, 107:065,30[' ]| however; 107:065,30@c | he pleased her for the present; she liked to 107:065,31@c | have him near her; it was enough. 107:065,32@a | Fanny could not wonder that Edmund was at the 107:065,33@a | parsonage every morning; she would gladly have been 107:065,34@a | there too, might she have gone in uninvited and unnoticed 107:065,35@a | to hear the harp; neither could she wonder, that when 107:065,36@a | the evening stroll was over, and the two families parted 107:065,37@a | again, he should think it right to attend Mrs%*Grant and 107:065,38@a | her sister to their home, while Mr%*Crawford was devoted 107:066,01@a | to the ladies of the park; but she thought it a very bad 107:066,02@a | exchange, and if Edmund were not there to mix the wine 107:066,03@a | and water for her, would rather go without it than not. 107:066,04@a | She was a little surprised that he could spend so many 107:066,05@a | hours with Miss*Crawford, and not see more of the sort 107:066,06@a | of fault which he had already observed, and of which \she\ 107:066,07@a | was almost always reminded by a something of the same 107:066,08@a | nature whenever she was in her company; but so it was. 107:066,09@a | Edmund was fond of speaking to her of Miss*Crawford, 107:066,10@a | but he seemed to think it enough that the admiral had 107:066,11@a | since been spared; and she scrupled to point out her 107:066,12@a | own remarks to him, lest it should appear like ill-nature. 107:066,13[' ]| The first actual pain which Miss*Crawford occasioned her, 107:066,14[' ]| was the consequence of an inclination to learn to ride, 107:066,15[' ]| which the former caught soon after her being settled at 107:066,16[' ]| Mansfield from the example of the young ladies at the 107:066,17[' ]| park, and which, when Edmund's acquaintance with her 107:066,18[' ]| increased, led to his encouraging the wish, and the offer 107:066,19[' ]| of his own quiet mare for the purpose of her first attempts, 107:066,20[' ]| as the best fitted for a beginner that either stable could 107:066,21[' ]| furnish. No pain, no injury, however, was designed by 107:066,22[' ]| him to his cousin in this offer: 107:066,22@b | \she\ was not to lose a day's 107:066,23@b | exercise by it. The mare was only to be taken down 107:066,24@b | to the parsonage half an hour before her ride were to 107:066,25@b | begin; 107:066,25[' ]| and Fanny, on its being first proposed, so far 107:066,26[' ]| from feeling slighted, was almost overpowered with 107:066,27[' ]| gratitude that he should be asking her leave for it. 107:066,28[' ]| Miss*Crawford made her first essay with great credit 107:066,29[' ]| to herself, and no inconvenience to Fanny. Edmund, 107:066,30[' ]| who had taken down the mare and presided at the whole, 107:066,31[' ]| returned with it in excellent time, before either Fanny 107:066,32[' ]| or the steady old coachman, who always attended her 107:066,33[' ]| when she rode without her cousins, were ready to set 107:066,34[' ]| forward. The second day's trial was not so guiltless. 107:066,35[' ]| Miss*Crawford's enjoyment of riding was such, that she 107:066,36[' ]| did not know how to leave off. Active and fearless, and, 107:066,37[' ]| though rather small, strongly made, she seemed formed 107:066,38[' ]| for a horsewoman; and to the pure genuine pleasure of 107:067,01[' ]| the exercise, something was probably added in Edmund's 107:067,02[' ]| attendance and instructions, and something more in the 107:067,03[' ]| conviction of very much surpassing her sex in general 107:067,04[' ]| by her early progress, to make her unwilling to dismount. 107:067,05[' ]| Fanny was ready and waiting, and Mrs%*Norris was 107:067,06[' ]| beginning to scold her for not being gone, and still no 107:067,07[' ]| horse was announced, no Edmund appeared. To avoid 107:067,08[' ]| her aunt, and look for him, she went out. 107:067,09[' ]| The houses, though scarcely half a mile apart, were 107:067,10[' ]| not within sight of each other; but by walking fifty 107:067,11[' ]| yards from the hall door, she could look down the park, 107:067,12[' ]| and command a view of the parsonage and all its demesnes, 107:067,13[' ]| gently rising beyond the village road; and in Dr%*Grant's 107:067,14[' ]| meadow she immediately saw the group ~~ 107:067,14@a | Edmund and 107:067,15@a | Miss*Crawford both on horseback, riding side by side, 107:067,16@a | Dr% and Mrs%*Grant, and Mr%*Crawford, with two or three 107:067,17@a | grooms, standing about and looking on. A happy party 107:067,18@a | it appeared to her ~~ all interested in one object ~~ cheerful 107:067,19@a | beyond a doubt, for the sound of merriment ascended 107:067,20@a | even to her. It was a sound which did not make \her\ 107:067,21@a | cheerful; she wondered that Edmund should forget her, 107:067,22@a | and felt a pang. She could not turn her eyes from the 107:067,23@a | meadow, she could not help watching all that passed. 107:067,24@a | At first Miss*Crawford and her companion made the 107:067,25@a | circuit of the field, which was not small, at a foot's pace; 107:067,26@a | then, at \her\ apparent suggestion, they rose into a canter; 107:067,27[' ]| and to Fanny's timid nature 107:067,27@a | it was most astonishing to 107:067,28@a | see how well she sat. After a few minutes, they stopt 107:067,29@a | entirely, Edmund was close to her, he was speaking to 107:067,30@a | her, he was evidently directing her management of the 107:067,31@a | bridle, he had hold of her hand; 107:067,31[' ]| she saw it, or the imagination 107:067,32[' ]| supplied what the eye could not reach. 107:067,32@a | She must 107:067,33@a | not wonder at all this; what could be more natural than 107:067,34@a | that Edmund should be making himself useful, and 107:067,35@a | proving his good-nature by any*one? She could not but 107:067,36@a | think indeed that Mr%*Crawford might as well have saved 107:067,37@a | him the trouble; that it would have been particularly 107:067,38@a | proper and becoming in a brother to have done it himself; 107:068,01@a | but Mr%*Crawford, with all his boasted good-nature, and 107:068,02@a | all his coachmanship, probably knew nothing of the 107:068,03@a | matter, and had no active kindness in comparison of 107:068,04@a | Edmund. She began to think it rather hard upon the 107:068,05@a | mare to have such double duty; if she were forgotten 107:068,06@a | the poor mare should be remembered. 107:068,07[' ]| Her feelings for one and the other were soon a little 107:068,08[' ]| tranquillized, by seeing the party in the meadow disperse, 107:068,09[' ]| and Miss*Crawford still on horseback, but attended by 107:068,10[' ]| Edmund on foot, pass through a gate into the lane, and 107:068,11[' ]| so into the park, and make towards the spot where she 107:068,12[' ]| stood. She began then to be afraid of appearing rude 107:068,13[' ]| and impatient; and walked to meet them with a great 107:068,14[' ]| anxiety to avoid the suspicion. 107:068,15[C ]| "My dear Miss*Price," 107:068,15[' ]| said Miss*Crawford, as soon as 107:068,16[' ]| she was at all within hearing, 107:068,16[C ]| "I am come to make my 107:068,17[C ]| own apologies for keeping you waiting ~~ but I have 107:068,18[C ]| nothing in the world to say for myself ~~ I knew it was very 107:068,19[C ]| late, and that I was behaving extremely ill; and, therefore, 107:068,20[C ]| if you please, you must forgive me. Selfishness 107:068,21[C ]| must always be forgiven you know, because there is no 107:068,22[C ]| hope of a cure." 107:068,23[' ]| Fanny's answer was extremely civil, and Edmund 107:068,24[' ]| added his conviction that she could be in no hurry. 107:068,25[B ]| "For there is more than time enough for my cousin to 107:068,26[B ]| ride twice as far as she ever goes," 107:068,26[' ]| said he, 107:068,26[B ]| "and you 107:068,27[B ]| have been promoting her comfort by preventing her 107:068,28[B ]| from setting off half an hour sooner; clouds are now 107:068,29[B ]| coming up, and she will not suffer from the heat as she 107:068,30[B ]| would have done then. I wish \you\ may not be fatigued 107:068,31[B ]| by so much exercise. I wish you had saved yourself this 107:068,32[B ]| walk home." 107:068,33[C ]| "No part of it fatigues me but getting off this horse, 107:068,34[C ]| I assure you," 107:068,34[' ]| said she, as she sprang down with his help; 107:068,35[C ]| "I am very strong. Nothing ever fatigues me, but 107:068,36[C ]| doing what I do not like. Miss*Price, I give way to you 107:068,37[C ]| with a very bad grace; but I sincerely hope you will 107:068,38[C ]| have a pleasant ride, and that I may have nothing 107:069,01[C ]| but good to hear of this dear, delightful, beautiful 107:069,02[C ]| animal." 107:069,03[' ]| The old coachman, who had been waiting about with 107:069,04[' ]| his own horse, now joining them, Fanny was lifted on 107:069,05[' ]| her's, and they set off across another part of the park; 107:069,06[' ]| her feelings of discomfort not lightened by seeing, as she 107:069,07[' ]| looked back, that the others were walking down the hill 107:069,08[' ]| together to the village; nor did her attendant do her 107:069,09[' ]| much good by his comments on Miss*Crawford's great 107:069,10[' ]| cleverness as a horsewoman, which he had been watching 107:069,11[' ]| with an interest almost equal to her own. 107:069,12[W ]| "It is a pleasure to see a lady with such a good heart 107:069,13[W ]| for riding!" 107:069,13[' ]| said he. 107:069,13[W ]| "I never see one sit a horse 107:069,14[W ]| better. She did not seem to have a thought of fear. 107:069,15[W ]| Very different from you, miss, when you first began, six 107:069,16[W ]| years ago come next Easter. Lord bless me! how you 107:069,17[W ]| did tremble when Sir*Thomas first had you put on!" 107:069,18[' ]| In the drawing-room Miss*Crawford was also celebrated. 107:069,19[' ]| Her merit in being gifted by nature with 107:069,20[' ]| strength and courage was fully appreciated by the Miss*Bertrams; 107:069,21[' ]| her delight in riding was like their own; 107:069,22[' ]| her early excellence in it was like their own, and they 107:069,23[' ]| had great pleasure in praising it. 107:069,24[I ]| "I was sure she would ride well," 107:069,24[' ]| said Julia; 107:069,24[I ]| "she 107:069,25[I ]| has the make for it. Her figure is as neat as her brother's." 107:069,26[H ]| "Yes," 107:069,26[' ]| added Maria, 107:069,26[H ]| "and her spirits are as good, 107:069,27[H ]| and she has the same energy of character. I cannot 107:069,28[H ]| but think that good horsemanship has a great deal to do 107:069,29[H ]| with the mind." 107:069,30[' ]| When they parted at night, Edmund asked Fanny 107:069,31[' ]| whether she meant to ride the next day. 107:069,32[A ]| "No, I do not know, not if you want the mare," 107:069,32[' ]| was 107:069,33[' ]| her answer. 107:069,34[B ]| "I do not want her at all for myself," 107:069,34[' ]| said he; 107:069,34[B ]| "but 107:069,35[B ]| whenever you are next inclined to stay at home, I think 107:069,36[B ]| Miss*Crawford would be glad to have her for a longer 107:069,37[B ]| time ~~ for a whole morning in short. She has a great 107:069,38[B ]| desire to get as far as Mansfield*common, Mrs%*Grant 107:070,01[B ]| has been telling her of its fine views, and I have no doubt 107:070,02[B ]| of her being perfectly equal to it. But any morning 107:070,03[B ]| will do for this. She would be extremely sorry to interfere 107:070,04[B ]| with you. It would be very wrong if she did. ~~ \She\ 107:070,05[B ]| rides only for pleasure, \you\ for health." 107:070,06[A ]| "I shall not ride to-morrow, certainly," 107:070,06[' ]| said Fanny; 107:070,07[A ]| "I have been out very often lately, and would rather 107:070,08[A ]| stay at home. You know I am strong enough now to 107:070,09[A ]| walk very well." 107:070,10[' ]| Edmund looked pleased, which must be Fanny's comfort, 107:070,11[' ]| and the ride to Mansfield*common took place the next 107:070,12[' ]| morning; ~~ the party included all the young people but 107:070,13[' ]| herself, and was much enjoyed at the time, and doubly 107:070,14[' ]| enjoyed again in the evening discussion. A successful 107:070,15[' ]| scheme of this sort generally brings on another; and the 107:070,16[' ]| having been to Mansfield-common, disposed them all for 107:070,17[' ]| going somewhere else the day after. There were many 107:070,18[' ]| other views to be shewn, and though the weather was 107:070,19[' ]| hot, there were shady lanes wherever they wanted to go. 107:070,20[' ]| A young party is always provided with a shady lane. 107:070,21[' ]| Four fine mornings successively were spent in this manner, 107:070,22[' ]| in shewing the Crawfords the country, and doing the 107:070,23[' ]| honours of its finest spots. Every*thing answered; it 107:070,24[' ]| was all gaiety and good-humour, the heat only supplying 107:070,25[' ]| inconvenience enough to be talked of with pleasure ~~ till 107:070,26[' ]| the fourth day, when the happiness of one of the party 107:070,27[' ]| was exceedingly clouded. Miss*Bertram was the one. 107:070,28[' ]| Edmund and Julia were invited to dine at the parsonage, 107:070,29[' ]| and \she\ was excluded. It was meant and done by Mrs%*Grant, 107:070,30[' ]| with perfect good*humour, on Mr%*Rushworth's 107:070,31[' ]| account, who was partly expected at the park that day; 107:070,32[' ]| but it was felt as a very grievous injury, and her good 107:070,33[' ]| manners were severely taxed to conceal her vexation 107:070,34[' ]| and anger, till she reached home. As Mr%*Rushworth 107:070,35[' ]| did \not\ come, the injury was increased, and she had not 107:070,36[' ]| even the relief of shewing her power over him; she could 107:070,37[' ]| only be sullen to her mother, aunt, and cousin, and throw 107:070,38[' ]| as great a gloom as possible over their dinner and dessert. 107:071,01[' ]| Between ten and eleven, Edmund and Julia walked 107:071,02[' ]| into the drawing-room, fresh with the evening air, 107:071,03[' ]| glowing and cheerful, the very reverse of what they 107:071,04[' ]| found in the three ladies sitting there, for Maria would 107:071,05[' ]| scarcely raise her eyes from her book, and Lady*Bertram 107:071,06[' ]| was half asleep; and even Mrs%*Norris, discomposed by 107:071,07[' ]| her niece's ill-humour, and having asked one or two 107:071,08[' ]| questions about the dinner, which were not immediately 107:071,09[' ]| attended to, seemed almost determined to say no more. 107:071,10[' ]| For a few minutes, the brother and sister were too eager 107:071,11[' ]| in their praise of the night and their remarks on the stars, 107:071,12[' ]| to think beyond themselves; but when the first pause 107:071,13[' ]| came, Edmund, looking around, said, 107:071,13[B ]| "But where is 107:071,14[B ]| Fanny? ~~ Is she gone to bed?" 107:071,15[J ]| "No, not that I know of," 107:071,15[' ]| replied Mrs%*Norris; 107:071,15[J ]| "she 107:071,16[J ]| was here a moment ago." 107:071,17[' ]| Her own gentle voice speaking from the other end of 107:071,18[' ]| the room, which was a very long one, told them that she 107:071,19[' ]| was on the sofa. Mrs%*Norris began scolding. 107:071,20[J ]| "That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to be idling away 107:071,21[J ]| all the evening upon a sofa. Why cannot you come and 107:071,22[J ]| sit here, and employ yourself as \we\ do? ~~ If you have 107:071,23[J ]| no work of your own, I can supply you from the poor-basket. 107:071,24[J ]| There is all the new calico that was bought last 107:071,25[J ]| week, not touched yet. I am sure I almost broke my 107:071,26[J ]| back by cutting it out. You should learn to think of 107:071,27[J ]| other people; and take my word for it, it is a shocking 107:071,28[J ]| trick for a young person to be always lolling upon a 107:071,29[J ]| sofa." 107:071,30[' ]| Before half this was said, Fanny was returned to her 107:071,31[' ]| seat at the table, and had taken up her work again; 107:071,32[' ]| and Julia, who was in high good-humour, from the 107:071,33[' ]| pleasures of the day, did her the justice of exclaiming, 107:071,34[I ]| "I must say, ma'am, that Fanny is as little upon the 107:071,35[I ]| sofa as any*body in the house." 107:071,36[B ]| "Fanny," 107:071,36[' ]| said Edmund, after looking at her attentively; 107:071,37[B ]| "I am sure you have the headach?" 107:071,38[' ]| She could not deny it, but said it was not very bad. 107:072,01[B ]| "I can hardly believe you," 107:072,01[' ]| he replied; 107:072,01[B ]| "I know your 107:072,02[B ]| looks too well. How long have you had it?" 107:072,03[A ]| "Since a little before dinner. It is nothing but the heat." 107:072,04[B ]| "Did you go out in the heat?" 107:072,05[J ]| "Go out! to be sure she did," 107:072,05[' ]| said Mrs%*Norris; 107:072,06[J ]| "would you have her stay within such a fine day as this? 107:072,07[J ]| Were not we \all\ out? Even your mother was out to-day 107:072,08[J ]| for above an hour." 107:072,09[F ]| "Yes, indeed, Edmund," 107:072,09[' ]| added her ladyship, who had 107:072,10[' ]| been thoroughly awakened by Mrs%*Norris's sharp reprimand 107:072,11[' ]| to Fanny; 107:072,11[F ]| "I was out above an hour. I sat 107:072,12[F ]| three quarters of an hour in the flower*garden, while 107:072,13[F ]| Fanny cut the roses, and very pleasant it was I assure 107:072,14[F ]| you, but very hot. It was shady enough in the alcove, 107:072,15[F ]| but I declare I quite dreaded the coming home again." 107:072,16[B ]| "Fanny has been cutting roses, has she?" 107:072,17[F ]| "Yes, and I am afraid they will be the last this year. 107:072,18[F ]| Poor thing! \She\ found it hot enough, but they were so 107:072,19[F ]| full blown, that one could not wait." 107:072,20[J ]| "There was no help for it certainly," 107:072,20[' ]| rejoined Mrs%*Norris, 107:072,21[' ]| in a rather softened voice; 107:072,21[J ]| "but I question 107:072,22[J ]| whether her headach might not be caught \then\, sister. 107:072,23[J ]| There is nothing so likely to give it as standing and 107:072,24[J ]| stooping in a hot sun. But I dare say it will be well 107:072,25[J ]| to-morrow. Suppose you let her have your aromatic 107:072,26[J ]| vinegar; I always forget to have mine filled." 107:072,27[F ]| "She has got it," 107:072,27[' ]| said Lady*Bertram; 107:072,27[F ]| "she has had 107:072,28[F ]| it ever since she came back from your house the second 107:072,29[F ]| time." 107:072,30[B ]| "What!" 107:072,30[' ]| cried Edmund; 107:072,30[B ]| "has she been walking 107:072,31[B ]| as well as cutting roses; walking across the hot park to 107:072,32[B ]| your house, and doing it twice, ma'am? ~~ No wonder her 107:072,33[B ]| head aches." 107:072,34[' ]| Mrs%*Norris was talking to Julia, and did not hear. 107:072,35[F ]| "I was afraid it would be too much for her," 107:072,35[' ]| said Lady*Bertram; 107:072,36[F ]| "but when the roses were gathered, your aunt 107:072,37[F ]| wished to have them, and then you know they must be 107:072,38[F ]| taken home." 107:073,01[B ]| "But were there roses enough to oblige her to go 107:073,02[B ]| twice?" 107:073,03[F ]| "No; but they were to be put into the spare*room to 107:073,04[F ]| dry; and, unluckily, Fanny forgot to lock the door of 107:073,05[F ]| the room and bring away the key, so she was obliged to 107:073,06[F ]| go again." 107:073,07[' ]| Edmund got up and walked about the room, saying, 107:073,08[B ]| "And could nobody be employed on such an errand but 107:073,09[B ]| Fanny? ~~ Upon my word, ma'am, it has been a very 107:073,10[B ]| ill-managed business." 107:073,11[J ]| "I am sure I do not know how it was to have been 107:073,12[J ]| done better," 107:073,12[' ]| cried Mrs%*Norris, unable to be longer deaf; 107:073,13[J ]| "unless I had gone myself indeed; but I cannot be in 107:073,14[J ]| two places at once; and I was talking to Mr%*Green at 107:073,15[J ]| that very time about your mother's dairymaid, by \her\ 107:073,16[J ]| desire, and had promised John*Groom to write to 107:073,16[J ]| Mrs%*Jefferies 107:073,17[J ]| about his son, and the poor fellow was waiting 107:073,18[J ]| for me half an hour. I think nobody can justly accuse 107:073,19[J ]| me of sparing myself upon any occasion, but really 107:073,20[J ]| I cannot do every*thing at once. And as for Fanny's 107:073,21[J ]| just stepping down to my house for me, it is not much 107:073,22[J ]| above a quarter of a mile, I cannot think I was unreasonable 107:073,23[J ]| to ask it. How often do I pace it three times a-day, 107:073,24[J ]| early and late, ay and in all weathers too, and say nothing 107:073,25[J ]| about it." 107:073,26[B ]| "I wish Fanny had half your strength, ma'am." 107:073,27[J ]| "If Fanny would be more regular in her exercise, she 107:073,28[J ]| would not be knocked up so soon. She has not been out 107:073,29[J ]| on horseback now this long while, and I am persuaded, 107:073,30[J ]| that when she does not ride, she ought to walk. If she 107:073,31[J ]| had been riding before, I should not have asked it of her. 107:073,32[J ]| But I thought it would rather do her good after being 107:073,33[J ]| stooping among the roses; for there is nothing so refreshing 107:073,34[J ]| as a walk after a fatigue of that kind; and though 107:073,35[J ]| the sun was strong, it was not so very hot. Between 107:073,36[J ]| ourselves, Edmund," 107:073,36[' ]| nodding significantly at his mother, 107:073,37[J ]| "it was cutting the roses, and dawdling about in the 107:073,38[J ]| flower-garden, that did the mischief." 107:074,01[F ]| "I am afraid it was, indeed," 107:074,01[' ]| said the more candid 107:074,02[' ]| Lady*Bertram, who had overheard her, 107:074,02[F ]| "I am very much 107:074,03[F ]| afraid she caught the headach there, for the heat was 107:074,04[F ]| enough to kill any*body. It was as much as I could bear 107:074,05[F ]| myself. Sitting and calling to Pug, and trying to keep 107:074,06[F ]| him from the flower-beds, was almost too much for me." 107:074,07[' ]| Edmund said no more to either lady; but going 107:074,08[' ]| quietly to another table, on which the supper tray yet 107:074,09[' ]| remained, brought a glass of Madeira to Fanny, and 107:074,10[' ]| obliged her to drink the greater part. She wished to be 107:074,11[' ]| able to decline it; but the tears which a variety of 107:074,12[' ]| feelings created, made it easier to swallow than to speak. 107:074,13[' ]| Vexed as Edmund was with his mother and aunt, he 107:074,14[' ]| was still more angry with himself. 107:074,14@b | His own forgetfulness 107:074,15@b | of her was worse than any*thing which they had done. 107:074,16@b | Nothing of this would have happened had she been 107:074,17@b | properly considered; but she had been left four days 107:074,18@b | together without any choice of companions or exercise, 107:074,19@b | and without any excuse for avoiding whatever her 107:074,20@b | unreasonable aunts might require. He was ashamed to 107:074,21@b | think that for four days together she had not had the 107:074,22@b | power of riding, and very seriously resolved, however 107:074,23@b | unwilling he must be to check a pleasure of Miss*Crawford's, 107:074,24@b | that it should never happen again. 107:074,25[' ]| Fanny went to bed with her heart as full as on the 107:074,26[' ]| first evening of her arrival at the Park. The state of her 107:074,27[' ]| spirits had probably had its share in her indisposition; 107:074,28[' ]| for she had been feeling neglected, and been struggling 107:074,29[' ]| against discontent and envy for some days past. As she 107:074,30[' ]| leant on the sofa, to which she had retreated that she 107:074,31[' ]| might not be seen, the pain of her mind had been much 107:074,32[' ]| beyond that in her head; and the sudden change which 107:074,33[' ]| Edmund's kindness had then occasioned, made her hardly 107:074,34[' ]| know how to support herself. 108:075,01[' ]| Fanny's rides recommenced the very next day, and 108:075,02[' ]| as it was a pleasant fresh-feeling morning, less hot than 108:075,03[' ]| the weather had lately been, Edmund trusted that her 108:075,04[' ]| losses both of health and pleasure would be soon made 108:075,05[' ]| good. While she was gone, Mr%*Rushworth arrived, 108:075,06[' ]| escorting his mother, who came to be civil, and to shew 108:075,07[' ]| her civility especially, in urging the execution of the plan 108:075,08[' ]| for visiting Sotherton, which had been started a fortnight 108:075,09[' ]| before, and which, in consequence of her subsequent 108:075,10[' ]| absence from home, had since lain dormant. Mrs%*Norris 108:075,11[' ]| and her nieces were all well pleased with its revival, and 108:075,12[' ]| an early day was named, and agreed to, provided Mr%*Crawford 108:075,13[' ]| should be disengaged; the young ladies did not 108:075,14[' ]| forget that stipulation, and though Mrs%*Norris would 108:075,15[' ]| willingly have answered for his being so, they would 108:075,16[' ]| neither authorize the liberty, nor run the risk; and at 108:075,17[' ]| last on a hint from Miss*Bertram, Mr%*Rushworth discovered 108:075,18[' ]| that 108:075,18@k | the properest thing to be done, was for him 108:075,19@k | to walk down to the parsonage directly, and call on 108:075,19@k | Mr%*Crawford, 108:075,20@k | and inquire whether Wednesday would suit 108:075,21@k | him or not. 108:075,22[' ]| Before his return Mrs%*Grant and Miss*Crawford came 108:075,23[' ]| in. Having been out some time, and taken a different 108:075,24[' ]| route to the house, they had not met him. Comfortable 108:075,25[' ]| hopes, however, were given that he would find Mr%*Crawford 108:075,26[' ]| at home. The Sotherton scheme was mentioned of 108:075,27[' ]| course. It was hardly possible indeed that any*thing 108:075,28[' ]| else should be talked of, for Mrs%*Norris was in high 108:075,29[' ]| spirits about it, and Mrs%*Rushworth, a well-meaning, 108:075,30[' ]| civil, prosing, pompous woman, who thought nothing of 108:075,31[' ]| consequence, but as it related to her own and her son's 108:075,32[' ]| concerns, had not yet given over pressing Lady*Bertram 108:076,01[' ]| to be of the party. Lady*Bertram constantly declined 108:076,02[' ]| it; but her placid manner of refusal made Mrs%*Rushworth 108:076,03[' ]| still think she wished to come, till Mrs%*Norris's 108:076,04[' ]| more numerous words and louder tone convinced her of 108:076,05[' ]| the truth. 108:076,06[J ]| "The fatigue would be too much for my sister, a great 108:076,07[J ]| deal too much I assure you, my dear Mrs%*Rushworth. 108:076,08[J ]| Ten miles there, and ten back, you know. You must 108:076,09[J ]| excuse my sister on this occasion, and accept of our two 108:076,10[J ]| dear girls and myself without her. Sotherton is the only 108:076,11[J ]| place that could give her a \wish\ to go so far, but it cannot 108:076,12[J ]| be indeed. She will have a companion in Fanny*Price 108:076,13[J ]| you know, so it will all do very well; and as for Edmund, 108:076,14[J ]| as he is not here to speak for himself, I will answer for his 108:076,15[J ]| being most happy to join the party. He can go on horseback, 108:076,16[J ]| you know." 108:076,17[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth being obliged to yield to Lady*Bertram's 108:076,18[' ]| staying at home, could only be sorry. 108:076,18[L ]| "The loss of her 108:076,19[L ]| Ladyship's company would be a great drawback, and she 108:076,20[L ]| should have been extremely happy to have seen the 108:076,21[L ]| young lady too, Miss*Price, who had never been at 108:076,22[L ]| Sotherton yet, and it was a pity she should not see the 108:076,23[L ]| place." 108:076,24[J ]| "You are very kind, you are all kindness, my dear 108:076,25[J ]| madam," 108:076,25[' ]| cried Mrs%*Norris; 108:076,25[J ]| "but as to Fanny, she will 108:076,26[J ]| have opportunities in plenty of seeing Sotherton. She 108:076,27[J ]| has time enough before her; and her going now is quite 108:076,28[J ]| out of the question. Lady*Bertram could not possibly 108:076,29[J ]| spare her." 108:076,30[F ]| "Oh! no ~~ I cannot do without Fanny." 108:076,31[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth proceeded next, under the conviction 108:076,32[' ]| that every*body must be wanting to see Sotherton, to 108:076,33[' ]| include Miss*Crawford in the invitation; and though 108:076,34[' ]| Mrs%*Grant, who had not been at the trouble of visiting 108:076,35[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth on her coming into the neighbourhood, 108:076,36[' ]| civilly declined it on her own account, she was glad to 108:076,37[' ]| secure any pleasure for her sister; and Mary, properly 108:076,38[' ]| pressed and persuaded, was not long in accepting her 108:077,01[' ]| share of the civility. Mr%*Rushworth came back from 108:077,02[' ]| the parsonage successful; and Edmund made his appearance 108:077,03[' ]| just in time to learn what had been settled for 108:077,04[' ]| Wednesday, to attend Mrs%*Rushworth to her carriage, 108:077,05[' ]| and walk half way down the park with the two other 108:077,06[' ]| ladies. 108:077,07[' ]| On his return to the breakfast-room, he found Mrs%*Norris 108:077,08[' ]| trying to make up her mind as to whether Miss*Crawford's 108:077,09[' ]| being of the party were desirable or not, or 108:077,10[' ]| whether her brother's barouche would not be full without 108:077,11[' ]| her. The Miss*Bertrams laughed at the idea, assuring 108:077,12[' ]| her that the barouche would hold four perfectly well, 108:077,13[' ]| independent of the box, on which \one\ might go with him. 108:077,14[B ]| "But why is it necessary," 108:077,14[' ]| said Edmund, 108:077,14[B ]| "that Crawford's 108:077,15[B ]| carriage, or his \only\ should be employed? Why 108:077,16[B ]| is no use to be made of my mother's chaise? I could 108:077,17[B ]| not, when the scheme was first mentioned the other day, 108:077,18[B ]| understand why a visit from the family were not to be 108:077,19[B ]| made in the carriage of the family." 108:077,20[I ]| "What!" 108:077,20[' ]| cried Julia: 108:077,20[I ]| "go box'd up three in a post-chaise 108:077,21[I ]| in this weather, when we may have seats in a 108:077,22[I ]| barouche! No, my dear Edmund, that will not quite do." 108:077,23[H ]| "Besides," 108:077,23[' ]| said Maria, 108:077,23[H ]| "I know that Mr%*Crawford 108:077,24[H ]| depends upon taking us. After what passed at first, he 108:077,25[H ]| would claim it as a promise." 108:077,26[J ]| "And my dear Edmund," 108:077,26[' ]| added Mrs%*Norris, 108:077,26[J ]| "taking 108:077,27[J ]| out \two\ carriages when \one\ will do, would be trouble for 108:077,28[J ]| nothing; and between ourselves, coachman is not very 108:077,29[J ]| fond of the roads between this and Sotherton; he always 108:077,30[J ]| complains bitterly of the narrow lanes scratching his 108:077,31[J ]| carriage, and you know one should not like to have dear 108:077,32[J ]| Sir*Thomas when he comes home find all the varnish 108:077,33[J ]| scratched off." 108:077,34[H ]| "That would not be a very handsome reason for using 108:077,35[H ]| Mr%*Crawford's," 108:077,35[' ]| said Maria; 108:077,35[H ]| "but the truth is, that 108:077,36[H ]| Wilcox is a stupid old fellow, and does not know how to 108:077,37[H ]| drive. I will answer for it that we shall find no 108:077,37[H ]| inconvenience 108:077,38[H ]| from narrow roads on Wednesday." 108:078,01[B ]| "There is no hardship, I suppose, nothing unpleasant," 108:078,02[' ]| said Edmund, 108:078,02[B ]| "in going on the barouche*box." 108:078,03[H ]| "Unpleasant!" 108:078,03[' ]| cried Maria; 108:078,03[H ]| "Oh! dear, I believe 108:078,04[H ]| it would be generally thought the favourite seat. There 108:078,05[H ]| can be no comparison as to one's view of the country. 108:078,06[H ]| Probably, Miss*Crawford will choose the barouche*box 108:078,07[H ]| herself." 108:078,08[B ]| "There can be no objection then to Fanny's going 108:078,09[B ]| with you; there can be no doubt of your having room 108:078,10[B ]| for her." 108:078,11[J ]| "Fanny!" 108:078,11[' ]| repeated Mrs%*Norris; 108:078,11[J ]| "my dear Edmund, 108:078,12[J ]| there is no idea of her going with us. She stays with 108:078,13[J ]| her aunt. I told Mrs%*Rushworth so. She is not 108:078,14[J ]| expected." 108:078,15[B ]| "You can have no reason I imagine madam," 108:078,15[' ]| said he, 108:078,16[' ]| addressing his mother, 108:078,16[B ]| "for wishing Fanny \not\ to be of 108:078,17[B ]| the party, but as it relates to yourself, to your own 108:078,18[B ]| comfort. If you could do without her, you would not 108:078,19[B ]| wish to keep her at home?" 108:078,20[F ]| "To be sure not, but I \cannot\ do without her." 108:078,21[B ]| "You can, if I stay at home with you, as I mean to do." 108:078,22[' ]| There was a general cry out at this. 108:078,22[B ]| "Yes," 108:078,22[' ]| he continued, 108:078,23[B ]| "there is no necessity for my going, and I mean 108:078,24[B ]| to stay at home. Fanny has a great desire to see Sotherton. 108:078,25[B ]| I know she wishes it very much. She has not often 108:078,26[B ]| a gratification of the kind, and I am sure ma'am you 108:078,27[B ]| would be glad to give her the pleasure now?" 108:078,28[F ]| "Oh! yes, very glad, if your aunt sees no objection." 108:078,29[' ]| Mrs%*Norris was very ready with the only objection 108:078,30[' ]| which could remain, 108:078,30@j | their having positively assured 108:078,31@j | Mrs%*Rushworth, that Fanny could not go, and the 108:078,32@j | very strange appearance there would consequently be 108:078,33@j | in taking her, which seemed to her a difficulty quite 108:078,34@j | impossible to be got over. It must have the strangest 108:078,35@j | appearance! It would be something so very unceremonious, 108:078,36@j | so bordering on disrespect for Mrs%*Rushworth, 108:078,37@j | whose own manners were such a pattern of good-breeding 108:078,38@j | and attention, that she really did not feel equal to it. 108:079,01[' ]| Mrs%*Norris had no affection for Fanny, and no wish of 108:079,02[' ]| procuring her pleasure at any time, but her opposition to 108:079,03[' ]| Edmund \now\ arose more from partiality for her own 108:079,04[' ]| scheme because it \was\ her own, than from any*thing else. 108:079,05[' ]| She felt that she had arranged every*thing extremely well, 108:079,06[' ]| and that any alteration must be for the worse. When 108:079,07[' ]| Edmund, therefore, told her in reply, as he did when she 108:079,08[' ]| would give him the hearing, that she need not distress 108:079,09[' ]| herself on Mrs%*Rushworth's account, because he had 108:079,10[' ]| taken the opportunity as he walked with her through 108:079,11[' ]| the hall, of mentioning Miss*Price as one who would 108:079,12[' ]| probably be of the party, and had directly received a very 108:079,13[' ]| sufficient invitation for his cousin, Mrs%*Norris was too 108:079,14[' ]| much vexed to submit with a very good grace, and 108:079,15[' ]| would only say, 108:079,15[J ]| "Very well, very well, just as you 108:079,16[J ]| choose, settle it your own way, I am sure I do not care 108:079,17[J ]| about it." 108:079,18[H ]| "It seems very odd," 108:079,18[' ]| said Maria, 108:079,18[H ]| "that you should 108:079,19[H ]| be staying at home instead of Fanny." 108:079,20[I ]| "I am sure she ought to be very much obliged to you," 108:079,21[' ]| added Julia, hastily leaving the room as she spoke, from 108:079,22[' ]| a consciousness that 108:079,22@i | she ought to offer to stay at home 108:079,23@i | herself. 108:079,24[B ]| "Fanny will feel quite as grateful as the occasion 108:079,25[B ]| requires," 108:079,25[' ]| was Edmund's only reply, and the subject 108:079,26[' ]| dropt. 108:079,27[' ]| Fanny's gratitude when she heard the plan, was in 108:079,28[' ]| fact much greater than her pleasure. She felt Edmund's 108:079,29[' ]| kindness with all, and more than all, the sensibility which 108:079,30[' ]| he, unsuspicious of her fond attachment, could be aware 108:079,31[' ]| of; 108:079,31@a | but that he should forego any enjoyment on her 108:079,32@a | account gave her pain, and her own satisfaction in seeing 108:079,33@a | Sotherton would be nothing without him. 108:079,34[' ]| The next meeting of the two Mansfield families produced 108:079,35[' ]| another alteration in the plan, and one that was 108:079,36[' ]| admitted with general approbation. Mrs%*Grant offered 108:079,37[' ]| herself as companion for the day to Lady*Bertram in lieu 108:079,38[' ]| of her son, and Dr%*Grant was to join them at dinner. 108:080,01[' ]| Lady*Bertram was very well pleased to have it so, and 108:080,02[' ]| the young ladies were in spirits again. Even Edmund 108:080,03[' ]| was very thankful for an arrangement which restored 108:080,04[' ]| him to his share of the party; and Mrs%*Norris thought 108:080,05[' ]| it an excellent plan, and had it at her tongue's end, and 108:080,06[' ]| was on the point of proposing it when Mrs%*Grant spoke. 108:080,07[' ]| Wednesday was fine, and soon after breakfast the 108:080,08[' ]| barouche arrived, Mr%*Crawford driving his sisters; 108:080,09[' ]| and as every*body was ready, there was nothing to be 108:080,10[' ]| done but for Mrs%*Grant to alight and the others to take 108:080,11[' ]| their places. The place of all places, the envied seat, the 108:080,12[' ]| post of honour, was unappropriated. To whose happy 108:080,13[' ]| lot was it to fall? While each of the Miss*Bertrams were 108:080,14[' ]| meditating how best, and with most appearance of 108:080,15[' ]| obliging the others, to secure it, the matter was settled 108:080,16[' ]| by Mrs%*Grant's saying, as she stepped from the carriage, 108:080,17[N ]| "As there are five of you, it will be better that one should 108:080,18[N ]| sit with Henry, and as you were saying lately, that you 108:080,19[N ]| wished you could drive, Julia, I think this will be a good 108:080,20[N ]| opportunity for you to take a lesson." 108:080,21[' ]| Happy Julia! Unhappy Maria! The former was on 108:080,22[' ]| the barouche-box in a moment, the latter took her seat 108:080,23[' ]| within, in gloom and mortification; and the carriage 108:080,24[' ]| drove off amid the good wishes of the two remaining 108:080,25[' ]| ladies, and the barking of pug in his mistress's arms. 108:080,26[' ]| Their road was through a pleasant country; and 108:080,27[' ]| Fanny, whose rides had never been extensive, was soon 108:080,28[' ]| beyond her knowledge, and was very happy in observing 108:080,29[' ]| all that was new, and admiring all that was pretty. She 108:080,30[' ]| was not often invited to join in the conversation of the 108:080,31[' ]| others, nor did she desire it. Her own thoughts and 108:080,32[' ]| reflections were habitually her best companions; and in 108:080,33[' ]| observing the appearance of the country, the bearings 108:080,34[' ]| of the roads, the difference of soil, the state of the harvest, 108:080,35[' ]| the cottages, the cattle, the children, she found entertainment 108:080,36[' ]| that could only have been heightened by 108:080,37[' ]| having Edmund to speak to of what she felt. That was 108:080,38[' ]| the only point of resemblance between her and the lady 108:081,01[' ]| who sat by her; in every*thing but a value for Edmund, 108:081,02[' ]| Miss*Crawford was very unlike her. She had none of 108:081,03[' ]| Fanny's delicacy of taste, of mind, of feeling; she saw 108:081,04[' ]| nature, inanimate nature, with little observation; her 108:081,05[' ]| attention was all for men and women, her talents for 108:081,06[' ]| the light and lively. In looking back after Edmund, 108:081,07[' ]| however, when there was any stretch of road behind 108:081,08[' ]| them, or when he gained on them in ascending a considerable 108:081,09[' ]| hill, they were united, and a 108:081,09[Y ]| "there he is" 108:081,10[' ]| broke at the same moment from them both, more than 108:081,11[' ]| once. 108:081,12[' ]| For the first seven miles Miss*Bertram had very little 108:081,13[' ]| real comfort; her prospect always ended in Mr%*Crawford 108:081,14[' ]| and her sister sitting side by side full of conversation and 108:081,15[' ]| merriment; and to see only his expressive profile as he 108:081,16[' ]| turned with a smile to Julia, or to catch the laugh of the 108:081,17[' ]| other, was a perpetual source of irritation, which her 108:081,18[' ]| own sense of propriety could but just smooth over. When 108:081,19[' ]| Julia looked back, it was with a countenance of delight, 108:081,20[' ]| and whenever she spoke to them, it was in the highest 108:081,21[' ]| spirits; 108:081,21[I ]| "her view of the country was charming, she 108:081,22[I ]| wished they could all see it, &c%" 108:081,22[' ]| but her only offer of 108:081,23[' ]| exchange was addressed to Miss*Crawford, as they gained 108:081,24[' ]| the summit of a long hill, and was not more inviting than 108:081,25[' ]| this, 108:081,25[I ]| "Here is a fine burst of country. I wish you had 108:081,26[I ]| my seat, but I dare say you will not take it, let me 108:081,27[I ]| press you ever so much," 108:081,27[' ]| and Miss*Crawford could 108:081,28[' ]| hardly answer, before they were moving again at a good 108:081,29[' ]| pace. 108:081,30[' ]| When they came within the influence of Sotherton 108:081,31[' ]| associations, it was better for Miss*Bertram, who might 108:081,32[' ]| be said to have two strings to her bow. She had 108:081,32[' ]| Rushworth-feelings, 108:081,33[' ]| and Crawford-feelings, and in the vicinity 108:081,34[' ]| of Sotherton, the former had considerable effect. Mr%*Rushworth's 108:081,35[' ]| consequence was hers. She could not tell 108:081,36[' ]| Miss*Crawford that 108:081,36[H ]| "those woods belonged to Sotherton," 108:081,37[' ]| she could not carelessly observe that 108:081,37[H ]| "she believed it was 108:081,38[H ]| now all Mr%*Rushworth's property on each side of the 108:082,01[H ]| road," 108:082,01[' ]| without elation of heart; and it was a pleasure to 108:082,02[' ]| increase with their approach to the capital freehold mansion, 108:082,03[' ]| and ancient manorial residence of the family, with 108:082,04[' ]| all its rights of Court-Leet and Court-Baron. 108:082,05[H ]| "Now we shall have no more rough road, Miss*Crawford, 108:082,06[H ]| our difficulties are over. The rest of the way is such as 108:082,07[H ]| it ought to be. Mr%*Rushworth has made it since he succeeded 108:082,08[H ]| to the estate. Here begins the village. Those 108:082,09[H ]| cottages are really a disgrace. The church spire is 108:082,10[H ]| reckoned remarkably handsome. I am glad the church 108:082,11[H ]| is not so close to the Great House as often happens in old 108:082,12[H ]| places. The annoyance of the bells must be terrible. 108:082,13[H ]| There is the parsonage; a tidy looking house, and 108:082,14[H ]| I understand the clergyman and his wife are very decent 108:082,15[H ]| people. Those are alms-houses, built by some of the 108:082,16[H ]| family. To the right is the steward's house; he is a very 108:082,17[H ]| respectable man. Now we are coming to the lodge 108:082,18[H ]| gates; but we have nearly a mile through the park 108:082,19[H ]| still. It is not ugly, you see, at this end; there is some 108:082,20[H ]| fine timber, but the situation of the house is dreadful. 108:082,21[H ]| We go down*hill to it for half-a-mile, and it is a pity, 108:082,22[H ]| for it would not be an ill-looking place if it had a better 108:082,23[H ]| approach." 108:082,24[' ]| Miss*Crawford was not slow to admire; she pretty 108:082,25[' ]| well guessed Miss*Bertram's feelings, and made it a point 108:082,26[' ]| of honour to promote her enjoyment to the utmost. 108:082,27[' ]| Mrs%*Norris was all delight and volubility; and even 108:082,28[' ]| Fanny had something to say in admiration, and might 108:082,29[' ]| be heard with complacency. Her eye was eagerly taking 108:082,30[' ]| in every*thing within her reach; and after being at some 108:082,31[' ]| pains to get a view of the house, and observing that 108:082,31[A ]| "it 108:082,32[A ]| was a sort of building which she could not look at but 108:082,33[A ]| with respect," 108:082,33[' ]| she added, 108:082,33[A ]| "Now, where is the avenue? 108:082,34[A ]| The house fronts the east, I perceive. The avenue, 108:082,35[A ]| therefore, must be at the back of it. Mr%*Rushworth 108:082,36[A ]| talked of the west front." 108:082,37[H ]| "Yes, it is exactly behind the house; begins at a little 108:082,38[H ]| distance, and ascends for half-a-mile to the extremity of 108:083,01[H ]| the grounds. You may see something of it here ~~ something 108:083,02[H ]| of the more distant trees. It is oak entirely." 108:083,03[' ]| Miss*Bertram could now speak with decided information 108:083,04[' ]| of what she had known nothing about, when Mr%*Rushworth 108:083,05[' ]| had asked her opinion, and her spirits were in as 108:083,06[' ]| happy a flutter as vanity and pride could furnish, when 108:083,07[' ]| they drove up to the spacious stone steps before the 108:083,08[' ]| principal entrance. 109:084,01[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth was at the door to receive his fair 109:084,02[' ]| lady, and the whole party were welcomed by him with 109:084,03[' ]| due attention. In the drawing-room they were met with 109:084,04[' ]| equal cordiality by the mother, and Miss*Bertram had all 109:084,05[' ]| the distinction with each that she could wish. After the 109:084,06[' ]| business of arriving was over, it was first necessary to eat, 109:084,07[' ]| and the doors were thrown open to admit them through 109:084,08[' ]| one or two intermediate rooms into the appointed dining-parlour, 109:084,09[' ]| where a collation was prepared with abundance 109:084,10[' ]| and elegance. Much was said, and much was ate, and all 109:084,11[' ]| went well. The particular object of the day was then considered. 109:084,12[' ]| How would Mr%*Crawford like, in what manner 109:084,13[' ]| would he choose, to take a survey of the grounds? ~~ 109:084,14[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth mentioned his curricle. Mr%*Crawford 109:084,15[' ]| suggested the greater desirableness of some carriage 109:084,16[' ]| which might convey more than two. 109:084,16[D ]| "To be depriving 109:084,17[D ]| themselves of the advantage of other eyes and other 109:084,18[D ]| judgments, might be an evil even beyond the loss of 109:084,19[D ]| present pleasure." 109:084,20[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth proposed that the chaise should be 109:084,21[' ]| taken also; but this was scarcely received as an amendment; 109:084,22[' ]| the young ladies neither smiled nor spoke. Her 109:084,23[' ]| next proposition, of shewing the house to such of them 109:084,24[' ]| as had not been there before, was more acceptable, for 109:084,25[' ]| Miss*Bertram was pleased to have its size displayed, and 109:084,26[' ]| all were glad to be doing something. 109:084,27[' ]| The whole party rose accordingly, and under Mrs%*Rushworth's 109:084,28[' ]| guidance were shewn through a number of 109:084,29[' ]| rooms, all lofty, and many large, and amply furnished 109:084,30[' ]| in the taste of fifty years back, with shining floors, solid 109:084,31[' ]| mahogany, rich damask, marble, gilding and carving, 109:084,32[' ]| each handsome in its way. Of pictures there were 109:084,33[' ]| abundance, and some few good, but the larger part were 109:085,01[' ]| family portraits, no longer any*thing to any*body but 109:085,02[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth, who had been at great pains to learn 109:085,03[' ]| all that the housekeeper could teach, and was now almost 109:085,04[' ]| equally well qualified to shew the house. On the present 109:085,05[' ]| occasion, she addressed herself chiefly to Miss*Crawford 109:085,06[' ]| and Fanny, but there was no comparison in the willingness 109:085,07[' ]| of their attention, for Miss*Crawford, who had seen scores 109:085,08[' ]| of great houses, and cared for none of them, had only the 109:085,09[' ]| appearance of civilly listening, while Fanny, to whom 109:085,10[' ]| every*thing was almost as interesting as it was new, 109:085,11[' ]| attended with unaffected earnestness to all that 109:085,11[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth 109:085,12[' ]| could relate of the family in former times, its 109:085,13[' ]| rise and grandeur, regal visits and loyal efforts, delighted 109:085,14[' ]| to connect any*thing with history already known, or 109:085,15[' ]| warm her imagination with scenes of the past. 109:085,16[' ]| The situation of the house excluded the possibility of 109:085,17[' ]| much prospect from any of the rooms, and while Fanny 109:085,18[' ]| and some of the others were attending Mrs%*Rushworth, 109:085,19[' ]| Henry*Crawford was looking grave and shaking his head 109:085,20[' ]| at the windows. Every room on the west front looked 109:085,21[' ]| across a lawn to the beginning of the avenue immediately 109:085,22[' ]| beyond tall iron palisades and gates. 109:085,23[' ]| Having visited many more rooms than could be 109:085,24[' ]| supposed to be of any other use than to contribute to the 109:085,25[' ]| window tax, and find employment for housemaids, 109:085,26[L ]| "Now," 109:085,26[' ]| said Mrs%*Rushworth, 109:085,26[L ]| "we are coming to the 109:085,27[L ]| chapel, which properly we ought to enter from above, 109:085,28[L ]| and look down upon; but as we are quite among friends, 109:085,29[L ]| I will take you in this way, if you will excuse me." 109:085,30[' ]| They entered. Fanny's imagination had prepared her 109:085,31[' ]| for something grander than a mere, spacious, oblong 109:085,32[' ]| room, fitted up for the purpose of devotion ~~ with nothing 109:085,33[' ]| more striking or more solemn than the profusion of 109:085,34[' ]| mahogany, and the crimson velvet cushions appearing 109:085,35[' ]| over the ledge of the family gallery above. 109:085,35[A ]| "I am 109:085,36[A ]| disappointed," 109:085,36[' ]| said she, in a low voice, to Edmund. 109:085,37[A ]| "This is not my idea of a chapel. There is nothing 109:085,38[A ]| awful here, nothing melancholy, nothing grand. Here 109:086,01[A ]| are no aisles, no arches, no inscriptions, no banners. 109:086,02[A ]| No banners, cousin, to be ""blown by the night wind 109:086,03[A ]| of Heaven."" No signs that a ""Scottish monarch sleeps 109:086,04[A ]| below.""" 109:086,05[B ]| "You forget, Fanny, how lately all this has been 109:086,06[B ]| built, and for how confined a purpose, compared with 109:086,07[B ]| the old chapels of castles and monasteries. It was only 109:086,08[B ]| for the private use of the family. They have been 109:086,09[B ]| buried, I suppose, in the parish church. \There\ you must 109:086,10[B ]| look for the banners and the atchievements." 109:086,11[A ]| "It was foolish of me not to think of all that, but I am 109:086,12[A ]| disappointed." 109:086,13[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth began her relation. 109:086,13[L ]| "This chapel was 109:086,14[L ]| fitted up as you see it, in James*the*Second's time. Before 109:086,15[L ]| that period, as I understand, the pews were only wainscot; 109:086,16[L ]| and there is some reason to think that the linings and 109:086,17[L ]| cushions of the pulpit and family-seat were only purple 109:086,18[L ]| cloth; but this is not quite certain. It is a handsome 109:086,19[L ]| chapel, and was formerly in constant use both morning 109:086,20[L ]| and evening. Prayers were always read in it by the 109:086,21[L ]| domestic chaplain, within the memory of many. But the 109:086,22[L ]| late Mr%*Rushworth left it off." 109:086,23[C ]| "Every generation has its improvements," 109:086,23[' ]| said Miss*Crawford, 109:086,24[' ]| with a smile, to Edmund. 109:086,25[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth was gone to repeat her lesson to Mr%*Crawford; 109:086,26[' ]| and Edmund, Fanny, and Miss*Crawford 109:086,27[' ]| remained in a cluster together. 109:086,28[A ]| "It is a pity," 109:086,28[' ]| cried Fanny, 109:086,28[A ]| "that the custom should 109:086,29[A ]| have been discontinued. It was a valuable part of 109:086,30[A ]| former times. There is something in a chapel and 109:086,31[A ]| chaplain so much in character with a great house, with 109:086,32[A ]| one's ideas of what such a household should be! A whole 109:086,33[A ]| family assembling regularly for the purpose of prayer, 109:086,34[A ]| is fine!" 109:086,35[C ]| "Very fine indeed!" 109:086,35[' ]| said Miss*Crawford, laughing. 109:086,36[C ]| "It must do the heads of the family a great deal of good 109:086,37[C ]| to force all the poor housemaids and footmen to leave 109:086,38[C ]| business and pleasure, and say their prayers here twice 109:087,01[C ]| a day, while they are inventing excuses themselves for 109:087,02[C ]| staying away." 109:087,03[B ]| "\That\ is hardly Fanny's idea of a family assembling," 109:087,04[' ]| said Edmund. 109:087,04[B ]| "If the master and mistress do \not\ 109:087,05[B ]| attend themselves, there must be more harm than good 109:087,06[B ]| in the custom." 109:087,07[C ]| "At any rate, it is safer to leave people to their own 109:087,08[C ]| devices on such subjects. Every*body likes to go their 109:087,09[C ]| own way ~~ to choose their own time and manner of 109:087,10[C ]| devotion. The obligation of attendance, the formality, 109:087,11[C ]| the restraint, the length of time ~~ altogether it is a formidable 109:087,12[C ]| thing, and what nobody likes: and if the good 109:087,13[C ]| people who used to kneel and gape in that gallery could 109:087,14[C ]| have foreseen that the time would ever come when men 109:087,15[C ]| and women might lie another ten minutes in bed, when 109:087,16[C ]| they woke with a headach, without danger of reprobation, 109:087,17[C ]| because chapel was missed, they would have jumped 109:087,18[C ]| with joy and envy. Cannot you imagine with what 109:087,19[C ]| unwilling feelings the former belles of the house of Rushworth 109:087,20[C ]| did many a time repair to this chapel? The 109:087,21[C ]| young Mrs%*Eleanors and Mrs%*Bridgets ~~ starched up into 109:087,22[C ]| seeming piety, but with heads full of something very 109:087,23[C ]| different ~~ especially if the poor chaplain were not worth 109:087,24[C ]| looking at ~~ and, in those days, I fancy parsons were very 109:087,25[C ]| inferior even to what they are now." 109:087,26[' ]| For a few moments she was unanswered. Fanny 109:087,27[' ]| coloured and looked at Edmund, but felt too angry for 109:087,28[' ]| speech; and \he\ needed a little recollection before he 109:087,29[' ]| could say, 109:087,29[B ]| "Your lively mind can hardly be serious even 109:087,30[B ]| on serious subjects. You have given us an amusing 109:087,31[B ]| sketch, and human nature cannot say it was not so. 109:087,32[B ]| We must all feel \at\ \times\ the difficulty of fixing our 109:087,33[B ]| thoughts as we could wish; but if you are supposing it 109:087,34[B ]| a frequent thing, that is to say, a weakness grown into 109:087,35[B ]| a habit from neglect, what could be expected from the 109:087,36[B ]| \private\ devotions of such persons? Do you think the 109:087,37[B ]| minds which are suffered, which are indulged in wanderings 109:087,38[B ]| in a chapel, would be more collected in a closet?" 109:088,01[C ]| "Yes, very likely. They would have two chances at 109:088,02[C ]| least in their favour. There would be less to distract 109:088,03[C ]| the attention from without, and it would not be tried 109:088,04[C ]| so long." 109:088,05[B ]| "The mind which does not struggle against itself 109:088,06[B ]| under \one\ circumstance, would find objects to distract it 109:088,07[B ]| in the \other\, I believe; and the influence of the place and 109:088,08[B ]| of example may often rouse better feelings than are begun 109:088,09[B ]| with. The greater length of the service, however, I admit 109:088,10[B ]| to be sometimes too hard a stretch upon the mind. 109:088,11[B ]| One wishes it were not so ~~ but I have not yet left Oxford 109:088,12[B ]| long enough to forget what chapel prayers are." 109:088,13[' ]| While this was passing, the rest of the party being 109:088,14[' ]| scattered about the chapel, Julia called Mr%*Crawford's 109:088,15[' ]| attention to her sister, by saying, 109:088,15[I ]| "Do look at Mr%*Rushworth 109:088,16[I ]| and Maria, standing side by side, exactly as 109:088,17[I ]| if the ceremony were going to be performed. Have not 109:088,18[I ]| they completely the air of it?" 109:088,19[' ]| Mr%*Crawford smiled his acquiescence, and stepping 109:088,20[' ]| forward to Maria, said, in a voice which she only could 109:088,21[' ]| hear, 109:088,21[D ]| "I do not like to see Miss*Bertram so near the 109:088,22[D ]| altar." 109:088,23[' ]| Starting, the lady instinctively moved a step or two, 109:088,24[' ]| but recovering herself in a moment, affected to laugh, 109:088,25[' ]| and asked him, in a tone not much louder, 109:088,25[H ]| "if he would 109:088,26[H ]| give her away?" 109:088,27[D ]| "I am afraid I should do it very awkwardly," 109:088,27[' ]| was his 109:088,28[' ]| reply, with a look of meaning. 109:088,29[' ]| Julia joining them at the moment, carried on the joke. 109:088,30[I ]| "Upon my word, it is really a pity that it should not 109:088,31[I ]| take place directly, if we had but a proper license, for here 109:088,32[I ]| we are altogether, and nothing in the world could be more 109:088,33[I ]| snug and pleasant." 109:088,33[' ]| And she talked and laughed about 109:088,34[' ]| it with so little caution, as to catch the comprehension 109:088,35[' ]| of Mr%*Rushworth and his mother, and expose her sister 109:088,36[' ]| to the whispered gallantries of her lover, while 109:088,36[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth 109:088,37[' ]| spoke with proper smiles and dignity of 109:088,37@l | its 109:088,38@l | being a most happy event to her whenever it took place. 109:089,01[I ]| "If Edmund were but in orders!" 109:089,01[' ]| cried Julia, and 109:089,02[' ]| running to where he stood with Miss*Crawford and Fanny; 109:089,03[I ]| "My dear Edmund, if you were but in orders now, you 109:089,04[I ]| might perform the ceremony directly. How unlucky 109:089,05[I ]| that you are not ordained, Mr%*Rushworth and Maria are 109:089,06[I ]| quite ready." 109:089,07[' ]| Miss*Crawford's countenance, as Julia spoke, might 109:089,08[' ]| have amused a disinterested observer. She looked almost 109:089,09[' ]| aghast under the new idea she was receiving. Fanny 109:089,10[' ]| pitied her. 109:089,10@a | "How distressed she will be at what she said 109:089,11@a | just now," 109:089,11[' ]| passed across her mind. 109:089,12[C ]| "Ordained!" 109:089,12[' ]| said Miss*Crawford; 109:089,12[C ]| "what, are you to 109:089,13[C ]| be a clergyman?" 109:089,14[B ]| "Yes, I shall take orders soon after my father's return ~~ 109:089,15[B ]| probably at Christmas." 109:089,16[' ]| Miss*Crawford rallying her spirits, and recovering her 109:089,17[' ]| complexion, replied only, 109:089,17[C ]| "If I had known this before, 109:089,18[C ]| I would have spoken of the cloth with more respect," 109:089,19[' ]| and turned the subject. 109:089,20[' ]| The chapel was soon afterwards left to the silence 109:089,21[' ]| and stillness which reigned in it with few interruptions 109:089,22[' ]| throughout the year. Miss*Bertram, displeased with her 109:089,23[' ]| sister, led the way, and all seemed to feel that they had 109:089,24[' ]| been there long enough. 109:089,25[' ]| The lower part of the house had been now entirely 109:089,26[' ]| shown, and Mrs%*Rushworth, never weary in the cause, 109:089,27[' ]| would have proceeded towards the principal stair-case, 109:089,28[' ]| and taken them through all the rooms above, if her son 109:089,29[' ]| had not interposed with a doubt of there being time 109:089,30[' ]| enough. 109:089,30[K ]| "For if," 109:089,30[' ]| said he, with the sort of self-evident 109:089,31[' ]| proposition which many a clearer head does not always 109:089,32[' ]| avoid ~~ 109:089,32[K ]| "we are \too\ long going over the house, we shall 109:089,33[K ]| not have time for what is to be done out of doors. It is 109:089,34[K ]| past two, and we are to dine at five." 109:089,35[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth submitted, and the question of surveying 109:089,36[' ]| the grounds, with the who and the how, was likely to 109:089,37[' ]| be more fully agitated, and Mrs%*Norris was beginning to 109:089,38[' ]| arrange by what junction of carriages and horses most 109:090,01[' ]| could be done, when the young people, meeting with an 109:090,02[' ]| outward door, temptingly open on a flight of steps which 109:090,03[' ]| led immediately to turf and shrubs, and all the sweets of 109:090,04[' ]| pleasure-grounds, as by one impulse, one wish for air and 109:090,05[' ]| liberty, all walked out. 109:090,06[L ]| "Suppose we turn down here for the present," 109:090,06[' ]| said 109:090,07[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth, civilly taking the hint and following 109:090,08[' ]| them. 109:090,08[L ]| "Here are the greatest number of our plants, 109:090,09[L ]| and here are the curious pheasants." 109:090,10[D ]| "Query," 109:090,10[' ]| said Mr%*Crawford, looking round him, 109:090,11[D ]| "whether we may not find something to employ us here, 109:090,12[D ]| before we go farther? I see walls of great promise. 109:090,12[D ]| Mr%*Rushworth, 109:090,13[D ]| shall we summon a council on this lawn?" 109:090,14[L ]| "James," 109:090,14[' ]| said Mrs%*Rushworth to her son, 109:090,14[L ]| "I believe 109:090,15[L ]| the wilderness will be new to all the party. The 109:090,15[L ]| Miss*Bertrams 109:090,16[L ]| have never seen the wilderness yet." 109:090,17[' ]| No objection was made, but for some time there seemed 109:090,18[' ]| no inclination to move in any plan, or to any distance. 109:090,19[' ]| All were attracted at first by the plants or the pheasants, 109:090,20[' ]| and all dispersed about in happy independence. Mr%*Crawford 109:090,21[' ]| was the first to move forward, to examine the 109:090,22[' ]| capabilities of that end of the house. The lawn, bounded 109:090,23[' ]| on each side by a high wall, contained beyond the first 109:090,24[' ]| planted a*erea, a bowling-green, and beyond the bowling-green 109:090,25[' ]| a long terrace walk, backed by iron palissades, 109:090,26[' ]| and commanding a view over them into the tops of the 109:090,27[' ]| trees of the wilderness immediately adjoining. It was 109:090,28[' ]| a good spot for fault-finding. Mr%*Crawford was soon 109:090,29[' ]| followed by Miss*Bertram and Mr%*Rushworth, and when 109:090,30[' ]| after a little time the others began to form into parties, 109:090,31[' ]| these three were found in busy consultation on the 109:090,32[' ]| terrace by Edmund, Miss*Crawford and Fanny, who 109:090,33[' ]| seemed as naturally to unite, and who after a short 109:090,34[' ]| participation of their regrets and difficulties, left them 109:090,35[' ]| and walked on. The remaining three, Mrs%*Rushworth, 109:090,36[' ]| Mrs%*Norris, and Julia, were still far behind; for Julia, 109:090,37[' ]| whose happy star no longer prevailed, was obliged to keep 109:090,38[' ]| by the side of Mrs%*Rushworth, and restrain her impatient 109:091,01[' ]| feet to that lady's slow pace, while her aunt, having fallen 109:091,02[' ]| in with the housekeeper, who was come out to feed the 109:091,03[' ]| pheasants, was lingering behind in gossip with her. 109:091,04[' ]| Poor Julia, the only one out of the nine not tolerably 109:091,05[' ]| satisfied with their lot, was now in a state of complete 109:091,06[' ]| penance, and as different from the Julia of the barouche-box 109:091,07[' ]| as could well be imagined. The politeness which she 109:091,08[' ]| had been brought up to practise as a duty, made it 109:091,09[' ]| impossible for her to escape; while the want of that 109:091,10[' ]| higher species of self-command, that just consideration of 109:091,11[' ]| others, that knowledge of her own heart, that principle of 109:091,12[' ]| right which had not formed any essential part of her 109:091,13[' ]| education, made her miserable under it. 109:091,14[C ]| "This is insufferably hot," 109:091,14[' ]| said Miss*Crawford when 109:091,15[' ]| they had taken one turn on the terrace, and were drawing 109:091,16[' ]| a second time to the door in the middle which opened to 109:091,17[' ]| the wilderness. 109:091,17[C ]| "Shall any of us object to being comfortable? 109:091,18[C ]| Here is a nice little wood, if one can but get 109:091,19[C ]| into it. What happiness if the door should not be 109:091,20[C ]| locked! ~~ but of course it is, for in these great places, 109:091,21[C ]| the gardeners are the only people who can go where they 109:091,22[C ]| like." 109:091,23[' ]| The door, however, proved not to be locked, and they 109:091,24[' ]| were all agreed in turning joyfully through it, and leaving 109:091,25[' ]| the unmitigated glare of day behind. A considerable 109:091,26[' ]| flight of steps landed them in the wilderness, which was 109:091,27[' ]| a planted wood of about two acres, and though chiefly of 109:091,28[' ]| larch and laurel, and beech cut down, and though laid 109:091,29[' ]| out with too much regularity, was darkness and shade, 109:091,30[' ]| and natural beauty, compared with the bowling-green 109:091,31[' ]| and the terrace. They all felt the refreshment of it, and 109:091,32[' ]| for some time could only walk and admire. At length, 109:091,33[' ]| after a short pause, Miss*Crawford began with, 109:091,33[C ]| "So you 109:091,34[C ]| are to be a clergyman, Mr%*Bertram. This is rather 109:091,35[C ]| a surprise to me." 109:091,36[B ]| "Why should it surprise you? You must suppose me 109:091,37[B ]| designed for some profession, and might perceive that 109:091,38[B ]| I am neither a lawyer, nor a soldier, nor a sailor." 109:092,01[C ]| "Very true; but, in short, it had not occurred to me. 109:092,02[C ]| And you know there is generally an uncle or a grandfather 109:092,03[C ]| to leave a fortune to the second son." 109:092,04[B ]| "A very praiseworthy practice," 109:092,04[' ]| said Edmund, 109:092,04[B ]| "but 109:092,05[B ]| not quite universal. I am one of the exceptions, and 109:092,06[B ]| \being\ one, must do something for myself." 109:092,07[C ]| "But why are you to be a clergyman? I thought \that\ 109:092,08[C ]| was always the lot of the youngest, where there were many 109:092,09[C ]| to choose before him." 109:092,10[B ]| "Do you think the church itself never chosen then?" 109:092,11[C ]| "\Never\ is a black word. But yes, in the \never\ of 109:092,12[C ]| conversation which means \not\ \very\ \often\, I do think it. 109:092,13[C ]| For what is to be done in the church? Men love to 109:092,14[C ]| distinguish themselves, and in either of the other lines, 109:092,15[C ]| distinction may be gained, but not in the church. A 109:092,16[C ]| clergyman is nothing." 109:092,17[B ]| "The \nothing\ of conversation has its gradations, I hope, 109:092,18[B ]| as well as the \never\. A clergyman cannot be high in 109:092,19[B ]| state or fashion. He must not head mobs, or set the 109:092,20[B ]| ton in dress. But I cannot call that situation nothing, 109:092,21[B ]| which has the charge of all that is of the first importance 109:092,22[B ]| to mankind, individually or collectively considered, 109:092,23[B ]| temporally and eternally ~~ which has the guardianship 109:092,24[B ]| of religion and morals, and consequently of the manners 109:092,25[B ]| which result from their influence. No*one here can call 109:092,26[B ]| the \office\ nothing. If the man who holds it is so, it is 109:092,27[B ]| by the neglect of his duty, by foregoing its just importance, 109:092,28[B ]| and stepping out of his place to appear what he 109:092,29[B ]| ought not to appear." 109:092,30[C ]| "\You\ assign greater consequence to the clergyman 109:092,31[C ]| than one has been used to hear given, or than I can quite 109:092,32[C ]| comprehend. One does not see much of this influence 109:092,33[C ]| and importance in society, and how can it be acquired 109:092,34[C ]| where they are so seldom seen themselves? How can 109:092,35[C ]| two sermons a week, even supposing them worth hearing, 109:092,36[C ]| supposing the preacher to have the sense to prefer Blair's 109:092,37[C ]| to his own, do all that you speak of? govern the conduct 109:092,38[C ]| and fashion the manners of a large congregation for the 109:093,01[C ]| rest of the week? One scarcely sees a clergyman out 109:093,02[C ]| of his pulpit." 109:093,03[B ]| "\You\ are speaking of London, \I\ am speaking of the 109:093,04[B ]| nation at large." 109:093,05[C ]| "The metropolis, I imagine, is a pretty fair sample 109:093,06[C ]| of the rest." 109:093,07[B ]| "Not, I should hope, of the proportion of virtue to vice 109:093,08[B ]| throughout the kingdom. We do not look in great cities 109:093,09[B ]| for our best morality. It is not there, that respectable 109:093,10[B ]| people of any denomination can do most good; and it 109:093,11[B ]| certainly is not there, that the influence of the clergy 109:093,12[B ]| can be most felt. A fine preacher is followed and admired; 109:093,13[B ]| but it is not in fine preaching only that a good 109:093,14[B ]| clergyman will be useful in his parish and his neighbourhood, 109:093,15[B ]| where the parish and neighbourhood are of a size 109:093,16[B ]| capable of knowing his private character, and observing 109:093,17[B ]| his general conduct, which in London can rarely be the 109:093,18[B ]| case. The clergy are lost there in the crowds of their 109:093,19[B ]| parishioners. They are known to the largest part only 109:093,20[B ]| as preachers. And with regard to their influencing 109:093,21[B ]| public manners, Miss*Crawford must not misunderstand 109:093,22[B ]| me, or suppose I mean to call them the arbiters of good*breeding, 109:093,23[B ]| the regulators of refinement and courtesy, the 109:093,24[B ]| masters of the ceremonies of life. The \manners\ I speak of, 109:093,25[B ]| might rather be called \conduct\, perhaps, the result of good 109:093,26[B ]| principles; the effect, in short, of those doctrines which 109:093,27[B ]| it is their duty to teach and recommend; and it will, I believe, 109:093,28[B ]| be every*where found, that as the clergy are, or are 109:093,29[B ]| not what they ought to be, so are the rest of the nation." 109:093,30[A ]| "Certainly," 109:093,30[' ]| said Fanny with gentle earnestness. 109:093,31[C ]| "There," 109:093,31[' ]| cried Miss*Crawford, 109:093,31[C ]| "you have quite 109:093,32[C ]| convinced Miss*Price already." 109:093,33[B ]| "I wish I could convince Miss*Crawford too." 109:093,34[C ]| "I do not think you ever will," 109:093,34[' ]| said she with an arch 109:093,35[' ]| smile; 109:093,35[C ]| "I am just as much surprised now as I was at 109:093,36[C ]| first that you should intend to take orders. You really 109:093,37[C ]| are fit for something better. Come, do change your mind. 109:093,38[C ]| It is not too late. Go into the law." 109:094,01[B ]| "Go into the law! with as much ease as I was told 109:094,02[B ]| to go into this wilderness." 109:094,03[C ]| "Now you are going to say something about law 109:094,04[C ]| being the worst wilderness of the two, but I forestall you; 109:094,05[C ]| remember I have forestalled you." 109:094,06[B ]| "You need not hurry when the object is only to 109:094,07[B ]| prevent my saying a bon-mot, for there is not the least 109:094,08[B ]| wit in my nature. I am a very matter of fact, plain 109:094,09[B ]| spoken being, and may blunder on the borders of a 109:094,10[B ]| repartee for half an hour together without striking it out." 109:094,11[' ]| A general silence succeeded. Each was thoughtful. 109:094,12[' ]| Fanny made the first interruption by saying, 109:094,12[A ]| "I wonder 109:094,13[A ]| that I should be tired with only walking in this sweet 109:094,14[A ]| wood; but the next time we come to a seat, if it is not 109:094,15[A ]| disagreeable to you, I should be glad to sit down for 109:094,16[A ]| a little while." 109:094,17[B ]| "My dear Fanny," 109:094,17[' ]| cried Edmund, immediately drawing 109:094,18[' ]| her arm within his, 109:094,18[B ]| "how thoughtless I have been! 109:094,19[B ]| I hope you are not very tired. Perhaps," 109:094,19[' ]| turning to 109:094,20[' ]| Miss*Crawford, 109:094,20[B ]| "my other companion may do me the 109:094,21[B ]| honour of taking an arm." 109:094,22[C ]| "Thank you, but I am not at all tired." 109:094,22[' ]| She took it, 109:094,23[' ]| however, as she spoke, and the gratification of having 109:094,24[' ]| her do so, of feeling such a connection for the first time, 109:094,25[' ]| made him a little forgetful of Fanny. 109:094,25[B ]| "You scarcely 109:094,26[B ]| touch me." 109:094,26[' ]| said he. 109:094,26[B ]| "You do not make me of any use. 109:094,27[B ]| What a difference in the weight of a woman's arm from 109:094,28[B ]| that of a man! At Oxford I have been a good deal used 109:094,29[B ]| to have a man lean on me for the length of a street, and 109:094,30[B ]| you are only a fly in the comparison." 109:094,31[C ]| "I am really not tired, which I almost wonder at; 109:094,32[C ]| for we must have walked at least a mile in this wood. 109:094,33[C ]| Do not you think we have?" 109:094,34[B ]| "Not half a mile," 109:094,34[' ]| was his sturdy answer; for he was 109:094,35[' ]| not yet so much in love as to measure distance, or reckon 109:094,36[' ]| time, with feminine lawlessness. 109:094,37[C ]| "Oh! you do not consider how much we have wound 109:094,38[C ]| about. We have taken such a very serpentine course; 109:095,01[C ]| and the wood itself must be half a mile long in a straight 109:095,02[C ]| line, for we have never seen the end of it yet, since we 109:095,03[C ]| left the first great path." 109:095,04[B ]| "But if you remember, before we left that first great 109:095,05[B ]| path, we saw directly to the end of it. We looked down 109:095,06[B ]| the whole vista, and saw it closed by iron gates, and it 109:095,07[B ]| could not have been more than a furlong in length." 109:095,08[C ]| "Oh! I know nothing of your furlongs, but I am sure 109:095,09[C ]| it is a very long wood; and that we have been winding 109:095,10[C ]| in and out ever since we came into it; and therefore 109:095,11[C ]| when I say that we have walked a mile in it, I must 109:095,12[C ]| speak within compass." 109:095,13[B ]| "We have been exactly a quarter of an hour here," 109:095,14[' ]| said Edmund, taking out his watch. 109:095,14[B ]| "Do you think we 109:095,15[B ]| are walking four miles an hour?" 109:095,16[C ]| "Oh! do not attack me with your watch. A watch 109:095,17[C ]| is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to 109:095,18[C ]| by a watch." 109:095,19[' ]| A few steps farther brought them out at the bottom 109:095,20[' ]| of the very walk they had been talking of; and standing 109:095,21[' ]| back, well shaded and sheltered, and looking over a ha-ha 109:095,22[' ]| into the park, was a comfortable-sized bench, on which 109:095,23[' ]| they all sat down. 109:095,24[B ]| "I am afraid you are very tired, Fanny," 109:095,24[' ]| said Edmund, 109:095,25[' ]| observing her; 109:095,25[B ]| "why would not you speak sooner? 109:095,26[B ]| This will be a bad day's amusement for you, if you are 109:095,27[B ]| to be knocked up. Every sort of exercise fatigues her so 109:095,28[B ]| soon, Miss*Crawford, except riding." 109:095,29[C ]| "How abominable in you, then, to let me engross her 109:095,30[C ]| horse as I did all last week! I am ashamed of you and 109:095,31[C ]| of myself, but it shall never happen again." 109:095,32[B ]| "\Your\ attentiveness and consideration make me more 109:095,33[B ]| sensible of my own neglect. Fanny's interest seems in 109:095,34[B ]| safer hands with you than with me." 109:095,35[C ]| "That she should be tired now, however, gives me no 109:095,36[C ]| surprise; for there is nothing in the course of one's 109:095,37[C ]| duties so fatiguing as what we have been doing this 109:095,38[C ]| morning ~~ seeing a great house, dawdling from one room 109:096,01[C ]| to another ~~ straining one's eyes and one's attention ~~ 109:096,02[C ]| hearing what one does not understand ~~ admiring what 109:096,03[C ]| one does not care for. ~~ It is generally allowed to be the 109:096,04[C ]| greatest bore in the world, and Miss*Price has found it so, 109:096,05[C ]| though she did not know it." 109:096,06[A ]| "I shall soon be rested," 109:096,06[' ]| said Fanny; 109:096,06[A ]| "to sit in the 109:096,07[A ]| shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure, is the most 109:096,08[A ]| perfect refreshment." 109:096,09[' ]| After sitting a little while, Miss*Crawford was up again. 109:096,10[C ]| "I must move," 109:096,10[' ]| said she, 109:096,10[C ]| "resting fatigues me. ~~ I have 109:096,11[C ]| looked across the ha-ha till I am weary. I must go and 109:096,12[C ]| look through that iron gate at the same view, without 109:096,13[C ]| being able to see it so well." 109:096,14[' ]| Edmund left the seat likewise. 109:096,14[B ]| "Now, Miss*Crawford, 109:096,15[B ]| if you will look up the walk, you will convince yourself 109:096,16[B ]| that it cannot be half a mile long, or half half a mile." 109:096,17[C ]| "It is an immense distance," 109:096,17[' ]| said she; 109:096,17[C ]| "I see \that\ 109:096,18[C ]| with a glance." 109:096,19[' ]| He still reasoned with her, but in vain. She would 109:096,20[' ]| not calculate, she would not compare. She would only 109:096,21[' ]| smile and assert. The greatest degree of rational consistency 109:096,22[' ]| could not have been more engaging, and they 109:096,23[' ]| talked with mutual satisfaction. At last it was agreed, 109:096,24[' ]| that 109:096,24@y | they should endeavour to determine the dimensions 109:096,25@y | of the wood by walking a little more about it. They 109:096,26@y | would go to one end of it, in the line they were then in 109:096,27[' ]| (for there was a straight green walk along the bottom by 109:096,28[' ]| the side of the ha-ha,) 109:096,28@y | and perhaps turn a little way in 109:096,29@y | some other direction, if it seemed likely to assist them, 109:096,30@y | and be back in a few minutes. 109:096,30[' ]| Fanny said she was 109:096,31[' ]| rested, and would have moved too, but this was not 109:096,32[' ]| suffered. Edmund urged her remaining where she was 109:096,33[' ]| with an earnestness which she could not resist, and she 109:096,34[' ]| was left on the bench to think with pleasure of her 109:096,35[' ]| cousin's care, but with great regret that she was not 109:096,36[' ]| stronger. She watched them till they had turned the 109:096,37[' ]| corner, and listened till all sound of them had ceased. 110:097,01[' ]| A quarter of an hour, twenty minutes, passed away, 110:097,02[' ]| and Fanny was still thinking of Edmund, Miss*Crawford, 110:097,03[' ]| and herself, without interruption from any*one. She 110:097,04[' ]| began to be surprised at being left so long, and to listen 110:097,05[' ]| with an anxious desire of hearing their steps and their 110:097,06[' ]| voices again. She listened, and at length she heard; 110:097,07[' ]| she heard voices and feet approaching; but she had just 110:097,08[' ]| satisfied herself that it was not those she wanted, when 110:097,09[' ]| Miss*Bertram, Mr%*Rushworth, and Mr%*Crawford, issued 110:097,10[' ]| from the same path which she had trod herself, and 110:097,11[' ]| were before her. 110:097,12[Y ]| "Miss*Price all alone!" 110:097,12[' ]| and 110:097,12[H ]| "My dear Fanny, how 110:097,13[H ]| comes this?" 110:097,13[' ]| were the first salutations. She told her 110:097,14[' ]| story. 110:097,14[H ]| "Poor dear Fanny," 110:097,14[' ]| cried her cousin, 110:097,14[H ]| "how ill 110:097,15[H ]| you have been used by them! You had better have 110:097,16[H ]| staid with us." 110:097,17[' ]| Then seating herself with a gentleman on each side, 110:097,18[' ]| she resumed the conversation which had engaged them 110:097,19[' ]| before, and discussed the possibility of improvements 110:097,20[' ]| with much animation. Nothing was fixed on ~~ but 110:097,21[' ]| Henry*Crawford was full of ideas and projects, and, 110:097,22[' ]| generally speaking, whatever he proposed was immediately 110:097,23[' ]| approved, first by her, and then by Mr%*Rushworth, 110:097,24[' ]| whose principal business seemed to be to hear 110:097,25[' ]| the others, and who scarcely risked an original thought 110:097,26[' ]| of his own beyond 110:097,26@k | a wish that they had seen his friend 110:097,27@k | Smith's place. 110:097,28[' ]| After some minutes spent in this way, Miss*Bertram 110:097,29[' ]| observing the iron gate, expressed 110:097,29@h | a wish of passing 110:097,30@h | through it into the park, that their views and their plans 110:097,31@h | might be more comprehensive. 110:097,31@d | It was the very thing 110:097,32@d | of all others to be wished, it was the best, it was the only 110:097,33@d | way of proceeding with any advantage, 110:097,33[' ]| in Henry*Crawford's 110:098,01[' ]| opinion; 110:098,01@d | and he directly saw a knoll not half 110:098,02@d | a mile off, which would give them exactly the requisite 110:098,03@d | command of the house. 110:098,03[' ]| Go therefore they must to that 110:098,04[' ]| knoll, and through that gate; but the gate was locked. 110:098,05[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth 110:098,05@k | wished he had brought the key; he had 110:098,06@k | been very near thinking whether he should not bring the 110:098,07@k | key; he was determined he would never come without 110:098,08@k | the key again; 110:098,08[' ]| but still this did not remove the present 110:098,09[' ]| evil. They could not get through; and as Miss*Bertram's 110:098,10[' ]| inclination for so doing did by no means lessen, it ended 110:098,11[' ]| in Mr%*Rushworth's declaring outright that 110:098,11@k | he would go 110:098,12@k | and fetch the key. 110:098,12[' ]| He set off accordingly. 110:098,13[D ]| "It is undoubtedly the best thing we can do now, as 110:098,14[D ]| we are so far from the house already," 110:098,14[' ]| said Mr%*Crawford, 110:098,15[' ]| when he was gone. 110:098,16[H ]| "Yes, there is nothing else to be done. But now, 110:098,17[H ]| sincerely, do not you find the place altogether worse than 110:098,18[H ]| you expected?" 110:098,19[D ]| "No, indeed, far otherwise. I find it better, grander, 110:098,20[D ]| more complete in its style, though that style may not be 110:098,21[D ]| the best. And to tell you the truth," 110:098,21[' ]| speaking rather 110:098,22[' ]| lower, 110:098,22[D ]| "I do not think that \I\ shall ever see Sotherton 110:098,23[D ]| again with so much pleasure as I do now. Another 110:098,24[D ]| summer will hardly improve it to me." 110:098,25[' ]| After a moment's embarrassment the lady replied, 110:098,26[H ]| "You are too much a man of the world not to see with the 110:098,27[H ]| eyes of the world. If other people think Sotherton 110:098,28[H ]| improved, I have no doubt that you will." 110:098,29[D ]| "I am afraid I am not quite so much the man of the 110:098,30[D ]| world as might be good for me in some points. My 110:098,31[D ]| feelings are not quite so evanescent, nor my memory of 110:098,32[D ]| the past under such easy dominion as one finds to be the 110:098,33[D ]| case with men of the world." 110:098,34[' ]| This was followed by a short silence. Miss*Bertram 110:098,35[' ]| began again. 110:098,35[H ]| "You seemed to enjoy your drive here 110:098,36[H ]| very much this morning. I was glad to see you so well 110:098,37[H ]| entertained. You and Julia were laughing the whole way." 110:098,38[D ]| "Were we? Yes, I believe we were; but I have not 110:099,01[D ]| the least recollection at what. Oh! I believe I was relating 110:099,02[D ]| to her some ridiculous stories of an old Irish groom of my 110:099,03[D ]| uncle's. Your sister loves to laugh." 110:099,04[H ]| "You think her more light-hearted than I am." 110:099,05[D ]| "More easily amused," 110:099,05[' ]| he replied, 110:099,05[D ]| "consequently you 110:099,06[D ]| know," 110:099,06[' ]| smiling, 110:099,06[D ]| "better company. I could not have 110:099,07[D ]| hoped to entertain \you\ with Irish anecdotes during a ten 110:099,08[D ]| miles' drive." 110:099,09[H ]| "Naturally, I believe, I am as lively as Julia, but 110:099,10[H ]| I have more to think of now." 110:099,11[D ]| "You have undoubtedly ~~ and there are situations in 110:099,12[D ]| which very high spirits would denote insensibility. Your 110:099,13[D ]| prospects, however, are too fair to justify want of spirits. 110:099,14[D ]| You have a very smiling scene before you." 110:099,15[H ]| "Do you mean literally or figuratively? Literally 110:099,16[H ]| I conclude. Yes, certainly, the sun shines and the park 110:099,17[H ]| looks very cheerful. But unluckily that iron gate, that 110:099,18[H ]| ha-ha, give me a feeling of restraint and hardship. I cannot 110:099,19[H ]| get out, as the starling said." 110:099,19[' ]| As she spoke, and it 110:099,20[' ]| was with expression, she walked to the gate; he followed 110:099,21[' ]| her. 110:099,21[H ]| "Mr%*Rushworth is so long fetching this key!" 110:099,22[D ]| "And for the world you would not get out without 110:099,23[D ]| the key and without Mr%*Rushworth's authority and 110:099,24[D ]| protection, or I think you might with little difficulty pass 110:099,25[D ]| round the edge of the gate, here, with my assistance; 110:099,26[D ]| I think it might be done, if you really wished to be more 110:099,27[D ]| at large, and could allow yourself to think it not 110:099,28[D ]| prohibited." 110:099,29[H ]| "Prohibited! nonsense! I certainly can get out that 110:099,30[H ]| way, and I will. Mr%*Rushworth will be here in a moment 110:099,31[H ]| you know ~~ we shall not be out of sight." 110:099,32[D ]| "Or if we are, Miss*Price will be so good as to tell him, 110:099,33[D ]| that he will find us near that knoll, the grove of oak on 110:099,34[D ]| the knoll." 110:099,35[' ]| Fanny, feeling all this to be wrong, could not help 110:099,36[' ]| making an effort to prevent it. 110:099,36[A ]| "You will hurt yourself, 110:099,37[A ]| Miss*Bertram," 110:099,37[' ]| she cried, 110:099,37[A ]| "you will certainly hurt yourself 110:099,38[A ]| against those spikes ~~ you will tear your gown ~~ you 110:100,01[A ]| will be in danger of slipping into the ha-ha. You had 110:100,02[A ]| better not go." 110:100,03[' ]| Her cousin was safe on the other side, while these 110:100,04[' ]| words were spoken, and smiling with all the good-humour 110:100,05[' ]| of success, she said, 110:100,05[H ]| "Thank you, my dear Fanny, but 110:100,06[H ]| I and my gown are alive and well, and so good*bye." 110:100,07[' ]| Fanny was again left to her solitude, and with no 110:100,08[' ]| increase of pleasant feelings, for 110:100,08@a | she was sorry for almost 110:100,09@a | all that she had seen and heard, astonished at Miss*Bertram, 110:100,10@a | and angry with Mr%*Crawford. By taking 110:100,11@a | a circuitous, and as it appeared to her, very unreasonable 110:100,12@a | direction to the knoll, they were soon beyond her eye; 110:100,13@a | and for some minutes longer she remained without sight 110:100,14@a | or sound of any companion. She seemed to have the 110:100,15@a | little wood all to herself. She could almost have thought, 110:100,16@a | that Edmund and Miss*Crawford had left it, but that it 110:100,17@a | was impossible for Edmund to forget her so entirely. 110:100,18[' ]| She was again roused from disagreeable musings by 110:100,19[' ]| sudden footsteps, 110:100,19@a | somebody was coming at a quick pace 110:100,20@a | down the principal walk. She expected Mr%*Rushworth, 110:100,21@a | but it was Julia, who hot and out of breath, and with 110:100,22@a | a look of disappointment, cried out on seeing her, 110:100,22[I ]| "Hey-day! 110:100,23[I ]| Where are the others? I thought Maria and 110:100,24[I ]| Mr%*Crawford were with you." 110:100,25[' ]| Fanny explained. 110:100,26[I ]| "A pretty trick, upon my word! I cannot see them 110:100,27[I ]| any*where," 110:100,27[' ]| looking eagerly into the park. 110:100,27[I ]| "But they 110:100,28[I ]| cannot be very far off, and I think I am equal to as much 110:100,29[I ]| as Maria, even without help." 110:100,30[A ]| "But, Julia, Mr%*Rushworth will be here in a moment 110:100,31[A ]| with the key. Do wait for Mr%*Rushworth." 110:100,32[I ]| "Not I, indeed. I have had enough of the family for 110:100,33[I ]| one morning. Why, child, I have but this moment 110:100,34[I ]| escaped from his horrible mother. Such a penance as 110:100,35[I ]| I have been enduring, while you were sitting here so 110:100,36[I ]| composed and so happy! It might have been as well, 110:100,37[I ]| perhaps, if you had been in my place, but you always 110:100,38[I ]| contrive to keep out of these scrapes." 110:101,01[' ]| This was a most unjust reflection, but Fanny could 110:101,02[' ]| allow for it, and let it pass; 110:101,02@a | Julia was vexed, and her 110:101,03@a | temper was hasty, but she felt that it would not last, 110:101,04[' ]| and therefore taking no notice, only asked her 110:101,04@a | if she had 110:101,05@a | not seen Mr%*Rushworth. 110:101,06[I ]| "Yes, yes, we saw him. He was posting away as if 110:101,07[I ]| upon life and death, and could but just spare time to tell 110:101,08[I ]| us his errand, and where you all were." 110:101,09[A ]| "It is a pity that he should have so much trouble for 110:101,10[A ]| nothing." 110:101,11[I ]| "\That\ is Miss*Maria's concern. I am not obliged to 110:101,12[I ]| punish myself for \her\ sins. The mother I could not 110:101,13[I ]| avoid, as long as my tiresome aunt was dancing about 110:101,14[I ]| with the housekeeper, but the son I \can\ get away from." 110:101,15[' ]| And she immediately scrambled across the fence, and 110:101,16[' ]| walked away, not attending to Fanny's last question of 110:101,17[' ]| whether she had seen any*thing of Miss*Crawford and 110:101,18[' ]| Edmund. The sort of dread in which Fanny now sat of 110:101,19[' ]| seeing Mr%*Rushworth prevented her thinking so much 110:101,20[' ]| of their continued absence, however, as she might have 110:101,21[' ]| done. She felt that he had been very ill-used, and was 110:101,22[' ]| quite unhappy in having to communicate what had 110:101,23[' ]| passed. He joined her within five minutes after Julia's 110:101,24[' ]| exit; and though she made the best of the story, he was 110:101,25[' ]| evidently mortified and displeased in no common degree. 110:101,26[' ]| At first he scarcely said any*thing; his looks only expressed 110:101,27[' ]| his extreme surprise and vexation, and he walked 110:101,28[' ]| to the gate and stood there, without seeming to know 110:101,29[' ]| what to do. 110:101,30[A ]| "They desired me to stay ~~ my cousin Maria charged 110:101,31[A ]| me to say that you would find them at that knoll, or 110:101,32[A ]| thereabouts." 110:101,33[K ]| "I do not believe I shall go any further," 110:101,33[' ]| said he 110:101,34[' ]| sullenly; 110:101,34[K ]| "I see nothing of them. By the time I get 110:101,35[K ]| to the knoll, they may be gone some*where else. I have 110:101,36[K ]| had walking enough." 110:101,37[' ]| And he sat down with a most gloomy countenance by 110:101,38[' ]| Fanny. 110:102,01[A ]| "I am very sorry," 110:102,01[' ]| said she; 110:102,01[A ]| "it is very unlucky." 110:102,02[' ]| And she longed to be able to say something more to the 110:102,03[' ]| purpose. 110:102,04[' ]| After an interval of silence, 110:102,04[K ]| "I think they might as 110:102,05[K ]| well have staid for me," 110:102,05[' ]| said he. 110:102,06[A ]| "Miss*Bertram thought you would follow her." 110:102,07[K ]| "I should not have had to follow if she had staid." 110:102,08[' ]| This could not be denied, and Fanny was silenced. 110:102,09[' ]| After another pause, he went on. 110:102,09[K ]| "Pray, Miss*Price, 110:102,10[K ]| are you such a great admirer of this Mr%*Crawford as some 110:102,11[K ]| people are? For my part, I can see nothing in him." 110:102,12[A ]| "I do not think him at all handsome." 110:102,13[K ]| "Handsome! Nobody can call such an under-sized 110:102,14[K ]| man handsome. He is not five foot nine. I should not 110:102,15[K ]| wonder if he was not more than five foot eight. I think 110:102,16[K ]| he is an ill-looking fellow. In my opinion, these Crawfords 110:102,17[K ]| are no addition at all. We did very well without 110:102,18[K ]| them." 110:102,19[' ]| A small sigh escaped Fanny here, and she did not 110:102,20[' ]| know how to contradict him. 110:102,21[K ]| "If I had made any difficulty about fetching the key, 110:102,22[K ]| there might have been some excuse, but I went the very 110:102,23[K ]| moment she said she wanted it." 110:102,24[A ]| "Nothing could be more obliging than your manner, 110:102,25[A ]| I am sure, and I dare say you walked as fast as you 110:102,26[A ]| could; but still it is some distance, you know, from 110:102,27[A ]| this spot to the house, quite into the house; and when 110:102,28[A ]| people are waiting, they are bad judges of time, and 110:102,29[A ]| every half minute seems like five." 110:102,30[' ]| He got up and walked to the gate again, and 110:102,30[K ]| "wished 110:102,31[K ]| he had had the key about him at the time." 110:102,31[' ]| Fanny 110:102,32[' ]| thought she discerned in his standing there, an indication 110:102,33[' ]| of relenting, which encouraged her to another attempt, 110:102,34[' ]| and she said, therefore, 110:102,34[A ]| "It is a pity you should not join 110:102,35[A ]| them. They expected to have a better view of the house 110:102,36[A ]| from that part of the park, and will be thinking how it 110:102,37[A ]| may be improved; and nothing of that sort, you know, 110:102,38[A ]| can be settled without you." 110:103,01[' ]| She found herself more successful in sending away, than 110:103,02[' ]| in retaining a companion. Mr%*Rushworth was worked 110:103,03[' ]| on. 110:103,03[K ]| "Well," 110:103,03[' ]| said he, 110:103,03[K ]| "if you really think I had better 110:103,04[K ]| go; it would be foolish to bring the key for nothing." 110:103,05[' ]| And letting himself out, he walked off without further 110:103,06[' ]| ceremony. 110:103,07[' ]| Fanny's thoughts were now all engrossed by the two 110:103,08[' ]| who had left her so long ago, and getting quite impatient, 110:103,09[' ]| she resolved to go in search of them. She followed their 110:103,10[' ]| steps along the bottom walk, and had just turned up into 110:103,11[' ]| another, when the voice and the laugh of Miss*Crawford 110:103,12[' ]| once more caught her ear; the sound approached, and 110:103,13[' ]| a few more windings brought them before her. 110:103,13@y | They 110:103,14@y | were just returned into the wilderness from the park, 110:103,15@y | to which a side gate, not fastened, had tempted them 110:103,16@y | very soon after their leaving her, and they had been 110:103,17@y | across a portion of the park into the very avenue which 110:103,18@y | Fanny had been hoping the whole morning to reach at 110:103,19@y | last; and had been sitting down under one of the trees. 110:103,20[' ]| This was their history. 110:103,20@a | It was evident that they had 110:103,21@a | been spending their time pleasantly, and were not aware 110:103,22@a | of the length of their absence. Fanny's best consolation 110:103,23@a | was in being assured that Edmund had wished for her 110:103,24@a | very much, and that he should certainly have come back 110:103,25@a | for her, had she not been tired already; but this was 110:103,26@a | not quite sufficient to do away the pain of having been 110:103,27@a | left a whole hour, when he had talked of only a few 110:103,28@a | minutes, nor to banish the sort of curiosity she felt, to 110:103,29@a | know what they had been conversing about all that time; 110:103,30@a | and the result of the whole was to her disappointment 110:103,31@a | and depression, as they prepared, by general agreement, 110:103,32@a | to return to the house. 110:103,33[' ]| On reaching the bottom of the steps to the terrace, 110:103,34[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth and Mrs%*Norris presented themselves 110:103,35[' ]| at the top, just ready for the wilderness, at the end of an 110:103,36[' ]| hour and half from their leaving the house. Mrs%*Norris 110:103,37[' ]| had been too well employed to move faster. Whatever 110:103,38[' ]| cross accidents had occurred to intercept the pleasures 110:104,01[' ]| of her nieces, she had found a morning of complete enjoyment ~~ 110:104,02[' ]| for the housekeeper, after a great many courtesies 110:104,03[' ]| on the subject of pheasants, had taken her to the dairy, 110:104,04[' ]| told her all about their cows, and given her the receipt 110:104,05[' ]| for a famous cream cheese; and since Julia's leaving 110:104,06[' ]| them, they had been met by the gardener, with whom 110:104,07[' ]| she had made a most satisfactory acquaintance, for she 110:104,08[' ]| had set him right as to his grandson's illness, convinced 110:104,09[' ]| him it was an ague, and promised him a charm for it; 110:104,10[' ]| and he, in return, had shewn her all his choicest nursery 110:104,11[' ]| of plants, and actually presented her with a very curious 110:104,12[' ]| specimen of heath. 110:104,13[' ]| On this rencontre they all returned to the house 110:104,14[' ]| together, there to lounge away the time as they could 110:104,15[' ]| with sofas, and chit-chat, and Quarterly*Reviews, till the 110:104,16[' ]| return of the others, and the arrival of dinner. It was 110:104,17[' ]| late before the Miss*Bertrams and the two gentlemen 110:104,18[' ]| came in, and their ramble did not appear to have been 110:104,19[' ]| more than partially agreeable, or at all productive of any*thing 110:104,20[' ]| useful with regard to the object of the day. By 110:104,21[' ]| their own accounts they had been all walking after each 110:104,22[' ]| other, 110:104,22@a | and the junction which had taken place at last 110:104,23@a | seemed, to Fanny's observation, to have been as much 110:104,24@a | too late for re-establishing harmony, as it confessedly had 110:104,25@a | been for determining on any alteration. She felt, as she 110:104,26@a | looked at Julia and Mr%*Rushworth, that her's was not 110:104,27@a | the only dissatisfied bosom amongst them; there was 110:104,28@a | gloom on the face of each. Mr%*Crawford and Miss*Bertram 110:104,29@a | were much more gay, and she thought that he 110:104,30@a | was taking particular pains, during dinner, to do away 110:104,31@a | any little resentment of the other two, and restore general 110:104,32@a | good*humour. 110:104,33[' ]| Dinner was soon followed by tea and coffee, a ten 110:104,34[' ]| miles' drive home allowed no waste of hours, and from 110:104,35[' ]| the time of their sitting down to table, it was a quick 110:104,36[' ]| succession of busy nothings till the carriage came to the 110:104,37[' ]| door, and Mrs%*Norris, having fidgetted about, and 110:104,38[' ]| obtained a few pheasant's eggs and a cream cheese from 110:105,01[' ]| the housekeeper, and made abundance of civil speeches 110:105,02[' ]| to Mrs%*Rushworth, was ready to lead the way. At the 110:105,03[' ]| same moment Mr%*Crawford approaching Julia, said, 110:105,04[D ]| "I hope I am not to lose my companion, unless she is 110:105,05[D ]| afraid of the evening air in so exposed a seat." 110:105,05[' ]| The 110:105,06[' ]| request had not been foreseen, but was very graciously 110:105,07[' ]| received, and Julia's day was likely to end almost as well 110:105,08[' ]| as it began. Miss*Bertram had made up her mind to 110:105,09[' ]| something different, and was a little disappointed ~~ but 110:105,10[' ]| her conviction of being really the one preferred, comforted 110:105,11[' ]| her under it, and enabled her to receive Mr%*Rushworth's 110:105,12[' ]| parting attentions as she ought. He was certainly 110:105,13[' ]| better pleased to hand her into the barouche than to 110:105,14[' ]| assist her in ascending the box ~~ and his complacency 110:105,15[' ]| seemed confirmed by the arrangement. 110:105,16[J ]| "Well, Fanny, this has been a fine day for you, upon 110:105,17[J ]| my word!" 110:105,17[' ]| said Mrs%*Norris, as they drove through the 110:105,18[' ]| park. 110:105,18[J ]| "Nothing but pleasure from beginning to end! 110:105,19[J ]| I am sure you ought to be very much obliged to your 110:105,20[J ]| aunt Bertram and me, for contriving to let you go. 110:105,21[J ]| A pretty good day's amusement you have had!" 110:105,22[' ]| Maria was just discontented enough to say directly, 110:105,23[H ]| "I think \you\ have done pretty well yourself, ma'am. 110:105,24[H ]| Your lap seems full of good things, and here is a basket 110:105,25[H ]| of something between us, which has been knocking my 110:105,26[H ]| elbow unmercifully." 110:105,27[J ]| "My dear, it is only a beautiful little heath, which that 110:105,28[J ]| nice old gardener would make me take; but if it is in your 110:105,29[J ]| way, I will have it in my lap directly. There Fanny, you 110:105,30[J ]| shall carry that parcel for me ~~ take great care of it ~~ do 110:105,31[J ]| not let it fall; it is a cream cheese, just like the excellent 110:105,32[J ]| one we had at dinner. Nothing would satisfy that good 110:105,33[J ]| old Mrs%*Whitaker, but my taking one of the cheeses. 110:105,34[J ]| I stood out as long as I could, till the tears almost came 110:105,35[J ]| into her eyes, and I knew it was just the sort that my 110:105,36[J ]| sister would be delighted with. That Mrs%*Whitaker is 110:105,37[J ]| a treasure! She was quite shocked when I asked her 110:105,38[J ]| whether wine was allowed at the second table, and she has 110:106,01[J ]| turned away two housemaids for wearing white gowns. 110:106,02[J ]| Take care of the cheese, Fanny. Now I can manage the 110:106,03[J ]| other parcel and the basket very well." 110:106,04[H ]| "What else have you been spunging?" 110:106,04[' ]| said Maria, 110:106,05[' ]| half pleased that Sotherton should be so complimented. 110:106,06[J ]| "Spunging, my dear! It is nothing but four of those 110:106,07[J ]| beautiful pheasant's eggs, which Mrs%*Whitaker would 110:106,08[J ]| quite force upon me; she would not take a denial. She 110:106,09[J ]| said it must be such an amusement to me, as she understood 110:106,10[J ]| I lived quite alone, to have a few living creatures 110:106,11[J ]| of that sort; and so to be sure it will. I shall get the 110:106,12[J ]| dairy maid to set them under the first spare hen, and if 110:106,13[J ]| they come to good I can have them moved to my own 110:106,14[J ]| house and borrow a coop; and it will be a great delight 110:106,15[J ]| to me in my lonely hours to attend to them. And if I have 110:106,16[J ]| good luck, your mother shall have some." 110:106,17[' ]| It was a beautiful evening, mild and still, and the drive 110:106,18[' ]| was as pleasant as the serenity of nature could make it; 110:106,19[' ]| but when Mrs%*Norris ceased speaking it was altogether 110:106,20[' ]| a silent drive to those within. Their spirits were in 110:106,21[' ]| general exhausted ~~ and to determine whether the day 110:106,22[' ]| had afforded most pleasure or pain, might occupy the 110:106,23[' ]| meditations of almost all. 111:107,01[' ]| The day at Sotherton, with all its imperfections, 111:107,02[' ]| afforded the Miss*Bertrams much more agreeable feelings 111:107,03[' ]| than were derived from the letters from Antigua, 111:107,04[' ]| which soon afterwards reached Mansfield. It was much 111:107,05[' ]| pleasanter to think of Henry*Crawford than of their 111:107,06[' ]| father; and to think of their father in England again 111:107,07[' ]| within a certain period, which these letters obliged them 111:107,08[' ]| to do, was a most unwelcome exercise. 111:107,09[' ]| November was the black month fixed for his return. 111:107,10[' ]| Sir*Thomas wrote of it with as much decision as experience 111:107,11[' ]| and anxiety could authorize. 111:107,11@e | His business was so nearly 111:107,12@e | concluded as to justify him in proposing to take his 111:107,13@e | passage in the September packet, and he consequently 111:107,14@e | looked forward with the hope of being with his beloved 111:107,15@e | family again early in November. 111:107,16[' ]| Maria was more to be pitied than Julia, for to her the 111:107,17[' ]| father brought a husband, and the return of the friend 111:107,18[' ]| most solicitous for her happiness, would unite her to the 111:107,19[' ]| lover, on whom she had chosen that happiness should 111:107,20[' ]| depend. 111:107,20@h | It was a gloomy prospect, and all that she could 111:107,21@h | do was to throw a mist over it, and hope when the mist 111:107,22@h | cleared away, she should see something else. It would 111:107,23@h | hardly be \early\ in November, there were generally delays, 111:107,24@h | a bad passage or \something\; 111:107,24[' ]| that favouring \something\ 111:107,25[' ]| which every*body who shuts their eyes while they look, or 111:107,26[' ]| their understandings while they reason, feels the comfort 111:107,27[' ]| of. 111:107,27@h | It would probably be the middle of November at 111:107,28@h | least; the middle of November was three months off. 111:107,29@h | Three months comprised thirteen weeks. Much might 111:107,30@h | happen in thirteen weeks. 111:107,31[' ]| Sir*Thomas would have been deeply mortified by 111:107,32[' ]| a suspicion of half that his daughters felt on the subject 111:108,01[' ]| of his return, and would hardly have found consolation in 111:108,02[' ]| a knowledge of the interest it excited in the breast of 111:108,03[' ]| another young lady. Miss*Crawford, on walking up with 111:108,04[' ]| her brother to spend the evening at Mansfield*Park, heard 111:108,05[' ]| the good news; and though seeming to have no concern in 111:108,06[' ]| the affair beyond politeness, and to have vented all her 111:108,07[' ]| feelings in a quiet congratulation, heard it with an 111:108,08[' ]| attention not so easily satisfied. Mrs%*Norris gave the 111:108,09[' ]| particulars of the letters, and the subject was dropt; but 111:108,10[' ]| after tea, as Miss*Crawford was standing at an open 111:108,11[' ]| window with Edmund and Fanny looking out on a 111:108,12[' ]| twilight scene, while the Miss*Bertrams, Mr%*Rushworth, 111:108,13[' ]| and Henry*Crawford, were all busy with candles at the 111:108,14[' ]| pianoforte, she suddenly revived it by turning round 111:108,15[' ]| towards the group, and saying, 111:108,15[C ]| "How happy Mr%*Rushworth 111:108,16[C ]| looks! He is thinking of November." 111:108,17[' ]| Edmund looked round at Mr%*Rushworth too, but had 111:108,18[' ]| nothing to say. 111:108,19[C ]| "Your father's return will be a very interesting event." 111:108,20[B ]| "It will, indeed, after such an absence; an absence not 111:108,21[B ]| only long, but including so many dangers." 111:108,22[C ]| "It will be the fore-runner also of other interesting 111:108,23[C ]| events; your sister's marriage, and your taking orders." 111:108,24[B ]| "Yes." 111:108,25[C ]| "Don't be affronted," 111:108,25[' ]| said she laughing; 111:108,25[C ]| "but it does 111:108,26[C ]| put me in mind of some of the old heathen heroes, who 111:108,27[C ]| after performing great exploits in a foreign land, offered 111:108,28[C ]| sacrifices to the gods on their safe return." 111:108,29[B ]| "There is no sacrifice in the case," 111:108,29[' ]| replied Edmund 111:108,30[' ]| with a serious smile, and glancing at the piano-forte again, 111:108,31[B ]| "It is entirely her own doing." 111:108,32[C ]| "Oh! yes, I know it is. I was merely joking. She has 111:108,33[C ]| done no more than what every young woman would do; 111:108,34[C ]| and I have no doubt of her being extremely happy. My 111:108,35[C ]| other sacrifice of course you do not understand." 111:108,36[B ]| "My taking orders I assure you is quite as voluntary as 111:108,37[B ]| Maria's marrying." 111:108,38[C ]| "It is fortunate that your inclination and your father's 111:109,01[C ]| convenience should accord so well. There is a very good 111:109,02[C ]| living kept for you, I understand, hereabouts." 111:109,03[B ]| "Which you suppose has biassed me." 111:109,04[A ]| "But \that\ I am sure it has not," 111:109,04[' ]| cried Fanny. 111:109,05[B ]| "Thank you for your good word, Fanny, but it is more 111:109,06[B ]| than I would affirm myself. On the contrary, the knowing 111:109,07[B ]| that there was such a provision for me, probably did bias 111:109,08[B ]| me. Nor can I think it wrong that it should. There was 111:109,09[B ]| no natural disinclination to be overcome, and I see no 111:109,10[B ]| reason why a man should make a worse clergyman for 111:109,11[B ]| knowing that he will have a competence early in life. 111:109,12[B ]| I was in safe hands. I hope I should not have been 111:109,13[B ]| influenced myself in a wrong way, and I am sure my 111:109,14[B ]| father was too conscientious to have allowed it. I have no 111:109,15[B ]| doubt that I was biassed, but I think it was blamelessly." 111:109,16[A ]| "It is the same sort of thing," 111:109,16[' ]| said Fanny, after a short 111:109,17[' ]| pause, 111:109,17[A ]| "as for the son of an admiral to go into the navy, 111:109,18[A ]| or the son of a general to be in the army, and nobody sees 111:109,19[A ]| any*thing wrong in that. Nobody wonders that they 111:109,20[A ]| should prefer the line where their friends can serve them 111:109,21[A ]| best, or suspects them to be less in earnest in it than they 111:109,22[A ]| appear." 111:109,23[C ]| "No, my dear Miss*Price, and for reasons good. The 111:109,24[C ]| profession, either navy or army, is its own justification. It 111:109,25[C ]| has every*thing in its favour; heroism, danger, bustle, 111:109,26[C ]| fashion. Soldiers and sailors are always acceptable in 111:109,27[C ]| society. Nobody can wonder that men are soldiers and 111:109,28[C ]| sailors." 111:109,29[B ]| "But the motives of a man who takes orders with the 111:109,30[B ]| certainty of preferment, may be fairly suspected, you 111:109,31[B ]| think?" 111:109,31[' ]| said Edmund. 111:109,31[B ]| "To be justified in your eyes, he 111:109,32[B ]| must do it in the most complete uncertainty of any 111:109,33[B ]| provision." 111:109,34[C ]| "What! take orders without a living! No, that is 111:109,35[C ]| madness indeed, absolute madness!" 111:109,36[B ]| "Shall I ask you how the church is to be filled, if a man 111:109,37[B ]| is neither to take orders with a living, nor without? No, 111:109,38[B ]| for you certainly would not know what to say. But 111:110,01[B ]| I must beg some advantage to the clergyman from your 111:110,02[B ]| own argument. As he cannot be influenced by those 111:110,03[B ]| feelings which you rank highly as temptation and reward 111:110,04[B ]| to the soldier and sailor in their choice of a profession, as 111:110,05[B ]| heroism, and noise, and fashion are all against him, he 111:110,06[B ]| ought to be less liable to the suspicion of wanting sincerity 111:110,07[B ]| or good intentions in the choice of his." 111:110,08[C ]| "Oh! no doubt he is very sincere in preferring an 111:110,09[C ]| income ready made, to the trouble of working for one; and 111:110,10[C ]| has the best intentions of doing nothing all the rest of his 111:110,11[C ]| days but eat, drink, and grow fat. It is indolence Mr%*Bertram, 111:110,12[C ]| indeed. Indolence and love of ease ~~ a want of 111:110,13[C ]| all laudable ambition, of taste for good company, or of 111:110,14[C ]| inclination to take the trouble of being agreeable, which 111:110,15[C ]| make men clergymen. A clergyman has nothing to do 111:110,16[C ]| but to be slovenly and selfish ~~ read the newspaper, watch 111:110,17[C ]| the weather, and quarrel with his wife. His curate does all 111:110,18[C ]| the work, and the business of his own life is to dine." 111:110,19[B ]| "There are such clergymen, no doubt, but I think they 111:110,20[B ]| are not so common as to justify Miss*Crawford in esteeming 111:110,21[B ]| it their general character. I suspect that in this comprehensive 111:110,22[B ]| and (may I say) common-place censure, you 111:110,23[B ]| are not judging from yourself, but from prejudiced 111:110,24[B ]| persons, whose opinions you have been in the habit of 111:110,25[B ]| hearing. It is impossible that your own observation can 111:110,26[B ]| have given you much knowledge of the clergy. You can 111:110,27[B ]| have been personally acquainted with very few of a set 111:110,28[B ]| of men you condemn so conclusively. You are speaking 111:110,29[B ]| what you have been told at your uncle's table." 111:110,30[C ]| "I speak what appears to me the general opinion; 111:110,31[C ]| and where an opinion is general, it is usually correct. 111:110,32[C ]| Though \I\ have not seen much of the domestic lives of 111:110,33[C ]| clergymen, it is seen by too many to leave any deficiency 111:110,34[C ]| of information." 111:110,35[B ]| "Where any one body of educated men, of whatever 111:110,36[B ]| denomination, are condemned indiscriminately, there must 111:110,37[B ]| be a deficiency of information, or 111:110,37[' ]| (smiling) 111:110,37[B ]| of something 111:110,38[B ]| else. Your uncle, and his brother admirals, perhaps, 111:111,01[B ]| knew little of clergymen beyond the chaplains whom, 111:111,02[B ]| good or bad, they were always wishing away." 111:111,03[A ]| "Poor William! He has met with great kindness from 111:111,04[A ]| the chaplain of the Antwerp," 111:111,04[' ]| was a tender apostrophe of 111:111,05[' ]| Fanny's, very much to the purpose of her own feelings, if 111:111,06[' ]| not of the conversation. 111:111,07[C ]| "I have been so little addicted to take my opinions from 111:111,08[C ]| my uncle," 111:111,08[' ]| said Miss*Crawford, 111:111,08[C ]| "that I can hardly 111:111,09[C ]| suppose; ~~ and since you push me so hard, I must observe, 111:111,10[C ]| that I am not entirely without the means of seeing what 111:111,11[C ]| clergymen are, being at this present time the guest of my 111:111,12[C ]| own brother, Dr%*Grant. And though Dr%*Grant is most 111:111,13[C ]| kind and obliging to me, and though he is really a gentleman, 111:111,14[C ]| and I dare say a good scholar and clever, and often 111:111,15[C ]| preaches good sermons, and is very respectable, \I\ see him 111:111,16[C ]| to be an indolent selfish bon*vivant, who must have his 111:111,17[C ]| palate consulted in every*thing, who will not stir a finger 111:111,18[C ]| for the convenience of any*one, and who, moreover, if the 111:111,19[C ]| cook makes a blunder, is out of humour with his excellent 111:111,20[C ]| wife. To own the truth, Henry and I were partly driven 111:111,21[C ]| out this very evening, by a disappointment about a green 111:111,22[C ]| goose, which he could not get the better of. My poor sister 111:111,23[C ]| was forced to stay and bear it." 111:111,24[B ]| "I do not wonder at your disapprobation, upon my 111:111,25[B ]| word. It is a great defect of temper, made worse by a 111:111,26[B ]| very faulty habit of self-indulgence; and to see your sister 111:111,27[B ]| suffering from it, must be exceedingly painful to such 111:111,28[B ]| feelings as your's. Fanny, it goes against us. We cannot 111:111,29[B ]| attempt to defend Dr%*Grant." 111:111,30[A ]| "No," 111:111,30[' ]| replied Fanny, 111:111,30[A ]| "but we need not give up his 111:111,31[A ]| profession for all that; because, whatever profession 111:111,32[A ]| Dr%*Grant had chosen, he would have taken a ~~ not 111:111,33[A ]| a good temper into it; and as he must either in the navy 111:111,34[A ]| or army have had a great many more people under his 111:111,35[A ]| command than he has now, I think more would have been 111:111,36[A ]| made unhappy by him as a sailor or soldier than as 111:111,37[A ]| a clergyman. Besides, I cannot but suppose that whatever 111:111,38[A ]| there may be to wish otherwise in Dr%*Grant, 111:112,01[A ]| would have been in a greater danger of becoming worse 111:112,02[A ]| in a more active and worldly profession, where he would 111:112,03[A ]| have had less time and obligation ~~ where he might have 111:112,04[A ]| escaped that knowledge of himself, the \frequency\, at least, 111:112,05[A ]| of that knowledge which it is impossible he should escape 111:112,06[A ]| as he is now. A man ~~ a sensible man like Dr%*Grant, 111:112,07[A ]| cannot be in the habit of teaching others their duty every 111:112,08[A ]| week, cannot go to church twice every Sunday and preach 111:112,09[A ]| such very good sermons in so good a manner as he does, 111:112,10[A ]| without being the better for it himself. It must make him 111:112,11[A ]| think, and I have no doubt that he oftener endeavours to 111:112,12[A ]| restrain himself than he would if he had been any*thing but 111:112,13[A ]| a clergyman." 111:112,14[C ]| "We cannot prove the contrary, to be sure ~~ but I wish 111:112,15[C ]| you a better fate Miss*Price, than to be the wife of a man 111:112,16[C ]| whose amiableness depends upon his own sermons; for 111:112,17[C ]| though he may preach himself into a good*humour every 111:112,18[C ]| Sunday, it will be bad enough to have him quarrelling 111:112,19[C ]| about green geese from Monday morning till Saturday 111:112,20[C ]| night." 111:112,21[B ]| "I think the man who could often quarrel with Fanny," 111:112,22[' ]| said Edmund, affectionately, 111:112,22[B ]| "must be beyond the reach 111:112,23[B ]| of any sermons." 111:112,24[' ]| Fanny turned farther into the window; and Miss*Crawford 111:112,25[' ]| had only time to say in a pleasant manner, 111:112,25[C ]| "I fancy 111:112,26[C ]| Miss*Price has been more used to deserve praise than to 111:112,27[C ]| hear it;" 111:112,27[' ]| when being earnestly invited by the Miss*Bertrams 111:112,28[' ]| to join in a glee, she tripped off to the instrument, 111:112,29[' ]| leaving Edmund looking after her in an ecstacy 111:112,30[' ]| of admiration of all her many virtues, from her obliging 111:112,31[' ]| manners down to her light and graceful tread. 111:112,32[B ]| "There goes good*humour I am sure," 111:112,32[' ]| said he presently. 111:112,33[B ]| "There goes a temper which would never give pain! 111:112,34[B ]| How well she walks! and how readily she falls in with 111:112,35[B ]| the inclination of others! joining them the moment she 111:112,36[B ]| is asked. What a pity," 111:112,36[' ]| he added, after an instant's 111:112,37[' ]| reflection, 111:112,37[B ]| "that she should have been in such hands!" 111:112,38[' ]| Fanny agreed to it, 111:112,38@a | and had the pleasure of seeing him 111:113,01@a | continue at the window with her, in spite of the expected 111:113,02@a | glee; and of having his eyes soon turned like her's towards 111:113,03@a | the scene without, where all that was solemn and soothing, 111:113,04@a | and lovely, appeared in the brilliancy of an unclouded 111:113,05@a | night, and the contrast of the deep shade of the woods. 111:113,06[' ]| Fanny spoke her feelings. 111:113,06[A ]| "Here's harmony!" 111:113,06[' ]| said she, 111:113,07[A ]| "Here's repose! Here's what may leave all painting and 111:113,08[A ]| all music behind, and what poetry only can attempt to 111:113,09[A ]| describe. Here's what may tranquillize every care, and 111:113,10[A ]| lift the heart to rapture! When I look out on such a night 111:113,11[A ]| as this, I feel as if there could be neither wickedness nor 111:113,12[A ]| sorrow in the world; and there certainly would be less of 111:113,13[A ]| both if the sublimity of Nature were more attended to, and 111:113,14[A ]| people were carried more out of themselves by contemplating 111:113,15[A ]| such a scene." 111:113,16[B ]| "I like to hear your enthusiasm, Fanny. It is a lovely 111:113,17[B ]| night, and they are much to be pitied who have not been 111:113,18[B ]| taught to feel in some degree as you do ~~ who have not at 111:113,19[B ]| least been given a taste for nature in early life. They lose 111:113,20[B ]| a great deal." 111:113,21[A ]| "\You\ taught me to think and feel on the subject, 111:113,22[A ]| cousin." 111:113,23[B ]| "I had a very apt scholar. There's Arcturus looking 111:113,24[B ]| very bright." 111:113,25[A ]| "Yes, and the bear. I wish I could see Cassiopeia." 111:113,26[B ]| "We must go out on the lawn for that. Should you be 111:113,27[B ]| afraid?" 111:113,28[A ]| "Not in the least. It is a great while since we have had 111:113,29[A ]| any star-gazing." 111:113,30[B ]| "Yes, I do not know how it has happened." 111:113,30[' ]| The glee 111:113,31[' ]| began. 111:113,31[B ]| "We will stay till this is finished, Fanny," 111:113,31[' ]| said he, 111:113,32[' ]| turning his back on the window; 111:113,32@a | and as it advanced, she 111:113,33@a | had the mortification of seeing him advance too, moving 111:113,34@a | forward by gentle degrees towards the instrument, and 111:113,35@a | when it ceased, he was close by the singers, among the 111:113,36@a | most urgent in requesting to hear the glee again. 111:113,37[' ]| Fanny sighed alone at the window till scolded away by 111:113,38[' ]| Mrs%*Norris's threats of catching cold. 112:114,01[' ]| Sir*Thomas was to return in November, and his eldest 112:114,02[' ]| son had duties to call him earlier home. The approach of 112:114,03[' ]| September brought tidings of Mr%*Bertram first in a letter 112:114,04[' ]| to the gamekeeper, and then in a letter to Edmund; 112:114,05[' ]| and by the end of August, he arrived himself, to be gay, 112:114,06[' ]| agreeable, and gallant again as occasion served, or Miss*Crawford 112:114,07[' ]| demanded, to tell of races and Weymouth, and 112:114,08[' ]| parties and friends, to which she might have listened six 112:114,09[' ]| weeks before with some interest, and altogether to give 112:114,10[' ]| her the fullest conviction, by the power of actual comparison, 112:114,11[' ]| of her preferring his younger brother. 112:114,12@c | It was very vexatious, and she was heartily sorry for it; 112:114,13@c | but so it was; 112:114,13[' ]| and so far from now meaning to marry the 112:114,14[' ]| elder, she did not even want to attract him beyond what 112:114,15[' ]| the simplest claims of conscious beauty required; 112:114,15@c | his 112:114,16@c | lengthened absence from Mansfield, without any*thing but 112:114,17@c | pleasure in view, and his own will to consult, made it 112:114,18@c | perfectly clear that he did not care about her; and his 112:114,19@c | indifference was so much more than equalled by her own, 112:114,20@c | that were he now to step forth the owner of Mansfield*park, 112:114,21@c | the Sir*Thomas complete, which he was to be in time, she 112:114,22@c | did not believe she could accept him. 112:114,23[' ]| The season and duties which brought Mr%*Bertram back 112:114,24[' ]| to Mansfield, took Mr%*Crawford into Norfolk. Everingham 112:114,25[' ]| could not do without him in the beginning of September. 112:114,26[' ]| He went for a fortnight; a fortnight of such dulness to the 112:114,27[' ]| Miss*Bertrams, as ought to have put them both on their 112:114,28[' ]| guard, and made even Julia admit in her jealousy of 112:114,29[' ]| her sister, the absolute necessity of distrusting his attentions, 112:114,30[' ]| and wishing him not to return; and a fortnight of 112:114,31[' ]| sufficient leisure in the intervals of shooting and sleeping, 112:114,32[' ]| to have convinced the gentleman that he ought to keep 112:114,33[' ]| longer away, had he been more in the habit of examining 112:114,34[' ]| his own motives, and of reflecting to what the indulgence 112:115,01[' ]| of his idle vanity was tending; but, thoughtless and 112:115,02[' ]| selfish from prosperity and bad example, he would not 112:115,03[' ]| look beyond the present moment. The sisters, handsome, 112:115,04[' ]| clever, and encouraging, were an amusement to his sated 112:115,05[' ]| mind; and finding nothing in Norfolk to equal the social 112:115,06[' ]| pleasures of Mansfield, he gladly returned to it at the time 112:115,07[' ]| appointed, and was welcomed thither quite as gladly by 112:115,08[' ]| those whom he came to trifle with farther. 112:115,09[' ]| Maria, with only Mr%*Rushworth to attend to her, and 112:115,10[' ]| doomed to the repeated details of his day's sport, good or 112:115,11[' ]| bad, his boast of his dogs, his jealousy of his neighbours, 112:115,12[' ]| his doubts of their qualification, and his zeal after poachers, 112:115,13[' ]| ~~ subjects which will not find their way to female feelings 112:115,14[' ]| without some talent on one side, or some attachment on 112:115,15[' ]| the other, had missed Mr%*Crawford grievously; and 112:115,16[' ]| Julia, unengaged and unemployed, felt all the right of 112:115,17[' ]| missing him much more. Each sister believed herself 112:115,18[' ]| the favourite. Julia might be justified in so doing by the 112:115,19[' ]| hints of Mrs%*Grant, inclined to credit what she wished, and 112:115,20[' ]| Maria by the hints of Mr%*Crawford himself. Every*thing 112:115,21[' ]| returned into the same channel as before his absence; 112:115,22[' ]| his manners being to each so animated and agreeable, as 112:115,23[' ]| to lose no ground with either, and just stopping short of 112:115,24[' ]| the consistence, the steadiness, the solicitude, and the 112:115,25[' ]| warmth which might excite general notice. 112:115,26[' ]| Fanny was the only one of the party who found any*thing 112:115,27[' ]| to dislike; 112:115,27@a | but since the day at Sotherton, she could 112:115,28@a | never see Mr%*Crawford with either sister without observation, 112:115,29@a | and seldom without wonder or censure; 112:115,29[' ]| and had 112:115,30[' ]| her confidence in her own judgment been equal to her 112:115,31[' ]| exercise of it in every other respect, had she been sure that 112:115,32[' ]| she was seeing clearly, and judging candidly, she would 112:115,33[' ]| probably have made some important communications to 112:115,34[' ]| her usual confidant. As it was, however, she only 112:115,35[' ]| hazarded a hint, and the hint was lost. 112:115,35[A ]| "I am rather 112:115,36[A ]| surprised," 112:115,36[' ]| said she, 112:115,36[A ]| "that Mr%*Crawford should come 112:115,37[A ]| back again so soon, after being here so long before, full 112:115,38[A ]| seven weeks; for I had understood he was so very fond 112:116,01[A ]| of change and moving about, that I thought something 112:116,02[A ]| would certainly occur when he was once gone, to take him 112:116,03[A ]| elsewhere. He is used to much gayer places than Mansfield." 112:116,04[A ]| 112:116,05[B ]| "It is to his credit," 112:116,05[' ]| was Edmund's answer, 112:116,05[B ]| "and I 112:116,06[B ]| dare say it gives his sister pleasure. She does not like 112:116,07[B ]| his unsettled habits." 112:116,08[A ]| "What a favourite he is with my cousins!" 112:116,09[B ]| "Yes, his manners to women are such as must please. 112:116,10[B ]| Mrs%*Grant, I believe, suspects him of a preference for 112:116,11[B ]| Julia; I have never seen much symptom of it, but I wish 112:116,12[B ]| it may be so. He has no faults but what a serious attachment 112:116,13[B ]| would remove." 112:116,14[A ]| "If Miss*Bertram were not engaged," 112:116,14[' ]| said Fanny, 112:116,15[' ]| cautiously, 112:116,15[A ]| "I could sometimes almost think that he 112:116,16[A ]| admired her more than Julia." 112:116,17[B ]| "Which is, perhaps, more in favour of his liking Julia 112:116,18[B ]| best, than you, Fanny, may be aware; for I believe it 112:116,19[B ]| often happens, that a man, before he has quite made up 112:116,20[B ]| his own mind, will distinguish the sister or intimate friend 112:116,21[B ]| of the woman he is really thinking of, more than the 112:116,22[B ]| woman herself. Crawford has too much sense to stay here 112:116,23[B ]| if he found himself in any danger from Maria; and I am 112:116,24[B ]| not at all afraid for her, after such a proof as she has 112:116,25[B ]| given, that her feelings are not strong." 112:116,26[' ]| Fanny supposed she must have been mistaken, and 112:116,27[' ]| meant to think differently in future; 112:116,27@a | but with all that 112:116,28@a | submission to Edmund could do, and all the help of the 112:116,29@a | coinciding looks and hints which she occasionally noticed 112:116,30@a | in some of the others, and which seemed to say that Julia 112:116,31@a | was Mr%*Crawford's choice, she knew not always what to 112:116,32@a | think. 112:116,32[' ]| She was privy, one evening, to the hopes of her 112:116,33[' ]| aunt Norris on this subject, as well as to her feelings, and 112:116,34[' ]| the feelings of Mrs%*Rushworth, on a point of some similarity, 112:116,35@a | and could not help wondering as she listened; 112:116,36@a | and glad would she have been not to be obliged to listen, 112:116,37[' ]| for it was while all the other young people were dancing, 112:116,38[' ]| and she sitting, most unwillingly, among the chaperons 112:117,01[' ]| at the fire, longing for the re-entrance of her elder cousin, 112:117,02[' ]| on whom all her own hopes of a partner then depended. 112:117,03[' ]| It was Fanny's first ball, though without the preparation 112:117,04[' ]| or splendour of many a young lady's first ball, being the 112:117,05[' ]| thought only of the afternoon, built on the late acquisition 112:117,06[' ]| of a violin player in the servants' hall, and the possibility 112:117,07[' ]| of raising five couple with the help of Mrs%*Grant 112:117,08[' ]| and a new intimate friend of Mr%*Bertram's just arrived 112:117,09[' ]| on a visit. It had, however, been a very happy one to 112:117,10[' ]| Fanny through four dances, and she was quite grieved to 112:117,11[' ]| be losing even a quarter of an hour. ~~ While waiting and 112:117,12[' ]| wishing, looking now at the dancers and now at the door, 112:117,13[' ]| this dialogue between the two above-mentioned ladies 112:117,14[' ]| was forced on her. 112:117,15[J ]| "I think, ma'am," 112:117,15[' ]| said Mrs%*Norris ~~ her eyes directed 112:117,16[' ]| towards Mr%*Rushworth and Maria, who were partners 112:117,17[' ]| for the second time ~~ 112:117,17[J ]| "we shall see some happy faces 112:117,18[J ]| again now." 112:117,19[L ]| "Yes, ma'am, indeed" 112:117,19[' ]| ~~ replied the other, with a 112:117,20[' ]| stately simper ~~ 112:117,20[L ]| "there will be some satisfaction in looking 112:117,21[L ]| on \now\, and I think it was rather a pity they should 112:117,22[L ]| have been obliged to part. Young folks in their situation 112:117,23[L ]| should be excused complying with the common forms. ~~ 112:117,24[L ]| I wonder my son did not propose it." 112:117,25[J ]| "I dare say he did, ma'am. ~~ Mr%*Rushworth is never 112:117,26[J ]| remiss. But dear Maria has such a strict sense of propriety, 112:117,27[J ]| so much of that true delicacy which one seldom 112:117,28[J ]| meets with now-a-days, Mrs%*Rushworth, that wish of 112:117,29[J ]| avoiding particularity! ~~ Dear ma'am, only look at her 112:117,30[J ]| face at this moment; ~~ how different from what it was 112:117,31[J ]| the two last dances!" 112:117,32@a | Miss*Bertram did indeed look happy, her eyes were 112:117,33@a | sparkling with pleasure, and she was speaking with great 112:117,34@a | animation, for Julia and her partner, Mr%*Crawford, were 112:117,35@a | close to her; they were all in a cluster together. How 112:117,36@a | she had looked before, Fanny could not recollect, for she 112:117,37@a | had been dancing with Edmund herself, and had not 112:117,38@a | thought about her. 112:118,01[' ]| Mrs%*Norris continued, 112:118,01[J ]| "It is quite delightful, ma'am, 112:118,02[J ]| to see young people so properly happy, so well suited, 112:118,03[J ]| and so much the thing! I cannot but think of dear Sir*Thomas's 112:118,04[J ]| delight. And what do you say, ma'am, to the 112:118,05[J ]| chance of another match? Mr%*Rushworth has set a good 112:118,06[J ]| example, and such things are very catching." 112:118,07[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth, who saw nothing but her son, was 112:118,08[' ]| quite at a loss. 112:118,08[J ]| "The couple above, ma'am. Do you 112:118,09[J ]| see no symptoms there?" 112:118,10[L ]| "Oh! dear ~~ Miss*Julia and Mr%*Crawford. Yes, indeed, 112:118,11[L ]| a very pretty match. What is his property?" 112:118,12[J ]| "Four thousand a year." 112:118,13[L ]| "Very well. ~~ Those who have not more, must be satisfied 112:118,14[L ]| with what they have. ~~ Four thousand a year is a 112:118,15[L ]| pretty estate, and he seems a very genteel, steady young 112:118,16[L ]| man, so I hope Miss*Julia will be very happy." 112:118,17[J ]| "It is not a settled thing, ma'am, yet. ~~ We only speak 112:118,18[J ]| of it among friends. But I have very little doubt it \will\ 112:118,19[J ]| \be\. ~~ He is growing extremely particular in his attentions." 112:118,20[' ]| Fanny could listen no farther. 112:118,20@a | Listening and wondering 112:118,21@a | were all suspended for a time, for Mr%*Bertram was in 112:118,22@a | the room again, and though feeling it would be a great 112:118,23@a | honour to be asked by him, she thought it must happen. 112:118,24[' ]| He came towards their little circle; but instead of asking 112:118,25[' ]| her to dance, drew a chair near her, and gave her an 112:118,26[' ]| account of the present state of a sick horse, and the opinion 112:118,27[' ]| of the groom, from whom he had just parted. Fanny 112:118,28[' ]| found that 112:118,28@a | it was not to be, 112:118,28[' ]| and in the modesty of her 112:118,29[' ]| nature immediately felt that 112:118,29@a | she had been unreasonable 112:118,30@a | in expecting it. 112:118,30[' ]| When he had told of his horse, he took 112:118,31[' ]| a newspaper from the table, and looking over it said 112:118,32[' ]| in a languid way, 112:118,32[G ]| "If you want to dance, Fanny, I will 112:118,33[G ]| stand up with you." ~~ 112:118,33[' ]| With more than equal civility the 112:118,34[' ]| offer was declined; 112:118,34@a | ~~ she did not wish to dance. ~~ 112:118,34[G ]| "I am 112:118,35[G ]| glad of it," 112:118,35[' ]| said he in a much brisker tone, and throwing 112:118,36[' ]| down the newspaper again ~~ 112:118,36[G ]| "for I am tired to death. I 112:118,37[G ]| only wonder how the good people can keep it up so long. ~~ 112:118,38[G ]| They had need be \all\ in love, to find any amusement in 112:119,01[G ]| such folly ~~ and so they are, I fancy. ~~ If you look at them, 112:119,02[G ]| you may see they are so many couple of lovers ~~ all but 112:119,03[G ]| Yates and Mrs%*Grant ~~ and, between ourselves, she, poor 112:119,04[G ]| woman! must want a lover as much as any one of them. 112:119,05[G ]| A desperate dull life her's must be with the doctor," 112:119,06[' ]| making a sly face as he spoke towards the chair of the 112:119,07[' ]| latter, who proving, however, to be close at his elbow, 112:119,08[' ]| made so instantaneous a change of expression and subject 112:119,09[' ]| necessary, as Fanny, in spite of every*thing, could hardly 112:119,10[' ]| help laughing at. ~~ 112:119,10[G ]| "A strange business this in America, 112:119,11[G ]| Dr%*Grant! ~~ What is your opinion? ~~ I always come to 112:119,12[G ]| you to know what I am to think of public matters." 112:119,13[J ]| "My dear Tom," 112:119,13[' ]| cried his aunt soon afterwards, 112:119,13[J ]| "as 112:119,14[J ]| you are not dancing, I dare say you will have no objection 112:119,15[J ]| to join us in a rubber; shall you?" ~~ 112:119,15[' ]| then, leaving her 112:119,16[' ]| seat, and coming to him to enforce the proposal, added 112:119,17[' ]| in a whisper ~~ 112:119,17[J ]| "We want to make a table for Mrs%*Rushworth, 112:119,18[J ]| you know. ~~ Your mother is quite anxious about 112:119,19[J ]| it, but cannot very well spare time to sit down herself, 112:119,20[J ]| because of her fringe. Now, you and I and Dr%*Grant 112:119,21[J ]| will just do; and though \we\ play but half-crowns, you 112:119,22[J ]| know you may bet half-guineas with \him\." 112:119,23[G ]| "I should be most happy," 112:119,23[' ]| replied he aloud, and jumping 112:119,24[' ]| up with alacrity, 112:119,24[G ]| "it would give me the greatest pleasure 112:119,25[G ]| ~~ but that I am this moment going to dance. Come, 112:119,26[G ]| Fanny," ~~ 112:119,26[' ]| taking her hand ~~ 112:119,26[G ]| "do not be dawdling any 112:119,27[G ]| longer, or the dance will be over." 112:119,28[' ]| Fanny was led off very willingly, though it was impossible 112:119,29[' ]| for her to feel much gratitude towards her cousin, 112:119,30[' ]| or distinguish, as he certainly did, between the selfishness 112:119,31[' ]| of another person and his own. 112:119,32[G ]| "A pretty modest request upon my word!" 112:119,32[' ]| he indignantly 112:119,33[' ]| exclaimed as they walked away. 112:119,33[G ]| "To want to 112:119,34[G ]| nail me to a card*table for the next two hours with herself 112:119,35[G ]| and Dr%*Grant, who are always quarrelling, and that 112:119,36[G ]| poking old woman, who knows no more of whist than of 112:119,37[G ]| algebra. I wish my good aunt would be a little less busy! 112:119,38[G ]| And to ask me in such a way too! without ceremony, 112:120,01[G ]| before them all, so as to leave me no possibility of refusing! 112:120,02[G ]| \That\ is what I dislike most particularly. It raises 112:120,03[G ]| my spleen more than any*thing, to have the pretence of 112:120,04[G ]| being asked, of being given a choice, and at the same time 112:120,05[G ]| addressed in such a way as to oblige one to do the very 112:120,06[G ]| thing ~~ whatever it be! If I had not luckily thought of 112:120,07[G ]| standing up with you, I could not have got out of it. It is 112:120,08[G ]| a great deal too bad. But when my aunt has got a fancy 112:120,09[G ]| in her head, nothing can stop her." 113:121,01[' ]| The Honourable*John*Yates, this new friend, had not 113:121,02[' ]| much to recommend him beyond habits of fashion and 113:121,03[' ]| expense, and being the younger son of a lord with a tolerable 113:121,04[' ]| independence; and Sir*Thomas would probably have 113:121,05[' ]| thought his introduction at Mansfield by no means desirable. 113:121,06[' ]| Mr%*Bertram's acquaintance with him had begun 113:121,07[' ]| at Weymouth, where they had spent ten days together 113:121,08[' ]| in the same society, and the friendship, if friendship it 113:121,09[' ]| might be called, had been proved and perfected by 113:121,10[' ]| Mr%*Yates's being invited to take Mansfield in his way, 113:121,11[' ]| whenever he could, and by his promising to come; and 113:121,12[' ]| he did come rather earlier than had been expected, in 113:121,13[' ]| consequence of the sudden breaking-up of a large party 113:121,14[' ]| assembled for gaiety at the house of another friend, which 113:121,15[' ]| he had left Weymouth to join. He came on the wings of 113:121,16[' ]| disappointment, and with his head full of acting, for it 113:121,17[' ]| had been a theatrical party; and the play, in which he 113:121,18[' ]| had borne a part, was within two days of representation, 113:121,19[' ]| when the sudden death of one of the nearest connections 113:121,20[' ]| of the family had destroyed the scheme and dispersed the 113:121,21[' ]| performers. To be so near happiness, so near fame, so near 113:121,22[' ]| the long paragraph in praise of the private theatricals at 113:121,23[' ]| Ecclesford, the seat of the Right*Hon%*Lord*Ravenshaw, 113:121,24[' ]| in Cornwall, which would of course have immortalized 113:121,25[' ]| the whole party for at least a twelvemonth! and being 113:121,26[' ]| so near, to lose it all, was an injury to be keenly felt, and 113:121,27[' ]| Mr%*Yates could talk of nothing else. Ecclesford and its 113:121,28[' ]| theatre, with its arrangements and dresses, rehearsals and 113:121,29[' ]| jokes, was his never-failing subject, and to boast of the 113:121,30[' ]| past his only consolation. 113:121,31[' ]| Happily for him, a love of the theatre is so general, an 113:121,32[' ]| itch for acting so strong among young people, that he 113:122,01[' ]| could hardly out-talk the interest of his hearers. From 113:122,02[' ]| the first casting of the parts, to the epilogue, it was all 113:122,03[' ]| bewitching, and there were few who did not wish to have 113:122,04[' ]| been a party concerned, or would have hesitated to try 113:122,05[' ]| their skill. The play had been Lovers'*Vows, and Mr%*Yates 113:122,06[' ]| was to have been Count*Cassel. 113:122,06[R ]| "A trifling part," 113:122,07[' ]| said he, 113:122,07[R ]| "and not at all to my taste, and such a one as I 113:122,08[R ]| certainly would not accept again; but I was determined 113:122,09[R ]| to make no difficulties. Lord*Ravenshaw and the duke 113:122,10[R ]| had appropriated the only two characters worth playing 113:122,11[R ]| before I reached Ecclesford; and though Lord*Ravenshaw 113:122,12[R ]| offered to resign his to me, it was impossible to take 113:122,13[R ]| it, you know. I was sorry for \him\ that he should have 113:122,14[R ]| so mistaken his powers, for he was no more equal to the 113:122,15[R ]| Baron! A little man, with a weak voice, always hoarse 113:122,16[R ]| after the first ten minutes! It must have injured the 113:122,17[R ]| piece materially; but \I\ was resolved to make no difficulties. 113:122,18[R ]| Sir*Henry thought the duke not equal to Frederick, 113:122,19[R ]| but that was because Sir*Henry wanted the part 113:122,20[R ]| himself; whereas it was certainly in the best hands of the 113:122,21[R ]| two. I was surprised to see Sir*Henry such a stick. 113:122,22[R ]| Luckily the strength of the piece did not depend upon 113:122,23[R ]| him. Our Agatha was inimitable, and the duke was 113:122,24[R ]| thought very great by many. And upon the whole it 113:122,25[R ]| would certainly have gone off wonderfully." 113:122,26[X ]| "It was a hard case, upon my word;" 113:122,26[' ]| and, 113:122,26[X ]| "I do 113:122,27[X ]| think you were very much to be pitied;" 113:122,27[' ]| were the kind 113:122,28[' ]| responses of listening sympathy. 113:122,29[R ]| "It is not worth complaining about, but to be sure the 113:122,30[R ]| poor old dowager could not have died at a worse time; 113:122,31[R ]| and it is impossible to help wishing, that the news could 113:122,32[R ]| have been suppressed for just the three days we wanted. 113:122,33[R ]| It was but three days; and being only a grand-mother, 113:122,34[R ]| and all happening two hundred miles off, I think there 113:122,35[R ]| would have been no great harm, and it \was\ suggested, I 113:122,36[R ]| know; but Lord*Ravenshaw, who I suppose is one of the 113:122,37[R ]| most correct men in England, would not hear of it." 113:122,38[G ]| "An after-piece instead of a comedy," 113:122,38[' ]| said Mr%*Bertram. 113:123,01[G ]| "Lovers'*Vows were at an end, and Lord and 113:123,01[G ]| Lady*Ravenshaw 113:123,02[G ]| left to act My*Grandmother by themselves. 113:123,03[G ]| Well, the jointure may comfort \him\; and perhaps, 113:123,04[G ]| between friends, he began to tremble for his credit and 113:123,05[G ]| his lungs in the Baron, and was not sorry to withdraw; 113:123,06[G ]| and to make \you\ amends, Yates, I think we must raise 113:123,07[G ]| a little theatre at Mansfield, and ask you to be our 113:123,08[G ]| manager." 113:123,09[' ]| This, though the thought of the moment, did not end 113:123,10[' ]| with the moment; for the inclination to act was awakened, 113:123,11[' ]| and in no*one more strongly than in him who was now 113:123,12[' ]| master of the house; and who having so much leisure as 113:123,13[' ]| to make almost any novelty a certain good, had likewise 113:123,14[' ]| such a degree of lively talents and comic taste, as were 113:123,15[' ]| exactly adapted to the novelty of acting. The thought 113:123,16[' ]| returned again and again. 113:123,16[G ]| "Oh! for the Ecclesford 113:123,17[G ]| theatre and scenery to try something with." 113:123,17[' ]| Each sister 113:123,18[' ]| could echo the wish; and Henry*Crawford, to whom, in 113:123,19[' ]| all the riot of his gratifications, it was yet an untasted 113:123,20[' ]| pleasure, was quite alive at the idea. 113:123,20[D ]| "I really believe," 113:123,21[' ]| said he, 113:123,21[D ]| "I could be fool enough at this moment to undertake 113:123,22[D ]| any character that ever was written, from Shylock 113:123,23[D ]| or Richard*III% down to the singing hero of a farce in his 113:123,24[D ]| scarlet coat and cocked hat. I feel as if I could be any*thing 113:123,25[D ]| or every*thing, as if I could rant and storm, or sigh, 113:123,26[D ]| or cut capers in any tragedy or comedy in the English 113:123,27[D ]| language. Let us be doing something. Be it only half 113:123,28[D ]| a play ~~ an act ~~ a scene; what should prevent us? Not 113:123,29[D ]| these countenances I am sure," 113:123,29[' ]| looking towards the Miss*Bertrams, 113:123,30[D ]| "and for a theatre, what signifies a theatre? 113:123,31[D ]| We shall be only amusing ourselves. Any room in this 113:123,32[D ]| house might suffice." 113:123,33[G ]| "We must have a curtain," 113:123,33[' ]| said Tom*Bertram, 113:123,33[G ]| "a few 113:123,34[G ]| yards of green baize for a curtain, and perhaps that may 113:123,35[G ]| be enough." 113:123,36[R ]| "Oh! quite enough," 113:123,36[' ]| cried Mr%*Yates, 113:123,36[R ]| "with only just 113:123,37[R ]| a side wing or two run up, doors in flat, and three or four 113:123,38[R ]| scenes to be let down; nothing more would be necessary 113:124,01[R ]| on such a plan as this. For mere amusement among ourselves, 113:124,02[R ]| we should want nothing more." 113:124,03[H ]| "I believe we must be satisfied with \less\," 113:124,03[' ]| said Maria. 113:124,04[H ]| "There would not be time, and other difficulties would 113:124,05[H ]| arise. We must rather adopt Mr%*Crawford's views, and 113:124,06[H ]| make the \performance\, not the \theatre\, our object. Many 113:124,07[H ]| parts of our best plays are independent of scenery." 113:124,08[B ]| "Nay," 113:124,08[' ]| said Edmund, who began to listen with alarm. 113:124,09[B ]| "Let us do nothing by halves. If we are to act, let it be 113:124,10[B ]| in a theatre completely fitted up with pit, box, and gallery, 113:124,11[B ]| and let us have a play entire from beginning to end; so 113:124,12[B ]| as it be a German play, no matter what, with a good tricking, 113:124,13[B ]| shifting after-piece, and a figure-dance, and a horn-pipe, 113:124,14[B ]| and a song between the acts. If we do not out do 113:124,15[B ]| Ecclesford, we do nothing." 113:124,16[I ]| "Now, Edmund, do not be disagreeable," 113:124,16[' ]| said Julia. 113:124,17[I ]| "Nobody loves a play better than you do, or can have 113:124,18[I ]| gone much farther to see one." 113:124,19[B ]| "True, to see real acting, good hardened real acting; 113:124,20[B ]| but I would hardly walk from this room to the next to 113:124,21[B ]| look at the raw efforts of those who have not been bred 113:124,22[B ]| to the trade, ~~ a set of gentlemen and ladies, who have all 113:124,23[B ]| the disadvantages of education and decorum to struggle 113:124,24[B ]| through." 113:124,25[' ]| After a short pause, however, the subject still continued, 113:124,26[' ]| and was discussed with unabated eagerness, every*one's 113:124,27[' ]| inclination increasing by the discussion, and a knowledge 113:124,28[' ]| of the inclination of the rest; and though nothing was 113:124,29[' ]| settled but that Tom*Bertram would prefer a comedy, 113:124,30[' ]| and his sisters and Henry*Crawford a tragedy, and that 113:124,31[' ]| nothing in the world could be easier than to find a piece 113:124,32[' ]| which would please them all, the resolution to act something 113:124,33[' ]| or other, seemed so decided, as to make Edmund 113:124,34[' ]| quite uncomfortable. He was determined to prevent it, 113:124,35[' ]| if possible, though his mother, who equally heard the 113:124,36[' ]| conversation which passed at table, did not evince the 113:124,37[' ]| least disapprobation. 113:124,38[' ]| The same evening afforded him an opportunity of trying 113:125,01[' ]| his strength. Maria, Julia, Henry*Crawford, and Mr%*Yates, 113:125,02[' ]| were in the billiard-room. Tom returning from 113:125,03[' ]| them into the drawing-room, where Edmund was standing 113:125,04[' ]| thoughtfully by the fire, while Lady*Bertram was on the 113:125,05[' ]| sofa at a little distance, and Fanny close beside her arranging 113:125,06[' ]| her work, thus began as he entered. 113:125,06[G ]| "Such a horribly 113:125,07[G ]| vile billiard-table as ours, is not to be met with, I believe, 113:125,08[G ]| above ground! I can stand it no longer, and I think, I 113:125,09[G ]| may say, that nothing shall ever tempt me to it again. 113:125,10[G ]| But one good thing I have just ascertained. It is the 113:125,11[G ]| very room for a theatre, precisely the shape and length 113:125,12[G ]| for it, and the doors at the farther end, communicating 113:125,13[G ]| with each other as they may be made to do in five minutes, 113:125,14[G ]| by merely moving the book-case in my father's room, is 113:125,15[G ]| the very thing we could have desired, if we had set down 113:125,16[G ]| to wish for it. And my father's room will be an excellent 113:125,17[G ]| green-room. It seems to join the billiard-room on 113:125,18[G ]| purpose." 113:125,19[B ]| "You are not serious, Tom, in meaning to act?" 113:125,19[' ]| said 113:125,20[' ]| Edmund in a low voice, as his brother approached the fire. 113:125,21[G ]| "Not serious! never more so, I assure you. What is 113:125,22[G ]| there to surprise you in it?" 113:125,23[B ]| "I think it would be very wrong. In a \general\ light, 113:125,24[B ]| private theatricals are open to some objections, but as \we\ 113:125,25[B ]| are circumstanced, I must think it would be highly injudicious, 113:125,26[B ]| and more than injudicious, to attempt any*thing 113:125,27[B ]| of the kind. It would show great want of feeling on my 113:125,28[B ]| father's account, absent as he is, and in some degree of 113:125,29[B ]| constant danger; and it would be imprudent, I think, 113:125,30[B ]| with regard to Maria, whose situation is a very delicate 113:125,31[B ]| one, considering every*thing, extremely delicate." 113:125,32[G ]| "You take up a thing so seriously! as if we were going 113:125,33[G ]| to act three times a week till my father's return, and 113:125,34[G ]| invite all the country. But it is not to be a display of 113:125,35[G ]| that sort. We mean nothing but a little amusement 113:125,36[G ]| among ourselves, just to vary the scene, and exercise our 113:125,37[G ]| powers in something new. We want no audience, no 113:125,38[G ]| publicity. We may be trusted, I think, in choosing some 113:126,01[G ]| play most perfectly unexceptionable, and I can conceive 113:126,02[G ]| no greater harm or danger to any of us in conversing in 113:126,03[G ]| the elegant written language of some respectable author 113:126,04[G ]| than in chattering in words of our own. I have no fears, 113:126,05[G ]| and no scruples. And as to my father's being absent, it 113:126,06[G ]| is so far from an objection, that I consider it rather as 113:126,07[G ]| a motive; for the expectation of his return must be a very 113:126,08[G ]| anxious period to my mother, and if we can be the means 113:126,09[G ]| of amusing that anxiety, and keeping up her spirits for 113:126,10[G ]| the next few weeks, I shall think our time very well spent, 113:126,11[G ]| and so I am sure will he. ~~ It is a \very\ anxious period for 113:126,12[G ]| her." 113:126,13[' ]| As he said this, each looked towards their mother. 113:126,14[' ]| Lady*Bertram, sunk back in one corner of the sofa, the 113:126,15[' ]| picture of health, wealth, ease, and tranquillity, was just 113:126,16[' ]| falling into a gentle doze, while Fanny was getting through 113:126,17[' ]| the few difficulties of her work for her. 113:126,18[' ]| Edmund smiled and shook his head. 113:126,19[G ]| "By Jove! this won't do" 113:126,19[' ]| cried Tom, throwing himself 113:126,20[' ]| into a chair with a hearty laugh. 113:126,20[G ]| "To be sure, my 113:126,21[G ]| dear mother, your anxiety ~~ I was unlucky there." 113:126,22[F ]| "What is the matter?" 113:126,22[' ]| asked her ladyship in the 113:126,23[' ]| heavy tone of one half roused, ~~ 113:126,23[F ]| "I was not asleep." 113:126,24[G ]| "Oh! dear, no ma'am ~~ nobody suspected you ~~ Well, 113:126,25[G ]| Edmund," 113:126,25[' ]| he continued, returning to the former subject, 113:126,26[' ]| posture, and voice, as soon as Lady*Bertram began to 113:126,27[' ]| nod again ~~ 113:126,27[G ]| "But \this\ I \will\ maintain ~~ that we shall be 113:126,28[G ]| doing no harm." 113:126,29[B ]| "I cannot agree with you ~~ I am convinced that my 113:126,30[B ]| father would totally disapprove it." 113:126,31[G ]| "And I am convinced to the contrary. ~~ Nobody is 113:126,32[G ]| fonder of the exercise of talent in young people, or promotes 113:126,33[G ]| it more, than my father; and for any*thing of the 113:126,34[G ]| acting, spouting, reciting kind, I think he has always 113:126,35[G ]| a decided taste. I am sure he encouraged it in us as boys. 113:126,36[G ]| How many a time have we mourned over the dead body 113:126,37[G ]| of Julius*Ca*esar, and \to\ \be'd\ and \not\ \to\ \be'd\, in this 113:126,37[G ]| very 113:126,38[G ]| room, for his amusement! And I am sure, \my\ \name\ \was\ 113:127,01[G ]| \Norval\, every evening of my life through one Christmas 113:127,02[G ]| holidays." 113:127,03[B ]| "It was a very different thing. ~~ You must see the 113:127,04[B ]| difference yourself. My father wished us, as school-boys, 113:127,05[B ]| to speak well, but he would never wish his grown up 113:127,06[B ]| daughters to be acting plays. His sense of decorum is 113:127,07[B ]| strict." 113:127,08[G ]| "I know all that," 113:127,08[' ]| said Tom displeased. 113:127,08[G ]| "I know my 113:127,09[G ]| father as well as you do, and I'll take care that his daughters 113:127,10[G ]| do nothing to distress him. Manage your own concerns, 113:127,11[G ]| Edmund, and I'll take care of the rest of the family." 113:127,12[B ]| "If you are resolved on acting," 113:127,12[' ]| replied the persevering 113:127,13[' ]| Edmund, 113:127,13[B ]| "I must hope it will be in a very small and 113:127,14[B ]| quiet way; and I think a theatre ought not to be attempted. ~~ 113:127,15[B ]| It would be taking liberties with my father's 113:127,16[B ]| house in his absence which could not be justified." 113:127,17[G ]| "For every*thing of that nature, I will be answerable," 113:127,18[' ]| ~~ said Tom, in a decided tone. ~~ 113:127,18[G ]| "His house shall not be 113:127,19[G ]| hurt. I have quite as great an interest in being careful 113:127,20[G ]| of his house as you can have; and as to such alterations 113:127,21[G ]| as I was suggesting just now, such as moving a book-case, 113:127,22[G ]| or unlocking a door, or even as using the billiard-room 113:127,23[G ]| for the space of a week without playing at billiards in it, 113:127,24[G ]| you might just as well suppose he would object to our 113:127,25[G ]| sitting more in this room, and less in the breakfast-room, 113:127,26[G ]| than we did before he went away, or to my sisters' piano-forte 113:127,27[G ]| being moved from one side of the room to the other. 113:127,28[G ]| ~~ Absolute nonsense!" 113:127,29[B ]| "The innovation, if not wrong as an innovation, will 113:127,30[B ]| be wrong as an expense." 113:127,31[G ]| "Yes, the expense of such an undertaking would be 113:127,32[G ]| prodigious! Perhaps it might cost a whole twenty 113:127,33[G ]| pounds. ~~ Something of a theatre we must have undoubtedly, 113:127,34[G ]| but it will be on the simplest plan; ~~ a green 113:127,35[G ]| curtain and a little carpenter's work ~~ and that's all; 113:127,36[G ]| and as the carpenter's work may be all done at home by 113:127,37[G ]| Christopher*Jackson himself, it will be too absurd to talk 113:127,38[G ]| of expense; ~~ and as long as Jackson is employed, every*thing 113:128,01[G ]| will be right with Sir*Thomas. ~~ Don't imagine that 113:128,02[G ]| nobody in this house can see or judge but yourself. ~~ 113:128,03[G ]| Don't act yourself, if you do not like it, but don't expect 113:128,04[G ]| to govern every*body else." 113:128,05[B ]| "No, as to acting myself," 113:128,05[' ]| said Edmund, 113:128,05[B ]| "\that\ I absolutely 113:128,06[B ]| protest against." 113:128,07[' ]| Tom walked out of the room as he said it, and Edmund 113:128,08[' ]| was left to sit down and stir the fire in thoughtful vexation. 113:128,09[' ]| 113:128,10[' ]| Fanny, who had heard it all, and borne Edmund company 113:128,11[' ]| in every feeling throughout the whole, now ventured 113:128,12[' ]| to say, in her anxiety to suggest some comfort, 113:128,12[A ]| "Perhaps 113:128,13[A ]| they may not be able to find any play to suit them. Your 113:128,14[A ]| brother's taste, and your sisters', seem very different." 113:128,15[B ]| "I have no hope there, Fanny. If they persist in the 113:128,16[B ]| scheme they will find something ~~ I shall speak to my 113:128,17[B ]| sisters, and try to dissuade \them\, and that is all I can do." 113:128,18[A ]| "I should think my aunt Norris would be on your side." 113:128,19[B ]| "I dare say she would; but she has no influence with 113:128,20[B ]| either Tom or my sisters that could be of any use; and 113:128,21[B ]| if I cannot convince them myself, I shall let things take 113:128,22[B ]| their course, without attempting it through her. Family 113:128,23[B ]| squabling is the greatest evil of all, and we had better 113:128,24[B ]| do any*thing than be altogether by the ears." 113:128,25[' ]| His sisters, to whom he had an opportunity of speaking 113:128,26[' ]| the next morning, were quite as impatient of his advice, 113:128,27[' ]| quite as unyielding to his representation, quite as determined 113:128,28[' ]| in the cause of pleasure, as Tom. 113:128,28@y | ~~ Their mother 113:128,29@y | had no objection to the plan, and they were not in the 113:128,30@y | least afraid of their father's disapprobation. ~~ There could 113:128,31@y | be no harm in what had been done in so many respectable 113:128,32@y | families, and by so many women of the first consideration; 113:128,33@y | and it must be scrupulousness run mad, that could 113:128,34@y | see any*thing to censure in a plan like their's, comprehending 113:128,35@y | only brothers and sisters, and intimate friends, 113:128,36@y | and which would never be heard of beyond themselves. 113:128,37@b | Julia \did\ seem inclined to admit that Maria's situation 113:128,38@b | might require particular caution and delicacy ~~ but that 113:129,01@b | could not extend to \her\ ~~ \she\ was at liberty; and Maria 113:129,02@b | evidently considered her engagement as only raising her 113:129,03@b | so much more above restraint, and leaving her less occasion 113:129,04@b | than Julia, to consult either father or mother. 113:129,05[' ]| Edmund had little to hope, but he was still urging the 113:129,06[' ]| subject, when Henry*Crawford entered the room, fresh 113:129,07[' ]| from the Parsonage, calling out, 113:129,07[D ]| "No want of hands in 113:129,08[D ]| our Theatre, Miss*Bertram. No want of under*strappers 113:129,09[D ]| ~~ My sister desires her love, and hopes to be admitted 113:129,10[D ]| into the company, and will be happy to take the part of 113:129,11[D ]| any old Duenna or tame Confidante, that you may not 113:129,12[D ]| like to do yourselves." 113:129,13[' ]| Maria gave Edmund a glance, which meant, 113:129,13@h | "What 113:129,14@h | say you now? Can we be wrong if Mary*Crawford feels 113:129,15@h | the same?" 113:129,15[' ]| And Edmund silenced, was obliged to 113:129,16[' ]| acknowledge that the charm of acting might well carry 113:129,17[' ]| fascination to the mind of genius; and with the ingenuity 113:129,18[' ]| of love, to dwell more on the obliging, accommodating 113:129,19[' ]| purport of the message than on any*thing else. 113:129,20[' ]| The scheme advanced. Opposition was vain; and as 113:129,21[' ]| to Mrs%*Norris, he was mistaken in supposing she would 113:129,22[' ]| wish to make any. She started no difficulties that were 113:129,23[' ]| not talked down in five minutes by her eldest nephew and 113:129,24[' ]| niece, who were all-powerful with her; and, as the whole 113:129,25[' ]| arrangement was to bring very little expense to any*body, 113:129,26[' ]| and none at all to herself, as she foresaw in it all the comforts 113:129,27[' ]| of hurry, bustle and importance, and derived the 113:129,28[' ]| immediate advantage of fancying herself obliged to leave 113:129,29[' ]| her own house, where she had been living a month at her 113:129,30[' ]| own cost, and take up her abode in their's, that every 113:129,31[' ]| hour might be spent in their service; she was, in fact, 113:129,32[' ]| exceedingly delighted with the project. 114:130,01[' ]| Fanny seemed nearer being right than Edmund had 114:130,02[' ]| supposed. The business of finding a play that would suit 114:130,03[' ]| every*body, proved to be no trifle; and the carpenter had 114:130,04[' ]| received his orders and taken his measurements, had suggested 114:130,05[' ]| and removed at least two sets of difficulties, and 114:130,06[' ]| having made the necessity of an enlargement of plan and 114:130,07[' ]| expense fully evident, was already at work, while a play 114:130,08[' ]| was still to seek. Other preparations were also in hand. 114:130,09[' ]| An enormous roll of green baize had arrived from Northampton, 114:130,10[' ]| and been cut out by Mrs%*Norris (with a saving, 114:130,11[' ]| by her good management, of full three quarters of a yard), 114:130,12[' ]| and was actually forming into a curtain by the housemaids, 114:130,13[' ]| and still the play was wanting; and as two or three days 114:130,14[' ]| passed away in this manner, Edmund began almost to 114:130,15[' ]| hope that none might ever be found. 114:130,16[' ]| There were, in fact, so many things to be attended to, 114:130,17[' ]| so many people to be pleased, so many best characters 114:130,18[' ]| required, and above all, such a need that the play should 114:130,19[' ]| be at once both tragedy and comedy, that there did seem 114:130,20[' ]| as little chance of a decision, as any*thing pursued by 114:130,21[' ]| youth and zeal could hold out. 114:130,22[' ]| On the tragic side were the Miss*Bertrams, Henry*Crawford, 114:130,23[' ]| and Mr%*Yates; on the comic, Tom*Bertram, 114:130,24[' ]| not \quite\ alone, because it was evident that Mary*Crawford's 114:130,25[' ]| wishes, though politely kept back, inclined the 114:130,26[' ]| same way; but his determinateness and his power, 114:130,27[' ]| seemed to make allies unnecessary; and independent of 114:130,28[' ]| this great irreconcileable difference, they wanted a piece 114:130,29[' ]| containing very few characters in the whole, but every 114:130,30[' ]| character first-rate, and three principal women. All the 114:130,31[' ]| best plays were run over in vain. Neither Hamlet, nor 114:131,01[' ]| Macbeth, nor Othello, nor Douglas, nor the Gamester, 114:131,02[' ]| presented any*thing that could satisfy even the tragedians; 114:131,03[' ]| and the Rivals, the School*for*Scandal, Wheel*of*Fortune, 114:131,04[' ]| Heir*at*Law, and a long etcetera, were successively dismissed 114:131,05[' ]| with yet warmer objections. No piece could be 114:131,06[' ]| proposed that did not supply somebody with a difficulty, 114:131,07[' ]| and on one side or the other it was a continual repetition 114:131,08[' ]| of, 114:131,08[X ]| "Oh! no, \that\ will never do. Let us have no ranting 114:131,09[X ]| tragedies. Too many characters ~~ Not a tolerable woman's 114:131,10[X ]| part in the play ~~ Any*thing but \that\, my dear Tom. It 114:131,11[X ]| would be impossible to fill it up ~~ One could not expect 114:131,12[X ]| any*body to take such a part ~~ Nothing but buffoonery 114:131,13[X ]| from beginning to end. \That\ might do, perhaps, but for 114:131,14[X ]| the low parts ~~ If I \must\ give my opinion, I have always 114:131,15[X ]| thought it the most insipid play in the English language ~~ 114:131,16[X ]| \I\ do not wish to make objections, I shall be happy to be 114:131,17[X ]| of any use, but I think we could not choose worse." 114:131,18[' ]| Fanny looked on and listened, not unamused to observe 114:131,19[' ]| the selfishness which, more or less disguised, seemed 114:131,20[' ]| to govern them all, and wondering how it would end. 114:131,21[' ]| For her own gratification 114:131,21@a | she could have wished that 114:131,22@a | something might be acted, for she had never seen even 114:131,23@a | half a play, but every*thing of higher consequence was 114:131,24@a | against it. 114:131,25[G ]| "This will never do," 114:131,25[' ]| said Tom*Bertram at last. 114:131,25[G ]| "We 114:131,26[G ]| are wasting time most abominably. Something must be 114:131,27[G ]| fixed on. No matter what, so that something is chosen. 114:131,28[G ]| We must not be so nice. A few characters too many, 114:131,29[G ]| must not frighten us. We must \double\ them. We must 114:131,30[G ]| descend a little. If a part is insignificant, the greater our 114:131,31[G ]| credit in making any*thing of it. From this moment 114:131,32[G ]| \I\ make no difficulties. I take any part you choose to 114:131,33[G ]| give me, so as it be comic. Let it but be comic, I condition 114:131,34[G ]| for nothing more." 114:131,35[' ]| For about the fifth time he then proposed the Heir*at*Law, 114:131,36[' ]| doubting only whether to prefer Lord*Duberley or 114:131,37[' ]| Dr%*Pangloss for himself, and very earnestly, but very 114:131,38[' ]| unsuccessfully, trying to persuade the others that there 114:132,01[' ]| were some fine tragic parts in the rest of the Dramatis*persona*e. 114:132,02[' ]| The pause which followed this fruitless effort was ended 114:132,03[' ]| by the same speaker, who taking up one of the many 114:132,04[' ]| volumes of plays that lay on the table, and turning it over, 114:132,05[' ]| suddenly exclaimed, 114:132,06[G ]| "Lovers'*Vows! And why should 114:132,07[G ]| not Lovers'*Vows do for \us\ as well as for the Ravenshaws? 114:132,08[G ]| How came it never to be thought of before? It strikes 114:132,09[G ]| me as if it would do exactly. What say you all? ~~ Here 114:132,10[G ]| are two capital tragic parts for Yates and Crawford, and 114:132,11[G ]| here is the rhyming butler for me ~~ if nobody else wants it 114:132,12[G ]| ~~ a trifling part, but the sort of thing I should not dislike, 114:132,13[G ]| and as I said before, I am determined to take any*thing 114:132,14[G ]| and do my best. And as for the rest, they may be filled 114:132,15[G ]| up by any*body. It is only Count*Cassel and Anhalt." 114:132,16[' ]| The suggestion was generally welcome. Every*body 114:132,17[' ]| was growing weary of indecision, and the first idea with 114:132,18[' ]| every*body was, that nothing had been proposed before 114:132,19[' ]| so likely to suit them all. Mr%*Yates was particularly 114:132,20[' ]| pleased; he had been sighing and longing to do the Baron 114:132,21[' ]| at Ecclesford, had grudged every rant of Lord*Ravenshaw's, 114:132,22[' ]| and been forced to re-rant it all in his own room. 114:132,23[' ]| To storm through Baron*Wildenhaim was the height of 114:132,24[' ]| his theatrical ambition, and with the advantage of knowing 114:132,25[' ]| half the scenes by heart already, he did now with the 114:132,26[' ]| greatest alacrity offer his services for the part. To do 114:132,27[' ]| him justice, however, he did not resolve to appropriate 114:132,28[' ]| it ~~ for remembering that there was some very good 114:132,29[' ]| ranting ground in Frederick, he professed an equal willingness 114:132,30[' ]| for that. Henry*Crawford was ready to take either. 114:132,31[' ]| Whichever Mr%*Yates did not choose, would perfectly 114:132,32[' ]| satisfy him, and a short parley of compliment ensued. 114:132,33[' ]| Miss*Bertram feeling all the interest of an Agatha in the 114:132,34[' ]| question, took on her to decide it, by observing to Mr%*Yates, 114:132,35[' ]| that 114:132,35@h | this was a point in which height and figure 114:132,36@h | ought to be considered, and that \his\ being the tallest, 114:132,37@h | seemed to fit him peculiarly for the Baron. 114:132,37[' ]| She was 114:132,38[' ]| acknowledged to be quite right, and the two parts being 114:133,01[' ]| accepted accordingly, she was certain of the proper 114:133,02[' ]| Frederick. Three of the characters were now cast, besides 114:133,03[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth, who was always answered for by Maria 114:133,04[' ]| as willing to do any*thing; when Julia, meaning like her 114:133,05[' ]| sister to be Agatha, began to be scrupulous on Miss*Crawford's 114:133,06[' ]| account. 114:133,07[I ]| "This is not behaving well by the absent," 114:133,07[' ]| said she. 114:133,08[I ]| "Here are not women enough. Amelia and Agatha may 114:133,09[I ]| do for Maria and me, but here is nothing for your sister, 114:133,10[I ]| Mr%*Crawford." 114:133,11[' ]| Mr%*Crawford desired \that\ might not be thought of; 114:133,11@d | he 114:133,12@d | was very sure his sister had no wish of acting, but as she 114:133,13@d | might be useful, and that she would not allow herself to 114:133,14@d | be considered in the present case. 114:133,14[' ]| But this was immediately 114:133,15[' ]| opposed by Tom*Bertram, who asserted the part 114:133,16[' ]| of Amelia to be in every respect the property of Miss*Crawford 114:133,17[' ]| if she would accept it. 114:133,17[G ]| "It falls as naturally, 114:133,18[G ]| as necessarily to her," 114:133,18[' ]| said he, 114:133,18[G ]| "as Agatha does to one 114:133,19[G ]| or other of my sisters. It can be no sacrifice on their side, 114:133,20[G ]| for it is highly comic." 114:133,21[' ]| A short silence followed. Each sister looked anxious; 114:133,22[' ]| for each felt the best claim to Agatha, and was hoping to 114:133,23[' ]| have it pressed on her by the rest. Henry*Crawford, 114:133,24[' ]| who meanwhile had taken up the play, and with seeming 114:133,25[' ]| carelessness was turning over the first act, soon settled 114:133,26[' ]| the business. 114:133,26[D ]| "I must entreat Miss*\Julia\*Bertram," 114:133,27[' ]| said he, 114:133,27[D ]| "not to engage in the part of Agatha, or it will 114:133,28[D ]| be the ruin of all my solemnity. You must not, indeed 114:133,29[D ]| you must not ~~ 114:133,29[' ]| (turning to her.) 114:133,29[D ]| I could not stand your 114:133,30[D ]| countenance dressed up in woe and paleness. The many 114:133,31[D ]| laughs we have had together would infallibly come across 114:133,32[D ]| me, and Frederick and his knapsack would be obliged to 114:133,33[D ]| run away." 114:133,34[' ]| Pleasantly, courteously it was spoken; but the manner 114:133,35[' ]| was lost in the matter to Julia's feelings. 114:133,35@i | She saw a 114:133,36@i | glance at Maria, which confirmed the injury to herself; 114:133,37@i | it was a scheme ~~ a trick; she was slighted, Maria was 114:133,38@i | preferred; the smile of triumph which Maria was trying 114:134,01@i | to suppress shewed how well it was understood, 114:134,01[' ]| and before 114:134,02[' ]| Julia could command herself enough to speak, her brother 114:134,03[' ]| gave his weight against her too, by saying, 114:134,03[G ]| "Oh! yes, 114:134,04[G ]| Maria must be Agatha. Maria will be the best Agatha. 114:134,05[G ]| Though Julia fancies she prefers tragedy, I would not 114:134,06[G ]| trust her in it. There is nothing of tragedy about her. 114:134,07[G ]| She has not the look of it. Her features are not tragic 114:134,08[G ]| features, and she walks too quick, and speaks too quick, 114:134,09[G ]| and would not keep her countenance. She had better 114:134,10[G ]| do the old countrywoman; the Cottager's*wife; you had, 114:134,11[G ]| indeed, Julia. Cottager's*wife is a very pretty part I 114:134,12[G ]| assure you. The old lady relieves the high-flown benevolence 114:134,13[G ]| of her husband with a good deal of spirit. You 114:134,14[G ]| shall be Cottager's*wife." 114:134,15[R ]| "Cottager's*wife!" 114:134,15[' ]| cried Mr%*Yates. 114:134,15[R ]| "What are you 114:134,16[R ]| talking of? The most trivial, paltry, insignificant part; 114:134,17[R ]| the merest common-place ~~ not a tolerable speech in the 114:134,18[R ]| whole. Your sister do that! It is an insult to propose 114:134,19[R ]| it. At Ecclesford the governess was to have done it. 114:134,20[R ]| We all agreed that it could not be offered to any*body 114:134,21[R ]| else. A little more justice, Mr%*Manager, if you please. 114:134,22[R ]| You do not deserve the office, if you cannot appreciate 114:134,23[R ]| the talents of your company a little better." 114:134,24[G ]| "Why as to \that\, my good friend, till I and my company 114:134,25[G ]| have really acted there must be some guess-work; 114:134,26[G ]| but I mean no disparagement to Julia. We cannot have 114:134,27[G ]| two Agathas, and we must have one Cottager's*wife; and 114:134,28[G ]| I am sure I set her the example of moderation myself in 114:134,29[G ]| being satisfied with the old Butler. If the part is trifling 114:134,30[G ]| she will have more credit in making something of it; and 114:134,31[G ]| if she is so desperately bent against every*thing humorous, 114:134,32[G ]| let her take Cottager's speeches instead of 114:134,32[G ]| Cottager's*wife's, 114:134,33[G ]| and so change the parts all through; \he\ is solemn 114:134,34[G ]| and pathetic enough I am sure. It could make no difference 114:134,35[G ]| in the play; and as for Cottager himself, when he 114:134,36[G ]| has got his wife's speeches, \I\ would undertake him with 114:134,37[G ]| all my heart." 114:134,38[D ]| "With all your partiality for Cottager's*wife," 114:134,38[' ]| said 114:135,01[' ]| Henry*Crawford, 114:135,01[D ]| "it will be impossible to make any*thing 114:135,02[D ]| of it fit for your sister, and we must not suffer her 114:135,03[D ]| good*nature to be imposed on. We must not \allow\ her 114:135,04[D ]| to accept the part. She must not be left to her own 114:135,05[D ]| complaisance. Her talents will be wanted in Amelia. 114:135,06[D ]| Amelia is a character more difficult to be well represented 114:135,07[D ]| than even Agatha. I consider Amelia as the most difficult 114:135,08[D ]| character in the whole piece. It requires great 114:135,09[D ]| powers, great nicety, to give her playfulness and simplicity 114:135,10[D ]| without extravagance. I have seen good actresses 114:135,11[D ]| fail in the part. Simplicity, indeed, is beyond the reach 114:135,12[D ]| of almost every actress by profession. It requires a 114:135,13[D ]| delicacy of feeling which they have not. It requires 114:135,14[D ]| a gentlewoman ~~ a Julia*Bertram. You \will\ undertake 114:135,15[D ]| it I hope?" 114:135,15[' ]| turning to her with a look of anxious entreaty, 114:135,16[' ]| which softened her a little; but while she hesitated what 114:135,17[' ]| to say, her brother again interposed with Miss*Crawford's 114:135,18[' ]| better claim." 114:135,19[G ]| "No, no, Julia must not be Amelia. It is not at all the 114:135,20[G ]| part for her. She would not like it. She would not do 114:135,21[G ]| well. She is too tall and robust. Amelia should be 114:135,22[G ]| a small, light, girlish, skipping figure. It is fit for 114:135,22[G ]| Miss*Crawford 114:135,23[G ]| and Miss*Crawford only. She looks the part, 114:135,24[G ]| and I am persuaded will do it admirably." 114:135,25[' ]| Without attending to this, Henry*Crawford continued 114:135,26[' ]| his supplication. 114:135,26[D ]| "You must oblige us," 114:135,26[' ]| said he, 114:135,26[D ]| "indeed 114:135,27[D ]| you must. When you have studied the character, 114:135,28[D ]| I am sure you will feel it suit you. Tragedy may be your 114:135,29[D ]| choice, but it will certainly appear that comedy chooses 114:135,30[D ]| \you\. You will be to visit me in prison with a basket of 114:135,31[D ]| provisions; you will not refuse to visit me in prison? 114:135,32[D ]| I think I see you coming in with your basket." 114:135,33[' ]| The influence of his voice was felt. Julia wavered: 114:135,34@i | but was he only trying to soothe and pacify her, and make 114:135,35@i | her overlook the previous affront? She distrusted him. 114:135,36@i | The slight had been most determined. He was, perhaps, 114:135,37@i | but at treacherous play with her. She looked suspiciously 114:135,38@i | at her sister; Maria's countenance was to decide 114:136,01@i | it; if she were vexed and alarmed ~~ but Maria looked all 114:136,02@i | serenity and satisfaction, and Julia well knew that on this 114:136,03@i | ground Maria could not be happy but at her expense. 114:136,04[' ]| With hasty indignation therefore, and a tremulous voice, 114:136,05[' ]| she said to him, 114:136,05[I ]| "You do not seem afraid of not keeping 114:136,06[I ]| your countenance when I come in with a basket of provisions ~~ 114:136,07[I ]| though one might have supposed ~~ but it is only 114:136,08[I ]| as Agatha that I was to be so overpowering!" ~~ 114:136,08[' ]| She 114:136,09[' ]| stopped ~~ Henry*Crawford looked rather foolish, and as 114:136,10[' ]| if he did not know what to say. Tom*Bertram began 114:136,11[' ]| again, 114:136,12[G ]| "Miss*Crawford must be Amelia. ~~ She will be an 114:136,13[G ]| excellent Amelia." 114:136,14[I ]| "Do not be afraid of \my\ wanting the character," 114:136,14[' ]| cried 114:136,15[' ]| Julia with angry quickness; ~~ 114:136,15[I ]| "I am \not\ to be Agatha, 114:136,16[I ]| and I am sure I will do nothing else; and as to Amelia, 114:136,17[I ]| it is of all parts in the world the most disgusting to me. 114:136,18[I ]| I quite detest her. An odious, little, pert, unnatural, 114:136,19[I ]| impudent girl. I have always protested against comedy, 114:136,20[I ]| and this is comedy in its worst form." 114:136,20[' ]| And so saying, 114:136,21[' ]| she walked hastily out of the room, leaving awkward feelings 114:136,22[' ]| to more than one, but exciting small compassion in 114:136,23[' ]| any except Fanny, who had been a quiet auditor of the 114:136,24[' ]| whole, and who could not think of her as under the agitations 114:136,25[' ]| of \jealousy\, without great pity. 114:136,26[' ]| A short silence succeeded her leaving them; but her 114:136,27[' ]| brother soon returned to business and Lovers'*Vows, and 114:136,28[' ]| was eagerly looking over the play, with Mr%*Yates's help, 114:136,29[' ]| to ascertain what scenery would be necessary ~~ while 114:136,30[' ]| Maria and Henry*Crawford conversed together in an under 114:136,31[' ]| voice, and the declaration with which she began of, 114:136,31[H ]| "I 114:136,32[H ]| am sure I would give up the part to Julia most willingly, 114:136,33[H ]| but that though I shall probably do it very ill, I feel persuaded 114:136,34[H ]| \she\ would do it worse," 114:136,34[' ]| was doubtless receiving 114:136,35[' ]| all the compliments it called for. 114:136,36[' ]| When this had lasted some time, the division of the 114:136,37[' ]| party was completed by Tom*Bertram and Mr%*Yates 114:136,38[' ]| walking off together to consult farther in the room now 114:137,01[' ]| beginning to be called \the\ \Theatre\, and Miss*Bertram's 114:137,02[' ]| resolving to go down to the Parsonage herself with the 114:137,03[' ]| offer of Amelia to Miss*Crawford; and Fanny remained 114:137,04[' ]| alone. 114:137,05[' ]| The first use she made of her solitude was to take up 114:137,06[' ]| the volume which had been left on the table, and begin 114:137,07[' ]| to acquaint herself with the play of which she had heard so 114:137,08[' ]| much. Her curiosity was all awake, and she ran through 114:137,09[' ]| it with an eagerness which was suspended only by intervals 114:137,10[' ]| of astonishment, 114:137,10@a | that it could be chosen in the present 114:137,11@a | instance ~~ that it could be proposed and accepted in a 114:137,12@a | private Theatre! Agatha and Amelia appeared to her 114:137,13@a | in their different ways so totally improper for home representation ~~ 114:137,14@a | the situation of one, and the language of the 114:137,15@a | other, so unfit to be expressed by any woman of modesty, 114:137,16@a | that she could hardly suppose her cousins could be aware 114:137,17@a | of what they were engaging in; and longed to have them 114:137,18@a | roused as soon as possible by the remonstrance which 114:137,19@a | Edmund would certainly make. 115:138,01[' ]| Miss*Crawford accepted the part very readily, and 115:138,02[' ]| soon after Miss*Bertram's return from the Parsonage, 115:138,03[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth arrived, and another character was consequently 115:138,04[' ]| cast. He had the offer of Count*Cassel and 115:138,05[' ]| Anhalt, and at first did not know which to choose, and 115:138,06[' ]| wanted Miss*Bertram to direct him, but upon being made 115:138,07[' ]| to understand the different style of the characters, and 115:138,08[' ]| which was which, and recollecting that he had once seen 115:138,09[' ]| the play in London, and had thought Anhalt a very 115:138,10[' ]| stupid fellow, he soon decided for the Count. Miss*Bertram 115:138,11[' ]| approved the decision, for 115:138,11@h | the less he had to 115:138,12@h | learn the better; 115:138,12[' ]| and though she could not sympathize 115:138,13[' ]| in his wish that the Count and Agatha might be to act 115:138,14[' ]| together, nor wait very patiently while he was slowly 115:138,15[' ]| turning over the leaves with the hope of still discovering 115:138,16[' ]| such a scene, she very kindly took his part in hand, and 115:138,17[' ]| curtailed every speech that admitted being shortened; ~~ 115:138,18[' ]| besides pointing out the necessity of his being very much 115:138,19[' ]| dressed, and choosing his colours. Mr%*Rushworth liked 115:138,20[' ]| the idea of his finery very well, though affecting to 115:138,21[' ]| despise it, and was too much engaged with what his own 115:138,22[' ]| appearance would be, to think of the others, or draw 115:138,23[' ]| any of those conclusions, or feel any of that displeasure, 115:138,24[' ]| which Maria had been half prepared for. 115:138,25[' ]| Thus much was settled before Edmund, who had been 115:138,26[' ]| out all the morning, knew any*thing of the matter; but 115:138,27[' ]| when he entered the drawing-room before dinner, the 115:138,28[' ]| buz of discussion was high between Tom, Maria, and Mr%*Yates; 115:138,29[' ]| and Mr%*Rushworth stepped forward with great 115:138,30[' ]| alacrity to tell him the agreeable news. 115:138,31[K ]| "We have got a play," 115:138,31[' ]| said he. ~~ 115:138,31[K ]| "It is to be Lovers'*Vows; 115:138,32[K ]| and I am to be Count*Cassel, and am to come 115:138,33[K ]| in first with a blue dress, and a pink satin cloak, and 115:139,01[K ]| afterwards am to have another fine fancy suit by way 115:139,02[K ]| of a shooting dress. ~~ I do not know how I shall like it." 115:139,03[' ]| Fanny's eyes followed Edmund, and her heart beat for 115:139,04[' ]| him as she heard this speech, and saw his look, and felt 115:139,05[' ]| what his sensations must be. 115:139,06[B ]| "Lovers'*Vows!" ~~ 115:139,06[' ]| in a tone of the greatest amazement, 115:139,07[' ]| was his only reply to Mr%*Rushworth; and he 115:139,08[' ]| turned towards his brother and sisters as if hardly doubting 115:139,09[' ]| a contradiction. 115:139,10[R ]| "Yes," 115:139,10[' ]| cried Mr%*Yates. ~~ 115:139,10[R ]| "After all our debatings 115:139,11[R ]| and difficulties, we find there is nothing that will suit us 115:139,12[R ]| altogether so well, nothing so unexceptionable, as Lovers'*Vows. 115:139,13[R ]| The wonder is that it should not have been 115:139,14[R ]| thought of before. My stupidity was abominable, for 115:139,15[R ]| here we have all the advantage of what I saw at Ecclesford; 115:139,16[R ]| and it is so useful to have any*thing of a model! ~~ 115:139,17[R ]| We have cast almost every part." 115:139,18[B ]| "But what do you do for women?" 115:139,18[' ]| said Edmund 115:139,19[' ]| gravely, and looking at Maria. 115:139,20[' ]| Maria blushed in spite of herself as she answered, 115:139,21[H ]| "I take the part which Lady*Ravenshaw was to have 115:139,22[H ]| done, and 115:139,22[' ]| (with a bolder eye) 115:139,22[H ]| Miss*Crawford is to be 115:139,23[H ]| Amelia." 115:139,24[B ]| "I should not have thought it the sort of play to be so 115:139,25[B ]| easily filled up, with \us\," 115:139,25[' ]| replied Edmund, turning away 115:139,26[' ]| to the fire where sat his mother, aunt, and Fanny, and 115:139,27[' ]| seating himself with a look of great vexation. 115:139,28[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth followed him to say, 115:139,28[K ]| "I come in three 115:139,29[K ]| times, and have two*and*forty speeches. That's something, 115:139,30[K ]| is not it? ~~ But I do not much like the idea of 115:139,31[K ]| being so fine. ~~ I shall hardly know myself in a blue dress, 115:139,32[K ]| and a pink satin cloak." 115:139,33[' ]| Edmund could not answer him. ~~ In a few minutes 115:139,34[' ]| Mr%*Bertram was called out of the room to satisfy some 115:139,35[' ]| doubts of the carpenter, and being accompanied by Mr%*Yates, 115:139,36[' ]| and followed soon afterwards by Mr%*Rushworth, 115:139,37[' ]| Edmund almost immediately took the opportunity of 115:139,38[' ]| saying, 115:139,38[B ]| "I cannot before Mr%*Yates speak what I feel 115:140,01[B ]| as to this play, without reflecting on his friends at Ecclesford ~~ 115:140,02[B ]| but I must now, my dear Maria, tell \you\, that 115:140,03[B ]| I think it exceedingly unfit for private representation, 115:140,04[B ]| and that I hope you will give it up. ~~ I cannot but suppose 115:140,05[B ]| you \will\ when you have read it carefully over. ~~ Read 115:140,06[B ]| only the first Act aloud, to either your mother or aunt, 115:140,07[B ]| and see how you can approve it. ~~ It will not be necessary 115:140,08[B ]| to send you to your \father's\ judgment, I am convinced." 115:140,09[H ]| "We see things very differently," 115:140,09[' ]| cried Maria ~~ 115:140,09[H ]| "I am 115:140,10[H ]| perfectly acquainted with the play, I assure you ~~ and 115:140,11[H ]| with a very few omissions, and so forth, which will be 115:140,12[H ]| made, of course, I can see nothing objectionable in it; 115:140,13[H ]| and \I\ am not the \only\ young woman you find, who thinks 115:140,14[H ]| it very fit for private representation." 115:140,15[B ]| "I am sorry for it," 115:140,15[' ]| was his answer ~~ 115:140,15[B ]| "But in this 115:140,16[B ]| matter it is \you\ who are to lead. \You\ must set the 115:140,17[B ]| example. ~~ If others have blundered, it is your place to 115:140,18[B ]| put them right, and shew them what true delicacy is. ~~ 115:140,19[B ]| In all points of decorum, \your\ conduct must be law to the 115:140,20[B ]| rest of the party." 115:140,21[' ]| This picture of her consequence had some effect, for 115:140,22[' ]| no*one loved better to lead than Maria; ~~ and with far 115:140,23[' ]| more good*humour she answered, 115:140,23[H ]| "I am much obliged 115:140,24[H ]| to you, Edmund; ~~ you mean very well, I am sure ~~ 115:140,25[H ]| but I still think you see things too strongly; and I really 115:140,26[H ]| cannot undertake to harangue all the rest upon a subject 115:140,27[H ]| of this kind. ~~ \There\ would be the greatest indecorum 115:140,28[H ]| I think." 115:140,29[B ]| "Do you imagine that I could have such an idea in 115:140,30[B ]| my head? No ~~ let your conduct be the only harangue. ~~ 115:140,31[B ]| Say that, on examining the part, you feel yourself unequal 115:140,32[B ]| to it, that you find it requiring more exertion and confidence 115:140,33[B ]| than you can be supposed to have. ~~ Say this 115:140,34[B ]| with firmness, and it will be quite enough. ~~ All who can 115:140,35[B ]| distinguish, will understand your motive. ~~ The play will 115:140,36[B ]| be given up, and your delicacy honoured as it ought." 115:140,37[F ]| "Do not act any*thing improper, my dear," 115:140,37[' ]| said Lady*Bertram. 115:140,38[F ]| "Sir*Thomas would not like it. ~~ Fanny, ring 115:141,01[F ]| the bell; I must have my dinner. ~~ To be sure Julia is 115:141,02[F ]| dressed by this time." 115:141,03[B ]| "I am convinced, madam," 115:141,03[' ]| said Edmund, preventing 115:141,04[' ]| Fanny, 115:141,04[B ]| "that Sir*Thomas would not like it." 115:141,05[F ]| "There, my dear, do you hear what Edmund says?" 115:141,06[H ]| "If I were to decline the part," 115:141,06[' ]| said Maria with renewed 115:141,07[' ]| zeal, 115:141,07[H ]| "Julia would certainly take it." 115:141,08[B ]| "What!" ~~ 115:141,08[' ]| cried Edmund, 115:141,08[B ]| "if she knew your 115:141,09[B ]| reasons!" 115:141,10[H ]| "Oh! she might think the difference between us ~~ the 115:141,11[H ]| difference in our situations ~~ that \she\ need not be so 115:141,12[H ]| scrupulous as \I\ might feel necessary. I am sure she 115:141,13[H ]| would argue so. No, you must excuse me, I cannot 115:141,14[H ]| retract my consent. It is too far settled; every*body 115:141,15[H ]| would be so disappointed. Tom would be quite angry; 115:141,16[H ]| and if we are so very nice, we shall never act any*thing." 115:141,17[J ]| "I was just going to say the very same thing," 115:141,17[' ]| said 115:141,18[' ]| Mrs%*Norris. 115:141,18[J ]| "If every play is to be objected to, you 115:141,19[J ]| will act nothing ~~ and the preparations will be all so much 115:141,20[J ]| money thrown away ~~ and I am sure \that\ would be a discredit 115:141,21[J ]| to us all. I do not know the play; but, as Maria 115:141,22[J ]| says, if there is any*thing a little too warm (and it is so 115:141,23[J ]| with most of them) it can be easily left out. ~~ We must 115:141,24[J ]| not be over precise Edmund. As Mr%*Rushworth is to 115:141,25[J ]| act too, there can be no harm. ~~ I only wish Tom had 115:141,26[J ]| known his own mind when the carpenters began, for 115:141,27[J ]| there was the loss of half a day's work about those side-doors. ~~ 115:141,28[J ]| The curtain will be a good job, however. The 115:141,29[J ]| maids do their work very well, and I think we shall be 115:141,30[J ]| able to send back some dozens of the rings. ~~ There is no 115:141,31[J ]| occasion to put them so very close together. I \am\ of 115:141,32[J ]| some use I hope in preventing waste and making the 115:141,33[J ]| most of things. There should always be one steady head 115:141,34[J ]| to superintend so many young ones. I forgot to tell 115:141,35[J ]| Tom of something that happened to me this very day. ~~ 115:141,36[J ]| I had been looking about me in the poultry yard, and 115:141,37[J ]| was just coming out, when who should I see but Dick*Jackson 115:141,38[J ]| making up to the servants' hall door with two 115:142,01[J ]| bits of deal board in his hand, bringing them to father, 115:142,02[J ]| you may be sure; mother had chanced to send him of 115:142,03[J ]| a message to father, and then father had bid him bring 115:142,04[J ]| up them two bits of board for he could not no*how do 115:142,05[J ]| without them. I knew what all this meant, for the 115:142,06[J ]| servants' dinner*bell was ringing at the very moment 115:142,07[J ]| over our heads, and as I hate such encroaching people, 115:142,08[J ]| (the Jacksons are very encroaching, I have always said 115:142,09[J ]| so, ~~ just the sort of people to get all they can), I said to 115:142,10[J ]| the boy directly ~~ (a great lubberly fellow of ten years 115:142,11[J ]| old you know, who ought to be ashamed of himself,) 115:142,12[J ]| \I'll\ take the boards to your father, Dick; so get you 115:142,13[J ]| home again as fast as you can. ~~ The boy looked very 115:142,14[J ]| silly and turned away without offering a word, for I believe 115:142,15[J ]| I might speak pretty sharp; and I dare say it will 115:142,16[J ]| cure him of coming marauding about the house for one 115:142,17[J ]| while, ~~ I hate such greediness ~~ so good as your father 115:142,18[J ]| is to the family, employing the man all the year round!" 115:142,19[' ]| Nobody was at the trouble of an answer; the others 115:142,20[' ]| soon returned, and Edmund found that to have endeavoured 115:142,21[' ]| to set them right must be his only satisfaction. 115:142,22[' ]| Dinner passed heavily. Mrs%*Norris related again her 115:142,23[' ]| triumph over Dick*Jackson, but neither play nor preparation 115:142,24[' ]| were otherwise much talked of, for Edmund's 115:142,25[' ]| disapprobation was felt even by his brother, though he 115:142,26[' ]| would not have owned it. Maria, wanting Henry*Crawford's 115:142,27[' ]| animating support, thought the subject better 115:142,28[' ]| avoided. Mr%*Yates, who was trying to make himself 115:142,29[' ]| agreeable to Julia, found her gloom less impenetrable on 115:142,30[' ]| any topic than that of his regret at her secession from 115:142,31[' ]| their company, and Mr%*Rushworth having only his own 115:142,32[' ]| part, and his own dress in his head, had soon talked away 115:142,33[' ]| all that could be said of either. 115:142,34[' ]| But the concerns of the theatre were suspended only 115:142,35[' ]| for an hour or two; there was still a great deal to be 115:142,36[' ]| settled; and the spirits of evening giving fresh courage, 115:142,37[' ]| Tom, Maria, and Mr%*Yates, soon after their being 115:142,37[' ]| reassembled 115:142,38[' ]| in the drawing-room, seated themselves in 115:143,01[' ]| committee at a separate table, with the play open before 115:143,02[' ]| them, and were just getting deep in the subject when 115:143,03[' ]| a most welcome interruption was given by the entrance 115:143,04[' ]| of Mr% and Miss*Crawford, who, late and dark and 115:143,04[' ]| dirty 115:143,05[' ]| as it was, could not help coming, and were received with 115:143,06[' ]| the most grateful joy. 115:143,07[Y ]| "Well, how do you go on?" 115:143,07[' ]| and 115:143,07[Y ]| "What have you 115:143,08[Y ]| settled?" 115:143,08[' ]| and 115:143,08[X ]| "Oh! we can do nothing without you," 115:143,09[' ]| followed the first salutations; and Henry*Crawford was 115:143,10[' ]| soon seated with the other three at the table, while his 115:143,11[' ]| sister made her way to Lady*Bertram, and with pleasant 115:143,12[' ]| attention was complimenting \her\. 115:143,12[C ]| "I must really 115:143,13[C ]| congratulate your ladyship," 115:143,13[' ]| said she, 115:143,13[C ]| "on the play 115:143,14[C ]| being chosen; for though you have borne it with exemplary 115:143,15[C ]| patience, I am sure you must be sick of all our 115:143,16[C ]| noise and difficulties. The actors may be glad, but the 115:143,17[C ]| by-standers must be infinitely more thankful for a decision; 115:143,18[C ]| and I do sincerely give you joy, madam, as well 115:143,19[C ]| as Mrs%*Norris, and every*body else who is in the same 115:143,20[C ]| predicament," 115:143,20[' ]| glancing half fearfully, half slily, beyond 115:143,21[' ]| Fanny to Edmund. 115:143,22[' ]| She was very civilly answered by Lady*Bertram, but 115:143,23[' ]| Edmund said nothing. His being only a by-stander was 115:143,24[' ]| not disclaimed. After continuing in chat with the party 115:143,25[' ]| round the fire a few minutes, Miss*Crawford returned to 115:143,26[' ]| the party round the table; and standing by them, seemed 115:143,27[' ]| to interest herself in their arrangements till, as if struck 115:143,28[' ]| by a sudden recollection, she exclaimed, 115:143,28[C ]| "My good 115:143,29[C ]| friends, you are most composedly at work upon these 115:143,30[C ]| cottages and ale-houses, inside and out ~~ but pray let me 115:143,31[C ]| know my fate in the meanwhile. Who is to be Anhalt? 115:143,32[C ]| What gentleman among you am I to have the pleasure of 115:143,33[C ]| making love to?" 115:143,34[' ]| For a moment no*one spoke; and then many spoke 115:143,35[' ]| together to tell the same melancholy truth ~~ that they 115:143,36[' ]| had not yet got any Anhalt. 115:143,36[X ]| "Mr%*Rushworth was to 115:143,37[X ]| be Count*Cassel, but no*one had yet undertaken Anhalt." 115:143,38[K ]| "I had my choice of the parts," 115:143,38[' ]| said Mr%*Rushworth; 115:144,01[K ]| "but I thought I should like the Count best ~~ though 115:144,02[K ]| I do not much relish the finery I am to have." 115:144,03[C ]| "You chose very wisely, I am sure," 115:144,03[' ]| replied Miss*Crawford, 115:144,04[' ]| with a brightened look. 115:144,04[C ]| "Anhalt is a heavy 115:144,05[C ]| part." 115:144,06[K ]| "\The\ \Count\ has two*and*forty speeches," 115:144,06[' ]| returned Mr%*Rushworth, 115:144,07[K ]| "which is no trifle." 115:144,08[C ]| "I am not at all surprised," 115:144,08[' ]| said Miss*Crawford, after 115:144,09[' ]| a short pause, 115:144,09[C ]| "at this want of an Anhalt. Amelia 115:144,10[C ]| deserves no better. Such a forward young lady may well 115:144,11[C ]| frighten the men." 115:144,12[G ]| "I should be but too happy in taking the part if it 115:144,13[G ]| were possible," 115:144,13[' ]| cried Tom, 115:144,13[G ]| "but unluckily the Butler and 115:144,14[G ]| Anhalt are in together. I will not entirely give it up, 115:144,15[G ]| however ~~ I will try what can be done ~~ I will look it over 115:144,16[G ]| again." 115:144,17[R ]| "Your \brother\ should take the part," 115:144,17[' ]| said Mr%*Yates, 115:144,18[' ]| in a low voice. 115:144,18[R ]| "Do not you think he would?" 115:144,19[G ]| "\I\ shall not ask him," 115:144,19[' ]| replied Tom, in a cold, determined 115:144,20[' ]| manner. 115:144,21[' ]| Miss*Crawford talked of something else, and soon 115:144,22[' ]| afterwards rejoined the party at the fire. 115:144,22[C ]| "They do not 115:144,23[C ]| want me at all," 115:144,23[' ]| said she, seating herself. 115:144,23[C ]| "I only puzzle 115:144,24[C ]| them, and oblige them to make civil speeches. Mr%*Edmund*Bertram, 115:144,25[C ]| as you do not act yourself, you will 115:144,26[C ]| be a disinterested adviser; and, therefore, I apply to \you\. 115:144,27[C ]| What shall we do for an Anhalt? Is it practicable for 115:144,28[C ]| any of the others to double it? What is your advice?" 115:144,29[B ]| "My advice," 115:144,29[' ]| said he, calmly, 115:144,29[B ]| "is that you change 115:144,30[B ]| the play." 115:144,31[C ]| "\I\ should have no objection," 115:144,31[' ]| she replied; 115:144,31[C ]| "for 115:144,32[C ]| though I should not particularly dislike the part of 115:144,33[C ]| Amelia if well supported ~~ that is, if every*thing went 115:144,34[C ]| well ~~ I shall be sorry to be an inconvenience ~~ but as 115:144,35[C ]| they do not choose to hear your advice at \that\ \table\ ~~ 115:144,36[' ]| (looking round) ~~ 115:144,36[C ]| it certainly will not be taken." 115:144,37[' ]| Edmund said no more. 115:144,38[C ]| "If \any\ part could tempt \you\ to act, I suppose it 115:145,01[C ]| would be Anhalt," 115:145,01[' ]| observed the lady, archly, after a short 115:145,02[' ]| pause ~~ 115:145,02[C ]| "for he is a clergyman you know." 115:145,03[B ]| "\That\ circumstance would by no means tempt me," 115:145,04[' ]| he replied, 115:145,04[B ]| "for I should be sorry to make the character 115:145,05[B ]| ridiculous by bad acting. It must be very difficult to 115:145,06[B ]| keep Anhalt from appearing a formal, solemn lecturer; 115:145,07[B ]| and the man who chooses the profession itself, is, perhaps, 115:145,08[B ]| one of the last who would wish to represent it on the 115:145,09[B ]| stage." 115:145,10[' ]| Miss*Crawford was silenced; and with some feelings 115:145,11[' ]| of resentment and mortification, moved her chair considerably 115:145,12[' ]| nearer the tea-table, and gave all her attention 115:145,13[' ]| to Mrs%*Norris, who was presiding there. 115:145,14[G ]| "Fanny," 115:145,14[' ]| cried Tom*Bertram, from the other table, 115:145,15[' ]| where the conference was eagerly carrying on, and the 115:145,16[' ]| conversation incessant, 115:145,16[G ]| "we want your services." 115:145,17[' ]| Fanny was up in a moment, expecting some errand, 115:145,18[' ]| for the habit of employing her in that way was not yet 115:145,19[' ]| overcome, in spite of all that Edmund could do. 115:145,20[G ]| "Oh! we do not want to disturb you from your 115:145,21[G ]| seat. We do not want your \present\ services. We shall 115:145,22[G ]| only want you in our play. You must be Cottager's*wife." 115:145,23[G ]| 115:145,24[A ]| "Me!" 115:145,24[' ]| cried Fanny, sitting down again with a most 115:145,25[' ]| frightened look. 115:145,25[A ]| "Indeed you must excuse me. I could 115:145,26[A ]| not act any*thing if you were to give me the world. No, 115:145,27[A ]| indeed, I cannot act." 115:145,28[G ]| "Indeed but you must, for we cannot excuse you. 115:145,29[G ]| It need not frighten you; it is a nothing of a part, a mere 115:145,30[G ]| nothing, not above half a dozen speeches altogether, and 115:145,31[G ]| it will not much signify if nobody hears a word you say, 115:145,32[G ]| so you may be as creepmouse as you like, but we must 115:145,33[G ]| have you to look at." 115:145,34[K ]| "If you are afraid of half a dozen speeches," 115:145,34[' ]| cried 115:145,35[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth, 115:145,35[K ]| "what would you do with such a part 115:145,36[K ]| as mine? I have forty-two to learn. 115:145,37[A ]| "It is not that I am afraid of learning by heart," 115:145,37[' ]| said 115:145,38[' ]| Fanny, shocked to find herself at that moment the only 115:146,01[' ]| speaker in the room, and to feel that almost every eye 115:146,02[' ]| was upon her; 115:146,02[A ]| "but I really cannot act." 115:146,03[G ]| "Yes, yes, you can act well enough for \us\. Learn your 115:146,04[G ]| part, and we will teach you all the rest. You have only 115:146,05[G ]| two scenes, and as I shall be Cottager, I'll put you in and 115:146,06[G ]| push you about; and you will do it very well I'll answer 115:146,07[G ]| for it." 115:146,08[A ]| "No, indeed, Mr%*Bertram, you must excuse me. 115:146,09[A ]| You cannot have an idea. It would be absolutely impossible 115:146,10[A ]| for me. If I were to undertake it, I should only 115:146,11[A ]| disappoint you." 115:146,12[G ]| "Phoo! Phoo! Do not be so shamefaced. You'll do 115:146,13[G ]| it very well. Every allowance will be made for you. 115:146,14[G ]| We do not expect perfection. You must get a brown 115:146,15[G ]| gown, and a white apron, and a mob cap, and we must 115:146,16[G ]| make you a few wrinkles, and a little of the crowsfoot 115:146,17[G ]| at the corner of your eyes, and you will be a very proper, 115:146,18[G ]| little old woman." 115:146,19[A ]| "You must excuse me, indeed you must excuse me," 115:146,20[' ]| cried Fanny, growing more and more red from excessive 115:146,21[' ]| agitation, and looking distressfully at Edmund, who was 115:146,22[' ]| kindly observing her, but unwilling to exasperate his 115:146,23[' ]| brother by interference, gave her only an encouraging 115:146,24[' ]| smile. Her entreaty had no effect on Tom; he only 115:146,25[' ]| said again what he had said before; and it was not 115:146,26[' ]| merely Tom, for the requisition was now backed by Maria 115:146,27[' ]| and Mr%*Crawford, and Mr%*Yates, with an urgency which 115:146,28[' ]| differed from his, but in being more gentle or more 115:146,29[' ]| ceremonious, and which altogether was quite overpowering 115:146,30[' ]| to Fanny; and before she could breathe after it, 115:146,31[' ]| Mrs%*Norris completed the whole, by thus addressing her 115:146,32[' ]| in a whisper at once angry and audible: 115:146,32[J ]| "What a piece 115:146,33[J ]| of work here is about nothing, ~~ I am quite ashamed of 115:146,34[J ]| you, Fanny, to make such a difficulty of obliging your 115:146,35[J ]| cousins in a trifle of this sort, ~~ So kind as they are to 115:146,36[J ]| you! ~~ Take the part with a good grace, and let us hear 115:146,37[J ]| no more of the matter, I entreat." 115:146,38[B ]| "Do not urge her, madam," 115:146,38[' ]| said Edmund. 115:146,38[B ]| "It is 115:147,01[B ]| not fair to urge her in this manner. ~~ You see she does 115:147,02[B ]| not like to act. ~~ Let her choose for herself as well as the 115:147,03[B ]| rest of us. ~~ Her judgment may be quite as safely trusted. 115:147,04[B ]| ~~ Do not urge her any more." 115:147,05[J ]| "I am not going to urge her," ~~ 115:147,05[' ]| replied Mrs%*Norris 115:147,06[' ]| sharply, 115:147,06[J ]| "but I shall think her a very obstinate, ungrateful 115:147,07[J ]| girl, if she does not do what her aunt and cousins wish 115:147,08[J ]| her ~~ very ungrateful indeed, considering who and what 115:147,09[J ]| she is." 115:147,10[' ]| Edmund was too angry to speak; but Miss*Crawford 115:147,11[' ]| looking for a moment with astonished eyes at Mrs%*Norris, 115:147,12[' ]| and then at Fanny, whose tears were beginning to show 115:147,13[' ]| themselves, immediately said with some keenness, 115:147,13[C ]| "I do 115:147,14[C ]| not like my situation; this \place\ is too hot for me" 115:147,14[' ]| ~~ and 115:147,15[' ]| moved away her chair to the opposite side of the table 115:147,16[' ]| close to Fanny, saying to her in a kind low whisper as 115:147,17[' ]| she placed herself, 115:147,17[C ]| "Never mind, my dear Miss*Price ~~ 115:147,18[C ]| this is a cross evening, ~~ everybody is cross and teasing ~~ 115:147,19[C ]| but do not let us mind them;" 115:147,19[' ]| and with pointed attention 115:147,20[' ]| continued to talk to her and endeavour to raise her 115:147,21[' ]| spirits, in spite of being out of spirits herself. ~~ By a look 115:147,22[' ]| at her brother, she prevented any farther entreaty from 115:147,23[' ]| the theatrical board, and the really good feelings by 115:147,24[' ]| which she was almost purely governed, were rapidly 115:147,25[' ]| restoring her to all the little she had lost in Edmund's 115:147,26[' ]| favour. 115:147,27[' ]| Fanny did not love Miss*Crawford; but she felt very 115:147,28[' ]| much obliged to her for her present kindness; and when 115:147,29[' ]| from taking notice of her work and wishing \she\ could 115:147,30[' ]| work as well, and begging for the pattern, and supposing 115:147,31[' ]| Fanny was now preparing for her \appearance\ as of course 115:147,32[' ]| she would come out when her cousin was married, Miss*Crawford 115:147,33[' ]| proceeded to inquire if she had heard lately 115:147,34[' ]| from her brother at sea, and said that 115:147,34@c | she had quite 115:147,35@c | a curiosity to see him, and imagined him a very fine 115:147,36@c | young man, and advised Fanny to get his picture 115:147,37@c | drawn before he went to sea again ~~ 115:147,37[' ]| she could not help 115:147,38[' ]| admitting it to be very agreeable flattery, or help 115:148,01[' ]| listening, and answering with more animation than she 115:148,02[' ]| had intended. 115:148,03[' ]| The consultation upon the play still went on, and 115:148,04[' ]| Miss*Crawford's attention was first called from Fanny by 115:148,05[' ]| Tom*Bertram's telling her, with infinite regret, that he 115:148,06[' ]| found it absolutely impossible for him to undertake the 115:148,07[' ]| part of Anhalt in addition to the Butler; ~~ 115:148,07@g | he had been 115:148,08@g | most anxiously trying to make it out to be feasible, ~~ 115:148,09@g | but it would not do, ~~ he must give it up. ~~ 115:148,09[G ]| "But there 115:148,10[G ]| will not be the smallest difficulty in filling it," 115:147,10[' ]| he added. ~~ 115:148,11[G ]| "We have but to speak the word; we may pick and 115:148,12[G ]| choose. ~~ I could name at this moment at least six young 115:148,13[G ]| men within six miles of us, who are wild to be admitted 115:148,14[G ]| into our company, and there are one or two that would 115:148,15[G ]| not disgrace us. ~~ I should not be afraid to trust either 115:148,16[G ]| of the Olivers or Charles*Maddox. ~~ Tom*Oliver is a very 115:148,17[G ]| clever fellow, and Charles*Maddox is as gentlemanlike 115:148,18[G ]| a man as you will see any*where, so I will take my horse 115:148,19[G ]| early to-morrow morning, and ride over to Stoke, and 115:148,20[G ]| settle with one of them." 115:148,21[' ]| While he spoke, Maria was looking apprehensively 115:148,22[' ]| round at Edmund in full expectation that he must 115:148,23[' ]| oppose such an enlargement of the plan as this ~~ so 115:148,24[' ]| contrary to all their first protestations; but Edmund 115:148,25[' ]| said nothing. ~~ After a moment's thought, Miss*Crawford 115:148,26[' ]| calmly replied, 115:148,26[C ]| "As far as I am concerned, I can have 115:148,27[C ]| no objection to any*thing that you all think eligible. 115:148,28[C ]| Have I ever seen either of the gentlemen? ~~ Yes, Mr%*Charles*Maddox 115:148,29[C ]| dined at my sister's one day, did not he 115:148,30[C ]| Henry? ~~ A quiet-looking young man. I remember him. 115:148,31[C ]| Let \him\ be applied to, if you please, for it will be less 115:148,32[C ]| unpleasant to me than to have a perfect stranger." 115:148,33[' ]| Charles*Maddox was to be the man. ~~ Tom repeated 115:148,34[' ]| his resolution of going to him early on the morrow; and 115:148,35[' ]| though Julia, who had scarcely opened her lips before, 115:148,36[' ]| observed in a sarcastic manner, and with a glance, first at 115:148,37[' ]| Maria, and then at Edmund, that 115:148,37[I ]| "the Mansfield Theatricals 115:148,38[I ]| would enliven the whole neighbourhood exceedingly" ~~ 115:149,01[' ]| Edmund still held his peace, and shewed his 115:149,02[' ]| feelings only by a determined gravity. 115:149,03[C ]| "I am not very sanguine as to our play" ~~ 115:149,03[' ]| said Miss*Crawford 115:149,04[' ]| in an under voice, to Fanny, after some consideration; 115:149,05[C ]| "and I can tell Mr%*Maddox, that I shall 115:149,06[C ]| shorten some of \his\ speeches, and a great many of \my\ \own\, 115:149,07[C ]| before we rehearse together. ~~ It will be very disagreeable, 115:149,08[C ]| and by no means what I expected." 116:150,01[' ]| It was not in Miss*Crawford's power to talk Fanny 116:150,02[' ]| into any real forgetfulness of what had passed. ~~ When 116:150,03[' ]| the evening was over, she went to bed full of it, her 116:150,04[' ]| nerves still agitated by the shock of such an attack from 116:150,05[' ]| her cousin Tom, so public and so persevered in, and her 116:150,06[' ]| spirits sinking under her aunt's unkind reflection and 116:150,07[' ]| reproach. 116:150,07@a | To be called into notice in such a manner, to 116:150,08@a | hear that it was but the prelude to something so infinitely 116:150,09@a | worse, to be told that she must do what was so impossible 116:150,10@a | as to act; and then to have the charge of obstinacy and 116:150,11@a | ingratitude follow it, enforced with such a hint at the 116:150,12@a | dependence of her situation, had been too distressing 116:150,13@a | at the time, to make the remembrance when she was 116:150,14@a | alone much less so, ~~ especially with the superadded 116:150,15@a | dread of what the morrow might produce in continuation 116:150,16@a | of the subject. Miss*Crawford had protected her only 116:150,17@a | for the time; and if she were applied to again among 116:150,18@a | themselves with all the authoritative urgency that Tom 116:150,19@a | and Maria were capable of; and Edmund perhaps away ~~ 116:150,20@a | what should she do? 116:150,20[' ]| She fell asleep before she could 116:150,21[' ]| answer the question, and found it quite as puzzling when 116:150,22[' ]| she awoke the next morning. The little white attic, 116:150,23[' ]| which had continued her sleeping room ever since her 116:150,24[' ]| first entering the family, proving incompetent to suggest 116:150,25[' ]| any reply, she had recourse, as soon as she was dressed, 116:150,26[' ]| to another apartment, more spacious and more meet 116:150,27[' ]| for walking about in, and thinking, and of which she had 116:150,28[' ]| now for some time been almost equally mistress. It had 116:150,29[' ]| been their school-room; so called till the Miss*Bertrams 116:150,30[' ]| would not allow it to be called so any longer, and inhabited 116:150,31[' ]| as such to a later period. There Miss*Lee had 116:151,01[' ]| lived, and there they had read and written, and talked 116:151,02[' ]| and laughed, till within the last three years, when she had 116:151,03[' ]| quitted them. ~~ The room had then become useless, and 116:151,04[' ]| for some time was quite deserted, except by Fanny, 116:151,05[' ]| when she visited her plants, or wanted one of the books, 116:151,06[' ]| which she was still glad to keep there, from the deficiency 116:151,07[' ]| of space and accommodation in her little chamber above; 116:151,08[' ]| ~~ but gradually, as her value for the comforts of it 116:151,09[' ]| increased, she had added to her possessions, and spent 116:151,10[' ]| more of her time there; and having nothing to oppose 116:151,11[' ]| her, had so naturally and so artlessly worked herself into 116:151,12[' ]| it, that it was now generally admitted to be her's. The 116:151,13[' ]| East*room as it had been called, ever since Maria*Bertram 116:151,14[' ]| was sixteen, was now considered Fanny's, almost as 116:151,15[' ]| decidedly as the white attic; ~~ the smallness of the one 116:151,16[' ]| making the use of the other so evidently reasonable, that 116:151,17[' ]| the Miss*Bertrams, with every superiority in their own 116:151,18[' ]| apartments, which their own sense of superiority could 116:151,19[' ]| demand, were entirely approving it; ~~ and Mrs%*Norris 116:151,20[' ]| having stipulated for there never being a fire in it on 116:151,21[' ]| Fanny's account, was tolerably resigned to her having 116:151,22[' ]| the use of what nobody else wanted, though the terms 116:151,23[' ]| in which she sometimes spoke of the indulgence, seemed 116:151,24[' ]| to imply that it was the best room in the house. 116:151,25[' ]| The aspect was so favourable, that even without a fire 116:151,26[' ]| it was habitable in many an early spring, and late autumn 116:151,27[' ]| morning, to such a willing mind as Fanny's, and while 116:151,28[' ]| there was a gleam of sunshine, she hoped not to be 116:151,29[' ]| driven from it entirely, even when winter came. The 116:151,30[' ]| comfort of it in her hours of leisure was extreme. She 116:151,31[' ]| could go there after any*thing unpleasant below, and find 116:151,32[' ]| immediate consolation in some pursuit, or some train of 116:151,33[' ]| thought at hand. ~~ Her plants, her books ~~ of which she 116:151,34[' ]| had been a collector, from the first hour of her commanding 116:151,35[' ]| a shilling ~~ her writing desk, and her works of 116:151,36[' ]| charity and ingenuity, were all within her reach; ~~ or if 116:151,37[' ]| indisposed for employment, if nothing but musing would 116:151,38[' ]| do, she could scarcely see an object in that room which 116:152,01[' ]| had not an interesting remembrance connected with it. ~~ 116:152,02@a | Every*thing was a friend, or bore her thoughts to a 116:152,03@a | friend; and though there had been sometimes much of 116:152,04@a | suffering to her ~~ though her motives had been often 116:152,05@a | misunderstood, her feelings disregarded, and her comprehension 116:152,06@a | under-valued; though she had known the 116:152,07@a | pains of tyranny, of ridicule, and neglect, yet almost 116:152,08@a | every recurrence of either had led to something consolatory; 116:152,09@a | her aunt Bertram had spoken for her, or Miss*Lee 116:152,10@a | had been encouraging, or what was yet more frequent 116:152,11@a | or more dear ~~ Edmund had been her champion and her 116:152,12@a | friend; ~~ he had supported her cause, or explained her 116:152,13@a | meaning, he had told her not to cry, or had given her 116:152,14@a | some proof of affection which made her tears delightful ~~ 116:152,15@a | and the whole was now so blended together, so harmonized 116:152,16@a | by distance, that every former affliction had its 116:152,17@a | charm. 116:152,17[' ]| The room was most dear to her, and she would 116:152,18[' ]| not have changed its furniture for the handsomest in the 116:152,19[' ]| house, though what had been originally plain, had 116:152,20[' ]| suffered all the ill-usage of children ~~ and its greatest 116:152,21[' ]| elegancies and ornaments were a faded footstool of 116:152,22[' ]| Julia's work, too ill done for the drawing-room, three 116:152,23[' ]| transparencies, made in a rage for transparencies, for the 116:152,24[' ]| three lower panes of one window, where Tintern*Abbey 116:152,25[' ]| held its station between a cave in Italy, and a moonlight 116:152,26[' ]| lake in Cumberland; a collection of family profiles 116:152,27[' ]| thought unworthy of being anywhere else, over the 116:152,28[' ]| mantle-piece, and by their side and pinned against the 116:152,29[' ]| wall, a small sketch of a ship sent four years ago from the 116:152,30[' ]| Mediterranean by William, with H%*M%*S%*Antwerp at the 116:152,31[' ]| bottom, in letters as tall as the main-mast. 116:152,32[' ]| To this nest of comforts Fanny now walked down to 116:152,33[' ]| try its influence on an agitated, doubting spirit ~~ to see 116:152,34[' ]| if by looking at Edmund's profile she could catch any 116:152,35[' ]| of his counsel, or by giving air to her geraniums she 116:152,36[' ]| might inhale a breeze of mental strength herself. But 116:152,37[' ]| she had more than fears of her own perseverance to 116:152,38[' ]| remove; she had begun to feel undecided as to what 116:153,01[' ]| she \ought\ \to\ \do\; and as she walked round the room her 116:153,02[' ]| doubts were increasing. 116:153,02@a | Was she \right\ in refusing what 116:153,03@a | was so warmly asked, so strongly wished for? what 116:153,04@a | might be so essential to a scheme on which some of those 116:153,05@a | to whom she owed the greatest complaisance, had set 116:153,06@a | their hearts? Was it not ill-nature ~~ selfishness ~~ and 116:153,07@a | a fear of exposing herself? And would Edmund's 116:153,08@a | judgment, would his persuasion of Sir*Thomas's disapprobation 116:153,09@a | of the whole, be enough to justify her in a determined 116:153,10@a | denial in spite of all the rest? It would be so 116:153,11@a | horrible to her to act, that she was inclined to suspect the 116:153,12@a | truth and purity of her own scruples, and as she looked 116:153,13@a | around her, the claims of her cousins to being obliged, 116:153,14@a | were strengthened by the sight of present upon present 116:153,15@a | that she had received from them. The table between 116:153,16@a | the windows was covered with work-boxes and netting-boxes, 116:153,17@a | which had been given her at different times, 116:153,18@a | principally by Tom; and she grew bewildered as to the 116:153,19@a | amount of the debt which all these kind remembrances 116:153,20@a | produced. 116:153,20[' ]| A tap at the door roused her in the midst of 116:153,21[' ]| this attempt to find her way to her duty, and her gentle 116:153,22[A ]| "come in," 116:153,22[' ]| was answered by the appearance of one, 116:153,23[' ]| before whom all her doubts were wont to be laid. Her 116:153,24[' ]| eyes brightened at the sight of Edmund. 116:153,25[B ]| "Can I speak with you, Fanny, for a few minutes?" 116:153,26[' ]| said he. 116:153,27[A ]| "Yes, certainly." 116:153,28[B ]| "I want to consult. I want your opinion." 116:153,29[A ]| "My opinion!" 116:153,29[' ]| she cried, shrinking from such a compliment, 116:153,30[' ]| highly as it gratified her. 116:153,31[B ]| "Yes, your advice and opinion. I do not know what 116:153,32[B ]| to do. This acting scheme gets worse and worse you see. 116:153,33[B ]| They have chosen almost as bad a play as they could; 116:153,34[B ]| and now, to complete the business, are going to ask the 116:153,35[B ]| help of a young man very slightly known to any of us. 116:153,36[B ]| This is the end of all the privacy and propriety which 116:153,37[B ]| was talked about at first. I know no harm of Charles*Maddox; 116:153,38[B ]| but the excessive intimacy which must spring 116:154,01[B ]| from his being admitted among us in this manner, is 116:154,02[B ]| highly objectionable, the \more\ than intimacy ~~ the 116:154,03[B ]| familiarity. I cannot think of it with any patience ~~ 116:154,04[B ]| and it does appear to me an evil of such magnitude as 116:154,05[B ]| must, \if\ \possible\, be prevented. Do not you see it in the 116:154,06[B ]| same light?" 116:154,07[A ]| "Yes, but what can be done? Your brother is so 116:154,08[A ]| determined?" 116:154,09[B ]| "There is but \one\ thing to be done, Fanny. I must 116:154,10[B ]| take Anhalt myself. I am well aware that nothing else 116:154,11[B ]| will quiet Tom." 116:154,12[' ]| Fanny could not answer him. 116:154,13[B ]| "It is not at all what I like," 116:154,13[' ]| he continued. 116:154,13[B ]| "No 116:154,14[B ]| man can like being driven into the \appearance\ of such 116:154,15[B ]| inconsistency. After being known to oppose the scheme 116:154,16[B ]| from the beginning, there is absurdity in the face of my 116:154,17[B ]| joining them \now\, when they are exceeding their first 116:154,18[B ]| plan in every respect; but I can think of no other alternative. 116:154,19[B ]| Can you, Fanny?" 116:154,20[A ]| "No," 116:154,20[' ]| said Fanny, slowly, 116:154,20[A ]| "not immediately ~~ 116:154,21[A ]| but ~~" 116:154,22[B ]| "But what? I see your judgment is not with me. 116:154,23[B ]| Think it a little over. Perhaps you are not so much 116:154,24[B ]| aware as I am, of the mischief that \may\, of the unpleasantness 116:154,25[B ]| that \must\, arise from a young man's being 116:154,26[B ]| received in this manner ~~ domesticated among us ~~ 116:154,27[B ]| authorized to come at all hours ~~ and placed suddenly 116:154,28[B ]| on a footing which must do away all restraints. To 116:154,29[B ]| think only of the licence which every rehearsal must tend 116:154,30[B ]| to create. It is all very bad! Put yourself in Miss*Crawford's 116:154,31[B ]| place, Fanny. Consider what it would be 116:154,32[B ]| to act Amelia with a stranger. She has a right to be 116:154,33[B ]| felt for, because she evidently feels for herself. I heard 116:154,34[B ]| enough of what she said to you last night, to understand 116:154,35[B ]| her unwillingness to be acting with a stranger; and as 116:154,36[B ]| she probably engaged in the part with different expectations ~~ 116:154,37[B ]| perhaps, without considering the subject enough 116:154,38[B ]| to know what was likely to be, it would be ungenerous, 116:155,01[B ]| it would be really wrong to expose her to it. Her feelings 116:155,02[B ]| ought to be respected. Does not it strike you so, Fanny? 116:155,03[B ]| You hesitate." 116:155,04[A ]| "I am sorry for Miss*Crawford; but I am more sorry 116:155,05[A ]| to see you drawn in to do what you had resolved against, 116:155,06[A ]| and what you are known to think will be disagreeable to 116:155,07[A ]| my uncle. It will be such a triumph to the others!" 116:155,08[B ]| "They will not have much cause of triumph, when they 116:155,09[B ]| see how infamously I act. But, however, triumph there 116:155,10[B ]| certainly will be, and I must brave it. But if I can be 116:155,11[B ]| the means of restraining the publicity of the business, of 116:155,12[B ]| limiting the exhibition, of concentrating our folly, I shall 116:155,13[B ]| be well repaid. As I am now, I have no influence, I can 116:155,14[B ]| do nothing; I have offended them, and they will not 116:155,15[B ]| hear me; but when I have put them in good*humour by 116:155,16[B ]| this concession, I am not without hopes of persuading 116:155,17[B ]| them to confine the representation within a much smaller 116:155,18[B ]| circle than they are now in the high road for. This will 116:155,19[B ]| be a material gain. My object is to confine it to 116:155,19[B ]| Mrs%*Rushworth 116:155,20[B ]| and the Grants. Will not this be worth 116:155,21[B ]| gaining?" 116:155,22[A ]| "Yes, it will be a great point." 116:155,23[B ]| "But still it has not your approbation. Can you mention 116:155,24[B ]| any other measure by which I have a chance of doing 116:155,25[B ]| equal good?" 116:155,26[A ]| "No, I cannot think of any*thing else." 116:155,27[B ]| "Give me your approbation, then, Fanny. I am not 116:155,28[B ]| comfortable without it." 116:155,29[A ]| "Oh! cousin." 116:155,30[B ]| "If you are against me, I ought to distrust myself ~~ 116:155,31[B ]| and yet ~~ But it is absolutely impossible to let Tom go 116:155,32[B ]| on in this way, riding about the country in quest of any*body 116:155,33[B ]| who can be persuaded to act ~~ no matter whom; 116:155,34[B ]| the look of a gentleman is to be enough. I thought \you\ 116:155,35[B ]| would have entered more into Miss*Crawford's feelings." 116:155,36[A ]| "No doubt she will be very glad. It must be a great 116:155,37[A ]| relief to her," 116:155,37[' ]| said Fanny, trying for greater warmth of 116:155,38[' ]| manner. 116:156,01[B ]| "She never appeared more amiable than in her behaviour 116:156,02[B ]| to you last night. It gave her a very strong claim 116:156,03[B ]| on my good*will." 116:156,04[A ]| "She \was\ very kind indeed, and I am glad to have her 116:156,05[A ]| spared." ~~ 116:156,06[' ]| She could not finish the generous effusion. Her conscience 116:156,07[' ]| stopt her in the middle, but Edmund was satisfied. 116:156,08[B ]| "I shall walk down immediately after breakfast," 116:156,08[' ]| said 116:156,09[' ]| he, 116:156,09[B ]| "and am sure of giving pleasure there. And now, 116:156,10[B ]| dear Fanny, I will not interrupt you any longer. You 116:156,11[B ]| want to be reading. But I could not be easy till I had 116:156,12[B ]| spoken to you, and come to a decision. Sleeping or waking, 116:156,13[B ]| my head has been full of this matter all night. It is 116:156,14[B ]| an evil ~~ but I am certainly making it less than it might 116:156,15[B ]| be. If Tom is up, I shall go to him directly and get it over; 116:156,16[B ]| and when we meet at breakfast we shall be all in high 116:156,17[B ]| good*humour at the prospect of acting the fool together 116:156,18[B ]| with such unanimity. \You\ in the meanwhile will be 116:156,19[B ]| taking a trip into China, I suppose. How does Lord*Macartney 116:156,20[B ]| go on? ~~ 116:156,20[' ]| (opening a volume on the table and 116:156,21[' ]| then taking up some others.) 116:156,21[B ]| And here are Crabbe's Tales, 116:156,22[B ]| and the Idler, at hand to relieve you, if you tire 116:156,23[B ]| of your great book. I admire your little establishment 116:156,24[B ]| exceedingly; and as soon as I am gone, you will empty 116:156,25[B ]| your head of all this nonsense of acting, and sit comfortably 116:156,26[B ]| down to your table. But do not stay here to be 116:156,27[B ]| cold." 116:156,28[' ]| He went; but there was no reading, no China, no composure 116:156,29[' ]| for Fanny. 116:156,29@a | He had told her the most extraordinary, 116:156,30@a | the most inconceivable, the most unwelcome 116:156,31@a | news; and she could think of nothing else. To be acting! 116:156,32@a | After all his objections ~~ objections so just and so public! 116:156,33@a | After all that she had heard him say, and seen him look, 116:156,34@a | and known him to be feeling. Could it be possible? 116:156,35@a | Edmund so inconsistent. Was he not deceiving himself? 116:156,36@a | Was he not wrong? Alas! it was all Miss*Crawford's 116:156,37@a | doing. She had seen her influence in every speech, and 116:156,38@a | was miserable. The doubts and alarms as to her own 116:157,01@a | conduct, which had previously distressed her, and which 116:157,02@a | had all slept while she listened to him, were become of 116:157,03@a | little consequence now. This deeper anxiety swallowed 116:157,04@a | them up. Things should take their course; she cared 116:157,05@a | not how it ended. Her cousins might attack, but could 116:157,06@a | hardly tease her. She was beyond their reach; and if at 116:157,07@a | last obliged to yield ~~ no matter ~~ it was all misery \now\. 117:158,01[' ]| It was, indeed, a triumphant day to Mr%*Bertram and 117:158,02[' ]| Maria. Such a victory over Edmund's discretion had 117:158,03[' ]| been beyond their hopes, and was most delightful. There 117:158,04[' ]| was no longer any*thing to disturb them in their darling 117:158,05[' ]| project, and they congratulated each other in private on 117:158,06[' ]| the jealous weakness to which they attributed the change, 117:158,07[' ]| with all the glee of feelings gratified in every way. 117:158,07@y | Edmund 117:158,08@y | might still look grave, and say he did not like the 117:158,09@y | scheme in general, and must disapprove the play in particular; 117:158,10@y | their point was gained; he was to act, and he 117:158,11@y | was driven to it by the force of selfish inclinations only. 117:158,12[' ]| Edmund had descended from that moral elevation which 117:158,13[' ]| he had maintained before, and they were both as much 117:158,14[' ]| the better as the happier for the descent. 117:158,15[' ]| They behaved very well, however, \to\ \him\ on the occasion, 117:158,16[' ]| betraying no exultation beyond the lines about the 117:158,17[' ]| corners of the mouth, and seemed to think it as great an 117:158,18[' ]| escape to be quit of the intrusion of Charles*Maddox, as 117:158,19[' ]| if they had been forced into admitting him against their 117:158,20[' ]| inclination. 117:158,20[Y ]| "To have it quite in their own family circle 117:158,21[Y ]| was what they had particularly wished. A stranger 117:158,22[Y ]| among them would have been the destruction of all their 117:158,23[Y ]| comfort," 117:158,23[' ]| and when Edmund, pursuing that idea, gave 117:158,24[' ]| a hint of his hope as to the limitation of the audience, 117:158,25[' ]| they were ready, in the complaisance of the moment, to 117:158,26[' ]| promise any*thing. It was all good*humour and encouragement. 117:158,27[' ]| Mrs%*Norris offered to contrive his dress, Mr%*Yates 117:158,28[' ]| assured him, that Anhalt's last scene with the 117:158,29[' ]| Baron admitted a good deal of action and emphasis, and 117:158,30[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth undertook to count his speeches. 117:158,31[G ]| "Perhaps," 117:158,31[' ]| said Tom, 117:158,31[G ]| "\Fanny\ may be more disposed 117:158,32[G ]| to oblige us now. Perhaps you may persuade \her\." 117:159,01[B ]| "No, she is quite determined. She certainly will not 117:159,02[B ]| act." 117:159,03[G ]| "Oh! very well." 117:159,03[' ]| And not another word was said: 117:159,04[' ]| but Fanny felt herself again in danger, and her indifference 117:159,05[' ]| to the danger was beginning to fail her already. 117:159,06[' ]| There were not fewer smiles at the parsonage than at 117:159,07[' ]| the park on this change in Edmund; Miss*Crawford 117:159,08[' ]| looked very lovely in her's, and entered with such an 117:159,09[' ]| instantaneous renewal of cheerfulness into the whole 117:159,10[' ]| affair, as could have but one effect on him. 117:159,10[B ]| "He was 117:159,11[B ]| certainly right in respecting such feelings; he was glad 117:159,12[B ]| he had determined on it." 117:159,12[' ]| And the morning wore away 117:159,13[' ]| in satisfactions very sweet, if not very sound. One advantage 117:159,14[' ]| resulted from it to Fanny; at the earnest request 117:159,15[' ]| of Miss*Crawford, Mrs%*Grant had with her usual good*humour 117:159,16[' ]| agreed to undertake the part for which Fanny 117:159,17[' ]| had been wanted ~~ and this was all that occurred to 117:159,18[' ]| gladden \her\ heart during the day; and even this, when 117:159,19[' ]| imparted by Edmund, brought a pang with it, 117:159,19@a | for it was 117:159,20@a | Miss*Crawford to whom she was obliged, it was Miss*Crawford 117:159,21@a | whose kind exertions were to excite her gratitude, 117:159,22@a | and whose merit in making them was spoken of with 117:159,23@a | a glow of admiration. She was safe; but peace and 117:159,24@a | safety were unconnected here. Her mind had been never 117:159,25@a | farther from peace. She could not feel that she had done 117:159,26@a | wrong herself, but she was disquieted in every other way. 117:159,27@a | Her heart and her judgment were equally against Edmund's 117:159,28@a | decision; she could not acquit his unsteadiness; and his 117:159,29@a | happiness under it made her wretched. She was full of 117:159,30@a | jealousy and agitation. Miss*Crawford came with looks 117:159,31@a | of gaiety which seemed an insult, with friendly expressions 117:159,32@a | towards herself which she could hardly answer 117:159,33@a | calmly. Every*body around her was gay and busy, 117:159,34@a | prosperous and important, each had their object of interest, 117:159,35@a | their part, their dress, their favourite scene, their 117:159,36@a | friends and confederates, all were finding employment in 117:159,37@a | consultations and comparisons, or diversion in the playful 117:159,38@a | conceits they suggested. She alone was sad and insignificant; 117:160,01@a | she had no share in any*thing; she might go or 117:160,02@a | stay, she might be in the midst of their noise, or retreat 117:160,03@a | from it to the solitude of the East*room, without being 117:160,04@a | seen or missed. She could almost think any*thing would 117:160,05@a | have been preferable to this. Mrs%*Grant was of consequence; 117:160,06@a | \her\ good*nature had honourable mention ~~ her 117:160,07@a | taste and her time were considered ~~ her presence was 117:160,08@a | wanted ~~ she was sought for and attended, and praised; 117:160,09[' ]| and Fanny was at first in some danger of envying her the 117:160,10[' ]| character she had accepted. But reflection brought better 117:160,11[' ]| feelings, and shewed her that 117:160,11@a | Mrs%*Grant was entitled to 117:160,12@a | respect, which could never have belonged to \her\, and that 117:160,13@a | had she received even the greatest, she could never have 117:160,14@a | been easy in joining a scheme which, considering only her 117:160,15@a | uncle, she must condemn altogether. 117:160,16[' ]| Fanny's heart was not absolutely the only saddened 117:160,17[' ]| one amongst them, as she soon began to acknowledge 117:160,18[' ]| herself. ~~ Julia was a sufferer too, though not quite so 117:160,19[' ]| blamelessly. 117:160,20[' ]| Henry*Crawford had trifled with her feelings; but she 117:160,21[' ]| had very long allowed and even sought his attentions, 117:160,22[' ]| with a jealousy of her sister so reasonable as ought to 117:160,23[' ]| have been their cure; and now that the conviction of his 117:160,24[' ]| preference for Maria had been forced on her, she submitted 117:160,25[' ]| to it without any alarm for Maria's situation, or any 117:160,26[' ]| endeavour at rational tranquillity for herself. ~~ She either 117:160,27[' ]| sat in gloomy silence, wrapt in such gravity as nothing 117:160,28[' ]| could subdue, no curiosity touch, no wit amuse; or allowing 117:160,29[' ]| the attentions of Mr%*Yates, was talking with forced 117:160,30[' ]| gaiety to him alone, and ridiculing the acting of the 117:160,31[' ]| others. 117:160,32[' ]| For a day or two after the affront was given, Henry*Crawford 117:160,33[' ]| had endeavoured to do it away by the usual 117:160,34[' ]| attack of gallantry and compliment, but he had not cared 117:160,35[' ]| enough about it to persevere against a few repulses; and 117:160,36[' ]| becoming soon too busy with his play to have time for 117:160,37[' ]| more than one flirtation, he grew indifferent to the quarrel, 117:160,38[' ]| or rather thought it a lucky occurrence, as quietly putting 117:161,01[' ]| an end to what might ere long have raised expectations 117:161,02[' ]| in more than Mrs%*Grant. ~~ She was not pleased to see 117:161,03[' ]| Julia excluded from the play, and sitting by disregarded; 117:161,04@n | but as it was not a matter which really involved her happiness, 117:161,05@n | as Henry must be the best judge of his own, and 117:161,06@n | as he did assure her, with a most persuasive smile, that 117:161,07@n | neither he nor Julia had ever had a serious thought of 117:161,08@n | each other, she could only renew her former caution as to 117:161,09@n | the elder sister, entreat him not to risk his tranquillity by 117:161,10@n | too much admiration there, and then gladly take her share 117:161,11@n | in any*thing that brought cheerfulness to the young people 117:161,12@n | in general, and that did so particularly promote the 117:161,13@n | pleasure of the two so dear to her. 117:161,14[N ]| "I rather wonder Julia is not in love with Henry," 117:161,14[' ]| was 117:161,15[' ]| her observation to Mary. 117:161,16[C ]| "I dare say she is," 117:161,16[' ]| replied Mary, coldly. 117:161,16[C ]| "I imagine 117:161,17[C ]| both sisters are." 117:161,18[N ]| "Both! no, no, that must not be. Do not give him 117:161,19[N ]| a hint of it. Think of Mr%*Rushworth." 117:161,20[C ]| "You had better tell Miss*Bertram to think of Mr%*Rushworth. 117:161,21[C ]| It may do \her\ some good. I often think of 117:161,22[C ]| Mr%*Rushworth's property and independence, and wish 117:161,23[C ]| them in other hands ~~ but I never think of \him\. A man 117:161,24[C ]| might represent the county with such an estate; a man 117:161,25[C ]| might escape a profession and represent the county." 117:161,26[N ]| "I dare say he \will\ be in parliament soon. When Sir*Thomas 117:161,27[N ]| comes, I dare say he will be in for some borough, 117:161,28[N ]| but there has been nobody to put him in the way of doing 117:161,29[N ]| any*thing yet." 117:161,30[C ]| "Sir*Thomas is to achieve mighty things when he comes 117:161,31[C ]| home," 117:161,31[' ]| said Mary, after a pause. 117:161,31[C ]| "Do you remember 117:161,32[C ]| Hawkins*Browne's ""Address*to*Tobacco,"" in imitation 117:161,33[C ]| of Pope? ~~ 117:161,34@z | ""Blest leaf! whose aromatic gales dispense 117:161,35@z | To Templars modesty, to Parsons sense."" 117:161,36[C ]| I will parody them: 117:161,37[C ]| Blest Knight! whose dictatorial looks dispense 117:161,38[C ]| To Children affluence, to Rushworth sense. 117:162,01[C ]| Will not that do, Mrs%*Grant? Every*thing seems to 117:162,02[C ]| depend upon Sir*Thomas's return." 117:162,03[N ]| "You will find his consequence very just and reasonable 117:162,04[N ]| when you see him in his family, I assure you. I do not 117:162,05[N ]| think we do so well without him. He has a fine dignified 117:162,06[N ]| manner, which suits the head of such a house, and keeps 117:162,07[N ]| every*body in their place. Lady*Bertram seems more 117:162,08[N ]| of a cipher now than when he is at home; and nobody 117:162,09[N ]| else can keep Mrs%*Norris in order. But, Mary, do not 117:162,10[N ]| fancy that Maria*Bertram cares for Henry. I am sure 117:162,11[N ]| \Julia\ does not, or she would not have flirted as she did 117:162,12[N ]| last night with Mr%*Yates; and though he and Maria are 117:162,13[N ]| very good friends, I think she likes Sotherton too well to 117:162,14[N ]| be inconstant." 117:162,15[C ]| "I would not give much for Mr%*Rushworth's chance, 117:162,16[C ]| if Henry stept in before the articles were signed." 117:162,17[N ]| "If you have such a suspicion, something must be done, 117:162,18[N ]| and as soon as the play is all over, we will talk to him 117:162,19[N ]| seriously, and make him know his own mind; and if he 117:162,20[N ]| means nothing, we will send him off, though he is Henry, 117:162,21[N ]| for a time." 117:162,22[' ]| Julia \did\ suffer, however, though Mrs%*Grant discerned 117:162,23[' ]| it not, and though it escaped the notice of many of her 117:162,24[' ]| own family likewise. She had loved, she did love still, 117:162,25[' ]| and she had all the suffering which a warm temper and 117:162,26[' ]| a high spirit were likely to endure under the disappointment 117:162,27[' ]| of a dear, though irrational hope, with a strong 117:162,28[' ]| sense of ill-usage. Her heart was sore and angry, and 117:162,29[' ]| she was capable only of angry consolations. The sister 117:162,30[' ]| with whom she was used to be on easy terms, was now 117:162,31[' ]| become her greatest enemy; they were alienated from 117:162,32[' ]| each other, and Julia was not superior to the hope of some 117:162,33[' ]| distressing end to the attentions which were still carrying 117:162,34[' ]| on there, some punishment to Maria for conduct so 117:162,35[' ]| shameful towards herself, as well as towards Mr%*Rushworth. 117:162,36[' ]| With no material fault of temper, or difference 117:162,37[' ]| of opinion, to prevent their being very good friends while 117:162,38[' ]| their interests were the same, the sisters, under such 117:163,01[' ]| a trial as this, had not affection or principle enough to 117:163,02[' ]| make them merciful or just, to give them honour or 117:163,03[' ]| compassion. Maria felt her triumph, and pursued her 117:163,04[' ]| purpose careless of Julia; and Julia could never see 117:163,05[' ]| Maria distinguished by Henry*Crawford, without trusting 117:163,06[' ]| that it would create jealousy, and bring a public disturbance 117:163,07[' ]| at last. 117:163,08[' ]| Fanny saw and pitied much of this in Julia; but there 117:163,09[' ]| was no outward fellowship between them. Julia made 117:163,10[' ]| no communication, and Fanny took no liberties. They 117:163,11[' ]| were two solitary sufferers, or connected only by Fanny's 117:163,12[' ]| consciousness. 117:163,13[' ]| The inattention of the two brothers and the aunt to 117:163,14[' ]| Julia's discomposure, and their blindness to its true 117:163,15[' ]| cause, must be imputed to the fulness of their own minds. 117:163,16[' ]| They were totally pre-occupied. Tom was engrossed by 117:163,17[' ]| the concerns of his theatre, and saw nothing that did not 117:163,18[' ]| immediately relate to it. Edmund, between his theatrical 117:163,19[' ]| and his real part, between Miss*Crawford's claims and his 117:163,20[' ]| own conduct, between love and consistency, was equally 117:163,21[' ]| unobservant; and Mrs%*Norris was too busy in contriving 117:163,22[' ]| and directing the general little matters of the 117:163,23[' ]| company, superintending their various dresses with 117:163,24[' ]| economical expedient, for which nobody thanked her, and 117:163,25[' ]| saving, with delighted integrity, half-a-crown here and 117:163,26[' ]| there to the absent Sir*Thomas, to have leisure for 117:163,27[' ]| watching the behaviour, or guarding the happiness of 117:163,28[' ]| his daughters. 118:164,01[' ]| Every*thing was now in a regular train; theatre, actors, 118:164,02[' ]| actresses, and dresses, were all getting forward: but 118:164,03[' ]| though no other great impediments arose, Fanny found, 118:164,04[' ]| before many days were past, that it was not all uninterrupted 118:164,05[' ]| enjoyment to the party themselves, and that she 118:164,06[' ]| had not to witness the continuance of such unanimity and 118:164,07[' ]| delight, as had been almost too much for her at first. 118:164,08[' ]| Every*body began to have their vexation. Edmund had 118:164,09[' ]| many. Entirely against \his\ judgment, a scene painter 118:164,10[' ]| arrived from town, and was at work, much to the increase 118:164,11[' ]| of the expenses, and what was worse, of the eclat of their 118:164,12[' ]| proceedings; and his brother, instead of being really 118:164,13[' ]| guided by him as to the privacy of the representation, was 118:164,14[' ]| giving an invitation to every family who came in his way. 118:164,15[' ]| Tom himself began to fret over the scene painter's slow 118:164,16[' ]| progress, and to feel the miseries of waiting. He had 118:164,17[' ]| learned his part ~~ all his parts ~~ for he took every trifling 118:164,18[' ]| one that could be united with the Butler, and began to be 118:164,19[' ]| impatient to be acting; and every day thus unemployed, 118:164,20[' ]| was tending to increase his sense of the insignificance of all 118:164,21[' ]| his parts together, and make him more ready to regret 118:164,22[' ]| that some other play had not been chosen. 118:164,23[' ]| Fanny, being always a very courteous listener, and often 118:164,24[' ]| the only listener at hand, came in for the complaints and 118:164,25[' ]| distresses of most of them. \She\ knew that Mr%*Yates was 118:164,26[' ]| in general thought to rant dreadfully, that Mr%*Yates was 118:164,27[' ]| disappointed in Henry*Crawford, that Tom*Bertram spoke 118:164,28[' ]| so quick he would be unintelligible, that Mrs%*Grant spoilt 118:164,29[' ]| every*thing by laughing, that Edmund was behind-hand 118:164,30[' ]| with his part, and that it was misery to have any*thing to 118:164,31[' ]| do with Mr%*Rushworth, who was wanting a prompter 118:164,32[' ]| through every speech. She knew, also, that poor 118:164,33[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth could seldom get any*body to rehearse 118:165,01[' ]| with him; \his\ complaint came before her as well as the 118:165,02[' ]| rest; and so decided to her eye was her cousin Maria's 118:165,03[' ]| avoidance of him, and so needlessly often the rehearsal of 118:165,04[' ]| the first scene between her and Mr%*Crawford, that she had 118:165,05[' ]| soon all the terror of other complaints from \him\. ~~ So far 118:165,06[' ]| from being all satisfied and all enjoying, she found every*body 118:165,07[' ]| requiring something they had not, and giving 118:165,08[' ]| occasion of discontent to the others. ~~ Every*body had 118:165,09[' ]| a part either too long or too short; ~~ nobody would attend 118:165,10[' ]| as they ought, nobody would remember on which side they 118:165,11[' ]| were to come in ~~ nobody but the complainer would 118:165,12[' ]| observe any directions. 118:165,13[' ]| Fanny believed herself to derive as much innocent 118:165,14[' ]| enjoyment from the play as any of them; ~~ Henry*Crawford 118:165,15[' ]| acted well, and it was a pleasure to \her\ to creep into 118:165,16[' ]| the theatre, and attend the rehearsal of the first act ~~ in 118:165,17[' ]| spite of the feelings it excited in some speeches for Maria. ~~ 118:165,18[' ]| Maria she also thought acted well ~~ too well; ~~ and after 118:165,19[' ]| the first rehearsal or two, Fanny began to be their only 118:165,20[' ]| audience, and ~~ sometimes as prompter, sometimes as spectator ~~ 118:165,21[' ]| was often very useful. ~~ 118:165,21@a | As far as she could judge, 118:165,22@a | Mr%*Crawford was considerably the best actor of all; he 118:165,23@a | had more confidence than Edmund, more judgment than 118:165,24@a | Tom, more talent and taste than Mr%*Yates. ~~ She did not 118:165,25@a | like him as a man, but she must admit him to be the best 118:165,26@a | actor, 118:165,26[' ]| and on this point there were not many who differed 118:165,27[' ]| from her. Mr%*Yates, indeed, exclaimed against his 118:165,28[' ]| tameness and insipidity ~~ and the day came at last, when 118:165,29[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth turned to her with a black look, and 118:165,30[' ]| said ~~ 118:165,30[K ]| "Do you think there is any*thing so very fine in all 118:165,31[K ]| this? For the life and soul of me, I cannot admire him; ~~ 118:165,32[K ]| and between ourselves, to see such an undersized, little, 118:165,33[K ]| mean-looking man, set up for a fine actor, is very ridiculous 118:165,34[K ]| in my opinion." 118:165,35[' ]| From this moment there was a return of his former 118:165,36[' ]| jealousy, which Maria, from increasing hopes of Crawford, 118:165,37[' ]| was at little pains to remove; and the chances of Mr%*Rushworth's 118:165,38[' ]| ever attaining to the knowledge of his two*and*forty 118:166,01[' ]| speeches became much less. As to his ever making 118:166,02[' ]| any*thing \tolerable\ of them, nobody had the smallest idea 118:166,03[' ]| of that except his mother ~~ \She\, indeed, regretted that his 118:166,04[' ]| part was not more considerable, and deferred coming over 118:166,05[' ]| to Mansfield till they were forward enough in their rehearsal 118:166,06[' ]| to comprehend all his scenes, but the others aspired at 118:166,07[' ]| nothing beyond his remembering the catchword, and the 118:166,08[' ]| first line of his speech, and being able to follow the prompter 118:166,09[' ]| through the rest. Fanny, in her pity and kind-heartedness, 118:166,10[' ]| was at great pains to teach him how to learn, giving 118:166,11[' ]| him all the helps and directions in her power, trying to 118:166,12[' ]| make an artificial memory for him, and learning every word 118:166,13[' ]| of his part herself, but without his being much the 118:166,14[' ]| forwarder. 118:166,15[' ]| Many uncomfortable, anxious, apprehensive feelings she 118:166,16[' ]| certainly had; but with all these, and other claims on her 118:166,17[' ]| time and attention, she was as far from finding herself 118:166,18[' ]| without employment or utility amongst them, as without 118:166,19[' ]| a companion in uneasiness; quite as far from having no 118:166,20[' ]| demand on her leisure as on her compassion. The gloom 118:166,21[' ]| of her first anticipations was proved to have been unfounded. 118:166,22[' ]| She was occasionally useful to all; she was 118:166,23[' ]| perhaps as much at peace as any. 118:166,24[' ]| There was a great deal of needle-work to be done moreover, 118:166,25[' ]| in which her help was wanted; and that Mrs%*Norris 118:166,26[' ]| thought her quite as well off as the rest, was evident by 118:166,27[' ]| the manner in which she claimed it: 118:166,27[J ]| "Come Fanny," 118:166,27[' ]| she 118:166,28[' ]| cried, 118:166,28[J ]| "these are fine times for you, but you must not be 118:166,29[J ]| always walking from one room to the other and doing the 118:166,30[J ]| lookings on, at your ease, in this way, ~~ I want you here. 118:166,31[J ]| ~~ I have been slaving myself till I can hardly stand, to 118:166,32[J ]| contrive Mr%*Rushworth's cloak without sending for any 118:166,33[J ]| more satin; and now I think you may give me your help 118:166,34[J ]| in putting it together. ~~ There are but three seams, you 118:166,35[J ]| may do them in a trice. ~~ It would be lucky for me if 118:166,36[J ]| I had nothing but the executive part to do. ~~ \You\ are best 118:166,37[J ]| off, I can tell you; but if nobody did more than \you\, we 118:166,38[J ]| should not get on very fast." 118:167,01[' ]| Fanny took the work very quietly without attempting 118:167,02[' ]| any defence; but her kinder aunt Bertram observed on 118:167,03[' ]| her behalf, 118:167,04[F ]| "One cannot wonder, sister, that Fanny \should\ be 118:167,05[F ]| delighted; it is all new to her, you know, ~~ you and I used 118:167,06[F ]| to be very fond of a play ourselves ~~ and so am I still; ~~ 118:167,07[F ]| and as soon as I am a little more at leisure, \I\ mean to look 118:167,08[F ]| in at their rehearsals too. What is the play about, Fanny, 118:167,09[F ]| you have never told me?" 118:167,10[J ]| "Oh! sister, pray do not ask her now; for Fanny is not 118:167,11[J ]| one of those who can talk and work at the same time. ~~ It is 118:167,12[J ]| about Lovers' Vows." 118:167,13[A ]| "I believe" 118:167,13[' ]| said Fanny to her aunt Bertram, 118:167,13[A ]| "there will 118:167,14[A ]| be three acts rehearsed to-morrow evening, and that will 118:167,15[A ]| give you an opportunity of seeing all the actors at once." 118:167,16[J ]| "You had better stay till the curtain is hung," 118:167,16[' ]| interposed 118:167,17[' ]| Mrs%*Norris ~~ 118:167,17[J ]| "the curtain will be hung in a day or 118:167,18[J ]| two, ~~ there is very little sense in a play without a curtain 118:167,19[J ]| ~~ and I am much mistaken if you do not find it draw up 118:167,20[J ]| into very handsome festoons." 118:167,21[' ]| Lady*Bertram seemed quite resigned to waiting. ~~ 118:167,22[' ]| Fanny did not share her aunt's composure; she thought 118:167,23[' ]| of the morrow a great deal, ~~ 118:167,23@a | for if the three acts were 118:167,24@a | rehearsed, Edmund and Miss*Crawford would then be 118:167,25@a | acting together for the first time; ~~ the third act would 118:167,26@a | bring a scene between them which interested her most 118:167,27@a | particularly, and which she was longing and dreading to 118:167,28@a | see how they would perform. The whole subject of it was 118:167,29@a | love ~~ a marriage of love was to be described by the gentleman, 118:167,30@a | and very little short of a declaration of love be made 118:167,31@a | by the lady. 118:167,32@a | She had read, and read the scene again with many 118:167,33@a | painful, many wondering emotions, and looked forward 118:167,34@a | to their representation of it as a circumstance almost too 118:167,35@a | interesting. She did not \believe\ they had yet rehearsed it, 118:167,36@a | even in private. 118:167,37[' ]| The morrow came, the plan for the evening continued, 118:167,38[' ]| and Fanny's consideration of it did not become less 118:168,01[' ]| agitated. She worked very diligently under her aunt's 118:168,02[' ]| directions, but her diligence and her silence concealed a 118:168,03[' ]| very absent, anxious mind; and about noon she made her 118:168,04[' ]| escape with her work to the East*room, that she might 118:168,05[' ]| have no concern in another, and, as she deemed it, most 118:168,06[' ]| unnecessary rehearsal of the first act, which Henry*Crawford 118:168,07[' ]| was just proposing, desirous at once of having her time 118:168,08[' ]| to herself, and of avoiding the sight of Mr%*Rushworth. 118:168,09[' ]| A glimpse, as she passed through the hall, of the two ladies 118:168,10[' ]| walking up from the parsonage, made no change in her 118:168,11[' ]| wish of retreat, and she worked and meditated in the East*room, 118:168,12[' ]| undisturbed, for a quarter of an hour, when a gentle 118:168,13[' ]| tap at the door was followed by the entrance of Miss*Crawford. 118:168,14[' ]| 118:168,15[C ]| "Am I right? ~~ Yes; this is the East*room. My dear 118:168,16[C ]| Miss*Price, I beg your pardon, but I have made my way to 118:168,17[C ]| you on purpose to entreat your help." 118:168,18[' ]| Fanny, quite surprised, endeavoured to show herself 118:168,19[' ]| mistress of the room by her civilities, and looked at the 118:168,20[' ]| bright bars of her empty grate with concern. 118:168,21[C ]| "Thank you ~~ I am quite warm, very warm. Allow 118:168,22[C ]| me to stay here a little while, and do have the goodness to 118:168,23[C ]| hear me my third act. I have brought my book, and if 118:168,24[C ]| you would but rehearse it with me, I should be \so\ obliged! 118:168,25[C ]| I came here to-day intending to rehearse it with Edmund ~~ 118:168,26[C ]| by ourselves ~~ against the evening, but he is not in the way; 118:168,27[C ]| and if he \were\, I do not think I could go through it with 118:168,28[C ]| \him\, till I have hardened myself a little, for really there \is\ 118:168,29[C ]| a speech or two ~~ You will be so good, won't you?" 118:168,30[' ]| Fanny was most civil in her assurances, though she 118:168,31[' ]| could not give them in a very steady voice. 118:168,32[C ]| "Have you ever happened to look at the part I mean?" 118:168,33[' ]| continued Miss*Crawford, opening her book. 118:168,33[C ]| "Here it is. 118:168,34[C ]| I did not think much of it at first ~~ but, upon my word ~~ . 118:168,35[C ]| There, look at \that\ speech, and \that\, and \that\. How am 118:168,36[C ]| I ever to look him in the face and say such things? Could 118:168,37[C ]| you do it? But then he is your cousin, which makes all the 118:168,38[C ]| difference. You must rehearse it with me, that I may 118:169,01[C ]| fancy \you\ him, and get on by degrees. You \have\ a look of 118:169,02[C ]| \his\ sometimes." 118:169,03[A ]| "Have I? ~~ I will do my best with the greatest readiness 118:169,04[A ]| ~~ but I must \read\ the part, for I can \say\ very little of it." 118:169,05[C ]| "\None\ of it, I suppose. You are to have the book of 118:169,06[C ]| course. Now for it. We must have two chairs at hand 118:169,07[C ]| for you to bring forward to the front of the stage. There 118:169,08[C ]| ~~ very good school-room chairs, not made for a theatre, 118:169,09[C ]| I dare say; much more fitted for little girls to sit and kick 118:169,10[C ]| their feet against when they are learning a lesson. What 118:169,11[C ]| would your governess and your uncle say to see them 118:169,12[C ]| used for such a purpose? Could Sir*Thomas look in upon 118:169,13[C ]| us just now, he would bless himself, for we are rehearsing 118:169,14[C ]| all over the house. Yates is storming away in the dining*room. 118:169,15[C ]| I heard him as I came up*stairs, and the theatre 118:169,16[C ]| is engaged of course by those indefatigable rehearsers, 118:169,17[C ]| Agatha and Frederick. If \they\ are not perfect, I \shall\ 118:169,18[C ]| be surprised. By*the*bye, I looked in upon them five 118:169,19[C ]| minutes ago, and it happened to be exactly at one of the 118:169,20[C ]| times when they were trying \not\ to embrace, and Mr%*Rushworth 118:169,21[C ]| was with me. I thought he began to look a little 118:169,22[C ]| queer, so I turned it off as well as I could, by whispering to 118:169,23[C ]| him, ""We shall have an excellent Agatha, there is something 118:169,24[C ]| so \maternal\ in her manner, so completely \maternal\ in 118:169,25[C ]| her voice and countenance."" Was not that well done of 118:169,26[C ]| me? He brightened up directly. Now for my soliloquy." 118:169,27[' ]| She began, and Fanny joined in with all the modest 118:169,28[' ]| feeling which the idea of representing Edmund was so 118:169,29[' ]| strongly calculated to inspire; but with looks and voice so 118:169,30[' ]| truly feminine, as to be no very good picture of a man. 118:169,31[' ]| With such an Anhalt, however, Miss*Crawford had courage 118:169,32[' ]| enough, and they had got through half the scene, when 118:169,33[' ]| a tap at the door brought a pause, and the entrance of 118:169,34[' ]| Edmund the next moment, suspended it all. 118:169,35[' ]| Surprise, consciousness, and pleasure, appeared in each 118:169,36[' ]| of the three on this unexpected meeting; and as Edmund 118:169,37[' ]| was come on the very same business that had brought 118:169,38[' ]| Miss*Crawford, consciousness and pleasure were likely to 118:170,01[' ]| be more than momentary in \them\. He too had his book, 118:170,02[' ]| and was seeking Fanny, to ask her to rehearse with him, 118:170,03[' ]| and help him prepare for the evening, without knowing 118:170,04[' ]| Miss*Crawford to be in the house; and great was the joy 118:170,05[' ]| and animation of being thus thrown together ~~ of comparing 118:170,06[' ]| schemes ~~ and sympathizing in praise of Fanny's kind 118:170,07[' ]| offices. 118:170,08@a | \She\ could not equal them in their warmth. \Her\ spirits 118:170,09@a | sank under the glow of theirs, and she felt herself becoming 118:170,10@a | too nearly nothing to both, to have any comfort in 118:170,11@a | having been sought by either. 118:170,11[' ]| They must now rehearse 118:170,12[' ]| together. Edmund proposed, urged, entreated it ~~ till 118:170,13[' ]| the lady, not very unwilling at first, could refuse no 118:170,14[' ]| longer ~~ and Fanny was wanted only to prompt and 118:170,15[' ]| observe them. She was invested, indeed, with the office 118:170,16[' ]| of judge and critic, and earnestly desired to exercise it and 118:170,17[' ]| tell them all their faults; 118:170,17@a | but from doing so every feeling 118:170,18@a | within her shrank, she could not, would not, dared not 118:170,19@a | attempt it; 118:170,19[' ]| had she been otherwise qualified for criticism, 118:170,20[' ]| her conscience must have restrained her from venturing at 118:170,21[' ]| disapprobation. She believed herself to feel too much of 118:170,22[' ]| it in the aggregate for honesty or safety in particulars. 118:170,23@a | To prompt them must be enough for her; and it was 118:170,24@a | sometimes \more\ than enough; 118:170,24[' ]| for she could not always pay 118:170,25[' ]| attention to the book. In watching them she forgot herself; 118:170,26[' ]| and agitated by the increasing spirit of Edmund's manner, 118:170,27[' ]| had once closed the page and turned away exactly as he 118:170,28[' ]| wanted help. It was imputed to very reasonable weariness, 118:170,29[' ]| and she was thanked and pitied; but she deserved 118:170,30[' ]| their pity, more than she hoped they would ever surmise. 118:170,31[' ]| At last the scene was over, and Fanny forced herself to add 118:170,32[' ]| her praise to the compliments each was giving the other; 118:170,33[' ]| and when again alone and able to recall the whole, 118:170,33@a | she was 118:170,34@a | inclined to believe their performance would, indeed, have 118:170,35@a | such nature and feeling in it, as must ensure their credit, 118:170,36@a | and make it a very suffering exhibition to herself. Whatever 118:170,37@a | might be its effect, however, she must stand the 118:170,38@a | brunt of it again that very day. 118:171,01[' ]| The first regular rehearsal of the three first acts was 118:171,02[' ]| certainly to take place in the evening; Mrs%*Grant and the 118:171,03[' ]| Crawfords were engaged to return for that purpose as soon 118:171,04[' ]| as they could after dinner; and every*one concerned was 118:171,05[' ]| looking forward with eagerness. There seemed a general 118:171,06[' ]| diffusion of cheerfulness on the occasion; Tom was enjoying 118:171,07[' ]| such an advance towards the end, Edmund was in 118:171,08[' ]| spirits from the morning's rehearsal, and little vexations 118:171,09[' ]| seemed every*where smoothed away. All were alert and 118:171,10[' ]| impatient; the ladies moved soon, the gentlemen soon 118:171,11[' ]| followed them, and with the exception of Lady*Bertram, 118:171,12[' ]| Mrs%*Norris, and Julia, every*body was in the theatre 118:171,13[' ]| at an early hour, and having lighted it up as well as its 118:171,14[' ]| unfinished state admitted, were waiting only the arrival 118:171,15[' ]| of Mrs%*Grant and the Crawfords to begin. 118:171,16[' ]| They did not wait long for the Crawfords, but there was 118:171,17[' ]| no Mrs%*Grant. She could not come. Dr%*Grant, professing 118:171,18[' ]| an indisposition, for which he had little credit with his 118:171,19[' ]| fair sister-in-law, could not spare his wife. 118:171,20[C ]| "Dr%*Grant is ill," 118:171,20[' ]| said she, with mock solemnity. 118:171,21[C ]| "He has been ill ever since; he did not eat any of the 118:171,22[C ]| pheasant to*day. He fancied it tough ~~ sent away his plate 118:171,23[C ]| ~~ and has been suffering ever since." 118:171,24[' ]| Here was disappointment! Mrs%*Grant's non-attendance 118:171,25[' ]| was sad indeed. Her pleasant manners and cheerful 118:171,26[' ]| conformity made her always valuable amongst them ~~ but 118:171,27[' ]| \now\ she was absolutely necessary. They could not act, 118:171,28[' ]| they could not rehearse with any satisfaction without her. 118:171,29[' ]| The comfort of the whole evening was destroyed. What 118:171,30[' ]| was to be done? Tom, as Cottager, was in despair. After 118:171,31[' ]| a pause of perplexity, some eyes began to be turned 118:171,32[' ]| towards Fanny, and a voice or two, to say, 118:171,32[X ]| "If Miss*Price 118:171,33[X ]| would be so good as to \read\ the part." 118:171,33[' ]| She was immediately 118:171,34[' ]| surrounded by supplications, every*body asked it, 118:171,35[' ]| even Edmund said, 118:171,35[B ]| "Do Fanny, if it is not \very\ disagreeable 118:171,36[B ]| to you." 118:171,37[' ]| But Fanny still hung back. She could not endure the 118:171,38[' ]| idea of it. 118:171,38@a | Why was not Miss*Crawford to be applied to as 118:172,01@a | well? Or why had not she rather gone to her own room, as 118:172,02@a | she had felt to be safest, instead of attending the rehearsal 118:172,03@a | at all? She had known it would irritate and distress her ~~ 118:172,04@a | she had known it her duty to keep away. She was properly 118:172,05@a | punished. 118:172,06[D ]| "You have only to \read\ the part," 118:172,06[' ]| said Henry*Crawford 118:172,07[' ]| with renewed entreaty. 118:172,08[H ]| "And I do believe she can say every word of it," 118:172,08[' ]| added 118:172,09[' ]| Maria, 118:172,09[H ]| "for she could put Mrs%*Grant right the other day 118:172,10[H ]| in twenty places. Fanny, I am sure you know the part." 118:172,11[' ]| Fanny could not say she did \not\ ~~ 118:172,11@a | and as they all 118:172,12@a | persevered ~~ as Edmund repeated his wish, and with a look 118:172,13@a | of even fond dependence on her good*nature, she must 118:172,14@a | yield. She would do her best. 118:172,14[' ]| Every*body was satisfied 118:172,15[' ]| ~~ and she was left to the tremors of a most palpitating 118:172,16[' ]| heart, while the others prepared to begin. 118:172,17[' ]| They \did\ begin ~~ and being too much engaged in their 118:172,18[' ]| own noise, to be struck by unusual noise in the other part of 118:172,19[' ]| the house, had proceeded some way, when the door of the 118:172,20[' ]| room was thrown open, and Julia appearing at it, with 118:172,21[' ]| a face all aghast, exclaimed, 118:172,21[I ]| "My father is come! He is 118:172,22[I ]| in the hall at this moment." 201:175,01[' ]| How is the consternation of the party to be described? 201:175,02[' ]| To the greater number it was a moment of absolute horror. 201:175,03[' ]| Sir*Thomas in the house! All felt the instantaneous 201:175,04[' ]| conviction. Not a hope of imposition or mistake was 201:175,05[' ]| harboured any*where. Julia's looks were an evidence 201:175,06[' ]| of the fact that made it indisputable; and after the first 201:175,07[' ]| starts and exclamations, not a word was spoken for half 201:175,08[' ]| a minute; each with an altered countenance was looking 201:175,09[' ]| at some other, and almost each was feeling it a stroke the 201:175,10[' ]| most unwelcome, most ill-timed, most appalling! Mr%*Yates 201:175,11[' ]| might consider it only as a vexatious interruption 201:175,12[' ]| for the evening, and Mr%*Rushworth might imagine it 201:175,13[' ]| a blessing, but every other heart was sinking under some 201:175,14[' ]| degree of self-condemnation or undefined alarm, every 201:175,15[' ]| other heart was suggesting 201:175,15@x | "What will become of us? 201:175,16@x | what is to be done now?" 201:175,16[' ]| It was a terrible pause; and 201:175,17[' ]| terrible to every ear were the corroborating sounds of 201:175,18[' ]| opening doors and passing footsteps. 201:175,19[' ]| Julia was the first to move and speak again. Jealousy 201:175,20[' ]| and bitterness had been suspended: selfishness was lost 201:175,21[' ]| in the common cause; but at the moment of her appearance, 201:175,22[' ]| Frederick was listening with looks of devotion to 201:175,23[' ]| Agatha's narrative, and pressing her hand to his heart, 201:175,24[' ]| and as soon as she could notice this, and see that, in spite 201:175,25[' ]| of the shock of her words, he still kept his station and 201:175,26[' ]| retained her sister's hand, her wounded heart swelled 201:175,27[' ]| again with injury, and looking as red as she had been 201:175,28[' ]| white before, she turned out of the room, saying 201:175,28[I ]| "\I\ need 201:175,29[I ]| not be afraid of appearing before him." 201:176,01[' ]| Her going roused the rest; and at the same moment, 201:176,02[' ]| the two brothers stepped forward, feeling the necessity 201:176,03[' ]| of doing something. A very few words between them 201:176,04[' ]| were sufficient. The case admitted no difference of 201:176,05[' ]| opinion; they must go to the drawing-room directly. 201:176,06[' ]| Maria joined them with the same intent, just then the 201:176,07[' ]| stoutest of the three; for the very circumstance which 201:176,08[' ]| had driven Julia away, was to her the sweetest support. 201:176,09@h | Henry*Crawford's retaining her hand at such a moment, 201:176,10@h | a moment of such peculiar proof and importance, was 201:176,11@h | worth ages of doubt and anxiety. 201:176,11[' ]| She hailed it as an 201:176,12[' ]| earnest of the most serious determination, and was equal 201:176,13[' ]| even to encounter her father. They walked off, utterly 201:176,14[' ]| heedless of Mr%*Rushworth's repeated question of, 201:176,14[K ]| "Shall 201:176,15[K ]| I go too? ~~ Had not I better go too? ~~ will not it be 201:176,16[K ]| right for me to go too?" 201:176,16[' ]| but they were no sooner through 201:176,17[' ]| the door than Henry*Crawford undertook to answer the 201:176,18[' ]| anxious inquiry, and encouraging him by all means to pay 201:176,19[' ]| his respects to Sir*Thomas without delay, sent him after 201:176,20[' ]| the others with delighted haste. 201:176,21[' ]| Fanny was left with only the Crawfords and Mr%*Yates. 201:176,22[' ]| She had been quite overlooked by her cousins; and as 201:176,23[' ]| her own opinion of her claims on Sir*Thomas's affection 201:176,24[' ]| was much too humble to give her any idea of classing herself 201:176,25[' ]| with his children, she was glad to remain behind and 201:176,26[' ]| gain a little breathing time. Her agitation and alarm 201:176,27[' ]| exceeded all that was endured by the rest, by the right 201:176,28[' ]| of a disposition which not even innocence could keep from 201:176,29[' ]| suffering. She was nearly fainting: all her former habitual 201:176,30[' ]| dread of her uncle was returning, and with it compassion 201:176,31[' ]| for him and for almost every one of the party 201:176,32[' ]| on the development before him ~~ with solicitude on 201:176,33[' ]| Edmund's account indescribable. She had found a seat, 201:176,34[' ]| where in excessive trembling she was enduring all these 201:176,35[' ]| fearful thoughts, while the other three, no longer under 201:176,36[' ]| any restraint, were giving vent to their feelings of vexation, 201:176,37[' ]| lamenting over such an unlooked-for premature 201:176,38[' ]| arrival as a most untoward event, and without mercy 201:177,01[' ]| wishing poor Sir*Thomas had been twice as long on his 201:177,02[' ]| passage, or were still in Antigua. 201:177,03[' ]| The Crawfords were more warm on the subject than 201:177,04[' ]| Mr%*Yates, from better understanding the family and 201:177,05[' ]| judging more clearly of the mischief that must ensue. 201:177,05@y | The 201:177,06@y | ruin of the play was to them a certainty, they felt the 201:177,07@y | total destruction of the scheme to be inevitably at hand; 201:177,08[' ]| while Mr%*Yates considered it only as a temporary interruption, 201:177,09[' ]| a disaster for the evening, and could even suggest 201:177,10[' ]| the possibility of the rehearsal being renewed after tea, 201:177,11[' ]| when the bustle of receiving Sir*Thomas were over and he 201:177,12[' ]| might be at leisure to be amused by it. The Crawfords 201:177,13[' ]| laughed at the idea; and having soon agreed on the propriety 201:177,14[' ]| of their walking quietly home and leaving the 201:177,15[' ]| family to themselves, proposed Mr%*Yates's accompanying 201:177,16[' ]| them and spending the evening at the Parsonage. But 201:177,17[' ]| Mr%*Yates, having never been with those who thought 201:177,18[' ]| much of parental claims, or family confidence, could not 201:177,19[' ]| perceive that any*thing of the kind was necessary, and 201:177,20[' ]| therefore, thanking them, said, 201:177,20[R ]| "he preferred remaining 201:177,21[R ]| where he was that he might pay his respects to the old 201:177,22[R ]| gentleman handsomely since he \was\ come; and besides, 201:177,23[R ]| he did not think it would be fair by the others to have 201:177,24[R ]| every*body run away." 201:177,25[' ]| Fanny was just beginning to collect herself, and to feel 201:177,26[' ]| that if she staid longer behind it might seem disrespectful, 201:177,27[' ]| when this point was settled, and being commissioned with 201:177,28[' ]| the brother and sister's apology, saw them preparing to 201:177,29[' ]| go as she quitted the room herself to perform the dreadful 201:177,30[' ]| duty of appearing before her uncle. 201:177,31@a | Too soon did she find herself at the drawing-room door, 201:177,32@a | and after pausing a moment for what she knew would not 201:177,33@a | come, for a courage which the outside of no door had ever 201:177,34@a | supplied to her, she turned the lock in desperation, and 201:177,35@a | the lights of the drawing-room and all the collected family 201:177,36@a | were before her. 201:177,36[' ]| As she entered, her own name caught 201:177,37[' ]| her ear. Sir*Thomas was at that moment looking round 201:177,38[' ]| him, and saying 201:177,38[E ]| "But where is Fanny? ~~ Why do not I 201:178,01[E ]| see my little Fanny?", 201:178,01[' ]| and on perceiving her, came forward 201:178,02[' ]| with a kindness which astonished and penetrated 201:178,03[' ]| her, calling her his dear Fanny, kissing her affectionately, 201:178,04[' ]| and observing with decided pleasure how much she was 201:178,05[' ]| grown! Fanny knew not how to feel, nor where to look. 201:178,06[' ]| She was quite oppressed. 201:178,06@a | He had never been so kind, so 201:178,07@a | \very\ kind to her in his life. His manner seemed changed; 201:178,08@a | his voice was quick from the agitation of joy, and all that 201:178,09@a | had been awful in his dignity seemed lost in tenderness. 201:178,10[' ]| He led her nearer the light and looked at her again ~~ 201:178,11[' ]| inquired particularly after her health, and then correcting 201:178,12[' ]| himself, observed, that 201:178,12@e | he need \not\ inquire, for her 201:178,13@e | appearance spoke sufficiently on that point. 201:178,13[' ]| A fine blush 201:178,14[' ]| having succeeded the previous paleness of her face, he 201:178,15[' ]| was justified in his belief of her equal improvement in 201:178,16[' ]| health and beauty. He inquired next after her family, 201:178,17[' ]| especially William; 201:178,17@a | and his kindness altogether was such 201:178,18@a | as made her reproach herself for loving him so little, and 201:178,19@a | thinking his return a misfortune; and when, on having 201:178,20@a | courage to lift her eyes to his face, she saw that he was 201:178,21@a | grown thinner and had the burnt, fagged, worn look of 201:178,22@a | fatigue and a hot climate, every tender feeling was increased, 201:178,23@a | and she was miserable in considering how much 201:178,24@a | unsuspected vexation was probably ready to burst on him. 201:178,25[' ]| Sir*Thomas was indeed the life of the party, who at his 201:178,26[' ]| suggestion now seated themselves round the fire. He 201:178,27[' ]| had the best right to be the talker; and the delight of his 201:178,28[' ]| sensations in being again in his own house, in the centre 201:178,29[' ]| of his family, after such a separation, made him communicative 201:178,30[' ]| and chatty in a very unusual degree; and he 201:178,31[' ]| was ready to give every information as to his voyage, and 201:178,32[' ]| answer every question of his two sons almost before it 201:178,33[' ]| was put. 201:178,33@e | His business in Antigua had latterly been 201:178,34@e | prosperously rapid, and he came directly from Liverpool, 201:178,35@e | having had an opportunity of making his passage thither 201:178,36@e | in a private vessel, instead of waiting for the packet; 201:178,36[' ]| and 201:178,37[' ]| all the little particulars of his proceedings and events, his 201:178,38[' ]| arrivals and departures, were most promptly delivered, 201:179,01[' ]| as he sat by Lady*Bertram and looked with heartfelt 201:179,02[' ]| satisfaction on the faces around him ~~ interrupting himself 201:179,03[' ]| more than once, however, to remark on 201:179,03@e | his good fortune 201:179,04@e | in finding them all at home ~~ coming unexpectedly 201:179,05@e | as he did ~~ all collected together exactly as he could have 201:179,06@e | wished, but dared not depend on. 201:179,06[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth was 201:179,07[' ]| not forgotten; a most friendly reception and warmth of 201:179,08[' ]| hand-shaking had already met him, and with pointed 201:179,09[' ]| attention he was now included in the objects most intimately 201:179,10[' ]| connected with Mansfield. There was nothing 201:179,11[' ]| disagreeable in Mr%*Rushworth's appearance, and Sir*Thomas 201:179,12[' ]| was liking him already. 201:179,13[' ]| By not one of the circle was he listened to with such 201:179,14[' ]| unbroken unalloyed enjoyment as by his wife, who was 201:179,15[' ]| really extremely happy to see him, and whose feelings 201:179,16[' ]| were so warmed by his sudden arrival, as to place her 201:179,17[' ]| nearer agitation than she had been for the last twenty 201:179,18[' ]| years. She had been \almost\ fluttered for a few minutes, 201:179,19[' ]| and still remained so sensibly animated as to put away 201:179,20[' ]| her work, move Pug from her side, and give all her attention 201:179,21[' ]| and all the rest of her sofa to her husband. She had 201:179,22[' ]| no anxieties for any*body to cloud \her\ pleasure; her own 201:179,23[' ]| time had been irreproachably spent during his absence; 201:179,24[' ]| she had done a great deal of carpet work and made many 201:179,25[' ]| yards of fringe; and she would have answered as freely 201:179,26[' ]| for the good conduct and useful pursuits of all the young 201:179,27[' ]| people as for her own. It was so agreeable to her to see 201:179,28[' ]| him again, and hear him talk, to have her ear amused and 201:179,29[' ]| her whole comprehension filled by his narratives, that 201:179,30[' ]| she began 201:179,30@f | particularly to feel how dreadfully she must 201:179,31@f | have missed him, and how impossible it would have been 201:179,32@f | for her to bear a lengthened absence. 201:179,33[' ]| Mrs%*Norris was by no means to be compared in happiness 201:179,34[' ]| to her sister. Not that \she\ was incommoded by 201:179,35[' ]| many fears of Sir*Thomas's disapprobation when the 201:179,36[' ]| present state of his house should be known, for her 201:179,37[' ]| judgment had been so blinded, that except by the instinctive 201:179,38[' ]| caution with which she had whisked away 201:180,01[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth's pink satin cloak as her brother-in-law 201:180,02[' ]| entered, she could hardly be said to shew any sign of 201:180,03[' ]| alarm; but she was vexed by the \manner\ of his return. 201:180,04[' ]| It had left her nothing to do. Instead of being sent for 201:180,05[' ]| out of the room, and seeing him first, and having to 201:180,06[' ]| spread the happy news through the house, Sir*Thomas, 201:180,07[' ]| with a very reasonable dependance perhaps on the nerves 201:180,08[' ]| of his wife and children, had sought no confidant but the 201:180,09[' ]| butler, and had been following him almost instantaneously 201:180,10[' ]| into the drawing-room. Mrs%*Norris felt herself 201:180,11[' ]| defrauded of an office on which she had always depended, 201:180,12[' ]| whether his arrival or his death were to be the thing 201:180,13[' ]| unfolded; and was now trying to be in a bustle without 201:180,14[' ]| having any*thing to bustle about, and labouring to be 201:180,15[' ]| important where nothing was wanted but tranquillity 201:180,16[' ]| and silence. Would Sir*Thomas have consented to eat, 201:180,17[' ]| she might have gone to the house-keeper with troublesome 201:180,18[' ]| directions, and insulted the footmen with injunctions 201:180,19[' ]| of dispatch; but Sir*Thomas resolutely declined 201:180,20[' ]| all dinner; 201:180,20@e | he would take nothing, nothing till tea came ~~ 201:180,21@e | he would rather wait for tea. 201:180,21[' ]| Still Mrs%*Norris was at 201:180,22[' ]| intervals urging something different, and in the most 201:180,23[' ]| interesting moment of his passage to England, when the 201:180,24[' ]| alarm of a French privateer was at the height, she burst 201:180,25[' ]| through his recital with the proposal of soup. 201:180,25[J ]| "Sure, 201:180,26[J ]| my dear Sir*Thomas, a basin of soup would be a much 201:180,27[J ]| better thing for you than tea. Do have a basin of soup." 201:180,28[' ]| Sir*Thomas could not be provoked. 201:180,28[E ]| "Still the same 201:180,29[E ]| anxiety for every*body's comfort, my dear Mrs%*Norris," 201:180,30[' ]| was his answer. 201:180,30[E ]| "But indeed I would rather have 201:180,31[E ]| nothing but tea." 201:180,32[J ]| "Well then, Lady*Bertram, suppose you speak for tea 201:180,33[J ]| directly, suppose you hurry Baddeley a little, he seems 201:180,34[J ]| behind hand to-night." 201:180,34[' ]| She carried this point, and 201:180,35[' ]| Sir*Thomas's narrative proceeded. 201:180,36[' ]| At length there was a pause. His immediate communications 201:180,37[' ]| were exhausted, and it seemed enough to be 201:180,38[' ]| looking joyfully around him, now at one, now at another 201:181,01[' ]| of the beloved circle; but the pause was not long: in 201:181,02[' ]| the elation of her spirits Lady*Bertram became talkative, 201:181,03[' ]| and what were the sensations of her children upon 201:181,04[' ]| hearing her say, 201:181,04[F ]| "How do you think the young people 201:181,05[F ]| have been amusing themselves lately, Sir*Thomas? 201:181,06[F ]| They have been acting. We have been all alive with 201:181,07[F ]| acting." 201:181,08[E ]| "Indeed! and what have you been acting?" 201:181,09[F ]| "Oh! They'll tell you all about it." 201:181,10[G ]| "The \all\ will be soon told," 201:181,10[' ]| cried Tom hastily, and with 201:181,11[' ]| affected unconcern; 201:181,11[G ]| "but it is not worth*while to bore 201:181,12[G ]| my father with it now. You will hear enough of it 201:181,13[G ]| to-morrow, sir. We have just been trying, by way of 201:181,14[G ]| doing something, and amusing my mother, just within 201:181,15[G ]| the last week, to get up a few scenes, a mere trifle. We 201:181,16[G ]| have had such incessant rains almost since October began, 201:181,17[G ]| that we have been nearly confined to the house for days 201:181,18[G ]| together. I have hardly taken out a gun since the 3d. 201:181,19[G ]| Tolerable sport the first three days, but there has been 201:181,20[G ]| no attempting any*thing since. The first day I went 201:181,21[G ]| over Mansfield*Wood, and Edmund took the copses 201:181,22[G ]| beyond Easton, and we brought home six brace between 201:181,23[G ]| us, and might each have killed six times as many; but 201:181,24[G ]| we respect your pheasants, sir, I assure you, as much 201:181,25[G ]| as you could desire. I do not think you will find your 201:181,26[G ]| woods by any means worse stocked than they were. 201:181,27[G ]| \I\ never saw Mansfield*Wood so full of pheasants in my 201:181,28[G ]| life as this year. I hope you will take a day's sport there 201:181,29[G ]| yourself, sir, soon." 201:181,30[' ]| For the present the danger was over, and Fanny's sick 201:181,31[' ]| feelings subsided; but when tea was soon afterwards 201:181,32[' ]| brought in, and Sir*Thomas, getting up, said that 201:181,32@e | he found 201:181,33@e | he could not be any longer in the house without just 201:181,34@e | looking into his own dear room, 201:181,34[' ]| every agitation was 201:181,35[' ]| returning. He was gone before any*thing had been said 201:181,36[' ]| to prepare him for the change he must find there; and 201:181,37[' ]| a pause of alarm followed his disappearance. Edmund 201:181,38[' ]| was the first to speak: 201:182,01[B ]| "Something must be done," 201:182,01[' ]| said he. 201:182,02[H ]| "It is time to think of our visitors," 201:182,02[' ]| said Maria, still 201:182,03[' ]| feeling her hand pressed to Henry*Crawford's heart, and 201:182,04[' ]| caring little for any*thing else. ~~ 201:182,04[H ]| "Where did you leave 201:182,05[H ]| Miss*Crawford, Fanny?" 201:182,06[' ]| Fanny told of their departure, and delivered their 201:182,07[' ]| message. 201:182,08[G ]| "Then poor Yates is all alone," 201:182,08[' ]| cried Tom. 201:182,08[G ]| "I will 201:182,09[G ]| go and fetch him. He will be no bad assistant when it 201:182,10[G ]| all comes out." 201:182,11[' ]| To the Theatre he went, and reached it just in time to 201:182,12[' ]| witness the first meeting of his father and his friend. 201:182,13[' ]| Sir*Thomas had been a good deal surprised to find candles 201:182,14[' ]| burning in his room; and on casting his eye round it, 201:182,15[' ]| to see other symptoms of recent habitation, and a general 201:182,16[' ]| air of confusion in the furniture. The removal of the 201:182,17[' ]| book-case from before the billiard*room door struck him 201:182,18[' ]| especially, but he had scarcely more than time to feel 201:182,19[' ]| astonished at all this, before there were sounds from the 201:182,20[' ]| billiard*room to astonish him still further. 201:182,20@e | Some*one 201:182,21@e | was talking there in a very loud accent ~~ he did not know 201:182,22@e | the voice ~~ \more\ than talking ~~ almost hallooing. 201:182,22[' ]| He 201:182,23[' ]| stept to the door, rejoicing at that moment in having 201:182,24[' ]| the means of immediate communication, and opening it, 201:182,25[' ]| found himself on the stage of a theatre, and opposed to 201:182,26[' ]| a ranting young man, who appeared likely to knock him 201:182,27[' ]| down backwards. At the very moment of Yates perceiving 201:182,28[' ]| Sir*Thomas, and giving perhaps the very best 201:182,29[' ]| start he had ever given in the whole course of his rehearsals, 201:182,30[' ]| Tom*Bertram entered at the other end of the room; 201:182,31[' ]| and never had he found greater difficulty in keeping his 201:182,32[' ]| countenance. 201:182,32@g | His father's looks of solemnity and 201:182,33@g | amazement on this his first appearance on any stage, 201:182,34@g | and the gradual metamorphosis of the impassioned 201:182,35@g | Baron*Wildenhaim into the well-bred and easy Mr%*Yates, 201:182,36@g | making his bow and apology to Sir*Thomas*Bertram, 201:182,37@g | was such an exhibition, such a piece of true acting as he 201:182,38@g | would not have lost upon any account. It would be the 201:183,01@g | last ~~ in all probability the last scene on that stage; 201:183,02@g | but he was sure there could not be a finer. The house 201:183,03@g | would close with the greatest eclat. 201:183,04[' ]| There was little time, however, for the indulgence of 201:183,05[' ]| any images of merriment. It was necessary for him to 201:183,06[' ]| step forward too and assist the introduction, and with 201:183,07[' ]| many awkward sensations he did his best. Sir*Thomas 201:183,08[' ]| received Mr%*Yates with all the appearance of cordiality 201:183,09[' ]| which was due to his own character, but was really as far 201:183,10[' ]| from pleased with the necessity of the acquaintance as 201:183,11[' ]| with the manner of its commencement. Mr%*Yates's 201:183,12[' ]| family and connections were sufficiently known to him, 201:183,13[' ]| to render his introduction as the 201:183,13[G ]| "particular friend," 201:183,14@e | another of the hundred particular friends of his son, 201:183,15[' ]| exceedingly unwelcome; and it needed all the felicity of 201:183,16[' ]| being again at home, and all the forbearance it could 201:183,17[' ]| supply, to save Sir*Thomas from anger on 201:183,17@e | finding himself 201:183,18@e | thus bewildered in his own house, making part of a 201:183,19@e | ridiculous exhibition in the midst of theatrical nonsense, 201:183,20@e | and forced in so untoward a moment to admit the acquaintance 201:183,21@e | of a young man whom he felt sure of disapproving, 201:183,22@e | and whose easy indifference and volubility in the course 201:183,23@e | of the first five minutes seemed to mark him the most at 201:183,24@e | home of the two. 201:183,25[' ]| Tom understood his father's thoughts, and 201:183,25@g | heartily 201:183,26@g | wishing he might be always as well disposed to give them 201:183,27@g | but partial expression, began to see more clearly than 201:183,28@g | he had ever done before that there might be some ground 201:183,29@g | of offence ~~ that there might be some reason for the 201:183,30@g | glance his father gave towards the ceiling and stucco of 201:183,31@g | the room; and that when he inquired with mild gravity 201:183,32@g | after the fate of the billiard*table, he was not proceeding 201:183,33@g | beyond a very allowable curiosity. 201:183,33[' ]| A few minutes were 201:183,34[' ]| enough for such unsatisfactory sensations on each side; 201:183,35[' ]| and Sir*Thomas, having exerted himself so far as to 201:183,36[' ]| speak a few words of calm approbation in reply to an 201:183,37[' ]| eager appeal of Mr%*Yates, as to the happiness of the 201:183,38[' ]| arrangement, the three gentlemen returned to the drawing-room 201:184,01[' ]| together, Sir*Thomas with an increase of gravity 201:184,02[' ]| which was not lost on all. 201:184,03[E ]| "I come from your theatre," 201:184,03[' ]| said he composedly, as 201:184,04[' ]| he sat down; 201:184,04[E ]| "I found myself in it rather unexpectedly. 201:184,05[E ]| Its vicinity to my own room ~~ but in every respect indeed 201:184,06[E ]| it took me by surprize, as I had not the smallest suspicion 201:184,07[E ]| of your acting having assumed so serious a character. 201:184,08[E ]| It appears a neat job, however, as far as I could judge by 201:184,09[E ]| candle-light, and does my friend Christopher*Jackson 201:184,10[E ]| credit." 201:184,10[' ]| And then he would have changed the subject, 201:184,11[' ]| and sipped his coffee in peace over domestic matters of 201:184,12[' ]| a calmer hue; but Mr%*Yates, without discernment to 201:184,13[' ]| catch Sir*Thomas's meaning, or diffidence, or delicacy, 201:184,14[' ]| or discretion enough to allow him to lead the discourse 201:184,15[' ]| while he mingled among the others with the least obtrusiveness 201:184,16[' ]| himself, would keep him on the topic of the 201:184,17[' ]| theatre, would torment him with questions and remarks 201:184,18[' ]| relative to it, and finally would make him hear the whole 201:184,19[' ]| history of his disappointment at Ecclesford. Sir*Thomas 201:184,20[' ]| listened most politely, but found much to offend his 201:184,21[' ]| ideas of decorum and confirm his ill*opinion of Mr%*Yates's 201:184,22[' ]| habits of thinking from the beginning to the end of the 201:184,23[' ]| story; and when it was over, could give him no other 201:184,24[' ]| assurance of sympathy than what a slight bow conveyed. 201:184,25[G ]| "This was in fact the origin of \our\ acting," 201:184,25[' ]| said Tom 201:184,26[' ]| after a moment's thought. 201:184,26[G ]| "My friend Yates brought 201:184,27[G ]| the infection from Ecclesford, and it spread as those 201:184,28[G ]| things always spread you know, sir ~~ the faster probably 201:184,29[G ]| from \your\ having so often encouraged the sort of thing 201:184,30[G ]| in us formerly. It was like treading old ground again." 201:184,31[' ]| Mr%*Yates took the subject from his friend as soon as 201:184,32[' ]| possible, and immediately gave Sir*Thomas an account 201:184,33[' ]| of what they had done and were doing, told him of the 201:184,34[' ]| gradual increase of their views, the happy conclusion of 201:184,35[' ]| their first difficulties, and present promising state of 201:184,36[' ]| affairs; relating every*thing with so blind an interest as 201:184,37[' ]| made him not only totally unconscious of the uneasy 201:184,38[' ]| movements of many of his friends as they sat, the change 201:185,01[' ]| of countenance, the fidget, the hem! of unquietness, 201:185,02[' ]| but prevented him even from seeing the expression of the 201:185,03[' ]| face on which his own eyes were fixed ~~ from seeing Sir*Thomas's 201:185,04[' ]| dark brow contract as he looked with inquiring 201:185,05[' ]| earnestness at his daughters and Edmund, dwelling 201:185,06[' ]| particularly on the latter, and speaking a language, 201:185,07[' ]| a remonstrance, a reproof, which \he\ felt at his heart. 201:185,08[' ]| Not less acutely was it felt by Fanny, who had edged 201:185,09[' ]| back her chair behind her aunt's end of the sofa, and, 201:185,10[' ]| screened from notice herself, saw all that was passing 201:185,11[' ]| before her. 201:185,11@a | Such a look of reproach at Edmund from 201:185,12@a | his father she could never have expected to witness; 201:185,13@a | and to feel that it was in any degree deserved, was an 201:185,14@a | aggravation indeed. Sir*Thomas's look implied, "On 201:185,15@a | your judgment, Edmund, I depended; what have you 201:185,16@a | been about?" ~~ She knelt in spirit to her uncle, and her 201:185,17@a | bosom swelled to utter, "Oh! not to \him\. Look so to 201:185,18@a | all the others, but not to \him\!" 201:185,19[' ]| Mr%*Yates was still talking. 201:185,19[R ]| "To own the truth, Sir*Thomas, 201:185,20[R ]| we were in the middle of a rehearsal when you 201:185,21[R ]| arrived this evening. We were going through the three 201:185,22[R ]| first acts, and not unsuccessfully upon the whole. Our 201:185,23[R ]| company is now so dispersed from the Crawfords being 201:185,24[R ]| gone home, that nothing more can be done to-night; 201:185,25[R ]| but if you will give us the honour of your company 201:185,26[R ]| to-morrow evening, I should not be afraid of the result. 201:185,27[R ]| We bespeak your indulgence, you understand, as young 201:185,28[R ]| performers; we bespeak your indulgence." 201:185,29[E ]| "My indulgence shall be given, sir," 201:185,29[' ]| replied Sir*Thomas 201:185,30[' ]| gravely, 201:185,30[E ]| "but without any other rehearsal." ~~ 201:185,30[' ]| And with 201:185,31[' ]| a relenting smile he added, 201:185,31[E ]| "I come home to be happy 201:185,32[E ]| and indulgent." 201:185,32[' ]| Then turning away towards any or all 201:185,33[' ]| of the rest, he tranquilly said, 201:185,33[E ]| "Mr% and Miss*Crawford 201:185,34[E ]| were mentioned in my last letters from Mansfield. Do 201:185,35[E ]| you find them agreeable acquaintance?" 201:185,36[' ]| Tom was the only one at all ready with an answer, but 201:185,37[' ]| he being entirely without particular regard for either, 201:185,38[' ]| without jealousy either in love or acting, could speak 201:186,01[' ]| very handsomely of both. 201:186,01[G ]| "Mr%*Crawford was a most 201:186,02[G ]| pleasant gentleman-like man; ~~ his sister a sweet, pretty, 201:186,03[G ]| elegant, lively girl." 201:186,04[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth could be silent no longer. 201:186,04[K ]| "I do not 201:186,05[K ]| say he is not gentleman-like, considering; but you 201:186,06[K ]| should tell your father he is not above five feet eight, or 201:186,07[K ]| he will be expecting a well-looking man." 201:186,08[' ]| Sir*Thomas did not quite understand this, and looked 201:186,09[' ]| with some surprize at the speaker. 201:186,10[K ]| "If I must say what I think," 201:186,10[' ]| continued Mr%*Rushworth, 201:186,11[K ]| "in my opinion it is very disagreeable to be 201:186,12[K ]| always rehearsing. It is having too much of a good 201:186,13[K ]| thing. I am not so fond of acting as I was at first. 201:186,14[K ]| I think we are a great deal better employed, sitting comfortably 201:186,15[K ]| here among ourselves, and doing nothing." 201:186,16[' ]| Sir*Thomas looked again, and then replied with an 201:186,17[' ]| approving smile, 201:186,17[E ]| "I am happy to find our sentiments on 201:186,18[E ]| the subject so much the same. It gives me sincere 201:186,19[E ]| satisfaction. That I should be cautious and quick-sighted, 201:186,20[E ]| and feel many scruples which my children do 201:186,21[E ]| \not\ feel, is perfectly natural; and equally so that \my\ 201:186,22[E ]| value for domestic tranquillity, for a home which shuts 201:186,23[E ]| out noisy pleasures, should much exceed theirs. But at 201:186,24[E ]| your time of life to feel all this, is a most favourable 201:186,25[E ]| circumstance for yourself and for every*body connected 201:186,26[E ]| with you; and I am sensible of the importance of having 201:186,27[E ]| an ally of such weight." 201:186,28[' ]| Sir*Thomas meant to be giving Mr%*Rushworth's 201:186,29[' ]| opinion in better words than he could find himself. He 201:186,30[' ]| was aware that 201:186,30@e | he must not expect a genius in Mr%*Rushworth; 201:186,31@e | but as a well-judging steady young man, with 201:186,32@e | better notions than his elocution would do justice to, he 201:186,33@e | intended to value him very highly. 201:186,33[' ]| It was impossible 201:186,34[' ]| for many of the others not to smile. Mr%*Rushworth 201:186,35[' ]| hardly knew what to do with so much meaning; but by 201:186,36[' ]| looking as he really felt, most exceedingly pleased with 201:186,37[' ]| Sir*Thomas's good opinion, and saying scarcely any*thing, 201:186,38[' ]| he did his best towards preserving that good 201:186,39[' ]| opinion a little longer. 202:187,01[' ]| Edmund's first object the next morning was to see his 202:187,02[' ]| father alone, and give him a fair statement of the whole 202:187,03[' ]| acting scheme, defending his own share in it as far only 202:187,04[' ]| as he could then, in a soberer moment, feel his motives 202:187,05[' ]| to deserve, and acknowledging with perfect ingenuousness 202:187,06[' ]| that his concession had been attended with such partial 202:187,07[' ]| good as to make his judgment in it very doubtful. He 202:187,08[' ]| was anxious, while vindicating himself, to say nothing 202:187,09[' ]| unkind of the others; but there was only one amongst 202:187,10[' ]| them whose conduct he could mention without some 202:187,11[' ]| necessity of defence or palliation. 202:187,11[B ]| "We have all been 202:187,12[B ]| more or less to blame," 202:187,12[' ]| said he, 202:187,12[B ]| "every one of us, excepting 202:187,13[B ]| Fanny. Fanny is the only one who has judged 202:187,14[B ]| rightly throughout, who has been consistent. \Her\ feelings 202:187,15[B ]| have been steadily against it from first to last. She 202:187,16[B ]| never ceased to think of what was due to you. You will 202:187,17[B ]| find Fanny every*thing you could wish." 202:187,18[' ]| Sir*Thomas saw all the impropriety of such a scheme 202:187,19[' ]| among such a party, and at such a time, as strongly as 202:187,20[' ]| his son had ever supposed he must; he felt it too much 202:187,21[' ]| indeed for many words; and having shaken hands with 202:187,22[' ]| Edmund, meant to try to lose the disagreeable impression, 202:187,23[' ]| and forget how much he had been forgotten himself as 202:187,24[' ]| soon as he could, after the house had been cleared of 202:187,25[' ]| every object enforcing the remembrance, and restored 202:187,26[' ]| to it proper state. He did not enter into any remonstrance 202:187,27[' ]| with his other children: he was more willing 202:187,28[' ]| to believe they felt their error, than to run the risk of 202:187,29[' ]| investigation. 202:187,29@e | The reproof of an immediate conclusion 202:187,30@e | of every*thing, the sweep of every preparation would be 202:187,31@e | sufficient. 202:187,32[' ]| There was one person, however, in the house whom 202:188,01[' ]| he could not leave to learn his sentiments merely through 202:188,02[' ]| his conduct. He could not help giving Mrs%*Norris a hint 202:188,03[' ]| of his having hoped, that her advice might have been 202:188,04[' ]| interposed to prevent what her judgment must certainly 202:188,05[' ]| have disapproved. 202:188,05@e | The young people had been very 202:188,06@e | inconsiderate in forming the plan; they ought to have 202:188,07@e | been capable of a better decision themselves; but they 202:188,08@e | were young, and, excepting Edmund, he believed of 202:188,09@e | unsteady characters; and with greater surprize therefore 202:188,10@e | he must regard her acquiescence in their wrong measures, 202:188,11@e | her countenance of their unsafe amusements, than that 202:188,12@e | such measures and such amusements should have been 202:188,13@e | suggested. 202:188,13[' ]| Mrs%*Norris was a little confounded, and as 202:188,14[' ]| nearly being silenced as ever she had been in her life; for 202:188,15[' ]| she was ashamed to confess having never seen any of the 202:188,16[' ]| impropriety which was so glaring to Sir*Thomas, and 202:188,17[' ]| would not have admitted that her influence was insufficient, 202:188,18[' ]| that she might have talked in vain. Her only 202:188,19[' ]| resource was to get out of the subject as fast as possible, 202:188,20[' ]| and turn the current of Sir*Thomas's ideas into a happier 202:188,21[' ]| channel. She had a great deal to insinuate in her own 202:188,22[' ]| praise as to 202:188,22@j | \general\ attention to the interest and comfort 202:188,23@j | of his family, much exertion and many sacrifices to 202:188,24@j | glance at in the form of hurried walks and sudden removals 202:188,25@j | from her own fire-side, and many excellent hints 202:188,26@j | of distrust and economy to Lady*Bertram and Edmund 202:188,27@j | to detail, whereby a most considerable saving had always 202:188,28@j | arisen, and more than one bad servant been detected. 202:188,29[' ]| But her chief strength lay in Sotherton. Her greatest 202:188,30[' ]| support and glory was in having formed the connection 202:188,31[' ]| with the Rushworths. \There\ she was impregnable. She 202:188,32[' ]| took to herself all the credit of bringing Mr%*Rushworth's 202:188,33[' ]| admiration of Maria to any effect. 202:188,33[J ]| "If I had not been 202:188,34[J ]| active," 202:188,34[' ]| said she, 202:188,34[J ]| "and made a point of being introduced 202:188,35[J ]| to his mother, and then prevailed on my sister to pay 202:188,36[J ]| the first visit, I am as certain as I sit here, that nothing 202:188,37[J ]| would have come of it ~~ for Mr%*Rushworth is the sort 202:188,38[J ]| of amiable modest young man who wants a great deal of 202:189,01[J ]| encouragement, and there were girls enough on the 202:189,02[J ]| catch for him if we had been idle. But I left no stone 202:189,03[J ]| unturned. I was ready to move heaven and earth to 202:189,04[J ]| persuade my sister, and at last I did persuade her. You 202:189,05[J ]| know the distance to Sotherton; it was in the middle 202:189,06[J ]| of winter, and the roads almost impassable, but I did 202:189,07[J ]| persuade her." 202:189,08[E ]| "I know how great, how justly great your influence 202:189,09[E ]| is with Lady*Bertram and her children, and am the more 202:189,10[E ]| concerned that it should not have been" ~~ 202:189,11[J ]| "My dear Sir*Thomas, if you had seen the state of 202:189,12[J ]| the roads \that\ day! I thought we should never have 202:189,13[J ]| got through them, though we had the four horses of 202:189,14[J ]| course; and poor old coachman would attend us, out of 202:189,15[J ]| his great love and kindness, though he was hardly able 202:189,16[J ]| to sit the box on account of the rheumatism which I had 202:189,17[J ]| been doctoring him for, ever since Michaelmas. I cured 202:189,18[J ]| him at last; but he was very bad all the winter ~~ and 202:189,19[J ]| this was such a day, I could not help going to him up in 202:189,20[J ]| his room before we set off to advise him not to venture: 202:189,21[J ]| he was putting on his wig ~~ so I said, "Coachman, you 202:189,22[J ]| had much better not go, your Lady and I shall be very 202:189,23[J ]| safe; you know how steady Stephen is, and Charles has 202:189,24[J ]| been upon the leaders so often now, that I am sure there 202:189,25[J ]| is no fear." But, however, I soon found it would not do; 202:189,26[J ]| he was bent upon going, and as I hate to be worrying 202:189,27[J ]| and officious, I said no more; but my heart quite ached 202:189,28[J ]| for him at every jolt, and when we got into the rough 202:189,29[J ]| lanes about Stoke, where what with frost and snow upon 202:189,30[J ]| beds of stones, it was worse than any*thing you can 202:189,31[J ]| imagine, I was quite in an agony about him. And then 202:189,32[J ]| the poor horses too! ~~ To see them straining away! You 202:189,33[J ]| know how I always feel for the horses. And when we 202:189,34[J ]| got to the bottom of Sandcroft*Hill, what do you think 202:189,35[J ]| I did? You will laugh at me ~~ but I got out and walked 202:189,36[J ]| up. I did indeed. It might not be saving them much, 202:189,37[J ]| but it was something, and I could not bear to sit at 202:189,38[J ]| my ease, and be dragged up at the expense of those 202:190,01[J ]| noble animals. I caught a dreadful cold, but \that\ I 202:190,02[J ]| did not regard. My object was accomplished in the 202:190,03[J ]| visit." 202:190,04[E ]| "I hope we shall always think the acquaintance worth 202:190,05[E ]| any trouble that might be taken to establish it. There 202:190,06[E ]| is nothing very striking in Mr%*Rushworth's manners, but 202:190,07[E ]| I was pleased last night with what appeared to be his 202:190,08[E ]| opinion on \one\ subject ~~ his decided preference of a quiet 202:190,09[E ]| family-party to the bustle and confusion of acting. He 202:190,10[E ]| seemed to feel exactly as one could wish." 202:190,11[J ]| "Yes, indeed, ~~ and the more you know of him, the 202:190,12[J ]| better you will like him. He is not a shining character, 202:190,13[J ]| but he has a thousand good qualities! and is so disposed 202:190,14[J ]| to look up to you, that I am quite laughed at about it, 202:190,15[J ]| for every*body considers it as my doing. 202:190,15@n | ""Upon my 202:190,16@n | word, Mrs%*Norris,"" 202:190,16[J ]| said Mrs%*Grant, the other day, 202:190,16@n | ""if 202:190,17@n | Mr%*Rushworth were a son of your own he could not hold 202:190,18@n | Sir*Thomas in greater respect.""" 202:190,19[' ]| Sir*Thomas gave up the point, foiled by her evasions, 202:190,20[' ]| disarmed by her flattery; and was obliged to rest satisfied 202:190,21[' ]| with the conviction that 202:190,21@e | where the present pleasure of 202:190,22@e | those she loved was at stake, her kindness did sometimes 202:190,23@e | overpower her judgment. 202:190,24[' ]| It was a busy morning with him. Conversation with 202:190,25[' ]| any of them occupied but a small part of it. He had to 202:190,26[' ]| reinstate himself in all the wonted concerns of his Mansfield 202:190,27[' ]| life, to see his steward and his bailiff ~~ to examine 202:190,28[' ]| and compute ~~ and, in the intervals of business, to walk 202:190,29[' ]| into his stables and his gardens, and nearest plantations; 202:190,30[' ]| but active and methodical, he had not only done all this 202:190,31[' ]| before he resumed his seat as master of the house at 202:190,32[' ]| dinner, he had also set the carpenter to work in pulling 202:190,33[' ]| down what had been so lately put up in the billiard*room, 202:190,34[' ]| and given the scene painter his dismissal, long enough 202:190,35[' ]| to justify the pleasing belief of his being then at least as 202:190,36[' ]| far off as Northampton. The scene painter was gone, 202:190,37[' ]| having spoilt only the floor of one room, ruined all the 202:190,38[' ]| coachman's sponges, and made five of the under-servants 202:191,01[' ]| idle and dissatisfied; and Sir*Thomas was 202:191,01@e | in hopes that 202:191,02@e | another day or two would suffise to wipe away every 202:191,03@e | outward memento of what had been, even to the destruction 202:191,04@e | of every unbound copy of "Lovers'*Vows" in the 202:191,05@e | house, 202:191,05[' ]| for he was burning all that met his eye. 202:191,06[' ]| Mr%*Yates was beginning now to understand Sir*Thomas's 202:191,07[' ]| intentions, though as far as ever from understanding 202:191,08[' ]| their source. He and his friend had been out 202:191,09[' ]| with their guns the chief of the morning, and Tom had 202:191,10[' ]| taken the opportunity of explaining, with proper apologies 202:191,11[' ]| for his father's particularity, what was to be expected. 202:191,12[' ]| Mr%*Yates felt it as acutely as might be supposed. 202:191,12@r | To be 202:191,13@r | a second time disappointed in the same way was an 202:191,14@r | instance of very severe ill-luck; and his indignation was 202:191,15@r | such, that had it not been for delicacy towards his friend 202:191,16@r | and his friend's youngest sister, he believed he should 202:191,17@r | certainly attack the Baronet on the absurdity of his 202:191,18@r | proceedings, and argue him into a little more rationality. 202:191,19[' ]| He believed this very stoutly while he was in Mansfield*Wood, 202:191,20[' ]| and all the way home; but there was a something 202:191,21[' ]| in Sir*Thomas, when they sat round the same table, 202:191,22[' ]| which made Mr%*Yates think it wiser to let him pursue 202:191,23[' ]| his own way, and feel the folly of it without opposition. 202:191,24@r | He had known many disagreeable fathers before, and 202:191,25@r | often been struck with the inconveniences they occasioned, 202:191,26@r | but never in the whole course of his life, had he 202:191,27@r | seen one of that class, so unintelligibly moral, so infamously 202:191,28@r | tyrannical as Sir*Thomas. He was not a man to be 202:191,29@r | endured but for his children's sake, and he might be 202:191,30@r | thankful to his fair daughter Julia that Mr%*Yates did yet 202:191,31@r | mean to stay a few days longer under his roof. 202:191,32[' ]| The evening passed with external smoothness, though 202:191,33[' ]| almost every mind was ruffled; and the music which 202:191,34[' ]| Sir*Thomas called for from his daughters helped to 202:191,35[' ]| conceal the want of real harmony. Maria was in a good 202:191,36[' ]| deal of agitation. It was of the utmost consequence to 202:191,37[' ]| her that Crawford should now lose no time in declaring 202:191,38[' ]| himself, and she was disturbed that even a day should 202:192,01[' ]| be gone by without seeming to advance that point. 202:192,02[' ]| She had been expecting to see him the whole morning 202:192,03[' ]| ~~ and all the evening too was still expecting him. 202:192,04[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth had set off early with the great news for 202:192,05[' ]| Sotherton; and she had fondly hoped for such an immediate 202:192,06[' ]| eclaircissement as might save him the trouble of 202:192,07[' ]| ever coming back again. But they had seen no*one 202:192,08[' ]| from the Parsonage ~~ not a creature, and had heard no 202:192,09[' ]| tidings beyond a friendly note of congratulation and 202:192,10[' ]| inquiry from Mrs%*Grant to Lady*Bertram. It was the 202:192,11[' ]| first day for many, many weeks, in which the families 202:192,12[' ]| had been wholly divided. Four-and-twenty hours had 202:192,13[' ]| never passed before, since August began, without bringing 202:192,14[' ]| them together in some way or other. It was a sad 202:192,15[' ]| anxious day; and the morrow, though differing in the 202:192,16[' ]| sort of evil, did by no means bring less. A few moments 202:192,17[' ]| of feverish enjoyment were followed by hours of acute 202:192,18[' ]| suffering. Henry*Crawford was again in the house; he 202:192,19[' ]| walked up with Dr%*Grant, who was anxious to pay his 202:192,20[' ]| respects to Sir*Thomas, and at rather an early hour 202:192,21[' ]| they were ushered into the breakfast*room, where were 202:192,22[' ]| most of the family. Sir*Thomas soon appeared, and 202:192,23[' ]| Maria saw with delight and agitation the introduction 202:192,24[' ]| of the man she loved to her father. Her sensations were 202:192,25[' ]| indefinable, and so were they a few minutes afterwards 202:192,26[' ]| upon hearing Henry*Crawford, who had a chair between 202:192,27[' ]| herself and Tom, ask the latter in an under voice, 202:192,27@d | whether 202:192,28@d | there were any plan for resuming the play after the 202:192,29@d | present happy interruption, 202:192,29[' ]| (with a courteous glance at 202:192,30[' ]| Sir*Thomas,) 202:192,30@d | because in that case, he should make a 202:192,31@d | point of returning to Mansfield, at any time required by 202:192,32@d | the party; he was going away immediately, being to 202:192,33@d | meet his uncle at Bath without delay, but if there were 202:192,34@d | any prospect of a renewal of "Lovers'*Vows", he should 202:192,35@d | hold himself positively engaged, he should break through 202:192,36@d | every other claim, he should absolutely condition with 202:192,37@d | his uncle for attending them whenever he might be 202:192,38@d | wanted. The play should not be lost by \his\ absence. 202:193,01[D ]| "From Bath, Norfolk, London, York ~~ wherever I may 202:193,02[D ]| be," 202:193,02[' ]| said he, 202:193,02[D ]| "I will attend you from any place in England, 202:193,03[D ]| at an hour's notice." 202:193,04[' ]| It was well at that moment that Tom had to speak 202:193,05[' ]| and not his sister. He could immediately say with easy 202:193,06[' ]| fluency, 202:193,06[G ]| "I am sorry you are going ~~ but as to our play, 202:193,07[G ]| \that\ is all over ~~ entirely at an end 202:193,07[' ]| (looking significantly 202:193,08[' ]| at his father). 202:193,08[G ]| The painter was sent off yesterday, and 202:193,09[G ]| very little will remain of the theatre to-morrow. ~~ I knew 202:193,10[G ]| how \that\ would be from the first. ~~ It is early for Bath. ~~ 202:193,11[G ]| You will find nobody there." 202:193,12[D ]| "It is about my uncle's usual time." 202:193,13[G ]| "When do you think of going?" 202:193,14[D ]| "I may perhaps get as far as Banbury to-day." 202:193,15[G ]| "Whose stables do you use at Bath?" 202:193,15[' ]| was the next 202:193,16[' ]| question; and while this branch of the subject was under 202:193,17[' ]| discussion, Maria, who wanted neither pride nor resolution, 202:193,18[' ]| was preparing to encounter her share of it with tolerable 202:193,19[' ]| calmness. 202:193,20[' ]| To her he soon turned, repeating much of what he had 202:193,21[' ]| already said, with only a softened air and stronger 202:193,22[' ]| expressions of regret. But what availed his expressions 202:193,23[' ]| or his air? ~~ 202:193,23@h | He was going ~~ and if not voluntarily going, 202:193,24@h | voluntarily intending to stay away; for, excepting what 202:193,25@h | might be due to his uncle, his engagements were all self-imposed. ~~ 202:193,26@h | He might talk of necessity, but she knew his 202:193,27@h | independence. ~~ The hand which had so pressed her's to 202:193,28@h | his heart! ~~ The hand and the heart were alike motionless 202:193,29@h | and passive now! 202:193,29[' ]| Her spirit supported her, but the 202:193,30[' ]| agony of her mind was severe. ~~ She had not long to 202:193,31[' ]| endure what arose from listening to language, which his 202:193,32[' ]| actions contradicted, or to bury the tumult of her feelings 202:193,33[' ]| under the restraint of society; for general civilities soon 202:193,34[' ]| called his notice from her, and the farewell visit, as it 202:193,35[' ]| then became openly acknowledged, was a very short 202:193,36[' ]| one. ~~ 202:193,36@h | He was gone ~~ he had touched her hand for the 202:193,37@h | last time, he had made his parting bow, and she might 202:193,38@h | seek directly all that solitude could do for her. 202:193,38[' ]| Henry*Crawford 202:194,01[' ]| was gone ~~ gone from the house, and within 202:194,02[' ]| two hours afterwards from the parish; and so ended all 202:194,03[' ]| the hopes his selfish vanity had raised in Maria and 202:194,03[' ]| Julia*Bertram. 202:194,04[' ]| Julia could rejoice that he was gone. ~~ His presence 202:194,05[' ]| was beginning to be odious to her; and if Maria gained 202:194,06[' ]| him not, she was now cool enough to dispense with any 202:194,07[' ]| other revenge. ~~ 202:194,08@i | She did not want exposure to be added 202:194,09@i | to desertion. ~~ 202:194,09[' ]| Henry*Crawford gone, she could even pity 202:194,10[' ]| her sister. 202:194,11[' ]| With a purer spirit did Fanny rejoice in the intelligence. 202:194,12[' ]| ~~ She heard it at dinner and felt it a blessing. By all 202:194,13[' ]| the others it was mentioned with regret, and his merits 202:194,14[' ]| honoured with due gradation of feeling, from the sincerity 202:194,15[' ]| of Edmund's too partial regard, to the unconcern of his 202:194,16[' ]| mother speaking entirely by rote. Mrs%*Norris began to 202:194,17[' ]| look about her and 202:194,17@j | wonder that his falling in love with 202:194,18@j | Julia had come to nothing; and could almost fear that 202:194,19@j | she had been remiss herself in forwarding it; but with 202:194,20@j | so many to care for, how was it possible for even \her\ 202:194,21@j | activity to keep pace with her wishes? 202:194,22[' ]| Another day or two, and Mr%*Yates was gone likewise. 202:194,23[' ]| In \his\ departure Sir*Thomas felt the chief interest; 202:194,24@e | wanting to be alone with his family, the presence of 202:194,25@e | a stranger superior to Mr%*Yates must have been irksome; 202:194,26@e | but of him, trifling and confident, idle and expensive, 202:194,27@e | it was every way vexatious. In himself he was wearisome, 202:194,28@e | but as the friend of Tom and the admirer of Julia he 202:194,29@e | became offensive. 202:194,29[' ]| Sir*Thomas had been quite indifferent 202:194,30[' ]| to Mr%*Crawford's going or staying ~~ but his good wishes 202:194,31[' ]| for Mr%*Yates's having a pleasant journey, as he walked 202:194,32[' ]| with him to the hall door, were given with genuine 202:194,33[' ]| satisfaction. Mr%*Yates had staid to see the destruction 202:194,34[' ]| of every theatrical preparation at Mansfield, the removal 202:194,35[' ]| of every*thing appertaining to the play; he left the 202:194,36[' ]| house in all the soberness of its general character; and 202:194,37[' ]| Sir*Thomas hoped, in seeing him out of it, 202:194,37@e | to be rid 202:194,38@e | of the worst object connected with the scheme, and 202:195,01@e | the last that must be inevitably reminding him of its 202:195,02@e | existence. 202:195,03[' ]| Mrs%*Norris contrived to remove one article from his 202:195,04[' ]| sight that might have distressed him. The curtain over 202:195,05[' ]| which she had presided with such talent and such success, 202:195,06[' ]| went off with her to her cottage, where 202:195,06@j | she happened to 202:195,07@j | be particularly in want of green baize. 203:196,01[' ]| Sir*Thomas's return made a striking change in the 203:196,02[' ]| ways of the family, independent of Lovers'*Vows. Under 203:196,03[' ]| his government, Mansfield was an altered place. Some 203:196,04[' ]| members of their society sent away and the spirits of 203:196,05[' ]| many others saddened, it was all sameness and gloom, 203:196,06[' ]| compared with the past; a sombre family-party rarely 203:196,07[' ]| enlivened. There was little intercourse with the Parsonage. 203:196,08[' ]| Sir*Thomas drawing back from intimacies in 203:196,09[' ]| general, was particularly disinclined, at this time, for any 203:196,10[' ]| engagements but in one quarter. The Rushworths were 203:196,11[' ]| the only addition to his own domestic circle which he 203:196,12[' ]| could solicit. 203:196,13[' ]| Edmund did not wonder that such should be his 203:196,14[' ]| father's feelings, nor could he regret any*thing but the 203:196,15[' ]| exclusion of the Grants. 203:196,15[B ]| "But they," 203:196,15[' ]| he observed to 203:196,16[' ]| Fanny, 203:196,16[B ]| "have a claim. They seem to belong to us ~~ 203:196,17[B ]| they seem to be part of ourselves. I could wish my 203:196,18[B ]| father were more sensible of their very great attention 203:196,19[B ]| to my mother and sisters while he was away. I am 203:196,20[B ]| afraid they may feel themselves neglected. But the 203:196,21[B ]| truth is that my father hardly knows them. They had 203:196,22[B ]| not been here a twelvemonth when he left England. 203:196,23[B ]| If he knew them better, he would value their society 203:196,24[B ]| as it deserves, for they are in fact exactly the sort of 203:196,25[B ]| people he would like. We are sometimes a little in want 203:196,26[B ]| of animation among ourselves; my sisters seem out of 203:196,27[B ]| spirits, and Tom is certainly not at his ease. Dr% and 203:196,28[B ]| Mrs%*Grant would enliven us, and make our evenings pass 203:196,29[B ]| away with more enjoyment even to my father." 203:196,30[A ]| "Do you think so?" 203:196,30[' ]| said Fanny. 203:196,30[A ]| "In my opinion, 203:196,31[A ]| my uncle would not like \any\ addition. I think he values 203:196,32[A ]| the very quietness you speak of, and that the repose of his 203:196,33[A ]| own family-circle is all he wants. And it does not appear 203:197,01[A ]| to me that we are more serious than we used to be; 203:197,02[A ]| I mean before my uncle went abroad. As well as I can 203:197,03[A ]| recollect, it was always much the same. There was never 203:197,04[A ]| much laughing in his presence; or, if there is any difference, 203:197,05[A ]| it is not more I think than such an absence has 203:197,06[A ]| a tendency to produce at first. There must be a sort of 203:197,07[A ]| shyness. But I cannot recollect that our evenings 203:197,08[A ]| formerly were ever merry, except when my uncle was in 203:197,09[A ]| town. No young people's are, I suppose, when those 203:197,10[A ]| they look up to are at home." 203:197,11[B ]| "I believe you are right, Fanny," 203:197,11[' ]| was his reply, after 203:197,12[' ]| a short consideration. 203:197,12[B ]| "I believe our evenings are 203:197,13[B ]| rather returned to what they were, than assuming a new 203:197,14[B ]| character. The novelty was in their being lively. ~~ Yet, 203:197,15[B ]| how strong the impression that only a few weeks will give! 203:197,16[B ]| I have been feeling as if we had never lived so before." 203:197,17[A ]| "I suppose I am graver than other people," 203:197,17[' ]| said Fanny. 203:197,18[A ]| "The evenings do not appear long to me. I love to hear 203:197,19[A ]| my uncle talk of the West*Indies. I could listen to him 203:197,20[A ]| for an hour together. It entertains \me\ more than many 203:197,21[A ]| other things have done ~~ but then I am unlike other people 203:197,22[A ]| I dare say." 203:197,23[B ]| "Why should you dare say \that?\ 203:197,23[' ]| (smiling) ~~ 203:197,23[B ]| Do you 203:197,24[B ]| want to be told that you are only unlike other people in 203:197,25[B ]| being more wise and discreet? But when did you or any*body 203:197,26[B ]| ever get a compliment from me, Fanny? Go to my 203:197,27[B ]| father if you want to be complimented. He will satisfy 203:197,28[B ]| you. Ask your uncle what he thinks, and you will hear 203:197,29[B ]| compliments enough; and though they may be chiefly on 203:197,30[B ]| your person, you must put up with it, and trust to his 203:197,31[B ]| seeing as much beauty of mind in time." 203:197,32[' ]| Such language was so new to Fanny that it quite 203:197,33[' ]| embarrassed her. 203:197,34[B ]| "Your uncle thinks you very pretty, dear Fanny ~~ and 203:197,35[B ]| that is the long and the short of the matter. Anybody but 203:197,36[B ]| myself would have made something more of it, and any*body 203:197,37[B ]| but you would resent that you had not been thought 203:197,38[B ]| very pretty before; but the truth is, that your uncle 203:198,01[B ]| never did admire you till now ~~ and now he does. Your 203:198,02[B ]| complexion is so improved! ~~ and you have gained so 203:198,03[B ]| much countenance! ~~ and your figure ~~ Nay, Fanny, do 203:198,04[B ]| not turn away about it ~~ it is but an uncle. If you cannot 203:198,05[B ]| bear an uncle's admiration what is to become of you? 203:198,06[B ]| You must really begin to harden yourself to the idea of 203:198,07[B ]| being worth looking at. ~~ You must try not to mind 203:198,08[B ]| growing up into a pretty woman." 203:198,09[A ]| "Oh! don't talk so, don't talk so," 203:198,09[' ]| cried Fanny, distressed 203:198,10[' ]| by more feelings than he was aware of; but seeing 203:198,11[' ]| that she was distressed, he had done with the subject, and 203:198,12[' ]| only added more seriously, 203:198,12[B ]| "Your uncle is disposed to be 203:198,13[B ]| pleased with you in every respect; and I only wish you 203:198,14[B ]| would talk to him more. ~~ You are one of those who are too 203:198,15[B ]| silent in the evening circle." 203:198,16[A ]| "But I do talk to him more than I used. I am sure I do. 203:198,17[A ]| Did not you hear me ask him about the slave*trade last 203:198,18[A ]| night?" 203:198,19[B ]| "I did ~~ and was in hopes the question would be 203:198,20[B ]| followed up by others. It would have pleased your uncle 203:198,21[B ]| to be inquired of farther." 203:198,22[A ]| "And I longed to do it ~~ but there was such a dead 203:198,23[A ]| silence! And while my cousins were sitting by without 203:198,24[A ]| speaking a word, or seeming at all interested in the subject, 203:198,25[A ]| I did not like ~~ I thought it would appear as if I wanted to 203:198,26[A ]| set myself off at their expense, by shewing a curiosity and 203:198,27[A ]| pleasure in his information which he must wish his own 203:198,28[A ]| daughters to feel." 203:198,29[B ]| "Miss*Crawford was very right in what she said of you 203:198,30[B ]| the other day ~~ that you seemed almost as fearful of notice 203:198,31[B ]| and praise as other women were of neglect. We were 203:198,32[B ]| talking of you at the Parsonage, and those were her words. 203:198,33[B ]| She has great discernment. I know nobody who distinguishes 203:198,34[B ]| characters better. ~~ For so young a woman it is 203:198,35[B ]| remarkable! She certainly understands \you\ better than 203:198,36[B ]| you are understood by the greater part of those who have 203:198,37[B ]| known you so long; and with regard to some others, 203:198,38[B ]| I can perceive, from occasional lively hints, the unguarded 203:199,01[B ]| expressions of the moment, that she could define \many\ as 203:199,02[B ]| accurately, did not delicacy forbid it. I wonder what she 203:199,03[B ]| thinks of my father! She must admire him as a fine*looking 203:199,04[B ]| man, with most gentleman-like, dignified, consistent 203:199,05[B ]| manners; but perhaps having seen him so seldom, his 203:199,06[B ]| reserve may be a little repulsive. Could they be much 203:199,07[B ]| together I feel sure of their liking each other. He would 203:199,08[B ]| enjoy her liveliness ~~ and she has talents to value his 203:199,09[B ]| powers. I wish they met more frequently! ~~ I hope she 203:199,10[B ]| does not suppose there is any dislike on his side." 203:199,11[A ]| "She must know herself too secure of the regard of all 203:199,12[A ]| the rest of you," 203:199,12[' ]| said Fanny with half a sigh, 203:199,12[A ]| "to have any 203:199,13[A ]| such apprehension. And Sir*Thomas's wishing just at 203:199,14[A ]| first to be only with his family is so very natural, that she 203:199,15[A ]| can argue nothing from that. After a little while I dare 203:199,16[A ]| say we shall be meeting again in the same sort of way, 203:199,17[A ]| allowing for the difference of the time of year." 203:199,18[B ]| "This is the first October that she has passed in the 203:199,19[B ]| country since her infancy. I do not call Tunbridge or 203:199,20[B ]| Cheltenham the country; and November is a still more 203:199,21[B ]| serious month, and I can see that Mrs%*Grant is very 203:199,22[B ]| anxious for her not finding Mansfield dull as winter 203:199,23[B ]| comes on." 203:199,24[' ]| Fanny could have said a great deal, but 203:199,24@a | it was safer 203:199,25@a | to say nothing, and leave untouched all Miss*Crawford's 203:199,26@a | resources, her accomplishments, her spirits, her importance, 203:199,27@a | her friends, lest it should betray her into any observations 203:199,28@a | seemingly unhandsome. Miss*Crawford's kind opinion of 203:199,29@a | herself deserved at least a grateful forbearance, and she 203:199,30@a | began to talk of something else. 203:199,31[A ]| "To-morrow, I think, my uncle dines at Sotherton, and 203:199,32[A ]| you and Mr%*Bertram too. We shall be quite a small party 203:199,33[A ]| at home. I hope my uncle may continue to like Mr%*Rushworth 203:199,34[A ]| 203:199,35[B ]| "That is impossible, Fanny. He must like him less 203:199,36[B ]| after to-morrow's visit, for we shall be five hours in his 203:199,37[B ]| company. I should dread the stupidity of the day, if 203:199,38[B ]| there were not a much greater evil to follow ~~ the impression 203:200,01[B ]| it must leave on Sir*Thomas. He cannot much longer 203:200,02[B ]| deceive himself. I am sorry for them all, and would give 203:200,03[B ]| something that Rushworth and Maria had never met." 203:200,04[' ]| In this quarter, indeed, disappointment was impending 203:200,05[' ]| over Sir*Thomas. Not all his good-will for Mr%*Rushworth, 203:200,06[' ]| not all Mr%*Rushworth's deference for him, could prevent 203:200,07[' ]| him from soon discerning some part of the truth ~~ 203:200,07@e | that 203:200,08@e | Mr%*Rushworth was an inferior young man, as ignorant in 203:200,09@e | business as in books, with opinions in general unfixed, and 203:200,10@e | without seeming much aware of it himself. 203:200,11[' ]| He had expected a very different son-in-law; and 203:200,12[' ]| beginning to feel grave on Maria's account, tried to 203:200,12[' ]| understand 203:200,13[' ]| \her\ feelings. Little observation there was necessary 203:200,14[' ]| to tell him that 203:200,14@e | indifference was the most favourable state 203:200,15@e | they could be in. Her behaviour to Mr%*Rushworth was 203:200,16@e | careless and cold. She could not, did not like him. 203:200,16[' ]| Sir*Thomas 203:200,17[' ]| resolved to speak seriously to her. 203:200,17@e | Advantageous 203:200,18@e | as would be the alliance, and long standing and public as 203:200,19@e | was the engagement, her happiness must not be sacrificed 203:200,20@e | to it. Mr%*Rushworth had perhaps been accepted on too 203:200,21@e | short an acquaintance, and on knowing him better she 203:200,22@e | was repenting. 203:200,23[' ]| With solemn kindness Sir*Thomas addressed her; 203:200,23@e | told 203:200,24@e | her his fears, inquired into her wishes, entreated her to be 203:200,25@e | open and sincere, and assured her that every inconvenience 203:200,26@e | should be braved, and the connection entirely given up, if 203:200,27@e | she felt herself unhappy in the prospect of it. He would 203:200,28@e | act for her and release her. 203:200,28[' ]| Maria had a moment's struggle 203:200,29[' ]| as she listened, and only a moment's: when her father 203:200,30[' ]| ceased, she was able to give her answer immediately, 203:200,31[' ]| decidedly, and with no apparent agitation. 203:200,31@h | She thanked 203:200,32@h | him for his great attention, his paternal kindness, but he 203:200,33@h | was quite mistaken in supposing she had the smallest 203:200,34@h | desire of breaking through her engagement, or was sensible 203:200,35@h | of any change of opinion or inclination since her forming it. 203:200,36@h | She had the highest esteem for Mr%*Rushworth's character 203:200,37@h | and disposition, and could not have a doubt of her happiness 203:200,38@h | with him. 203:201,01[' ]| Sir*Thomas was satisfied; too glad to be satisfied perhaps 203:201,02[' ]| to urge the matter quite so far as his judgment might 203:201,03[' ]| have dictated to others. It was an alliance which he could 203:201,04[' ]| not have relinquished without pain; and thus he reasoned. 203:201,05@e | Mr%*Rushworth was young enough to improve; ~~ Mr%*Rushworth 203:201,06@e | must and would improve in good society; and if 203:201,07@e | Maria could now speak so securely of her happiness with 203:201,08@e | him, speaking certainly without the prejudice, the blindness 203:201,09@e | of love, she ought to be believed. Her feelings probably 203:201,10@e | were not acute; he had never supposed them to be 203:201,11@e | so; but her comforts might not be less on that account, 203:201,12@e | and if she could dispense with seeing her husband a leading, 203:201,13@e | shining character, there would certainly be every*thing else 203:201,14@e | in her favour. A well-disposed young woman, who did not 203:201,15@e | marry for love, was in general but the more attached to her 203:201,16@e | own family, and the nearness of Sotherton to Mansfield 203:201,17@e | must naturally hold out the greatest temptation, and 203:201,18@e | would, in all probability, be a continual supply of the most 203:201,19@e | amiable and innocent enjoyments. 203:201,19[' ]| Such and such-like 203:201,20[' ]| were the reasonings of Sir*Thomas ~~ happy to escape the 203:201,21[' ]| embarrassing evils of a rupture, the wonder, the reflections, 203:201,22[' ]| the reproach that must attend it, happy to secure 203:201,23[' ]| a marriage which would bring him such an addition 203:201,24[' ]| of respectability and influence, and very happy to think 203:201,25[' ]| any*thing of his daughter's disposition that was most 203:201,26[' ]| favourable for the purpose. 203:201,27[' ]| To her the conference closed as satisfactorily as to him. 203:201,28[' ]| She was in a state of mind to be 203:201,28@h | glad that she had secured 203:201,29@h | her fate beyond recall ~~ that she had pledged herself anew 203:201,30@h | to Sotherton ~~ that she was safe from the possibility of 203:201,31@h | giving Crawford the triumph of governing her actions, and 203:201,32@h | destroying her prospects; 203:201,32[' ]| and retired in proud resolve, 203:201,33@h | determined only to behave more cautiously to Mr%*Rushworth 203:201,34@h | in future, that her father might not be again 203:201,35@h | suspecting her. 203:201,36[' ]| Had Sir*Thomas applied to his daughter within the first 203:201,37[' ]| three or four days after Henry*Crawford's leaving Mansfield, 203:201,38[' ]| before her feelings were at all tranquillized, before 203:202,01[' ]| she had given up every hope of him, or absolutely resolved 203:202,02[' ]| on enduring his rival, her answer might have been different; 203:202,03[' ]| but after another three or four days, when there was no 203:202,04[' ]| return, no letter, no message ~~ no symptom of a softened 203:202,05[' ]| heart ~~ no hope of advantage from separation ~~ her mind 203:202,06[' ]| became cool enough to seek all the comfort that pride and 203:202,07[' ]| self-revenge could give. 203:202,08@h | Henry*Crawford had destroyed her happiness, but he 203:202,09@h | should not know that he had done it; he should not 203:202,10@h | destroy her credit, her appearance, her prosperity too. 203:202,11@h | He should not have to think of her as pining in the retirement 203:202,12@h | of Mansfield for \him\, rejecting Sotherton and London, 203:202,13@h | independence and splendour for \his\ sake. Independence 203:202,14@h | was more needful than ever; the want of it at Mansfield 203:202,15@h | more sensibly felt. She was less and less able to endure the 203:202,16@h | restraint which her father imposed. The liberty which his 203:202,17@h | absence had given was now become absolutely necessary. 203:202,18@h | She must escape from him and Mansfield as soon as 203:202,19@h | possible, and find consolation in fortune and consequence, 203:202,20@h | bustle and the world, for a wounded spirit. 203:202,20[' ]| Her mind was 203:202,21[' ]| quite determined and varied not. 203:202,22[' ]| To such feelings, delay, even the delay of much preparation, 203:202,23[' ]| would have been an evil, and Mr%*Rushworth could 203:202,24[' ]| hardly be more impatient for the marriage than herself. 203:202,25[' ]| In all the important preparations of the mind she was 203:202,26[' ]| complete; being prepared for matrimony by an hatred of 203:202,27[' ]| home, restraint, and tranquillity; by the misery of disappointed 203:202,28[' ]| affection, and contempt of the man she was to 203:202,29[' ]| marry. The rest might wait. The preparations of new 203:202,30[' ]| carriages and furniture might wait for London and spring, 203:202,31[' ]| when her own taste could have fairer play. 203:202,32[' ]| The principals being all agreed in this respect, it soon 203:202,33[' ]| appeared that a very few weeks would be sufficient for 203:202,34[' ]| such arrangements as must precede the wedding. 203:202,35[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth was quite ready to retire, and make way 203:202,36[' ]| for the fortunate young woman whom her dear son had 203:202,37[' ]| selected; ~~ and very early in November removed herself, 203:202,38[' ]| her maid, her footman, and her chariot, with true dowager 203:203,01[' ]| propriety, to Bath ~~ there to parade over the wonders 203:203,02[' ]| of Sotherton in her evening-parties ~~ enjoying them as 203:203,03[' ]| thoroughly perhaps in the animation of a card-table as she 203:203,04[' ]| had ever done on the spot ~~ and before the middle of the 203:203,05[' ]| same month the ceremony had taken place, which gave 203:203,06[' ]| Sotherton another mistress. 203:203,07[' ]| It was a very proper wedding. The bride was elegantly 203:203,08[' ]| dressed ~~ the two bridemaids were duly inferior ~~ her father 203:203,09[' ]| gave her away ~~ her mother stood with salts in her hand, 203:203,10[' ]| expecting to be agitated ~~ her aunt tried to cry ~~ and the 203:203,11[' ]| service was impressively read by Dr%*Grant. Nothing 203:203,12[' ]| could be objected to when it came under the discussion of 203:203,13[' ]| the neighbourhood, except that the carriage which conveyed 203:203,14[' ]| the bride and bridegroom and Julia from the church 203:203,15[' ]| door to Sotherton, was the same chaise which Mr%*Rushworth 203:203,16[' ]| had used for a twelvemonth before. In every*thing 203:203,17[' ]| else the etiquette of the day might stand the strictest 203:203,18[' ]| investigation. 203:203,19[' ]| It was done, and they were gone. Sir*Thomas felt as an 203:203,20[' ]| anxious father must feel, and was indeed experiencing 203:203,21[' ]| much of the agitation which his wife had been apprehensive 203:203,22[' ]| of for herself, but had fortunately escaped. Mrs%*Norris, 203:203,23[' ]| most happy to assist in the duties of the day, by spending it 203:203,24[' ]| at the Park to support her sister's spirits, and drinking the 203:203,25[' ]| health of Mr% and Mrs%*Rushworth in a supernumerary 203:203,26[' ]| glass or two, was all joyous delight ~~ for 203:203,26@j | she had made the 203:203,27@j | match ~~ she had done every*thing ~~ 203:203,27[' ]| and no*one would have 203:203,28[' ]| supposed, from her confident triumph, that she had ever 203:203,29[' ]| heard of conjugal infelicity in her life, or could have the 203:203,30[' ]| smallest insight into the disposition of the niece who had 203:203,31[' ]| been brought up under her eye. 203:203,32[' ]| The plan of the young couple was to proceed after a few 203:203,33[' ]| days to Brighton, and take a house there for some weeks. 203:203,34[' ]| Every public place was new to Maria, and Brighton is 203:203,35[' ]| almost as gay in winter as in summer. When the novelty 203:203,36[' ]| of amusement there were over, it would be time for the 203:203,37[' ]| wider range of London. 203:203,38[' ]| Julia was to go with them to Brighton. Since rivalry 203:204,01[' ]| between the sisters had ceased, they had been gradually 203:204,02[' ]| recovering much of their former good understanding; and 203:204,03[' ]| were at least sufficiently friends to make each of them 203:204,04[' ]| exceedingly glad to be with the other at such a time. 203:204,05[' ]| Some other companion than Mr%*Rushworth was of the 203:204,06[' ]| first consequence to his lady, and Julia was quite as eager 203:204,07[' ]| for novelty and pleasure as Maria, though she might not 203:204,08[' ]| have struggled through so much to obtain them, and could 203:204,09[' ]| better bear a subordinate situation. 203:204,10[' ]| Their departure made another material change at Mansfield, 203:204,11[' ]| a chasm which required some time to fill up. The 203:204,12[' ]| family circle became greatly contracted, and though the 203:204,13[' ]| Miss*Bertrams had latterly added little to its gaiety, they 203:204,14[' ]| could not but be missed. Even their mother missed 203:204,15[' ]| them ~~ and how much more their tender-hearted cousin, 203:204,16[' ]| who wandered about the house, and thought of them, 203:204,17[' ]| and felt for them, with a degree of affectionate regret which 203:204,18[' ]| they had never done much to deserve! 204:205,01[' ]| Fanny's consequence increased on the departure of her 204:205,02[' ]| cousins. Becoming as she then did, the only young woman 204:205,03[' ]| in the drawing-room, the only occupier of that interesting 204:205,04[' ]| division of a family in which she had hitherto held so 204:205,05[' ]| humble a third, it was impossible for her not to be more 204:205,06[' ]| looked at, more thought of and attended to, than she had 204:205,07[' ]| ever been before; and 204:205,07[X ]| "where is Fanny?" 204:205,07[' ]| became no 204:205,08[' ]| uncommon question, even without her being wanted for 204:205,09[' ]| any*one's convenience. 204:205,10[' ]| Not only at home did her value increase, but at the 204:205,11[' ]| Parsonage too. In that house which she had hardly entered 204:205,12[' ]| twice a year since Mr%*Norris's death, she became a welcome, 204:205,13[' ]| an invited guest; and in the gloom and dirt of 204:205,14[' ]| a November day, most acceptable to Mary*Crawford. 204:205,15[' ]| Her visits there, beginning by chance, were continued by 204:205,16[' ]| solicitation. Mrs%*Grant, really eager to get any change for 204:205,17[' ]| her sister, could by the easiest self-deceit persuade herself 204:205,18[' ]| that 204:205,18@n | she was doing the kindest thing by Fanny, and giving 204:205,19@n | her the most important opportunities of improvement in 204:205,20@n | pressing her frequent calls. 204:205,21[' ]| Fanny, having been sent into the village on some errand 204:205,22[' ]| by her aunt Norris, was overtaken by a heavy shower close 204:205,23[' ]| to the Parsonage, and being descried from one of the 204:205,24[' ]| windows endeavouring to find shelter under the branches 204:205,25[' ]| and lingering leaves of an oak just beyond their premises, 204:205,26[' ]| was forced, though not without some modest reluctance on 204:205,27[' ]| her part, to come in. A civil servant she had withstood; 204:205,28[' ]| but when Dr%*Grant himself went out with an umbrella, 204:205,29[' ]| there was nothing to be done but to be very much ashamed 204:205,30[' ]| and to get into the house as fast as possible; and to poor 204:205,31[' ]| Miss*Crawford, 204:205,31@c | who had just been contemplating the 204:205,32@c | dismal rain in a very desponding state of mind, sighing 204:205,33@c | over the ruin of all her plan of exercise for that morning, 204:206,01@c | and of every chance of seeing a single creature beyond 204:206,02@c | themselves for the next twenty-four hours; the sound of 204:206,03@c | a little bustle at the front door, and the sight of Miss*Price 204:206,04@c | dripping with wet in the vestibule, was delightful. 204:206,04[' ]| The 204:206,05[' ]| value of an event on a wet day in the country, was most 204:206,06[' ]| forcibly brought before her. She was all alive again directly, 204:206,07[' ]| and among the most active in being useful to Fanny, in 204:206,08[' ]| detecting her to be wetter than she would at first allow, and 204:206,09[' ]| providing her with dry clothes; and Fanny, after being 204:206,10[' ]| obliged to submit to all this attention, and to being assisted 204:206,11[' ]| and waited on by mistresses and maids, being also obliged 204:206,12[' ]| on returning down*stairs, to be fixed in their drawing-room 204:206,13[' ]| for an hour while the rain continued, the blessing of something 204:206,14[' ]| fresh to see and think of was thus extended to 204:206,15[' ]| Miss*Crawford, and might carry on her spirits to the period 204:206,16[' ]| of dressing and dinner. 204:206,17[' ]| The two sisters were so kind to her and so pleasant, 204:206,18[' ]| that Fanny might have enjoyed her visit 204:206,18@a | could she have 204:206,19@a | believed herself not in the way, and could she have foreseen 204:206,20@a | that the weather would certainly clear at the end of the 204:206,21@a | hour, and save her from the shame of having Dr%*Grant's 204:206,22@a | carriage and horses out to take her home, with which she 204:206,23@a | was threatened. As to anxiety for any alarm that her 204:206,24@a | absence in such weather might occasion at home, she had 204:206,25@a | nothing to suffer on that score; for as her being out was 204:206,26@a | known only to her two aunts, she was perfectly aware that 204:206,27@a | none would be felt, and that in whatever cottage aunt 204:206,28@a | Norris might chuse to establish her during the rain, 204:206,29@a | her being in such cottage would be indubitable to aunt 204:206,30@a | Bertram. 204:206,31[' ]| It was beginning to look brighter, when Fanny, observing 204:206,32[' ]| a harp in the room, asked some questions about it, which 204:206,33[' ]| soon led to an acknowledgment of her wishing very much 204:206,34[' ]| to hear it, and a confession, which could hardly be believed, 204:206,35[' ]| of her having never yet heard it since its being in Mansfield. 204:206,36[' ]| To Fanny herself 204:206,36@a | it appeared a very simple and natural 204:206,37@a | circumstance. She had scarcely ever been at the Parsonage 204:206,38@a | since the instrument's arrival, there had been no reason 204:207,01@a | that she should; 204:207,01[' ]| but Miss*Crawford, calling to mind an 204:207,02[' ]| early-expressed wish on the subject, was concerned at her 204:207,03[' ]| own neglect; ~~ and 204:207,03[C ]| "shall I play to you now?" ~~ 204:207,03[' ]| and 204:207,04[C ]| "what will you have?" 204:207,04[' ]| were questions immediately 204:207,05[' ]| following with the readiest good*humour. 204:207,06[' ]| She played accordingly; 204:207,06@c | happy to have a new listener, 204:207,07@c | and a listener who seemed so much obliged, so full of 204:207,08@c | wonder at the performance, and who shewed herself not 204:207,09@c | wanting in taste. 204:207,09[' ]| She played till Fanny's eyes, straying 204:207,10[' ]| to the window on the weather's being evidently fair, spoke 204:207,11[' ]| what she felt must be done. 204:207,12[C ]| "Another quarter of an hour," 204:207,12[' ]| said Miss*Crawford, 204:207,13[C ]| "and we shall see how it will be. Do not run away 204:207,14[C ]| the first moment of its holding up. Those clouds look 204:207,15[C ]| alarming." 204:207,16[A ]| "But they are passed over," 204:207,16[' ]| said Fanny. ~~ 204:207,16[A ]| "I have been 204:207,17[A ]| watching them. ~~ This weather is all from the south." 204:207,18[C ]| "South or north, I know a black cloud when I see it; 204:207,19[C ]| and you must not set forward while it is so threatening. 204:207,20[C ]| And besides, I want to play something more to you ~~ a very 204:207,21[C ]| pretty piece ~~ and your cousin Edmund's prime favourite. 204:207,22[C ]| You must stay and hear your cousin's favourite." 204:207,23[' ]| Fanny felt that she must; and though she had not 204:207,24[' ]| waited for that sentence to be thinking of Edmund, 204:207,24@a | such 204:207,25@a | a memento made her particularly awake to his idea, and 204:207,26@a | she fancied him sitting in that room again and again, 204:207,27@a | perhaps in the very spot where she sat now, listening with 204:207,28@a | constant delight to the favourite air, played, as it appeared 204:207,29@a | to her, with superior tone and expression; 204:207,29[' ]| and though 204:207,30[' ]| pleased with it herself, and glad to like whatever was liked 204:207,31[' ]| by him, she was more sincerely impatient to go away at the 204:207,32[' ]| conclusion of it than she had been before; and on this 204:207,33[' ]| being evident, she was so kindly asked to call again, to take 204:207,34[' ]| them in her walk whenever she could, to come and hear 204:207,35[' ]| more of the harp, that she felt it necessary to be done, if no 204:207,36[' ]| objection arose at home. 204:207,37[' ]| Such was the origin of the sort of intimacy which took 204:207,38[' ]| place between them within the first fortnight after the 204:208,01[' ]| Miss*Bertrams' going away, an intimacy resulting principally 204:208,02[' ]| from Miss*Crawford's desire of something new, and 204:208,03[' ]| which had little reality in Fanny's feelings. Fanny went 204:208,04[' ]| to her every two or three days; 204:208,04@a | it seemed a kind of fascination; 204:208,05@a | she could not be easy without going, and yet it was 204:208,06@a | without loving her, without ever thinking like her, without 204:208,07@a | any sense of obligation for being sought after now when 204:208,08@a | nobody else was to be had; and deriving no higher pleasure 204:208,09@a | from her conversation than occasional amusement, 204:208,10@a | and \that\ often at the expense of her judgment, when it 204:208,11@a | was raised by pleasantry on people or subjects which she 204:208,12@a | wished to be respected. 204:208,12[' ]| She went however, and they 204:208,13[' ]| sauntered about together many an half hour in Mrs%*Grant's 204:208,14[' ]| shrubbery, the weather being unusually mild for the time 204:208,15[' ]| of year; and venturing sometimes even to sit down on one 204:208,16[' ]| of the benches now comparatively unsheltered, remaining 204:208,17[' ]| there perhaps till in the midst of some tender ejaculation 204:208,18[' ]| of Fanny's, on the sweets of so protracted an autumn, they 204:208,19[' ]| were forced by the sudden swell of a cold gust shaking 204:208,20[' ]| down the last few yellow leaves about them, to jump up 204:208,21[' ]| and walk for warmth. 204:208,22[A ]| "This is pretty ~~ very pretty," 204:208,22[' ]| said Fanny, looking 204:208,23[' ]| around her as they were thus sitting together one day: 204:208,24[A ]| "Every time I come into this shrubbery I am more struck 204:208,25[A ]| with its growth and beauty. Three years ago, this was 204:208,26[A ]| nothing but a rough hedgerow along the upper side of the 204:208,27[A ]| field, never thought of as any*thing, or capable of becoming 204:208,28[A ]| any*thing; and now it is converted into a walk, and 204:208,29[A ]| it would be difficult to say whether most valuable as 204:208,30[A ]| a convenience or an ornament; and perhaps in another 204:208,31[A ]| three years we may be forgetting ~~ almost forgetting what 204:208,32[A ]| it was before. How wonderful, how very wonderful the 204:208,33[A ]| operations of time, and the changes of the human mind!" 204:208,34[' ]| And following the latter train of thought, she soon afterwards 204:208,35[' ]| added: 204:208,35[A ]| "If any one faculty of our nature may be 204:208,36[A ]| called \more\ wonderful than the rest, I do think it is 204:208,37[A ]| memory. There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible 204:208,38[A ]| in the powers, the failures, the inequalities 204:209,01[A ]| of memory, than in any other of our intelligences. The 204:209,02[A ]| memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so 204:209,03[A ]| obedient ~~ at others, so bewildered and so weak ~~ and at 204:209,04[A ]| others again, so tyrannic, so beyond controul! ~~ We are 204:209,05[A ]| to be sure a miracle every way ~~ but our powers of recollecting 204:209,06[A ]| and of forgetting, do seem peculiarly past finding 204:209,07[A ]| out." 204:209,08[' ]| Miss*Crawford, untouched and inattentive, had nothing 204:209,09[' ]| to say; and Fanny, perceiving it, brought back her own 204:209,10[' ]| mind to what she thought must interest. 204:209,11[A ]| "It may seem impertinent in \me\ to praise, but I must 204:209,12[A ]| admire the taste Mrs%*Grant has shewn in all this. There 204:209,13[A ]| is such a quiet simplicity in the plan of the walk! ~~ not 204:209,14[A ]| too much attempted!" 204:209,15[C ]| "Yes," 204:209,15[' ]| replied Miss*Crawford carelessly, 204:209,15[C ]| "it does very 204:209,16[C ]| well for a place of this sort. One does not think of extent 204:209,17[C ]| \here\ ~~ and between ourselves, till I came to Mansfield, I 204:209,18[C ]| had not imagined a country parson ever aspired to a 204:209,19[C ]| shrubbery or any*thing of the kind." 204:209,20[A ]| "I am so glad to see the evergreens thrive!" 204:209,20[' ]| said 204:209,21[' ]| Fanny in reply. 204:209,21[A ]| "My uncle's gardener always says the 204:209,22[A ]| soil here is better than his own, and so it appears from 204:209,23[A ]| the growth of the laurels and evergreens in general. ~~ The 204:209,24[A ]| evergreen! ~~ How beautiful, how welcome, how wonderful 204:209,25[A ]| the evergreen! ~~ When one thinks of it, how astonishing 204:209,26[A ]| a variety of nature! ~~ In some countries we know the 204:209,27[A ]| tree that sheds its leaf is the variety, but that does not 204:209,28[A ]| make it less amazing, that the same soil and the same sun 204:209,29[A ]| should nurture plants differing in the first rule and law 204:209,30[A ]| of their existence. You will think me rhapsodizing; but 204:209,31[A ]| when I am out of doors, especially when I am sitting out 204:209,32[A ]| of doors, I am very apt to get into this sort of wondering 204:209,33[A ]| strain. One cannot fix one's eyes on the commonest 204:209,34[A ]| natural production without finding food for a rambling 204:209,35[A ]| fancy." 204:209,36[C ]| "To say the truth," 204:209,36[' ]| replied Miss*Crawford, 204:209,36[C ]| "I am 204:209,37[C ]| something like the famous Doge at the court of Lewis*XIV; 204:209,38[C ]| and may declare that I see no wonder in this shrubbery 204:210,01[C ]| equal to seeing myself in it. If any*body had told me 204:210,02[C ]| a year ago that this place would be my home, that I 204:210,03[C ]| should be spending month after month here, as I have 204:210,04[C ]| done, I certainly should not have believed them! ~~ I have 204:210,05[C ]| now been here nearly five months! and moreover the 204:210,06[C ]| quietest five months I ever passed." 204:210,07[A ]| "\Too\ quiet for you I believe." 204:210,08[C ]| "I should have thought so \theoretically\ myself, but" 204:210,09[' ]| ~~ and her eyes brightened as she spoke ~~ 204:210,09[C ]| "take it all and 204:210,10[C ]| all, I never spent so happy a summer. ~~ But then" ~~ 204:210,11[' ]| with a more thoughtful air and lowered voice ~~ 204:210,11[C ]| "there 204:210,12[C ]| is no saying what it may lead to." 204:210,13[' ]| Fanny's heart beat quick, and she felt quite unequal 204:210,14[' ]| to surmising or soliciting any*thing more. Miss*Crawford 204:210,15[' ]| however, with renewed animation, soon went on: 204:210,16[C ]| "I am conscious of being far better reconciled to a 204:210,17[C ]| country residence than I had ever expected to be. I can 204:210,18[C ]| even suppose it pleasant to spend \half\ the year in the 204:210,19[C ]| country, under certain circumstances ~~ very pleasant. 204:210,20[C ]| An elegant, moderate-sized house in the centre of family 204:210,21[C ]| connections ~~ continual engagements among them ~~ commanding 204:210,22[C ]| the first society in the neighbourhood ~~ looked-up 204:210,23[C ]| to perhaps as leading it even more than those of larger 204:210,24[C ]| fortune, and turning from the cheerful round of such 204:210,25[C ]| amusements to nothing worse than a te^te-a`-te^te with the 204:210,26[C ]| person one feels most agreeable in the world. There is 204:210,27[C ]| nothing frightful in such a picture, is there, Miss*Price? 204:210,28[C ]| One need not envy the new Mrs%*Rushworth with such 204:210,29[C ]| a home as \that\?" 204:210,29[A ]| "Envy Mrs%*Rushworth!" 204:210,29[' ]| was all that 204:210,30[' ]| Fanny attempted to say. 204:210,30[C ]| "Come, come, it would be very 204:210,31[C ]| unhandsome in us to be severe on Mrs%*Rushworth, for I 204:210,32[C ]| look forward to our owing her a great many gay, brilliant, 204:210,33[C ]| happy hours. I expect we shall be all very much at 204:210,34[C ]| Sotherton another year. Such a match as Miss*Bertram 204:210,35[C ]| has made is a public blessing, for the first pleasures of 204:210,36[C ]| Mr%*Rushworth's wife must be to fill her house, and give 204:210,37[C ]| the best balls in the country." 204:210,38[' ]| Fanny was silent ~~ and Miss*Crawford relapsed into 204:211,01[' ]| thoughtfulness, till suddenly looking up at the end of 204:211,02[' ]| a few minutes, she exclaimed, 204:211,02[C ]| "Ah! here he is." 204:211,02[' ]| It was 204:211,03[' ]| not Mr%*Rushworth, however, but Edmund, who then 204:211,04[' ]| appeared walking towards them with Mrs%*Grant. 204:211,04[C ]| "My 204:211,05[C ]| sister and Mr%*Bertram ~~ I am so glad your eldest cousin 204:211,06[C ]| is gone that he \may\ be Mr%*Bertram again. There is 204:211,07[C ]| something in the sound of Mr%*\Edmund\*Bertram so formal, 204:211,08[C ]| so pitiful, so younger-brother-like, that I detest it." 204:211,09[A ]| "How differently we feel!" 204:211,09[' ]| cried Fanny. 204:211,09[A ]| "To me, the 204:211,10[A ]| sound of \Mr\%*Bertram is so cold and nothing-meaning ~~ 204:211,11[A ]| so entirely without warmth or character! ~~ It just stands 204:211,12[A ]| for a gentleman, and that's all. But there is nobleness 204:211,13[A ]| in the name of Edmund. It is a name of heroism and 204:211,14[A ]| renown ~~ of kings, princes, and knights; and seems to 204:211,15[A ]| breathe the spirit of chivalry and warm affections." 204:211,16[C ]| "I grant you the name is good in itself, and \Lord\*Edmund 204:211,17[C ]| or \Sir\*Edmund sound delightfully; but sink it 204:211,18[C ]| under the chill, the annihilation of a Mr% ~~ and Mr%*Edmund 204:211,19[C ]| is no more than Mr%*John or Mr%*Thomas. Well, shall we 204:211,20[C ]| join and disappoint them of half their lecture upon sitting 204:211,21[C ]| down out of doors at this time of year, by being up before 204:211,22[C ]| they can begin?" 204:211,23[' ]| Edmund met them with particular pleasure. It was 204:211,24[' ]| the first time of his seeing them together since the beginning 204:211,25[' ]| of that better acquaintance which he had been hearing 204:211,26[' ]| of with great satisfaction. A friendship between two 204:211,27[' ]| so very dear to him was exactly what he could have wished; 204:211,28[' ]| and to the credit of the lover's understanding be it stated, 204:211,29[' ]| that he did not by any means consider Fanny as the only, 204:211,30[' ]| or even as the greater gainer by such a friendship. 204:211,31[C ]| "Well," 204:211,31[' ]| said Miss*Crawford, 204:211,31[C ]| "and do not you scold us 204:211,32[C ]| for our imprudence? What do you think we have been 204:211,33[C ]| sitting down for but to be talked to about it, and entreated 204:211,34[C ]| and supplicated never to do so again?" 204:211,35[B ]| "Perhaps I might have scolded," 204:211,35[' ]| said Edmund, 204:211,35[B ]| "if 204:211,36[B ]| either of you had been sitting down alone; but while you 204:211,37[B ]| do wrong together I can overlook a great deal." 204:211,38[N ]| "They cannot have been sitting long," 204:211,38[' ]| cried Mrs%*Grant, 204:212,01[N ]| "for when I went up for my shawl I saw them 204:212,02[N ]| from the staircase window, and then they were walking." 204:212,03[B ]| "And really," 204:212,03[' ]| added Edmund, 204:212,03[B ]| "the day is so mild, 204:212,04[B ]| that your sitting down for a few minutes can be hardly 204:212,05[B ]| thought imprudent. Our weather must not always be 204:212,06[B ]| judged by the Calendar. We may sometimes take greater 204:212,07[B ]| liberties in November than in May." 204:212,08[C ]| "Upon my word," 204:212,08[' ]| cried Miss*Crawford, 204:212,08[C ]| "you are two 204:212,09[C ]| of the most disappointing and unfeeling kind friends I ever 204:212,10[C ]| met with! There is no giving you a moment's uneasiness. 204:212,11[C ]| You do not know how much we have been suffering, nor 204:212,12[C ]| what chills we have felt! But I have long thought Mr%*Bertram 204:212,13[C ]| one of the worst subjects to work on, in any little 204:212,14[C ]| mano*euvre against common sense, that a woman could be 204:212,15[C ]| plagued with. I had very little hope of \him\ from the 204:212,16[C ]| first; but you, Mrs%*Grant, my sister, my own sister, I 204:212,17[C ]| think I had a right to alarm you a little." 204:212,18[N ]| "Do not flatter yourself, my dearest Mary. You have 204:212,19[N ]| not the smallest chance of moving me. I have my alarms, 204:212,20[N ]| but they are quite in a different quarter: and if I could 204:212,21[N ]| have altered the weather, you would have had a good 204:212,22[N ]| sharp east wind blowing on you the whole time ~~ for here 204:212,23[N ]| are some of my plants which Robert \will\ leave out 204:212,23[N ]| because 204:212,24[N ]| the nights are so mild, and I know the end of it will be 204:212,25[N ]| that we shall have a sudden change of weather, a hard 204:212,26[N ]| frost setting in all at once, taking every*body (at least 204:212,27[N ]| Robert) by surprize, and I shall lose every one; and what 204:212,28[N ]| is worse, cook has just been telling me that the turkey, 204:212,29[N ]| which I particularly wished not to be dressed till Sunday, 204:212,30[N ]| because I know how much more Dr%*Grant would enjoy 204:212,31[N ]| it on Sunday after the fatigues of the day, will not keep 204:212,32[N ]| beyond to-morrow. These are something like grievances, 204:212,33[N ]| and make me think the weather most unseasonably close." 204:212,34[C ]| "The sweets of housekeeping in a country village!" 204:212,35[' ]| said Miss*Crawford archly. 204:212,35[C ]| "Commend me to the nurseryman 204:212,36[C ]| and the poulterer." 204:212,37[N ]| "My dear child, commend Dr%*Grant to the deanery 204:212,38[N ]| of Westminster or St%*Paul's, and I should be as glad of 204:213,01[N ]| your nurseryman and poulterer as you could be. But we 204:213,02[N ]| have no such people in Mansfield. What would you have 204:213,03[N ]| me do?" 204:213,04[C ]| "Oh! you can do nothing but what you do already; 204:213,05[C ]| be plagued very often and never lose your temper." 204:213,06[N ]| "Thank you ~~ but there is no escaping these little vexations, 204:213,07[N ]| Mary, live where we may; and when you are settled 204:213,08[N ]| in town and I come to see you, I dare say I shall 204:213,09[N ]| find you with yours, in spite of the nurseryman and the 204:213,10[N ]| poulterer ~~ or perhaps on their very account. Their 204:213,11[N ]| remoteness and unpunctuality, or their exorbitant charges 204:213,12[N ]| and frauds will be drawing forth bitter lamentations." 204:213,13[C ]| "I mean to be too rich to lament or to feel any*thing 204:213,14[C ]| of the sort. A large income is the best recipe= for happiness 204:213,15[C ]| I ever heard of. It certainly may secure all the 204:213,16[C ]| myrtle and turkey part of it." 204:213,17[B ]| "You intend to be very rich," 204:213,17[' ]| said Edmund, with a look 204:213,18[' ]| which, to Fanny's eye, had a great deal of serious meaning. 204:213,19[C ]| "To be sure. Do not you? ~~ Do not we all?" 204:213,20[B ]| "I cannot intend any*thing which it must be so completely 204:213,21[B ]| beyond my power to command. Miss*Crawford 204:213,22[B ]| may chuse her degree of wealth. She has only to fix on 204:213,23[B ]| her number of thousands a year, and there can be no 204:213,24[B ]| doubt of their coming. My intentions are only not to 204:213,25[B ]| be poor." 204:213,26[C ]| "By moderation and economy, and bringing down your 204:213,27[C ]| wants to your income, and all that. I understand you ~~ 204:213,28[C ]| and a very proper plan it is for a person at your time of 204:213,29[C ]| life, with such limited means and indifferent connections. 204:213,30[C ]| ~~ What can \you\ want but a decent maintenance? You 204:213,31[C ]| have not much time before you; and your relations are 204:213,32[C ]| in no situation to do any*thing for you, or to mortify you 204:213,33[C ]| by the contrast of their own wealth and consequence. 204:213,34[C ]| Be honest and poor, by all means ~~ but I shall not envy 204:213,35[C ]| you; I do not much think I shall even respect you. I 204:213,36[C ]| have a much greater respect for those that are honest and 204:213,37[C ]| rich." 204:213,38[B ]| "Your degree of respect for honesty, rich or poor, is 204:214,01[B ]| precisely what I have no manner of concern with. I do 204:214,02[B ]| not mean to be poor. Poverty is exactly what I have 204:214,03[B ]| determined against. Honesty, in the something between, 204:214,04[B ]| in the middle state of worldly circumstances, is all that 204:214,05[B ]| I am anxious for your not looking down on." 204:214,06[C ]| "But I do look down upon it, if it might have been 204:214,07[C ]| higher. I must look down upon any*thing contented 204:214,08[C ]| with obscurity when it might rise to distinction." 204:214,09[B ]| "But how may it rise? ~~ How may my honesty at 204:214,10[B ]| least rise to any distinction?" 204:214,11[' ]| This was not so very easy a question to answer, and 204:214,12[' ]| occasioned an 204:214,12[C ]| "Oh!" 204:214,12[' ]| of some length from the fair lady 204:214,13[' ]| before she could add 204:214,13[C ]| "You ought to be in parliament, 204:214,14[C ]| or you should have gone into the army ten years ago." 204:214,15[B ]| "\That\ is not much to the purpose now; and as to my 204:214,16[B ]| being in parliament, I believe I must wait till there is an 204:214,17[B ]| especial assembly for the representation of younger sons 204:214,18[B ]| who have little to live on. No, Miss*Crawford," 204:214,18[' ]| he added, 204:214,19[' ]| in a more serious tone, 204:214,19[B ]| "there \are\ distinctions which I 204:214,20[B ]| should be miserable if I thought myself without any 204:214,21[B ]| chance ~~ absolutely without chance or possibility of obtaining ~~ 204:214,22[B ]| but they are of a different character." 204:214,23@a | A look of consciousness as he spoke, and what seemed 204:214,24@a | a consciousness of manner on Miss*Crawford's side as she 204:214,25@a | made some laughing answer, was sorrowful food for 204:214,26@a | Fanny's observation; and finding herself quite unable to 204:214,27@a | attend as she ought to Mrs%*Grant, by whose side she was 204:214,28@a | now following the others, she had nearly resolved on 204:214,29@a | going home immediately, and only waited for courage to 204:214,30@a | say so, when the sound of the great clock at Mansfield*Park, 204:214,31@a | striking three, made her feel that she had really 204:214,32@a | been much longer absent than usual, and brought the 204:214,33@a | previous self-inquiry of whether she should take leave or 204:214,34@a | not just then, and how, to a very speedy issue. 204:214,34[' ]| With 204:214,35[' ]| undoubting decision she directly began her adieus; and 204:214,36[' ]| Edmund began at the same time to recollect, that 204:214,36@b | his 204:214,37@b | mother had been inquiring for her, and that he had walked 204:214,38@b | down to the Parsonage on purpose to bring her back. 204:215,01[' ]| Fanny's hurry increased; and without in the least 204:215,02[' ]| expecting Edmund's attendance, she would have hastened 204:215,03[' ]| away alone; but the general pace was quickened, and 204:215,04[' ]| they all accompanied her into the house, through which 204:215,05[' ]| it was necessary to pass. Dr%*Grant was in the vestibule, 204:215,06[' ]| and as they stopt to speak to him, she found from Edmund's 204:215,07[' ]| manner that 204:215,07@a | he \did\ mean to go with her. ~~ He too 204:215,08@a | was taking leave. ~~ She could not but be thankful. ~~ 204:215,08[' ]| In 204:215,09[' ]| the moment of parting, Edmund was invited by Dr%*Grant 204:215,10[' ]| to eat his mutton with him the next day; and 204:215,11[' ]| Fanny had barely time for an unpleasant feeling on the 204:215,12[' ]| occasion, when Mrs%*Grant, with sudden recollection, 204:215,13[' ]| turned to her and asked for the pleasure of her company 204:215,14[' ]| too. This was so new an attention, so perfectly new a 204:215,15[' ]| circumstance in the events of Fanny's life, that she was 204:215,16[' ]| all surprize and embarrassment; and while stammering 204:215,17[' ]| out her great obligation, and her ~~ 204:215,17[A ]| "but she did not suppose 204:215,18[A ]| it would be in her power," 204:215,18[' ]| was looking at Edmund 204:215,19[' ]| for his opinion and help. ~~ But Edmund, 204:215,19@b | delighted with 204:215,20@b | her having such an happiness offered, and ascertaining 204:215,21@b | with half a look, and half a sentence, that she had no 204:215,22@b | objection but on her aunt's account, could not imagine 204:215,23@b | that his mother would make any difficulty of sparing her, 204:215,24@b | and therefore gave his decided open advice that the invitation 204:215,25@b | should be accepted; 204:215,25[' ]| and though Fanny would not 204:215,26[' ]| venture, even on his encouragement, to such a flight of 204:215,27[' ]| audacious independence, it was soon settled that if nothing 204:215,28[' ]| were heard to the contrary, Mrs%*Grant might expect her. 204:215,29[N ]| "And you know what your dinner will be," 204:215,29[' ]| said Mrs%*Grant, 204:215,30[' ]| smiling ~~ 204:215,30[N ]| "the turkey ~~ and I assure you a very 204:215,31[N ]| fine one; for, my dear" ~~ 204:215,31[' ]| turning to her husband ~~ 204:215,31[N ]| "cook 204:215,32[N ]| insists upon the turkey's being dressed to-morrow." 204:215,33[M ]| "Very well, very well," 204:215,33[' ]| cried Dr%*Grant, 204:215,33[M ]| "all the better. 204:215,34[M ]| I am glad to hear you have any*thing so good in the house. 204:215,35[M ]| But Miss*Price and Mr%*Edmund*Bertram, I dare say, 204:215,36[M ]| would take their chance. We none of us want to hear 204:215,37[M ]| the bill of fare. A friendly meeting, and not a fine dinner, 204:215,38[M ]| is all we have in view. A turkey or a goose, or a leg 204:216,01[M ]| of mutton, or whatever you and your cook chuse to 204:216,02[M ]| give us." 204:216,03[' ]| The two cousins walked home together; and except 204:216,04[' ]| in the immediate discussion of this engagement, which 204:216,05[' ]| Edmund spoke of with the warmest satisfaction, as 204:216,05@b | so 204:216,06@b | particularly desirable for her in the intimacy which he 204:216,07@b | saw with so much pleasure established, 204:216,07[' ]| it was a silent walk 204:216,08[' ]| ~~ for having finished that subject, he grew thoughtful and 204:216,09[' ]| indisposed for any other. 205:217,01[F ]| "But why should Mrs%*Grant ask Fanny?" 205:217,01[' ]| said Lady*Bertram. 205:217,02[F ]| "How came she to think of asking Fanny? ~~ 205:217,03[F ]| Fanny never dines there, you know, in this sort of way. 205:217,04[F ]| I cannot spare her, and I am sure she does not want to go. 205:217,05[F ]| ~~ Fanny, you do not want to go, do you?" 205:217,06[B ]| "If you put such a question to her," 205:217,06[' ]| cried Edmund, 205:217,07[' ]| preventing his cousin's speaking, 205:217,07[B ]| "Fanny will immediately 205:217,08[B ]| say, no; but I am sure, my dear mother, she 205:217,09[B ]| would like to go; and I can see no reason why she should 205:217,10[B ]| not." 205:217,11[F ]| "I cannot imagine why Mrs%*Grant should think of 205:217,12[F ]| asking her. ~~ She never did before. ~~ She used to ask your 205:217,13[F ]| sisters now and then, but she never asked Fanny." 205:217,14[A ]| "If you cannot do without me, ma'am," 205:217,14[' ]| said Fanny, 205:217,15[' ]| in a self-denying tone ~~ 205:217,16[B ]| "But my mother will have my father with her all the 205:217,17[B ]| evening." 205:217,18[F ]| "To be sure, so I shall." 205:217,19[B ]| "Suppose you take my father's opinion, ma'am." 205:217,20[F ]| "That's well thought of. So I will, Edmund. I will 205:217,21[F ]| ask Sir*Thomas, as soon as he comes in, whether I can do 205:217,22[F ]| without her." 205:217,23[B ]| "As you please, ma'am, on that head; but I meant 205:217,24[B ]| my father's opinion as to the \propriety\ of the invitation's 205:217,25[B ]| being accepted or not; and I think he will consider it 205:217,26[B ]| a right thing by Mrs%*Grant, as well as by Fanny, that 205:217,27[B ]| being the \first\ invitation it should be accepted." 205:217,28[F ]| "I do not know. We will ask him. But he will be 205:217,29[F ]| very much surprized that Mrs%*Grant should ask Fanny 205:217,30[F ]| at all." 205:217,31[' ]| There was nothing more to be said, or that could be said 205:217,32[' ]| to any purpose, till Sir*Thomas were present; but the 205:217,33[' ]| subject involving, as it did, her own evening's comfort 205:218,01[' ]| for the morrow, was so much uppermost in Lady*Bertram's 205:218,02[' ]| mind, that half an hour afterwards, on his looking in for 205:218,03[' ]| a minute in his way from his plantation to his dressing-room, 205:218,04[' ]| she called him back again, when he had almost 205:218,05[' ]| closed the door, with 205:218,05[F ]| "Sir*Thomas, stop a moment ~~ I 205:218,06[F ]| have something to say to you." 205:218,07[' ]| Her tone of calm languor, for she never took the trouble 205:218,08[' ]| of raising her voice, was always heard and attended to; 205:218,09[' ]| and Sir*Thomas came back. Her story began; and 205:218,10[' ]| Fanny immediately slipped out of the room; 205:218,10@a | for to hear 205:218,11@a | herself the subject of any discussion with her uncle, was 205:218,12@a | more than her nerves could bear. She was anxious, she 205:218,13@a | knew ~~ more anxious perhaps than she ought to be ~~ for 205:218,14@a | what was it after all whether she went or staid? ~~ but if 205:218,15@a | her uncle were to be a great while considering and deciding, 205:218,16@a | and with very grave looks, and those grave looks directed 205:218,17@a | to her, and at last decide against her, she might not be 205:218,18@a | able to appear properly submissive and indifferent. 205:218,18[' ]| Her 205:218,19[' ]| cause meanwhile went on well. It began on Lady*Bertram's 205:218,20[' ]| part, with, 205:218,20[F ]| "I have something to tell you that will 205:218,21[F ]| surprize you. Mrs%*Grant has asked Fanny to dinner!" 205:218,22[E ]| "Well," 205:218,22[' ]| said Sir*Thomas, as if waiting more to accomplish 205:218,23[' ]| the surprize. 205:218,24[F ]| "Edmund wants her to go. But how can I spare her?" 205:218,25[E ]| "She will be late," 205:218,25[' ]| said Sir*Thomas, taking out his 205:218,26[' ]| watch, 205:218,26[E ]| "but what is your difficulty?" 205:218,27[' ]| Edmund found himself obliged to speak and fill up the 205:218,28[' ]| blanks in his mother's story. He told the whole, and she 205:218,29[' ]| had only to add, 205:218,29[F ]| "So strange! for Mrs%*Grant never used 205:218,30[F ]| to ask her." 205:218,31[B ]| "But is not it very natural," 205:218,31[' ]| observed Edmund, 205:218,31[B ]| "that 205:218,32[B ]| Mrs%*Grant should wish to procure so agreeable a visitor 205:218,33[B ]| for her sister?" 205:218,34[E ]| "Nothing can be more natural," 205:218,34[' ]| said Sir*Thomas, after 205:218,35[' ]| a short deliberation; 205:218,35[E ]| "nor, were there no sister in the 205:218,36[E ]| case, could any*thing in my opinion be more natural. 205:218,37[E ]| Mrs%*Grant's shewing civility to Miss*Price, to 205:218,37[E ]| Lady*Bertram's 205:218,38[E ]| niece, could never want explanation. The only 205:219,01[E ]| surprize I can feel is that this should be the \first\ time of 205:219,02[E ]| its being paid. Fanny was perfectly right in giving only 205:219,03[E ]| a conditional answer. She appears to feel as she ought. 205:219,04[E ]| But as I conclude that she must wish to go, since all young 205:219,05[E ]| people like to be together, I can see no reason why she 205:219,06[E ]| should be denied the indulgence." 205:219,07[F ]| "But can I do without her, Sir*Thomas?" 205:219,08[E ]| "Indeed I think you may." 205:219,09[F ]| "She always makes tea, you know, when my sister is 205:219,10[F ]| not here." 205:219,11[E ]| "Your sister perhaps may be prevailed on to spend 205:219,12[E ]| the day with us, and I shall certainly be at home." 205:219,13[F ]| "Very well, then, Fanny may go, Edmund." 205:219,14[' ]| The good news soon followed her. Edmund knocked 205:219,15[' ]| at her door in his way to his own. 205:219,16[B ]| "Well, Fanny, it is all happily settled, and without the 205:219,17[B ]| smallest hesitation on your uncle's side. He had but one 205:219,18[B ]| opinion. You are to go." 205:219,19[A ]| "Thank you, I am \so\ glad," 205:219,19[' ]| was Fanny's instinctive 205:219,20[' ]| reply; though when she had turned from him and shut 205:219,21[' ]| the door, she could not help feeling, 205:219,21[A ]| "And yet, why should 205:219,22[A ]| I be glad? for am I not certain of seeing or hearing something 205:219,23[A ]| there to pain me?" 205:219,24[' ]| In spite of this conviction, however, she was glad. 205:219,25[' ]| Simple as such an engagement might appear in other eyes, 205:219,26[' ]| it had novelty and importance in her's, for excepting the 205:219,27[' ]| day at Sotherton, she had scarcely ever dined out before; 205:219,28[' ]| and though now going only half a mile and only to three 205:219,29[' ]| people, still it was dining out, and all the little interests of 205:219,30[' ]| preparation were enjoyments in themselves. She had 205:219,31[' ]| neither sympathy nor assistance from those who ought to 205:219,32[' ]| have entered into her feelings and directed her taste; for 205:219,33[' ]| Lady*Bertram never thought of being useful to any*body, 205:219,34[' ]| and Mrs%*Norris, when she came on the morrow, in consequence 205:219,35[' ]| of an early call and invitation from Sir*Thomas, 205:219,36[' ]| was in a very ill*humour, and seemed intent only on lessening 205:219,37[' ]| her niece's pleasure, both present and future, as much 205:219,38[' ]| as possible. 205:220,01[J ]| "Upon my word, Fanny, you are in high luck to meet 205:220,02[J ]| with such attention and indulgence! You ought to be 205:220,03[J ]| very much obliged to Mrs%*Grant for thinking of you, and 205:220,04[J ]| to your aunt for letting you go, and you ought to look 205:220,05[J ]| upon it as something extraordinary: for I hope you are 205:220,06[J ]| aware that there is no real occasion for your going into 205:220,07[J ]| company in this sort of way, or ever dining out at all; and 205:220,08[J ]| it is what you must not depend upon ever being repeated. 205:220,09[J ]| Nor must you be fancying, that the invitation is meant as 205:220,10[J ]| any particular compliment to \you\; the compliment is 205:220,11[J ]| intended to your uncle and aunt, and me. Mrs%*Grant 205:220,12[J ]| thinks it a civility due to \us\ to take a little notice of you, 205:220,12[J ]| or 205:220,13[J ]| else it would never have come into her head, and you 205:220,14[J ]| may be very certain, that if your cousin Julia had been at 205:220,15[J ]| home, you would not have been asked at all." 205:220,16[' ]| Mrs%*Norris had now so ingeniously done away all 205:220,17[' ]| Mrs%*Grant's part of the favour, that Fanny, who found 205:220,18[' ]| herself expected to speak, could only say that 205:220,18@a | she was very 205:220,19@a | much obliged to her aunt Bertram for sparing her, and 205:220,20@a | that she was endeavouring to put her aunt's evening work 205:220,21@a | in such a state as to prevent her being missed. 205:220,22[J ]| "Oh! depend upon it, your aunt can do very well without 205:220,23[J ]| you, or you would not be allowed to go. \I\ shall be 205:220,24[J ]| here, so you may be quite easy about your aunt. And 205:220,25[J ]| I hope you will have a very \agreeable\ day and find it all 205:220,26[J ]| mighty \delightful\. But I must observe, that five is the 205:220,27[J ]| very awkwardest of all possible numbers to sit down to 205:220,28[J ]| table; and I cannot but be surprized that such an \elegant\ 205:220,29[J ]| lady as Mrs%*Grant should not contrive better! And 205:220,30[J ]| round their enormous great wide table too, which fills up 205:220,31[J ]| the room so dreadfully! Had the Doctor been contented 205:220,32[J ]| to take my dining*table when I came away, as any*body 205:220,33[J ]| in their senses would have done, instead of having that 205:220,34[J ]| absurd new one of his own, which is wider, literally wider 205:220,35[J ]| than the dinner*table here ~~ how infinitely better it would 205:220,36[J ]| have been! and how much more he would have been 205:220,37[J ]| respected! for people are never respected when they step 205:220,38[J ]| out of their proper sphere. Remember \that\, Fanny. 205:221,01[J ]| Five, only five to be sitting round that table! However, 205:221,02[J ]| you will have dinner enough on it for ten I dare say." 205:221,03[' ]| Mrs%*Norris fetched breath and went on again. 205:221,04[J ]| "The nonsense and folly of people's stepping out of 205:221,05[J ]| their rank and trying to appear above themselves, makes 205:221,06[J ]| me think it right to give \you\ a hint, Fanny, now that you 205:221,07[J ]| are going into company without any of us; and I do 205:221,08[J ]| beseech and intreat you not to be putting yourself forward, 205:221,09[J ]| and talking and giving your opinion as if you were one of 205:221,10[J ]| your cousins ~~ as if you were dear Mrs%*Rushworth or 205:221,11[J ]| Julia. \That\ will never do, believe me. Remember, wherever 205:221,12[J ]| you are, you must be the lowest and last; and though 205:221,13[J ]| Miss*Crawford is in a manner at home, at the Parsonage, 205:221,14[J ]| you are not to be taking place of her. And as to coming 205:221,15[J ]| away at night, you are to stay just as long as Edmund 205:221,16[J ]| chuses. Leave him to settle \that\." 205:221,17[A ]| "Yes, ma'am, I should not think of any*thing else." 205:221,18[J ]| "And if it should rain, which I think exceedingly likely, 205:221,19[J ]| for I never saw it more threatening for a wet evening in 205:221,20[J ]| my life ~~ you must manage as well as you can, and not be 205:221,21[J ]| expecting the carriage to be sent for you. I certainly do 205:221,22[J ]| not go home to*night, and, therefore, the carriage will not 205:221,23[J ]| be out on my account; so you must make up your mind to 205:221,24[J ]| what may happen, and take your things accordingly." 205:221,25[' ]| Her niece thought it perfectly reasonable. She rated 205:221,26[' ]| her own claims to comfort as low even as Mrs%*Norris could; 205:221,27[' ]| and when Sir*Thomas, soon afterwards, just opening the 205:221,28[' ]| door, said, 205:221,28[E ]| "Fanny, at what time would you have the 205:221,29[E ]| carriage come round?" 205:221,29[' ]| she felt a degree of astonishment 205:221,30[' ]| which made it impossible for her to speak. 205:221,31[J ]| "My dear Sir*Thomas!" 205:221,31[' ]| cried Mrs%*Norris, red with 205:221,32[' ]| anger, 205:221,32[J ]| "Fanny can walk." 205:221,33[E ]| "Walk!" 205:221,33[' ]| repeated Sir*Thomas, in a tone of most unanswerable 205:221,34[' ]| dignity, and coming farther into the room. ~~ 205:221,35[E ]| "My niece walk to a dinner engagement at this time of the 205:221,36[E ]| year! Will twenty minutes after four suit you?" 205:221,37[A ]| "Yes, sir," 205:221,37[' ]| was Fanny's humble answer, given with the 205:221,38[' ]| feelings almost of a criminal towards Mrs%*Norris; and not 205:222,01[' ]| bearing to remain with her in what might seem a state of 205:222,02[' ]| triumph, she followed her uncle out of the room, having 205:222,03[' ]| staid behind him only long enough to hear these words 205:222,04[' ]| spoken in angry agitation: 205:222,05[J ]| "Quite unnecessary! ~~ a great deal too kind! But 205:222,06[J ]| Edmund goes; ~~ true ~~ it is upon Edmund's account. 205:222,07[J ]| I observed he was hoarse on Thursday night." 205:222,08[' ]| But this could not impose on Fanny. 205:222,08[' ]| She felt that 205:222,09@a | the carriage was for herself and herself alone; 205:222,09[' ]| and her uncle's 205:222,10[' ]| consideration of her, coming immediately after such representations 205:222,11[' ]| from her aunt, cost her some tears of gratitude 205:222,12[' ]| when she was alone. 205:222,13[' ]| The coachman drove round to a minute; another 205:222,14[' ]| minute brought down the gentleman, and as the lady had, 205:222,15[' ]| with a most scrupulous fear of being late, been many 205:222,16[' ]| minutes seated in the drawing*room, Sir*Thomas saw them 205:222,17[' ]| off in as good time as his own correctly punctual habits 205:222,18[' ]| required. 205:222,19[B ]| "Now I must look at you, Fanny," 205:222,19[' ]| said Edmund, with 205:222,20[' ]| the kind smile of an affectionate brother, 205:222,20[B ]| "and tell you 205:222,21[B ]| how I like you; and as well as I can judge by this light, 205:222,22[B ]| you look very nicely indeed. What have you got on?" 205:222,23[A ]| "The new dress that my uncle was so good as to give me 205:222,24[A ]| on my cousin's marriage. I hope it is not too fine; but 205:222,25[A ]| I thought I ought to wear it as soon as I could, and that 205:222,26[A ]| I might not have such another opportunity all the winter. 205:222,27[A ]| I hope you do not think me too fine." 205:222,28[B ]| "A woman can never be too fine while she is all in white. 205:222,29[B ]| No, I see no finery about you; nothing but what is perfectly 205:222,30[B ]| proper. Your gown seems very pretty. I like these 205:222,31[B ]| glossy spots. Has not Miss*Crawford a gown something 205:222,32[B ]| the same?" 205:222,33[' ]| In approaching the Parsonage they passed close by the 205:222,34[' ]| stable-yard and coach-house. ~~ 205:222,35[B ]| "Hey*day!" 205:222,35[' ]| said Edmund 205:222,35[B ]| "here's company, here's 205:222,36[B ]| a carriage! who have they got to meet us?" 205:222,36[' ]| And letting 205:222,37[' ]| down the side-glass to distinguish, 205:222,37[B ]| "'Tis Crawford's, Crawford's 205:222,38[B ]| barouche, I protest! There are his own two men 205:223,01[B ]| pushing it back into its old quarters. He is here of course. 205:223,02[B ]| This is quite a surprize, Fanny. I shall be very glad to see 205:223,03[B ]| him." 205:223,04[' ]| There was no occasion, there was no time for Fanny to 205:223,05[' ]| say 205:223,05@a | how very differently she felt; but the idea of having 205:223,06@a | such another to observe her, was a great increase of the 205:223,07@a | trepidation with which she performed the very aweful 205:223,08@a | ceremony of walking into the drawing-room. 205:223,09@a | In the drawing-room Mr%*Crawford certainly was; 205:223,10@a | having been just long enough arrived to be ready for dinner; 205:223,11@a | and the smiles and pleased looks of the three others 205:223,12@a | standing round him, shewed how welcome was his sudden 205:223,13@a | resolution of coming to them for a few days on leaving 205:223,14@a | Bath. 205:223,14[' ]| A very cordial meeting passed between him and 205:223,15[' ]| Edmund; and with the exception of Fanny, the pleasure 205:223,16[' ]| was general; and even to \her\, there might be some advantage 205:223,17[' ]| in his presence, since every addition to the party must 205:223,18[' ]| rather forward her favourite indulgence of being suffered 205:223,19[' ]| to sit silent and unattended to. She was soon aware of this 205:223,20[' ]| herself; for though she must submit, as her own propriety 205:223,21[' ]| of mind directed, in spite of her aunt Norris's opinion, to 205:223,22[' ]| being the principal lady in company, and to all the little 205:223,23[' ]| distinctions consequent thereon, 205:223,23@a | she found, while they 205:223,24@a | were at table, such a happy flow of conversation prevailing 205:223,25@a | in which she was not required to take any part ~~ there was 205:223,26@a | so much to be said between the brother and sister about 205:223,27@a | Bath, so much between the two young men about hunting, 205:223,28@a | so much of politics between Mr%*Crawford and Dr%*Grant, 205:223,29@a | and of every*thing, and all together between Mr%*Crawford 205:223,30@a | and Mrs%*Grant, as to leave her the fairest prospect of 205:223,31@a | having only to listen in quiet, and of passing a very agreeable 205:223,32@a | day. She could not compliment the newly-arrived 205:223,33@a | gentleman however with any appearance of interest in 205:223,34@a | a scheme for extending his stay at Mansfield, and sending 205:223,35@a | for his hunters from Norfolk, which, suggested by Dr%*Grant, 205:223,36@a | advised by Edmund, and warmly urged by the two sisters, 205:223,37@a | was soon in possession of his mind, and which he seemed to 205:223,38@a | want to be encouraged even by her to resolve on. Her 205:224,01@a | opinion was sought as to the probable continuance of the 205:224,02@a | open weather, 205:224,02[' ]| but her answers were as short and indifferent 205:224,03[' ]| as civility allowed. 205:224,03@a | She could not wish him to stay, and 205:224,04@a | would much rather not have him speak to her. 205:224,05[' ]| Her two absent cousins, especially Maria, were much in 205:224,06[' ]| her thoughts on seeing him; 205:224,06@a | but no embarrassing remembrance 205:224,07@a | affected \his\ spirits. Here he was again on the same 205:224,08@a | ground where all had passed before, and apparently as 205:224,09@a | willing to stay and be happy without the Miss*Bertrams, 205:224,10@a | as if he had never known Mansfield in any other state. 205:224,11@a | She heard them spoken of by him only in a general way, till 205:224,12@a | they were all re-assembled in the drawing-room, when 205:224,13@a | Edmund, being engaged apart in some matter of business 205:224,14@a | with Dr%*Grant, which seemed entirely to engross them, 205:224,15@a | and Mrs%*Grant occupied at the tea-table, he began talking 205:224,16@a | of them with more particularity to his other sister. 205:224,16[' ]| With 205:224,17[' ]| a significant smile, which made Fanny quite hate him, he 205:224,18[' ]| said, 205:224,18[D ]| "So! Rushworth and his fair bride are at Brighton, 205:224,19[D ]| I understand ~~ Happy man!" 205:224,20[C ]| "Yes, they have been there ~~ about a fortnight, 205:224,21[C ]| Miss*Price, have they not? ~~ And Julia is with them." 205:224,22[D ]| "And Mr%*Yates, I presume, is not far off." 205:224,23[C ]| "Mr%*Yates! ~~ Oh! we hear nothing of Mr%*Yates. I do 205:224,24[C ]| not imagine he figures much in the letters to Mansfield*Park; 205:224,25[C ]| do you, Miss*Price? ~~ I think my friend Julia knows 205:224,26[C ]| better than to entertain her father with Mr%*Yates." 205:224,27[D ]| "Poor Rushworth and his two-and-forty speeches!" 205:224,28[' ]| continued Crawford. 205:224,28[D ]| "Nobody can ever forget them. 205:224,29[D ]| Poor fellow! ~~ I see him now; ~~ his toil and his despair. 205:224,30[D ]| Well, I am much mistaken if his lovely Maria will ever want 205:224,31[D ]| him to make two-and-forty speeches to her" ~~ 205:224,31[' ]| adding, with 205:224,32[' ]| a momentary seriousness, 205:224,32[D ]| "She is too good for him ~~ 205:224,33[D ]| much too good." 205:224,33[' ]| And then changing his tone again to one 205:224,34[' ]| of gentle gallantry, and addressing Fanny, he said, 205:224,34[D ]| "You 205:224,35[D ]| were Mr%*Rushworth's best friend. Your kindness and 205:224,36[D ]| patience can never be forgotten, your indefatigable patience 205:224,37[D ]| in trying to make it possible for him to learn his part ~~ in 205:224,38[D ]| trying to give him a brain which nature had denied ~~ to 205:225,01[D ]| mix up an understanding for him out of the superfluity of 205:225,02[D ]| your own! \He\ might not have sense enough himself to 205:225,03[D ]| estimate your kindness, but I may venture to say that it 205:225,04[D ]| had honour from all the rest of the party." 205:225,05[' ]| Fanny coloured, and said nothing. 205:225,06[D ]| "It is as a dream, a pleasant dream!" 205:225,06[' ]| he exclaimed, 205:225,07[' ]| breaking forth again after few minutes musing. 205:225,07[D ]| "I shall 205:225,08[D ]| always look back on our theatricals with exquisite pleasure. 205:225,09[D ]| There was such an interest, such an animation, such a spirit 205:225,10[D ]| diffused! Every*body felt it. We were all alive. There 205:225,11[D ]| was employment, hope, solicitude, bustle, for every hour of 205:225,12[D ]| the day. Always some little objection, some little doubt, 205:225,13[D ]| some little anxiety to be got over. I never was happier." 205:225,14[' ]| With silent indignation, Fanny repeated to herself, 205:225,15[A ]| "Never happier! ~~ never happier than when doing what 205:225,16[A ]| you must know was not justifiable! ~~ never happier than 205:225,17[A ]| when behaving so dishonourably and unfeelingly! ~~ Oh! 205:225,18[A ]| what a corrupted mind!" 205:225,19[D ]| "We were unlucky, Miss*Price," 205:225,19[' ]| he continued in a lower 205:225,20[' ]| tone, to avoid the possibility of being heard by Edmund, 205:225,21[' ]| and not at all aware of her feelings, 205:225,21[D ]| "we certainly were 205:225,22[D ]| very unlucky. Another week, only one other week, would 205:225,23[D ]| have been enough for us. I think if we had had the disposal 205:225,24[D ]| of events ~~ if Mansfield*Park had had the government of 205:225,25[D ]| the winds just for a week or two about the equinox, there 205:225,26[D ]| would have been a difference. Not that we would have 205:225,27[D ]| endangered his safety by any tremendous weather ~~ but only 205:225,28[D ]| by a steady contrary wind, or a calm. I think, Miss*Price, 205:225,29[D ]| we would have indulged ourselves with a week's calm in 205:225,30[D ]| the Atlantic at that season." 205:225,31[' ]| He seemed determined to be answered; and Fanny, 205:225,32[' ]| averting her face, said with a firmer tone than usual, 205:225,33[A ]| "As far as \I\ am concerned, sir, I would not have delayed 205:225,34[A ]| his return for a day. My uncle disapproved it all so 205:225,35[A ]| entirely when he did arrive, that in my opinion, every*thing 205:225,36[A ]| had gone quite far enough." 205:225,37[' ]| She had never spoken so much at once to him in her life 205:225,38[' ]| before, and never so angrily to any*one; and when her 205:226,01[' ]| speech was over, she trembled and blushed at her own 205:226,02[' ]| daring. He was surprized; but after a few moments silent 205:226,03[' ]| consideration of her, replied in a calmer, graver tone, and 205:226,04[' ]| as if the candid result of conviction, 205:226,04[D ]| "I believe you are 205:226,05[D ]| right. It was more pleasant than prudent. We were getting 205:226,06[D ]| too noisy." 205:226,06[' ]| And then turning the conversation, he 205:226,07[' ]| would have engaged her on some other subject, but her 205:226,08[' ]| answers were so shy and reluctant that he could not 205:226,09[' ]| advance in any. 205:226,10[' ]| Miss*Crawford, who had been repeatedly eyeing 205:226,11[' ]| Dr%*Grant and Edmund, now observed, 205:226,11[C ]| "Those gentlemen 205:226,12[C ]| must have some very interesting point to discuss." 205:226,13[D ]| "The most interesting in the world," 205:226,13[' ]| replied her brother 205:226,14[D ]| ~~ "how to make money ~~ how to turn a good income into 205:226,15[D ]| a better. Dr%*Grant is giving Bertram instructions about 205:226,16[D ]| the living he is to step into so soon. I find he takes orders 205:226,17[D ]| in a few weeks. They were at it in the dining-parlour. 205:226,18[D ]| I am glad to hear Bertram will be so well off. He will have 205:226,19[D ]| a very pretty income to make ducks and drakes with, and 205:226,20[D ]| earned without much trouble. I apprehend he will not 205:226,21[D ]| have less than seven hundred a year. Seven hundred 205:226,22[D ]| a year is a fine thing for a younger brother; and as of 205:226,23[D ]| course he will still live at home, it will be all for his 205:226,23[D ]| \menus*plaisirs\; 205:226,24[D ]| and a sermon at Christmas and Easter, I suppose, 205:226,25[D ]| will be the sum total of sacrifice." 205:226,26[' ]| His sister tried to laugh off her feelings by saying, 205:226,27[C ]| "Nothing amuses me more than the easy manner with 205:226,28[C ]| which every*body settles the abundance of those who have 205:226,29[C ]| a great deal less than themselves. You would look rather 205:226,30[C ]| blank, Henry, if your menus*plaisirs were to be limited to 205:226,31[C ]| seven hundred a year." 205:226,32[D ]| "Perhaps I might; but all \that\ you know is entirely 205:226,33[D ]| comparative. Birthright and habit must settle the business. 205:226,34[D ]| Bertram is certainly well off for a cadet of even 205:226,35[D ]| a Baronet's family. By the time he is four or five-and-twenty 205:226,36[D ]| he will have seven hundred a year, and nothing 205:226,37[D ]| to do for it." 205:226,38[' ]| Miss*Crawford \could\ have said that there would be a 205:227,01[' ]| something to do and to suffer for it, which she could not 205:227,02[' ]| think lightly of; but she checked herself and let it pass; 205:227,03[' ]| and tried to look calm and unconcerned when the two 205:227,04[' ]| gentlemen shortly afterwards joined them. 205:227,05[D ]| "Bertram," 205:227,05[' ]| said Henry*Crawford, 205:227,05[D ]| "I shall make a point 205:227,06[D ]| of coming to Mansfield to hear you preach your first 205:227,07[D ]| sermon. I shall come on purpose to encourage a young 205:227,08[D ]| beginner. When is it to be? Miss*Price, will not you join 205:227,09[D ]| me in encouraging your cousin? Will not you engage to 205:227,10[D ]| attend with your eyes steadily fixed on him the whole 205:227,11[D ]| time ~~ as I shall do ~~ not to lose a word; or only looking off 205:227,12[D ]| just to note down any sentence pre-eminently beautiful? 205:227,13[D ]| We will provide ourselves with tablets and a pencil. 205:227,14[D ]| When will it be? You must preach at Mansfield, you 205:227,15[D ]| know, that Sir*Thomas and Lady*Bertram may hear you." 205:227,16[B ]| "I shall keep clear of you, Crawford, as long as I can," 205:227,17[' ]| said Edmund, 205:227,17[B ]| "for you would be more likely to disconcert 205:227,18[B ]| me, and I should be more sorry to see you trying at it, than 205:227,19[B ]| almost any other man." 205:227,20@a | "Will he not feel this?" 205:227,20[' ]| thought Fanny. 205:227,20@a | "No, he can 205:227,21@a | feel nothing as he ought." 205:227,21[' ]| The party being now all united, and the chief talkers 205:227,22[' ]| attracting each other, she remained in tranquillity; and 205:227,23[' ]| as a whist*table was formed after tea ~~ formed really for 205:227,24[' ]| the amusement of Dr%*Grant, by his attentive wife, though 205:227,25[' ]| it was not to be supposed so ~~ and Miss*Crawford took her 205:227,26[' ]| harp, she had nothing to do but to listen, and her tranquillity 205:227,27[' ]| remained undisturbed the rest of the evening, 205:227,28[' ]| except when Mr%*Crawford now and then addressed to her 205:227,29[' ]| a question or observation, which she could not avoid 205:227,30[' ]| answering. Miss*Crawford was too much vexed by what 205:227,31[' ]| had passed to be in a humour for any*thing but music. 205:227,32[' ]| With that, she soothed herself and amused her friend. 205:227,33[' ]| The assurance of Edmund's being so soon to take orders, 205:227,34[' ]| coming upon her like a blow that had been suspended, and 205:227,35[' ]| still hoped uncertain and at a distance, was felt with 205:227,36[' ]| resentment and mortification. 205:227,37@c | She was very angry with 205:227,38@c | him. She had thought her influence more. She \had\ begun 205:228,01@c | to think of him ~~ she felt that she had ~~ with great regard, 205:228,02@c | with almost decided intentions; but she would now meet 205:228,03@c | him with his own cool feelings. It was plain that he could 205:228,04@c | have no serious views, no true attachment, by fixing himself 205:228,05@c | in a situation which he must know she would never 205:228,06@c | stoop to. She would learn to match him in his indifference. 205:228,07@c | She would henceforth admit his attentions without any 205:228,08@c | idea beyond immediate amusement. If \he\ could so command 205:228,09@c | his affections, \her's\ should do her no harm. 206:229,01[' ]| Henry*Crawford had quite made up his mind by the 206:229,02[' ]| next morning to give another fortnight to Mansfield, and 206:229,03[' ]| having sent for his hunters and written a few lines of 206:229,04[' ]| explanation to the Admiral, he looked round at his sister 206:229,05[' ]| as he sealed and threw the letter from him, and seeing the 206:229,06[' ]| coast clear of the rest of the family, said, with a smile, 206:229,07[D ]| "And how do you think I mean to amuse myself, Mary, on 206:229,08[D ]| the days that I do not hunt? I am grown too old to go out 206:229,09[D ]| more than three times a week; but I have a plan for the 206:229,10[D ]| intermediate days, and what do you think it is?" 206:229,11[C ]| "To walk and ride with me, to be sure." 206:229,12[D ]| "Not exactly, though I shall be happy to do both, but 206:229,13[D ]| \that\ would be exercise only to my body, and I must take 206:229,14[D ]| care of my mind. Besides \that\ would be all recreation and 206:229,15[D ]| indulgence, without the wholesome alloy of labour, and 206:229,16[D ]| I do not like to eat the bread of idleness. No, my plan is to 206:229,17[D ]| make Fanny*Price in love with me." 206:229,18[C ]| "Fanny*Price! Nonsense! No, no. You ought to be 206:229,19[C ]| satisfied with her two cousins." 206:229,20[D ]| "But I cannot be satisfied without Fanny*Price, without 206:229,21[D ]| making a small hole in Fanny*Price's heart. You do not 206:229,22[D ]| seem properly aware of her claims to notice. When we 206:229,23[D ]| talked of her last night, you none of you seemed sensible 206:229,24[D ]| of the wonderful improvement that has taken place in her 206:229,25[D ]| looks within the last six weeks. You see her every day, 206:229,26[D ]| and therefore do not notice it, but I assure you, she is quite 206:229,27[D ]| a different creature from what she was in the autumn. 206:229,28[D ]| She was then merely a quiet, modest, not plain looking girl, 206:229,29[D ]| but she is now absolutely pretty. I used to think she had 206:229,30[D ]| neither complexion nor countenance; but in that soft skin 206:229,31[D ]| of her's, so frequently tinged with a blush as it was yesterday, 206:229,32[D ]| there is decided beauty; and from what I observed of 206:230,01[D ]| her eyes and mouth, I do not despair of their being capable 206:230,02[D ]| of expression enough when she has any*thing to express. 206:230,03[D ]| And then ~~ her air, her manner, her tout*ensemble is so 206:230,04[D ]| indescribably improved! She must be grown two inches, 206:230,05[D ]| at least, since October." 206:230,06[C ]| "Phoo! phoo! This is only because there were no tall 206:230,07[C ]| women to compare her with, and because she has got a new 206:230,08[C ]| gown, and you never saw her so well dressed before. She is 206:230,09[C ]| just what she was in October, believe me. The truth is, 206:230,10[C ]| that she was the only girl in company for you to notice, and 206:230,11[C ]| you must have a somebody. I have always thought her 206:230,12[C ]| pretty ~~ not strikingly pretty ~~ but ""pretty enough"" as 206:230,13[C ]| people say; a sort of beauty that grows on one. Her eyes 206:230,14[C ]| should be darker, but she has a sweet smile; but as for 206:230,15[C ]| this wonderful degree of improvement, I am sure it may 206:230,16[C ]| all be resolved into a better style of dress and your having 206:230,17[C ]| nobody else to look at; and therefore, if you do set about 206:230,18[C ]| a flirtation with her, you never will persuade me that it is 206:230,19[C ]| in compliment to her beauty, or that it proceeds from any*thing 206:230,20[C ]| but your own idleness and folly." 206:230,21[' ]| Her brother gave only a smile to this accusation, and 206:230,22[' ]| soon afterwards said, 206:230,22[D ]| "I do not quite know what to 206:230,23[D ]| make of Miss*Fanny. I do not understand her. I could 206:230,24[D ]| not tell what she would be at yesterday. What is her 206:230,25[D ]| character? ~~ Is she solemn? ~~ Is she queer? ~~ Is she 206:230,26[D ]| prudish? Why did she draw back and look so grave 206:230,27[D ]| at me? I could hardly get her to speak. I never was 206:230,28[D ]| so long in company with a girl in my life ~~ trying to 206:230,29[D ]| entertain her ~~ and succeed so ill! Never met with 206:230,30[D ]| a girl who looked so grave on me! I must try to get 206:230,31[D ]| the better of this. Her looks say, ""I will not like you, 206:230,32[D ]| I am determined not to like you,"" and I say, she shall." 206:230,33[C ]| "Foolish fellow! And so this is her attraction after 206:230,34[C ]| all! This it is ~~ her not caring about you ~~ which gives 206:230,35[C ]| her such a soft skin and makes her so much taller, and 206:230,36[C ]| produces all these charms and graces! I do desire that 206:230,37[C ]| you will not be making her really unhappy; a \little\ love 206:230,38[C ]| perhaps may animate and do her good, but I will not 206:231,01[C ]| have you plunge her deep, for she is as good a little 206:231,02[C ]| creature as ever lived, and has a great deal of feeling." 206:231,03[D ]| "It can be but for a fortnight," 206:231,03[' ]| said Henry, 206:231,03[D ]| "and if 206:231,04[D ]| a fortnight can kill her, she must have a constitution 206:231,05[D ]| which nothing could save. No, I will not do her any 206:231,06[D ]| harm, dear little soul! I only want her to look kindly 206:231,07[D ]| on me, to give me smiles as well as blushes, to keep 206:231,08[D ]| a chair for me by herself wherever we are, and be all 206:231,09[D ]| animation when I take it and talk to her; to think as 206:231,10[D ]| I think, be interested in all my possessions and pleasures, 206:231,11[D ]| try to keep me longer at Mansfield, and feel when I go 206:231,12[D ]| away that she shall be never happy again. I want 206:231,13[D ]| nothing more." 206:231,14[C ]| "Moderation itself!" 206:231,14[' ]| said Mary. 206:231,14[C ]| "I can have no 206:231,15[C ]| scruples now. Well, you will have opportunities enough 206:231,16[C ]| of endeavouring to recommend yourself, for we are 206:231,17[C ]| a great deal together." 206:231,18[' ]| And without attempting any further remonstrance, 206:231,19[' ]| she left Fanny to her fate ~~ a fate which, had not Fanny's 206:231,20[' ]| heart been guarded in a way unsuspected by Miss*Crawford, 206:231,21[' ]| might have been a little harder than she deserved; 206:231,22[' ]| for although there doubtless are such unconquerable 206:231,23[' ]| young ladies of eighteen (or one should not read about 206:231,24[' ]| them) as are never to be persuaded into love against 206:231,25[' ]| their judgment by all that talent, manner, attention, 206:231,26[' ]| and flattery can do, I have no inclination to believe 206:231,27[' ]| Fanny one of them, or to think that with so much tenderness 206:231,28[' ]| of disposition, and so much taste as belonged to her, 206:231,29[' ]| she could have escaped heart-whole from the courtship 206:231,30[' ]| (though the courtship only of a fortnight) of such a man 206:231,31[' ]| as Crawford, in spite of there being some previous ill-opinion 206:231,32[' ]| of him to be overcome, had not her affection been 206:231,33[' ]| engaged elsewhere. With all the security which love of 206:231,34[' ]| another and disesteem of him could give to the peace 206:231,35[' ]| of mind he was attacking, his continued attentions ~~ 206:231,36[' ]| continued, but not obtrusive, and adapting themselves 206:231,37[' ]| more and more to the gentleness and delicacy of her 206:231,38[' ]| character, ~~ obliged her very soon to dislike him less than 206:232,01[' ]| formerly. She had by no means forgotten the past, and 206:232,02[' ]| she thought as ill of him as ever; but she felt his powers; 206:232,03@a | he was entertaining, and his manners were so improved, 206:232,04@a | so polite, so seriously and blamelessly polite, that it was 206:232,05@a | impossible not to be civil to him in return. 206:232,06[' ]| A very few days were enough to effect this; and at 206:232,07[' ]| the end of those few days, circumstances arose which had 206:232,08[' ]| a tendency rather to forward his views of pleasing her, 206:232,09[' ]| inasmuch as they gave her a degree of happiness which 206:232,10[' ]| must dispose her to be pleased with every*body. William, 206:232,11[' ]| her brother, the so long absent and dearly loved brother, 206:232,12[' ]| was in England again. She had a letter from him herself, 206:232,13[' ]| a few hurried happy lines, written as the ship came up 206:232,14[' ]| Channel, and sent into Portsmouth, with the first boat 206:232,15[' ]| that left the Antwerp, at anchor, in Spithead; and when 206:232,16[' ]| Crawford walked up with the newspaper in his hand, 206:232,17[' ]| which he had hoped would bring the first tidings, he 206:232,18[' ]| found her trembling with joy over this letter, and listening 206:232,19[' ]| with a glowing, grateful countenance to the kind invitation 206:232,20[' ]| which her uncle was most collectedly dictating in 206:232,21[' ]| reply. 206:232,22[' ]| It was but the day before, that Crawford had made 206:232,23[' ]| himself thoroughly master of the subject, or had in fact 206:232,24[' ]| become at all aware of her having such a brother, or his 206:232,25[' ]| being in such a ship, but the interest then excited had 206:232,26[' ]| been very properly lively, determining him on his return 206:232,27[' ]| to town to apply for information as to the probable 206:232,28[' ]| period of the Antwerp's return from the Mediterranean, 206:232,29[' ]| &c%; 206:232,29@d | and the good luck which attended his early examination 206:232,30@d | of ship news, the next morning, seemed the reward 206:232,31@d | of his ingenuity in finding out such a method of pleasing 206:232,32@d | her, as well as of his dutiful attention to the Admiral, 206:232,33@d | in having for many years taken in the paper esteemed 206:232,34@d | to have the earliest naval intelligence. 206:232,34[' ]| He proved, however, 206:232,35[' ]| to be too late. All those fine first feelings, of which 206:232,36[' ]| he had hoped to be the excitor, were already given. But 206:232,37[' ]| his intention, the kindness of his intention, was thankfully 206:232,38[' ]| acknowledged ~~ quite thankfully and warmly, for she was 206:233,01[' ]| elevated beyond the common timidity of her mind by 206:233,02[' ]| the flow of her love for William. 206:233,03[' ]| This dear William would soon be amongst them. 206:233,04[' ]| There could be no doubt of his obtaining leave of absence 206:233,05[' ]| immediately, for he was still only a midshipman; and as 206:233,06[' ]| his parents, from living on the spot, must already have 206:233,07[' ]| seen him and be seeing him perhaps daily, his direct 206:233,08[' ]| holidays might with justice be instantly given to the 206:233,09[' ]| sister, who had been his best correspondent through 206:233,10[' ]| a period of seven years, and the uncle who had done 206:233,11[' ]| most for his support and advancement; and accordingly 206:233,12[' ]| the reply to her reply, fixing a very early day for his 206:233,13[' ]| arrival, came as soon as possible; and scarcely ten days 206:233,14[' ]| had passed since Fanny had been in the agitation of her 206:233,15[' ]| first dinner visit, when she found herself in an agitation 206:233,16[' ]| of a higher nature ~~ watching in the hall, in the lobby, 206:233,17[' ]| on the stairs, for the first sound of the carriage which was 206:233,18[' ]| to bring her a brother. 206:233,19[' ]| It came happily while she was thus waiting; and there 206:233,20[' ]| being neither ceremony nor fearfulness to delay the 206:233,21[' ]| moment of meeting, she was with him as he entered the 206:233,22[' ]| house, and the first minutes of exquisite feeling had no 206:233,23[' ]| interruption and no witnesses, unless the servants chiefly 206:233,24[' ]| intent upon opening the proper doors could be called such. 206:233,25[' ]| This was exactly what Sir*Thomas and Edmund had been 206:233,26[' ]| separately conniving at, as each proved to the other by 206:233,27[' ]| the sympathetic alacrity with which they both advised 206:233,28[' ]| Mrs%*Norris's continuing where she was, instead of rushing 206:233,29[' ]| out into the hall as soon as the noises of the arrival 206:233,30[' ]| reached them. 206:233,31[' ]| William and Fanny soon shewed themselves; and 206:233,32[' ]| Sir*Thomas had the pleasure of receiving in his prote=ge=, 206:233,33@e | certainly a very different person from the one he had 206:233,34@e | equipped seven years ago, but a young man of an open, 206:233,35@e | pleasant countenance, and frank, unstudied, but feeling 206:233,36@e | and respectful manners, and such as confirmed him his 206:233,37@e | friend. 206:233,38[' ]| It was long before Fanny could recover from the 206:234,01[' ]| agitating happiness of such an hour as was formed by 206:234,02[' ]| the last thirty minutes of expectation and the first of 206:234,03[' ]| fruition; it was some time even before her happiness 206:234,04[' ]| could be said to make her happy, before the disappointment 206:234,05[' ]| inseparable from the alteration of person had 206:234,06[' ]| vanished, and she could see in him the same William as 206:234,07[' ]| before, and talk to him, as her heart had been yearning 206:234,08[' ]| to do, through many a past year. That time, however, 206:234,09[' ]| did gradually come, forwarded by an affection on his side 206:234,10[' ]| as warm as her own, and much less incumbered by 206:234,11[' ]| refinement or self-distrust. She was the first object of 206:234,12[' ]| his love, but it was a love which his stronger spirits, and 206:234,13[' ]| bolder temper, made it as natural for him to express as 206:234,14[' ]| to feel. On the morrow they were walking about together 206:234,15[' ]| with true enjoyment, and every succeeding morrow 206:234,16[' ]| renewed a te^te-a`-te^te, which Sir*Thomas could not but 206:234,17[' ]| observe with complacency, even before Edmund had 206:234,18[' ]| pointed it out to him. 206:234,19[' ]| Excepting the moments of peculiar delight, which any 206:234,20[' ]| marked or unlooked-for instance of Edmund's consideration 206:234,21[' ]| of her in the last few months had excited, Fanny 206:234,22[' ]| had never known so much felicity in her life, as in 206:234,22@a | this 206:234,23@a | unchecked, equal, fearless intercourse with the brother 206:234,24@a | and friend, who was opening all his heart to her, telling 206:234,25@a | her all his hopes and fears, plans, and solicitudes respecting 206:234,26@a | that long thought of, dearly earned, and justly valued 206:234,27@a | blessing of promotion ~~ who could give her direct and 206:234,28@a | minute information of the father and mother, brothers 206:234,29@a | and sisters, of whom she very seldom heard ~~ who was 206:234,30@a | interested in all the comforts and all the little hardships 206:234,31@a | of her home, at Mansfield ~~ ready to think of every 206:234,32@a | member of that home as she directed, or differing only 206:234,33@a | by a less scrupulous opinion, and more noisy abuse of 206:234,34@a | their aunt Norris ~~ and with whom (perhaps the dearest 206:234,35@a | indulgence of the whole) all the evil and good of their 206:234,36@a | earliest years could be gone over again, and every former 206:234,37@a | united pain and pleasure retraced with the fondest 206:234,38@a | recollection. 206:234,38[' ]| An advantage this, a strengthener of love, 206:235,01[' ]| in which even the conjugal tie is beneath the fraternal. 206:235,02[' ]| Children of the same family, the same blood, with the 206:235,03[' ]| same first associations and habits, have some means of 206:235,04[' ]| enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent connections 206:235,05[' ]| can supply; and it must be by a long and 206:235,06[' ]| unnatural estrangement, by a divorce which no subsequent 206:235,07[' ]| connection can justify, if such precious remains 206:235,08[' ]| of the earliest attachments are ever entirely outlived. 206:235,09[' ]| Too often, alas! it is so. ~~ Fraternal love, sometimes 206:235,10[' ]| almost every*thing, is at others worse than nothing. 206:235,11[' ]| But with William and Fanny*Price, it was still a sentiment 206:235,12[' ]| in all its prime and freshness, wounded by no opposition 206:235,13[' ]| of interest, cooled by no separate attachment, and feeling 206:235,14[' ]| the influence of time and absence only in its increase. 206:235,15[' ]| An affection so amiable was advancing each in the 206:235,16[' ]| opinion of all who had hearts to value any*thing good. 206:235,17[' ]| Henry*Crawford was as much struck with it as any. 206:235,18@d | He honoured the warm*hearted, blunt fondness of the 206:235,19@d | young sailor, 206:235,19[' ]| which led him to say, with his hand stretched 206:235,20[' ]| towards Fanny's head, 206:235,20[Q ]| "Do you know, I begin to like 206:235,21[Q ]| that queer fashion already, though when I first heard 206:235,22[Q ]| of such things being done in England I could not believe 206:235,23[Q ]| it, and when Mrs%*Brown, and the other women, at the 206:235,24[Q ]| Commissioner's, at Gibraltar, appeared in the same trim, 206:235,25[Q ]| I thought they were mad; but Fanny can reconcile me 206:235,26[Q ]| to any*thing" ~~ 206:235,26[' ]| and saw, with lively admiration, 206:235,26@d | the glow 206:235,27@d | of Fanny's cheek, the brightness of her eye, the deep 206:235,28@d | interest, the absorbed attention, 206:235,28[' ]| while her brother was 206:235,29[' ]| describing any of the imminent hazards, or terrific 206:235,30[' ]| scenes, which such a period, at sea, must supply. 206:235,31[' ]| It was a picture which Henry*Crawford had moral 206:235,32[' ]| taste enough to value. 206:235,32@d | Fanny's attractions increased ~~ 206:235,33@d | increased two-fold ~~ for the sensibility which beautified 206:235,34@d | her complexion and illumined her countenance, was an 206:235,35@d | attraction in itself. He was no longer in doubt of the 206:235,36@d | capabilities of her heart. She had feeling, genuine feeling. 206:235,37@d | It would be something to be loved by such a girl, 206:235,38@d | to excite the first ardours of her young, unsophisticated 206:236,01@d | mind! She interested him more than he had foreseen. 206:236,02@d | A fortnight was not enough. 206:236,02[' ]| His stay became indefinite. 206:236,03[' ]| William was often called on by his uncle to be the 206:236,04[' ]| talker. His recitals were amusing in themselves to 206:236,05[' ]| Sir*Thomas, but the chief object in seeking them, was 206:236,06[' ]| to understand the recitor, to know the young man by his 206:236,07[' ]| histories; and he listened to his clear, simple, spirited 206:236,08[' ]| details with full satisfaction ~~ 206:236,08@e | seeing in them, the proof 206:236,09@e | of good principles, professional knowledge, energy, 206:236,10@e | courage, and cheerfulness ~~ every*thing that could deserve 206:236,11@e | or promise well. 206:236,11[' ]| Young as he was, William had already 206:236,12[' ]| seen a great deal. He had been in the Mediterranean ~~ 206:236,13[' ]| in the West*Indies ~~ in the Mediterranean again ~~ had 206:236,14[' ]| been often taken on shore by the favour of his Captain, 206:236,15[' ]| and in the course of seven years had known every variety 206:236,16[' ]| of danger, which sea and war together could offer. With 206:236,17[' ]| such means in his power he had a right to be listened to; 206:236,18[' ]| and though Mrs%*Norris could fidget about the room, and 206:236,19[' ]| disturb every*body in quest of two needlefulls of thread 206:236,20[' ]| or a second hand shirt button in the midst of her nephew's 206:236,21[' ]| account of a shipwreck or an engagement, every*body 206:236,22[' ]| else was attentive; and even Lady*Bertram could not 206:236,23[' ]| hear of such horrors unmoved, or without sometimes 206:236,24[' ]| lifting her eyes from her work to say, 206:236,24[F ]| "Dear me! how 206:236,25[F ]| disagreeable. ~~ I wonder any*body can ever go to sea." 206:236,26[' ]| To Henry*Crawford they gave a different feeling. 206:236,26@d | He 206:236,27@d | longed to have been at sea, and seen and done and 206:236,28@d | suffered as much. His heart was warmed, his fancy 206:236,29@d | fired, and he felt the highest respect for a lad who, before 206:236,30@d | he was twenty, had gone through such bodily hardships, 206:236,31@d | and given such proofs of mind. The glory of heroism, 206:236,32@d | of usefulness, of exertion, of endurance, made his own 206:236,33@d | habits of selfish indulgence appear in shameful contrast; 206:236,34@d | and he wished he had been a William*Price, distinguishing 206:236,35@d | himself and working his way to fortune and consequence 206:236,36@d | with so much self-respect and happy ardour, instead of 206:236,37@d | what he was! 206:236,38[' ]| The wish was rather eager than lasting. He was 206:237,01[' ]| roused from the reverie of retrospection and regret produced 206:237,02[' ]| by it, by some inquiry from Edmund as to his 206:237,03[' ]| plans for the next day's hunting; 206:237,03@d | and he found it was 206:237,04@d | as well to be a man of fortune at once with horses and 206:237,05@d | grooms at his command. In one respect it was better, 206:237,06@d | as it gave him the means of conferring a kindness where 206:237,07@d | he wished to oblige. 206:237,07[' ]| With spirits, courage, and curiosity 206:237,08[' ]| up to any*thing, William expressed an inclination to hunt; 206:237,09[' ]| and Crawford could mount him without the slightest 206:237,10[' ]| inconvenience to himself, and with only some scruples to 206:237,11[' ]| obviate in Sir*Thomas, who knew better than his nephew 206:237,12[' ]| the value of such a loan, and some alarms to reason away 206:237,13[' ]| in Fanny. She feared for William; by no means convinced 206:237,14[' ]| by all that he could relate of his own horsemanship 206:237,15[' ]| in various countries, of the scrambling parties in 206:237,16[' ]| which he had been engaged, the rough horses and mules 206:237,17[' ]| he had ridden, or his many narrow escapes from dreadful 206:237,18[' ]| falls, that he was at all equal to the management of 206:237,19[' ]| a high-fed hunter in an English fox-chase; nor till he 206:237,20[' ]| returned safe and well, without accident or discredit, 206:237,21[' ]| could she be reconciled to the risk, or feel any of that 206:237,22[' ]| obligation to Mr%*Crawford for lending the horse which 206:237,23[' ]| he had fully intended it should produce. When it was 206:237,24[' ]| proved however to have done William no harm, she could 206:237,25[' ]| allow it to be a kindness, and even reward the owner 206:237,26[' ]| with a smile when the animal was one minute tendered 206:237,27[' ]| to his use again; and the next, with the greatest cordiality, 206:237,28[' ]| and in a manner not to be resisted, made over 206:237,29[' ]| to his use entirely so long as he remained in Northamptonshire. 207:238,01[' ]| The intercourse of the two families was at this period 207:238,02[' ]| more nearly restored to what it had been in the autumn, 207:238,03[' ]| than any member of the old intimacy had thought ever 207:238,04[' ]| likely to be again. The return of Henry*Crawford, and 207:238,05[' ]| the arrival of William*Price, had much to do with it, 207:238,06[' ]| but much was still owing to Sir*Thomas's more than 207:238,07[' ]| toleration of the neighbourly attempts at the Parsonage. 207:238,08[' ]| His mind, now disengaged from the cares which had 207:238,09[' ]| pressed on him at first, was at leisure to find the Grants 207:238,10[' ]| and their young inmates really worth visiting; and 207:238,11[' ]| though infinitely above scheming or contriving for any 207:238,12[' ]| the most advantageous matrimonial establishment that 207:238,13[' ]| could be among the apparent possibilities of any*one 207:238,14[' ]| most dear to him, and disdaining even as a littleness the 207:238,15[' ]| being quick-sighted on such points, he could not avoid 207:238,16[' ]| perceiving in a grand and careless way that Mr%*Crawford 207:238,17[' ]| was somewhat distinguishing his niece ~~ nor perhaps 207:238,18[' ]| refrain (though unconsciously) from giving a more willing 207:238,19[' ]| assent to invitations on that account. 207:238,20[' ]| His readiness, however, in agreeing to dine at the 207:238,21[' ]| Parsonage, when the general invitation was at last 207:238,22[' ]| hazarded, after many debates and many doubts as to 207:238,23[' ]| whether it were worth*while, 207:238,23[X ]| "because Sir*Thomas 207:238,24[X ]| seemed so ill inclined! and Lady*Bertram was so indolent!" ~~ 207:238,25[' ]| proceeded from good*breeding and good-will 207:238,26[' ]| alone, and had nothing to do with Mr%*Crawford, but as 207:238,27[' ]| being one in an agreeable group; for it was in the course 207:238,28[' ]| of that very visit, that he first began to think, that 207:238,28@e | any*one 207:238,29@e | in the habit of such idle observations \would\ \have\ 207:238,30@e | \thought\ that Mr%*Crawford was the admirer of Fanny*Price. 207:238,31@e | 207:238,32[' ]| The meeting was generally felt to be a pleasant one, 207:238,33[' ]| being composed in a good proportion of those who would 207:239,01[' ]| talk and those who would listen; and the dinner itself 207:239,02[' ]| was elegant and plentiful, according to the usual style 207:239,03[' ]| of the Grants, and too much according to the usual habits 207:239,04[' ]| of all to raise any emotion except in Mrs%*Norris, who 207:239,05[' ]| could never behold either the wide table or the number 207:239,06[' ]| of dishes on it with patience, and who did always contrive 207:239,07[' ]| to experience some evil from the passing of the servants 207:239,08[' ]| behind her chair, and to bring away some fresh conviction 207:239,09[' ]| of its being impossible among so many dishes but 207:239,10[' ]| that some must be cold. 207:239,11[' ]| In the evening it was found, according to the predetermination 207:239,12[' ]| of Mrs%*Grant and her sister, that after 207:239,13[' ]| making up the Whist*table there would remain sufficient 207:239,14[' ]| for a round game, and every*body being as perfectly 207:239,15[' ]| complying, and without a choice as on such occasions 207:239,16[' ]| they always are, Speculation was decided on almost as 207:239,17[' ]| soon as Whist; and Lady*Bertram soon found herself 207:239,18[' ]| in the critical situation of being applied to for her own 207:239,19[' ]| choice between the games, and being required either 207:239,20[' ]| to draw a card for Whist or not. She hesitated. Luckily 207:239,21[' ]| Sir*Thomas was at hand. 207:239,22[F ]| "What shall I do, Sir*Thomas? ~~ Whist and Speculation; 207:239,23[F ]| which will amuse me most?" 207:239,24[' ]| Sir*Thomas, after a moment's thought, recommended 207:239,25[' ]| Speculation. He was a Whist player himself, and perhaps 207:239,26[' ]| might feel that it would not much amuse him to have her 207:239,27[' ]| for a partner. 207:239,28[F ]| "Very well," 207:239,28[' ]| was her ladyship's contented answer ~~ 207:239,29[F ]| "then Speculation if you please, Mrs%*Grant. I know 207:239,30[F ]| nothing about it, but Fanny must teach me." 207:239,31[' ]| Here Fanny interposed however with anxious protestations 207:239,32[' ]| of her own equal ignorance; 207:239,32@a | she had never 207:239,33@a | played the game nor seen it played in her life; 207:239,33[' ]| and Lady*Bertram 207:239,34[' ]| felt a moment's indecision again ~~ but upon 207:239,35[' ]| every*body's assuring her that nothing could be so easy, 207:239,36[' ]| that it was the easiest game on the cards, and Henry*Crawford's 207:239,37[' ]| stepping forward with a most earnest request 207:239,38@d | to be allowed to sit between her ladyship and Miss*Price, 207:240,01@d | and teach them both, 207:240,01[' ]| it was so settled; and Sir*Thomas, 207:240,02[' ]| Mrs%*Norris, and Dr% and Mrs%*Grant, being seated 207:240,02[' ]| at the 207:240,03[' ]| table of prime intellectual state and dignity, the remaining 207:240,04[' ]| six, under Miss*Crawford's direction, were arranged 207:240,05[' ]| round the other. It was a fine arrangement for Henry*Crawford, 207:240,06[' ]| who was close to Fanny, and with his hands 207:240,07[' ]| full of business, having two persons' cards to manage as 207:240,08[' ]| well as his own ~~ for though it was impossible for Fanny 207:240,09[' ]| not to feel herself mistress of the rules of the game in 207:240,10[' ]| three minutes, he had yet to inspirit her play, sharpen 207:240,11[' ]| her avarice, and harden her heart, which, especially in 207:240,12[' ]| any competition with William, was a work of some 207:240,13[' ]| difficulty; and as for Lady*Bertram, he must continue in 207:240,14[' ]| charge of all her fame and fortune through the whole 207:240,15[' ]| evening; and if quick enough to keep her from looking 207:240,16[' ]| at her cards when the deal began, must direct her in 207:240,17[' ]| whatever was to be done with them to the end of it. 207:240,18[' ]| He was in high spirits, doing every*thing with happy 207:240,19[' ]| ease, and pre-eminent in all the lively turns, quick 207:240,20[' ]| resources, and playful impudence that could do honour 207:240,21[' ]| to the game; and the round table was altogether a very 207:240,22[' ]| comfortable contrast to the steady sobriety and orderly 207:240,23[' ]| silence of the other. 207:240,24[' ]| Twice had Sir*Thomas inquired into the enjoyment 207:240,25[' ]| and success of his lady, but in vain; no pause was long 207:240,26[' ]| enough for the time his measured manner needed; and 207:240,27[' ]| very little of her state could be known till Mrs%*Grant 207:240,28[' ]| was able, at the end of the first rubber, to go to her and 207:240,29[' ]| pay her compliments. 207:240,30[N ]| "I hope your ladyship is pleased with the game." 207:240,31[F ]| "Oh! dear, yes. ~~ Very entertaining indeed. A very 207:240,32[F ]| odd game. I do not know what it is all about. I am 207:240,33[F ]| never to see my cards; and Mr%*Crawford does all the 207:240,34[F ]| rest." 207:240,35[D ]| "Bertram," 207:240,35[' ]| said Crawford some time afterwards, 207:240,36[' ]| taking the opportunity of a little languor in the game, 207:240,37[D ]| "I have never told you what happened to me yesterday 207:240,38[D ]| in my ride home." 207:240,38[' ]| They had been hunting together, 207:241,01[' ]| and were in the midst of a good run, and at some distance 207:241,02[' ]| from Mansfield, when his horse being found to have flung 207:241,03[' ]| a shoe, Henry*Crawford had been obliged to give up, 207:241,04[' ]| and make the best of his way back. 207:241,04[D ]| "I told you I lost 207:241,05[D ]| my way after passing that old farm house, with the yew 207:241,06[D ]| trees, because I can never bear to ask; but I have not 207:241,07[D ]| told you that with my usual luck ~~ for I never do wrong 207:241,08[D ]| without gaining by it ~~ I found myself in due time in the 207:241,09[D ]| very place which I had a curiosity to see. I was suddenly, 207:241,10[D ]| upon turning the corner of a steepish downy field, in the 207:241,11[D ]| midst of a retired little village between gently rising hills; 207:241,12[D ]| a small stream before me to be forded, a church standing 207:241,13[D ]| on a sort of knoll to my right ~~ which church was strikingly 207:241,14[D ]| large and handsome for the place, and not a gentleman 207:241,15[D ]| or half a gentleman's house to be seen excepting 207:241,16[D ]| one ~~ to be presumed the Parsonage, within a stone's 207:241,17[D ]| throw of the said knoll and church. I found myself in 207:241,18[D ]| short in Thornton*Lacey." 207:241,19[B ]| "It sounds like it," 207:241,19[' ]| said Edmund; 207:241,19[B ]| "but which way 207:241,20[B ]| did you turn after passing Sewell's farm?" 207:241,21[D ]| "I answer no such irrelevant and insidious questions; 207:241,22[D ]| though were I to answer all that you could put in the 207:241,23[D ]| course of an hour, you would never be able to prove that 207:241,24[D ]| it was \not\ Thornton*Lacey ~~ for such it certainly was." 207:241,25[B ]| "You inquired then?" 207:241,26[D ]| "No, I never inquire. But I \told\ a man mending 207:241,27[D ]| a hedge that it was Thornton*Lacey, and he agreed to it." 207:241,28[B ]| "You have a good memory. I had forgotten having 207:241,29[B ]| ever told you half so much of the place." 207:241,30[' ]| Thornton*Lacey was the name of his impending living, 207:241,31[' ]| as Miss*Crawford well knew; and her interest in a 207:241,32[' ]| negociation for William*Price's knave increased. 207:241,33[B ]| "Well" 207:241,33[' ]| continued Edmund, 207:241,33[B ]| "and how did you like 207:241,34[B ]| what you saw?" 207:241,35[D ]| "Very much indeed. You are a lucky fellow. There 207:241,36[D ]| will be work for five summers at least before the place is 207:241,37[D ]| live-able." 207:241,38[B ]| "No, no, not so bad as that. The farm-yard must be 207:242,01[B ]| moved, I grant you; but I am not aware of any*thing 207:242,02[B ]| else. The house is by no means bad, and when the yard 207:242,03[B ]| is removed, there may be a very tolerable approach 207:242,04[B ]| to it." 207:242,05[D ]| "The farm-yard must be cleared away entirely, and 207:242,06[D ]| planted up to shut out the blacksmith's shop. The house 207:242,07[D ]| must be turned to front the east instead of the north ~~ the 207:242,08[D ]| entrance and principal rooms, I mean, must be on that 207:242,09[D ]| side, where the view is really very pretty; I am sure it 207:242,10[D ]| may be done. And \there\ must be your approach ~~ 207:242,11[D ]| through what is at present the garden. You must make 207:242,12[D ]| you a new garden at what is now the back of the house; 207:242,13[D ]| which will be giving it the best aspect in the world ~~ 207:242,14[D ]| sloping to the south-east. The ground seems precisely 207:242,15[D ]| formed for it. I rode fifty yards up the lane between 207:242,16[D ]| the church and the house in order to look about me; 207:242,17[D ]| and saw how it might all be. Nothing can be easier. 207:242,18[D ]| The meadows beyond what \will\ \be\ the garden, as well as 207:242,19[D ]| what now \is\, sweeping round from the lane I stood in to 207:242,20[D ]| the north-east, that is, to the principal road through the 207:242,21[D ]| village, must be all laid together of course; very pretty 207:242,22[D ]| meadows they are, finely sprinkled with timber. They 207:242,23[D ]| belong to the living, I suppose. If not, you must purchase 207:242,24[D ]| them. Then the stream ~~ something must be done 207:242,25[D ]| with the stream; but I could not quite determine what. 207:242,26[D ]| I had two or three ideas." 207:242,27[B ]| "And I have two or three ideas also," 207:242,27[' ]| said Edmund, 207:242,28[B ]| "and one of them is that very little of your plan for 207:242,29[B ]| Thornton*Lacey will ever be put in practice. I must be 207:242,30[B ]| satisfied with rather less ornament and beauty. I think 207:242,31[B ]| the house and premises may be made comfortable, and 207:242,32[B ]| given the air of a gentleman's residence without any very 207:242,33[B ]| heavy expense, and that must suffice me; and I hope 207:242,34[B ]| may suffice all who care about me." 207:242,35[' ]| Miss*Crawford, a little suspicious and resentful of 207:242,36[' ]| a certain tone of voice and a certain half-look attending 207:242,37[' ]| the last expression of his hope, made a hasty finish of her 207:242,38[' ]| dealings with William*Price, and securing his knave at 207:243,01[' ]| an exorbitant rate, exclaimed, 207:243,01[C ]| "There, I will stake my 207:243,02[C ]| last like a woman of spirit. No cold prudence for me. 207:243,03[C ]| I am not born to sit still and do nothing. If I lose the 207:243,04[C ]| game, it shall not be from not striving for it." 207:243,05[' ]| The game was her's, and only did not pay her for 207:243,06[' ]| what she had given to secure it. Another deal proceeded, 207:243,07[' ]| and Crawford began again about Thornton*Lacey. 207:243,08[D ]| "My plan may not be the best possible; I had not 207:243,09[D ]| many minutes to form it in: but you must do a good 207:243,10[D ]| deal. The place deserves it, and you will find yourself 207:243,11[D ]| not satisfied with much less than it is capable of. ~~ 207:243,12[D ]| (Excuse me, your ladyship must not see your cards. 207:243,13[D ]| There, let them lie just before you.) The place deserves 207:243,14[D ]| it, Bertram. You talk of giving it the air of a gentleman's 207:243,15[D ]| residence. \That\ will be done, by the removal of 207:243,16[D ]| the farm-yard, for independent of that terrible nuisance, 207:243,17[D ]| I never saw a house of the kind which had in itself so 207:243,18[D ]| much the air of a gentleman's residence, so much the look 207:243,19[D ]| of a something above a mere Parsonage*House, above 207:243,20[D ]| the expenditure of a few hundreds a year. It is not 207:243,21[D ]| a scrambling collection of low single rooms, with as 207:243,22[D ]| many roofs as windows ~~ it is not cramped into the 207:243,23[D ]| vulgar compactness of a square farm-house ~~ it is a solid 207:243,24[D ]| walled, roomy, mansion-like looking house, such as one 207:243,25[D ]| might suppose a respectable old country family had lived 207:243,26[D ]| in from generation to generation, through two centuries 207:243,27[D ]| at least, and were now spending from two to three 207:243,28[D ]| thousand a year in." 207:243,28[' ]| Miss*Crawford listened, and 207:243,29[' ]| Edmund agreed to this. 207:243,29[D ]| "The air of a gentleman's 207:243,30[D ]| residence, therefore, you cannot but give it, if you do 207:243,31[D ]| any*thing. But it is capable of much more. (Let me 207:243,32[D ]| see, Mary; Lady*Bertram bids a dozen for that queen; 207:243,33[D ]| no, no, a dozen is more than it is worth. Lady*Bertram 207:243,34[D ]| does \not\ bid a dozen. She will have nothing to say to it. 207:243,35[D ]| Go on, go on.) By some such improvements as I have 207:243,36[D ]| suggested, (I do not really require you to proceed upon 207:243,37[D ]| my plan, though by*the*bye I doubt any*body's striking 207:243,38[D ]| out a better) ~~ you may give it a higher character. You 207:244,01[D ]| may raise it into a \place\. From being the mere gentleman's 207:244,02[D ]| residence, it becomes, by judicious improvement, 207:244,03[D ]| the residence of a man of education, taste, modern manners, 207:244,04[D ]| good connections. All this may be stamped on it; 207:244,05[D ]| and that house receive such an air as to make its owner 207:244,06[D ]| be set down as the great land-holder of the parish, by 207:244,07[D ]| every creature travelling the road; especially as there 207:244,08[D ]| is no real squire's house to dispute the point; a circumstance 207:244,09[D ]| between ourselves to enhance the value of such 207:244,10[D ]| a situation in point of privilege and independence beyond 207:244,11[D ]| all calculation. \You\ think with me, I hope ~~ 207:244,11[' ]| (turning 207:244,12[' ]| with a softened voice to Fanny). ~~ 207:244,12[D ]| Have you ever seen 207:244,13[D ]| the place?" 207:244,14[' ]| Fanny gave a quick negative, and tried to hide her 207:244,15[' ]| interest in the subject by an eager attention to her 207:244,16[' ]| brother, who was driving as hard a bargain and imposing 207:244,17[' ]| on her as much as he could; but Crawford pursued with 207:244,18[D ]| "No, no, you must not part with the queen. You have 207:244,19[D ]| bought her too dearly, and your brother does not offer 207:244,20[D ]| half her value. No, no, sir, hands off ~~ hands off. Your 207:244,21[D ]| sister does not part with the queen. She is quite determined. 207:244,22[D ]| The game will be yours, 207:244,22[' ]| (turning to her again) ~~ 207:244,23[D ]| it will certainly be yours." 207:244,24[B ]| "And Fanny had much rather it were William's," 207:244,25[' ]| said Edmund, smiling at her. 207:244,25[B ]| "Poor Fanny! not 207:244,26[B ]| allowed to cheat herself as she wishes!" 207:244,27[C ]| "Mr%*Bertram," 207:244,27[' ]| said Miss*Crawford, a few minutes 207:244,28[' ]| afterwards, 207:244,28[C ]| "you know Henry to be such a capital 207:244,29[C ]| improver, that you cannot possibly engage in any*thing 207:244,30[C ]| of the sort at Thornton*Lacey, without accepting his 207:244,31[C ]| help. Only think how useful he was at Sotherton! 207:244,32[C ]| Only think what grand things were produced there by 207:244,33[C ]| our all going with him one hot day in August to drive 207:244,34[C ]| about the grounds, and see his genius take fire. There 207:244,35[C ]| we went, and there we came home again; and what was 207:244,36[C ]| done there is not to be told!" 207:244,37[' ]| Fanny's eyes were turned on Crawford for a moment 207:244,38[' ]| with an expression more than grave, even reproachful; 207:245,01[' ]| but on catching his were instantly withdrawn. With 207:245,02[' ]| something of consciousness he shook his head at his 207:245,03[' ]| sister, and laughingly replied, 207:245,03[D ]| "I cannot say there was 207:245,04[D ]| much done at Sotherton; but it was a hot day, and we 207:245,05[D ]| were all walking after each other and bewildered." 207:245,05[' ]| As 207:245,06[' ]| soon as a general buz gave him shelter, he added, in a low 207:245,07[' ]| voice directed solely at Fanny, 207:245,07[D ]| "I should be sorry to 207:245,08[D ]| have my powers of \planning\ judged of by the day at 207:245,09[D ]| Sotherton. I see things very differently now. Do not 207:245,10[D ]| think of me as I appeared then." 207:245,11[' ]| Sotherton was a word to catch Mrs%*Norris, and being 207:245,12[' ]| just then in the happy leisure which followed securing 207:245,13[' ]| the odd trick by Sir*Thomas's capital play and her own, 207:245,14[' ]| against Dr% and Mrs%*Grant's great hands, she called 207:245,14[' ]| out 207:245,15[' ]| in high good-humour, 207:245,15[J ]| "Sotherton! Yes, that is a place 207:245,16[J ]| indeed, and we had a charming day there. William, 207:245,17[J ]| you are quite out of luck; but the next time you come 207:245,18[J ]| I hope dear Mr% and Mrs%*Rushworth will be at 207:245,18[J ]| home, 207:245,19[J ]| and I am sure I can answer for your being kindly received 207:245,20[J ]| by both. Your cousins are not of a sort to forget their 207:245,21[J ]| relations, and Mr%*Rushworth is a most amiable man. 207:245,22[J ]| They are at Brighton now, you know ~~ in one of the best 207:245,23[J ]| houses there, as Mr%*Rushworth's fine fortune gives them 207:245,24[J ]| a right to be. I do not exactly know the distance, but 207:245,25[J ]| when you get back to Portsmouth, if it is not very far off, 207:245,26[J ]| you ought to go over and pay your respects to them; 207:245,27[J ]| and I could send a little parcel by you that I want to get 207:245,28[J ]| conveyed to your cousins." 207:245,29[Q ]| "I should be very happy, aunt ~~ but Brighton is 207:245,30[Q ]| almost by Beachey*Head; and if I could get so far, 207:245,31[Q ]| I could not expect to be welcome in such a smart place 207:245,32[Q ]| as that ~~ poor scrubby midshipman as I am." 207:245,33[' ]| Mrs%*Norris was beginning an eager assurance of the 207:245,34[' ]| affability he might depend on, when she was stopped by 207:245,35[' ]| Sir*Thomas's saying with authority, 207:245,35[E ]| "I do not advise 207:245,36[E ]| your going to Brighton, William, as I trust you may soon 207:245,37[E ]| have more convenient opportunities of meeting, but my 207:245,38[E ]| daughters would be happy to see their cousins any*where; 207:246,01[E ]| and you will find Mr%*Rushworth most sincerely 207:246,02[E ]| disposed to regard all the connections of our family as 207:246,03[E ]| his own." 207:246,04[Q ]| "I would rather find him private secretary to the first 207:246,05[Q ]| Lord than any*thing else," 207:246,05[' ]| was William's only answer, 207:246,06[' ]| in an under voice, not meant to reach far, and the subject 207:246,07[' ]| dropped. 207:246,08[' ]| As yet Sir*Thomas had seen nothing to remark in Mr%*Crawford's 207:246,09[' ]| behaviour; but when the Whist*table broke 207:246,10[' ]| up at the end of the second rubber, and leaving Dr%*Grant 207:246,11[' ]| and Mrs%*Norris to dispute over their last play, he became 207:246,12[' ]| a looker-on at the other, he found his niece the object of 207:246,13[' ]| attentions, or rather of professions of a somewhat pointed 207:246,14[' ]| character. 207:246,15[' ]| Henry*Crawford was in the first glow of another scheme 207:246,16[' ]| about Thornton*Lacey, and not being able to catch 207:246,17[' ]| Edmund's ear, was detailing it to his fair neighbour with 207:246,18[' ]| a look of considerable earnestness. 207:246,18@d | His scheme was 207:246,19@d | to rent the house himself the following winter, that he 207:246,20@d | might have a home of his own in that neighbourhood; 207:246,21@d | and it was not merely for the use of it in the hunting 207:246,22@d | season, 207:246,22[' ]| (as he was then telling her,) 207:246,22@d | though \that\ consideration 207:246,23@d | had certainly some weight, feeling as he did, 207:246,24@d | that in spite of all Dr%*Grant's very great kindness, it 207:246,25@d | was impossible for him and his horses to be accommodated 207:246,26@d | where they now were without material inconvenience; 207:246,27@d | but his attachment to that neighbourhood did 207:246,28@d | not depend upon one amusement or one season of the 207:246,29@d | year: he had set his heart upon having a something 207:246,30@d | there that he could come to at any time, a little home-stall 207:246,31@d | at his command where all the holidays of his year 207:246,32@d | might be spent, and he might find himself continuing, 207:246,33@d | improving, and \perfecting\ that friendship and intimacy 207:246,34@d | with the Mansfield*Park family which was increasing in 207:246,35@d | value to him every day. 207:246,35[' ]| Sir*Thomas heard and was not 207:246,36[' ]| offended. 207:246,36@e | There was no want of respect in the young 207:246,37@e | man's address; and Fanny's reception of it was so 207:246,38@e | proper and modest, so calm and uninviting, that he had 207:247,01@e | nothing to censure in her. She said little, assented only 207:247,02@e | here and there, and betrayed no inclination either of 207:247,03@e | appropriating any part of the compliment to herself or 207:247,04@e | of strengthening his views in favour of Northamptonshire. 207:247,05[' ]| Finding by whom he was observed, Henry*Crawford 207:247,06[' ]| addressed himself on the same subject to Sir*Thomas, 207:247,07[' ]| in a more every*day tone, but still with feeling. 207:247,08[D ]| "I want to be your neighbour, Sir*Thomas, as you 207:247,09[D ]| have perhaps heard me telling Miss*Price. May I hope 207:247,10[D ]| for your acquiescence and for your not influencing your 207:247,11[D ]| son against such a tenant?" 207:247,12[' ]| Sir*Thomas, politely bowing, replied ~~ 207:247,12[E ]| "It is the only 207:247,13[E ]| way, sir, in which I could \not\ wish you established as 207:247,14[E ]| a permanent neighbour; but I hope, and believe, that 207:247,15[E ]| Edmund will occupy his own house at Thornton*Lacey. 207:247,16[E ]| Edmund, am I saying too much?" 207:247,17[' ]| Edmund, on this appeal, had first to hear what was 207:247,18[' ]| going on, but on understanding the question, was at no 207:247,19[' ]| loss for an answer. 207:247,20[B ]| "Certainly, sir, I have no idea but of residence. But 207:247,21[B ]| Crawford, though I refuse you as a tenant, come to me 207:247,22[B ]| as a friend. Consider the house as half your own every 207:247,23[B ]| winter, and we will add to the stables on your own 207:247,24[B ]| improved plan, and with all the improvements of your 207:247,25[B ]| improved plan that may occur to you this spring." 207:247,26[E ]| "We shall be the losers," 207:247,26[' ]| continued Sir*Thomas. 207:247,27[E ]| "His going, though only eight miles, will be an unwelcome 207:247,28[E ]| contraction of our family circle; but I 207:247,29[E ]| should have been deeply mortified, if any son of mine 207:247,30[E ]| could reconcile himself to doing less. It is perfectly 207:247,31[E ]| natural that you should not have thought much on the 207:247,32[E ]| subject, Mr%*Crawford. But a parish has wants and 207:247,33[E ]| claims which can be known only by a clergyman constantly 207:247,34[E ]| resident, and which no proxy can be capable of 207:247,35[E ]| satisfying to the same extent. Edmund might, in the 207:247,36[E ]| common phrase, do the duty of Thornton, that is, he 207:247,37[E ]| might read prayers and preach, without giving up Mansfield*Park; 207:247,38[E ]| he might ride over, every Sunday, to a house 207:248,01[E ]| nominally inhabited, and go through divine service; he 207:248,02[E ]| might be the clergyman of Thornton*Lacey every seventh 207:248,03[E ]| day, for three or four hours, if that would content him. 207:248,04[E ]| But it will not. He knows that human nature needs 207:248,05[E ]| more lessons than a weekly sermon can convey, and that 207:248,06[E ]| if he does not live among his parishioners and prove 207:248,07[E ]| himself by constant attention their well-wisher and 207:248,08[E ]| friend, he does very little either for their good or his own." 207:248,09[' ]| Mr%*Crawford bowed his acquiescence. 207:248,10[E ]| "I repeat again," 207:248,10[' ]| added Sir*Thomas, 207:248,10[E ]| "that Thornton*Lacey 207:248,11[E ]| is the only house in the neighbourhood in which 207:248,12[E ]| I should \not\ be happy to wait on Mr%*Crawford as occupier." 207:248,13[' ]| Mr%*Crawford bowed his thanks. 207:248,14[B ]| "Sir*Thomas," 207:248,14[' ]| said Edmund, 207:248,14[B ]| "undoubtedly understands 207:248,15[B ]| the duty of a parish priest. ~~ We must hope his 207:248,16[B ]| son may prove that \he\ knows it too." 207:248,17[' ]| Whatever effect Sir*Thomas's little harangue might 207:248,18[' ]| really produce on Mr%*Crawford, it raised some awkward 207:248,19[' ]| sensations in two of the others, two of his most attentive 207:248,20[' ]| listeners, Miss*Crawford and Fanny. ~~ one of whom, 207:248,21@a | having never before understood that Thornton was so 207:248,22@a | soon and so completely to be his home, was pondering 207:248,23@a | with downcast eyes on what it would be, \not\ to see 207:248,24@a | Edmund every day; 207:248,24[' ]| and the other, 207:248,24@c | startled from the 207:248,25@c | agreeable fancies she had been previously indulging on 207:248,26@c | the strength of her brother's description, no longer able, 207:248,27@c | in the picture she had been forming of a future Thornton, 207:248,28@c | to shut out the church, sink the clergyman, and see only 207:248,29@c | the respectable, elegant, modernized, and occasional 207:248,30@c | residence of a man of independent fortune ~~ 207:248,30[' ]| was considering 207:248,31[' ]| Sir*Thomas, with decided ill-will, as the destroyer 207:248,32[' ]| of all this, and suffering the more from that involuntary 207:248,33[' ]| forbearance which his character and manner commanded, 207:248,34[' ]| and from not daring to relieve herself by a single attempt 207:248,35[' ]| at throwing ridicule on his cause. 207:248,36@c | All the agreeable of \her\ speculation was over for that 207:248,37@c | hour. It was time to have done with cards if sermons 207:248,38@c | prevailed, 207:248,38[' ]| and she was glad to find it necessary to come 207:249,01[' ]| to a conclusion and be able to refresh her spirits by 207:249,02[' ]| a change of place and neighbour. 207:249,03[' ]| The chief of the party were now collected irregularly 207:249,04[' ]| round the fire, and waiting the final break*up. William 207:249,05[' ]| and Fanny were the most detached. They remained 207:249,06[' ]| together at the otherwise deserted card-table, talking 207:249,07[' ]| very comfortably and not thinking of the rest, till some 207:249,08[' ]| of the rest began to think of them. Henry*Crawford's 207:249,09[' ]| chair was the first to be given a direction towards them, 207:249,10[' ]| and he sat silently observing them for a few minutes; 207:249,11[' ]| himself in the meanwhile observed by Sir*Thomas, who 207:249,12[' ]| was standing in chat with Dr%*Grant. 207:249,13[Q ]| "This is the Assembly night," 207:249,13[' ]| said William. 207:249,13[Q ]| "If 207:249,14[Q ]| I were at Portsmouth, I should be at it perhaps." 207:249,15[A ]| "But you do not wish yourself at Portsmouth, William?" 207:249,16[Q ]| "No, Fanny, that I do not. I shall have enough of 207:249,17[Q ]| Portsmouth, and of dancing too, when I cannot have you. 207:249,18[Q ]| And I do not know that there would be any good in 207:249,19[Q ]| going to the Assembly, for I might not get a partner. 207:249,20[Q ]| The Portsmouth girls turn up their noses at any*body 207:249,21[Q ]| who has not a commission. One might as well be nothing 207:249,22[Q ]| as a midshipman. One \is\ nothing indeed. You remember 207:249,23[Q ]| the Gregorys; they are grown up amazing fine girls, 207:249,24[Q ]| but they will hardly speak to \me\, because Lucy is courted 207:249,25[Q ]| by a lieutenant." 207:249,26[A ]| "Oh! shame, shame! ~~ But never mind it, William. 207:249,27[' ]| (Her own cheeks in a glow of indignation as she spoke.) 207:249,28[A ]| It is not worth minding. It is no reflection on \you\; it is 207:249,29[A ]| no more than what the greatest admirals have all experienced, 207:249,30[A ]| more or less, in their time. You must think of 207:249,31[A ]| that; you must try to make up your mind to it as one 207:249,32[A ]| of the hardships which fall to every sailor's share ~~ like 207:249,33[A ]| bad weather and hard living ~~ only with this advantage, 207:249,34[A ]| that there will be an end to it, that there will come a time 207:249,35[A ]| when you will have nothing of that sort to endure. When 207:249,36[A ]| you are a lieutenant! ~~ only think, William, when you 207:249,37[A ]| are a lieutenant, how little you will care for any nonsense 207:249,38[A ]| of this kind." 207:250,01[Q ]| "I begin to think I shall never be a lieutenant, Fanny. 207:250,02[Q ]| Every*body gets made but me." 207:250,03[A ]| "Oh! my dear William, do not talk so, do not be 207:250,04[A ]| so desponding. My uncle says nothing, but I am sure 207:250,05[A ]| he will do every*thing in his power to get you made. 207:250,06[A ]| He knows, as well as you do, of what consequence 207:250,07[A ]| it is." 207:250,08[' ]| She was checked by the sight of her uncle much 207:250,09[' ]| nearer to them than she had any suspicion of, and each 207:250,10[' ]| found it necessary to talk of something else. 207:250,11[Q ]| "Are you fond of dancing, Fanny?" 207:250,12[A ]| "Yes, very; ~~ only I am soon tired." 207:250,13[Q ]| "I should like to go to a ball with you and see you 207:250,14[Q ]| dance. Have you never any balls at Northampton? ~~ 207:250,15[Q ]| I should like to see you dance, and I'd dance with you 207:250,16[Q ]| if you \would\, for nobody would know who I was here, 207:250,17[Q ]| and I should like to be your partner once more. We 207:250,18[Q ]| used to jump about together many a time, did not we? 207:250,19[Q ]| when the hand-organ was in the street? I am a pretty 207:250,20[Q ]| good dancer in my way, but I dare say you are a better." ~~ 207:250,21[' ]| And turning to his uncle, who was now close to them ~~ 207:250,22[Q ]| "Is not Fanny a very good dancer, sir?" 207:250,23[' ]| Fanny, in dismay at such an unprecedented question, 207:250,24[' ]| did not know which way to look, or how to be prepared 207:250,25[' ]| for the answer. 207:250,25@a | Some very grave reproof, or at least 207:250,26@a | the coldest expression of indifference must be coming to 207:250,27@a | distress her brother, and sink her to the ground. But, 207:250,28@a | on the contrary, it was no worse than, 207:250,28[E ]| "I am sorry to say 207:250,29[E ]| that I am unable to answer your question. I have never 207:250,30[E ]| seen Fanny dance since she was a little girl; but I trust 207:250,31[E ]| we shall both think she acquits herself like a gentlewoman 207:250,32[E ]| when we do see her, which perhaps we may have 207:250,33[E ]| an opportunity of doing ere long." 207:250,34[D ]| "I have had the pleasure of seeing your sister dance, 207:250,35[D ]| Mr%*Price," 207:250,35[' ]| said Henry*Crawford, leaning forward, 207:250,35[D ]| "and 207:250,36[D ]| will engage to answer every inquiry which you can 207:250,37[D ]| make on the subject, to your entire satisfaction. But 207:250,38[D ]| I believe 207:250,38[' ]| (seeing Fanny look distressed) 207:250,38[D ]| it must be at 207:251,01[D ]| some other time. There is \one\ person in company who 207:251,02[D ]| does not like to have Miss*Price spoken of." 207:251,03[' ]| True enough, he had once seen Fanny dance; and it 207:251,04[' ]| was equally true that he would now have answered for 207:251,05[' ]| her gliding about with quiet, light elegance, and in 207:251,06[' ]| admirable time, but in fact he could not for the life of 207:251,07[' ]| him recall what her dancing had been, and rather took 207:251,08[' ]| it for granted that she had been present than remembered 207:251,09[' ]| any*thing about her. 207:251,10[' ]| He passed, however, for an admirer of her dancing; 207:251,11[' ]| and Sir*Thomas, by no means displeased, prolonged the 207:251,12[' ]| conversation on dancing in general, and was so well 207:251,13[' ]| engaged in describing the balls of Antigua, and listening 207:251,14[' ]| to what his nephew could relate of the different modes of 207:251,15[' ]| dancing which had fallen within his observation, that he 207:251,16[' ]| had not heard his carriage announced, and was first called 207:251,17[' ]| to the knowledge of it by the bustle of Mrs%*Norris. 207:251,18[J ]| "Come, Fanny, Fanny, what are you about? We 207:251,19[J ]| are going. Do not you see your aunt is going? Quick, 207:251,20[J ]| quick. I cannot bear to keep good old Wilcox waiting. 207:251,21[J ]| You should always remember the coachman and horses. 207:251,22[J ]| My dear Sir*Thomas, we have settled it that the carriage 207:251,23[J ]| should come back for you, and Edmund, and William." 207:251,24[' ]| Sir*Thomas could not dissent, as it had been his own 207:251,25[' ]| arrangement, previously communicated to his wife and 207:251,26[' ]| sister; but \that\ seemed forgotten by Mrs%*Norris, who 207:251,27[' ]| must fancy that she settled it all herself. 207:251,28[' ]| Fanny's last feeling in the visit was disappointment ~~ 207:251,29[' ]| for the shawl which Edmund was quietly taking from the 207:251,30[' ]| servant to bring and put round her shoulders, was seized 207:251,31[' ]| by Mr%*Crawford's quicker hand, and she was obliged to 207:251,32[' ]| be indebted to his more prominent attention. 208:252,01[' ]| William's desire of seeing Fanny dance, made more 208:252,02[' ]| than a momentary impression on his uncle. The hope 208:252,03[' ]| of an opportunity, which Sir*Thomas had then given, was 208:252,04[' ]| not given to be thought of no more. 208:252,04@e | He remained steadily 208:252,05@e | inclined to gratify so amiable a feeling ~~ to gratify any*body 208:252,06@e | else who might wish to see Fanny dance, and to 208:252,07@e | give pleasure to the young people in general; 208:252,07[' ]| and having 208:252,08[' ]| thought the matter over and taken his resolution in quiet 208:252,09[' ]| independence, the result of it appeared the next morning 208:252,10[' ]| at breakfast, when, after recalling and commending what 208:252,11[' ]| his nephew had said, he added, 208:252,11[E ]| "I do not like, William, 208:252,12[E ]| that you should leave Northamptonshire without this 208:252,13[E ]| indulgence. It would give me pleasure to see you both 208:252,14[E ]| dance. You spoke of the balls at Northampton. Your 208:252,15[E ]| cousins have occasionally attended them; but they 208:252,16[E ]| would not altogether suit us now. The fatigue would be 208:252,17[E ]| too much for your aunt. I believe, we must not think 208:252,18[E ]| of a Northampton ball. A dance at home would be more 208:252,19[E ]| eligible, and if" ~~ 208:252,20[J ]| "Ah! my dear Sir*Thomas," 208:252,20[' ]| interrupted Mrs%*Norris, 208:252,21[J ]| "I knew what was coming. I knew what you were going 208:252,22[J ]| to say. If dear Julia were at home, or dearest Mrs%*Rushworth 208:252,23[J ]| at Sotherton, to afford a reason, an occasion for 208:252,24[J ]| such a thing, you would be tempted to give the young 208:252,25[J ]| people a dance at Mansfield. I know you would. If 208:252,26[J ]| \they\ were at home to grace the ball, a ball you would have 208:252,27[J ]| this very Christmas. Thank your uncle, William, thank 208:252,28[J ]| your uncle." 208:252,29[E ]| "My daughters," 208:252,29[' ]| replied Sir*Thomas, gravely interposing, 208:252,30[E ]| "have their pleasures at Brighton, and I hope 208:252,31[E ]| are very happy; but the dance which I think of giving 208:252,32[E ]| at Mansfield, will be for their cousins. Could we be all 208:253,01[E ]| assembled, our satisfaction would undoubtedly be more 208:253,02[E ]| complete, but the absence of some is not to debar the 208:253,03[E ]| others of amusement." 208:253,04[' ]| Mrs%*Norris had not another word to say. She saw 208:253,05[' ]| decision in his looks, and her surprize and vexation required 208:253,06[' ]| some minutes silence to be settled into composure. 208:253,07@j | A ball at such a time! His daughters absent and herself 208:253,08@j | not consulted! 208:253,08[' ]| There was comfort, however, soon at 208:253,09[' ]| hand. 208:253,09@j | \She\ must be the doer of every*thing; Lady*Bertram 208:253,10@j | would of course be spared all thought and exertion, 208:253,11@j | and it would all fall upon \her\. She should have to 208:253,12@j | do the honours of the evening, 208:253,12[' ]| and this reflection quickly 208:253,13[' ]| restored so much of her good*humour as enabled her to 208:253,14[' ]| join in with the others, before their happiness and thanks 208:253,15[' ]| were all expressed. 208:253,16[' ]| Edmund, William, and Fanny, did, in their different 208:253,17[' ]| ways, look and speak as much grateful pleasure in the 208:253,18[' ]| promised ball, as Sir*Thomas could desire. Edmund's 208:253,19[' ]| feelings were for the other two. 208:253,19@b | His father had never 208:253,20@b | conferred a favour or shewn a kindness more to his 208:253,21@b | satisfaction. 208:253,22[' ]| Lady*Bertram was perfectly quiescent and contented, 208:253,23[' ]| and had no objections to make. Sir*Thomas engaged 208:253,24[' ]| for its giving her very little trouble, and she assured him, 208:253,25[F ]| "that she was not at all afraid of the trouble, indeed she 208:253,26[F ]| could not imagine there would be any." 208:253,27[' ]| Mrs%*Norris was ready with her suggestions as to the 208:253,28[' ]| rooms he would think fittest to be used, but found it all 208:253,29[' ]| prearranged; and when she would have conjectured and 208:253,30[' ]| hinted about the day, it appeared that the day was settled 208:253,31[' ]| too. Sir*Thomas had been amusing himself with shaping 208:253,32[' ]| a very complete outline of the business; and as soon as 208:253,33[' ]| she would listen quietly, could read his list of the families 208:253,34[' ]| to be invited, from whom he calculated, with all necessary 208:253,35[' ]| allowance for the shortness of the notice, to collect young 208:253,36[' ]| people enough to form twelve or fourteen couple; and 208:253,37[' ]| could detail the considerations which had induced him to 208:253,38[' ]| fix on the 22d, as the most eligible day. 208:253,38@e | William was 208:254,01@e | required to be at Portsmouth on the 24th; the 22d would 208:254,02@e | therefore be the last day of his visit; but where the days 208:254,03@e | were so few it would be unwise to fix on any earlier. 208:254,04[' ]| Mrs%*Norris was obliged to be satisfied with 208:254,04@j | thinking just 208:254,05@j | the same, and with having been on the point of proposing 208:254,06@j | the 22d herself, as by far the best day for the purpose. 208:254,07[' ]| The ball was now a settled thing, and before the evening 208:254,08[' ]| a proclaimed thing to all whom it concerned. Invitations 208:254,09[' ]| were sent with dispatch, and many a young lady went 208:254,10[' ]| to bed that night with her head full of happy cares as 208:254,11[' ]| well as Fanny. ~~ To her, the cares were sometimes almost 208:254,12[' ]| beyond the happiness; for young and inexperienced, 208:254,13[' ]| with small means of choice and no confidence in her own 208:254,14[' ]| taste ~~ 208:254,14@a | the "how she should be dressed" was a point of 208:254,15@a | painful solicitude; and the almost solitary ornament in 208:254,16@a | her possession, a very pretty amber cross which William 208:254,17@a | had brought her from Sicily, was the greatest distress of 208:254,18@a | all, for she had nothing but a bit of ribbon to fasten it to; 208:254,19@a | and though she had worn it in that manner once, would 208:254,20@a | it be allowable at such a time, in the midst of all the rich 208:254,21@a | ornaments which she supposed all the other young ladies 208:254,22@a | would appear in? And yet not to wear it! William 208:254,23@a | had wanted to buy her a gold chain too, but the purchase 208:254,24@a | had been beyond his means, and therefore not to wear the 208:254,25@a | cross might be mortifying him. 208:254,25[' ]| These were anxious considerations; 208:254,26[' ]| enough to sober her spirits even under the 208:254,27[' ]| prospect of a ball given principally for her gratification. 208:254,28[' ]| The preparations meanwhile went on, and Lady*Bertram 208:254,29[' ]| continued to sit on her sofa without any inconvenience 208:254,30[' ]| from them. She had some extra visits from 208:254,31[' ]| the housekeeper, and her maid was rather hurried in making 208:254,32[' ]| up a new dress for her; Sir*Thomas gave orders and 208:254,33[' ]| Mrs%*Norris ran about, but all this gave \her\ no trouble, 208:254,34[' ]| and as she had foreseen, 208:254,34[F ]| "there was in fact no trouble in 208:254,35[F ]| the business." 208:254,36[' ]| Edmund was at this time particularly full of cares; 208:254,37[' ]| his mind being deeply occupied in the consideration of 208:254,38[' ]| two important events now at hand, which were to fix his 208:255,01[' ]| fate in life ~~ ordination and matrimony ~~ events of such 208:255,02[' ]| a serious character as to make the ball, which would be 208:255,03[' ]| very quickly followed by one of them, appear of less 208:255,04[' ]| moment in his eyes than in those of any other person in 208:255,05[' ]| the house. On the 23d he was going to a friend near 208:255,06[' ]| Peterborough in the same situation as himself, and they 208:255,07[' ]| were to receive ordination in the course of the Christmas 208:255,08[' ]| week. Half his destiny would then be determined ~~ but 208:255,09[' ]| the other half might not be so very smoothly wooed. 208:255,10[' ]| His duties would be established, but the wife who was 208:255,11[' ]| to share, and animate, and reward those duties might yet 208:255,12[' ]| be unattainable. He knew his own mind, but he was 208:255,13[' ]| not always perfectly assured of knowing Miss*Crawford's. 208:255,14@b | There were points on which they did not quite agree, there 208:255,15@b | were moments in which she did not seem propitious, and 208:255,16@b | though trusting altogether to her affection, so far as to 208:255,17@b | be resolved (almost resolved) on bringing it to a decision 208:255,18@b | within a very short time, as soon as the variety of business 208:255,19@b | before him were arranged, and he knew what he had to offer 208:255,20@b | her ~~ he had many anxious feelings, many doubting hours 208:255,21@b | as to the result. His conviction of her regard for him 208:255,22@b | was sometimes very strong; he could look back on a long 208:255,23@b | course of encouragement, and she was as perfect in disinterested 208:255,24@b | attachment as in every*thing else. But at 208:255,25@b | other times doubt and alarm intermingled with his hopes, 208:255,26@b | and when he thought of her acknowledged disinclination 208:255,27@b | for privacy and retirement, her decided preference of a 208:255,28@b | London life ~~ what could he expect but a determined 208:255,29@b | rejection? unless it were an acceptance even more to be 208:255,30@b | deprecated, demanding such sacrifices of situation and 208:255,31@b | employment on his side as conscience must forbid. 208:255,32@b | The issue of all depended on one question. Did she 208:255,33@b | love him well enough to forego what had used to be essential 208:255,34@b | points ~~ did she love him well enough to make them 208:255,35@b | no longer essential? And this question, which he was 208:255,36@b | continually repeating to himself, though oftenest answered 208:255,37@b | with a "Yes," had sometimes its "No." 208:255,38@b | Miss*Crawford was soon to leave Mansfield, and on this 208:256,01@b | circumstance the "no" and the "yes" had been very 208:256,02@b | recently in alternation. He had seen her eyes sparkle 208:256,03@b | as she spoke of the dear friend's letter, which claimed 208:256,04@b | a long visit from her in London, and of the kindness of 208:256,05@b | Henry, in engaging to remain where he was till January, 208:256,06@b | that he might convey her thither; he had heard her speak 208:256,07@b | of the pleasure of such a journey with an animation which 208:256,08@b | had "no" in every tone. But this had occurred on the 208:256,09@b | first day of its being settled, within the first hour of the 208:256,10@b | burst of such enjoyment, when nothing but the friends 208:256,11@b | she was to visit, was before her. He had since heard her 208:256,12@b | express herself differently ~~ with other feelings ~~ more 208:256,13@b | chequered feelings; he had heard her tell Mrs%*Grant 208:256,14@b | that she should leave her with regret; that she began to 208:256,15@b | believe neither the friends nor the pleasures she was going 208:256,16@b | to were worth those she left behind; and that though 208:256,17@b | she felt she must go, and knew she should enjoy herself 208:256,18@b | when once away, she was already looking forward to 208:256,19@b | being at Mansfield again. Was there not a "yes" in 208:256,20@b | all this? 208:256,21[' ]| With such matters to ponder over, and arrange, and 208:256,22[' ]| re-arrange, Edmund could not, on his own account, think 208:256,23[' ]| very much of the evening, which the rest of the family 208:256,24[' ]| were looking forward to with a more equal degree of 208:256,25[' ]| strong interest. 208:256,25@b | Independent of his two cousins' enjoyment 208:256,26@b | in it, the evening was to him of no higher value 208:256,27@b | than any other appointed meeting of the two families 208:256,28@b | might be. In every meeting there was a hope of receiving 208:256,29@b | farther confirmation of Miss*Crawford's attachment; but 208:256,30@b | the whirl of a ball-room perhaps was not particularly 208:256,31@b | favourable to the excitement or expression of serious 208:256,32@b | feelings. To engage her early for the two first dances, 208:256,33@b | was all the command of individual happiness which he 208:256,34@b | felt in his power, and the only preparation for the ball 208:256,35@b | which he could enter into, in spite of all that was passing 208:256,36@b | around him on the subject, from morning till night. 208:256,37[' ]| Thursday was the day of the ball: and on Wednesday 208:256,38[' ]| morning, Fanny, still unable to satisfy herself, as to what 208:257,01[' ]| she ought to wear, determined to seek the counsel of the 208:257,02[' ]| more enlightened, and apply to Mrs%*Grant and her sister, 208:257,03[' ]| whose acknowledged taste would certainly bear her blameless; 208:257,04[' ]| and as Edmund and William were gone to Northampton, 208:257,05[' ]| and she had reason to think Mr%*Crawford likewise 208:257,06[' ]| out, she walked down to the Parsonage without much 208:257,07[' ]| fear of wanting an opportunity for private discussion; 208:257,08[' ]| and the privacy of such a discussion was a most important 208:257,09[' ]| part of it to Fanny, being more than half ashamed of her 208:257,10[' ]| own solicitude. 208:257,11[' ]| She met Miss*Crawford within a few yards of the Parsonage, 208:257,12[' ]| just setting out to call on her, and as it seemed 208:257,13[' ]| to her, that her friend, though obliged to insist on turning 208:257,14[' ]| back, was unwilling to lose her walk, she explained her 208:257,15[' ]| business at once and observed that 208:257,15@a | if she would be so kind 208:257,16@a | as to give her opinion, it might be all talked over as well 208:257,17@a | without doors as within. Miss*Crawford appeared gratified 208:257,18@a | by the application, 208:257,18[' ]| and after a moment's thought, 208:257,19[' ]| urged Fanny's returning with her in a much more cordial 208:257,20[' ]| manner than before, and 208:257,20@c | proposed their going up into 208:257,21@c | her room, where they might have a comfortable coze, 208:257,22@c | without disturbing Dr% and Mrs%*Grant, who were together 208:257,23@c | in the drawing-room. 208:257,23[' ]| It was just the plan to suit Fanny; 208:257,24[' ]| and with a great deal of gratitude on her side for such 208:257,25[' ]| ready and kind attention, they proceeded in*doors and 208:257,26[' ]| upstairs, and were soon deep in the interesting subject. 208:257,27[' ]| Miss*Crawford, pleased with the appeal, gave her all her 208:257,28[' ]| best judgment and taste, made every*thing easy by her 208:257,29[' ]| suggestions, and tried to make every*thing agreeable by 208:257,30[' ]| her encouragement. The dress being settled in all its 208:257,31[' ]| grander parts, ~~ 208:257,31[C ]| "But what shall you have by way of 208:257,32[C ]| necklace?" 208:257,32[' ]| said Miss*Crawford. 208:257,32[C ]| "Shall not you wear 208:257,33[C ]| your brother's cross?" 208:257,33[' ]| And as she spoke she was 208:257,34[' ]| undoing a small parcel, which Fanny had observed in 208:257,35[' ]| her hand when they met. Fanny acknowledged her 208:257,36[' ]| wishes and doubts on this point; 208:257,36@a | she did not know how 208:257,37@a | either to wear the cross, or to refrain from wearing it. 208:257,38[' ]| She was answered by having a small trinket-box placed 208:258,01[' ]| before her, and being requested to chuse from among 208:258,02[' ]| several gold chains and necklaces. Such had been the 208:258,03[' ]| parcel with which Miss*Crawford was provided, and such 208:258,04[' ]| the object of her intended visit; and in the kindest 208:258,05[' ]| manner she now urged Fanny's taking one for the cross 208:258,06[' ]| and to keep for her sake, saying every*thing she could 208:258,07[' ]| think of to obviate the scruples which were making Fanny 208:258,08[' ]| start back at first with a look of horror at the proposal. 208:258,09[C ]| "You see what a collection I have," 208:258,09[' ]| said she, 208:258,09[C ]| "more 208:258,10[C ]| by half than I ever use or think of. I do not offer them 208:258,11[C ]| as new. I offer nothing but an old necklace. You must 208:258,12[C ]| forgive the liberty and oblige me." 208:258,13[' ]| Fanny still resisted, and from her heart. 208:258,13@a | The gift was 208:258,14@a | too valuable. 208:258,14[' ]| But, Miss*Crawford persevered, and argued 208:258,15[' ]| the case with so much affectionate earnestness through 208:258,16[' ]| all the heads of William and the cross, and the ball, and 208:258,17[' ]| herself, as to be finally successful. Fanny found herself 208:258,18@a | obliged to yield that she might not be accused of pride 208:258,19@a | or indifference, or some other littleness; 208:258,19[' ]| and having with 208:258,20[' ]| modest reluctance given her consent, proceeded to make 208:258,21[' ]| the selection. She looked and looked, 208:258,21@a | longing to know 208:258,22@a | which might be least valuable; and was determined in 208:258,23@a | her choice at last, by fancying there was one necklace 208:258,24@a | more frequently placed before her eyes than the rest. 208:258,25[' ]| It was of gold prettily worked; and though Fanny would 208:258,26[' ]| have preferred a longer and a plainer chain as more 208:258,27[' ]| adapted for her purpose, she hoped in fixing on this, to 208:258,28[' ]| be chusing what Miss*Crawford least wished to keep. 208:258,29[' ]| Miss*Crawford smiled her perfect approbation; and 208:258,30[' ]| hastened to complete the gift by putting the necklace 208:258,31[' ]| round her and making her see how well it looked. 208:258,32[' ]| Fanny had not a word to say against its becomingness, 208:258,33@a | and excepting what remained of her scruples, was exceedingly 208:258,34@a | pleased with an acquisition so very apropos. She 208:258,35@a | would rather perhaps have been obliged to some other 208:258,36@a | person. But this was an unworthy feeling. Miss*Crawford 208:258,37@a | had anticipated her wants with a kindness which 208:258,38@a | proved her a real friend. 208:258,38[A ]| "When I wear this necklace I 208:259,01[A ]| shall always think of you," 208:259,01[' ]| said she, 208:259,01[A ]| "and feel how very 208:259,02[A ]| kind you were." 208:259,03[C ]| "You must think of somebody else too when you wear 208:259,04[C ]| that necklace," 208:259,04[' ]| replied Miss*Crawford. 208:259,04[C ]| "You must think 208:259,05[C ]| of Henry, for it was his choice in the first place. He gave 208:259,06[C ]| it to me, and with the necklace I make over to you all 208:259,07[C ]| the duty of remembering the original giver. It is to be 208:259,08[C ]| a family remembrancer. The sister is not to be in your 208:259,09[C ]| mind without bringing the brother too." 208:259,10[' ]| Fanny, in great astonishment and confusion, would 208:259,11[' ]| have returned the present instantly. 208:259,11@a | To take what had 208:259,12@a | been the gift of another person ~~ of a brother too ~~ impossible! ~~ 208:259,13@a | it must not be! ~~ 208:259,13[' ]| and with an eagerness and 208:259,14[' ]| embarrassment quite diverting to her companion, she laid 208:259,15[' ]| down the necklace again on its cotton, and seemed resolved 208:259,16[' ]| either to take another or none at all. Miss*Crawford 208:259,17[' ]| thought 208:259,17@c | she had never seen a prettier consciousness. 208:259,18[C ]| "My dear child," 208:259,18[' ]| said she laughing, 208:259,18[C ]| "what are you 208:259,19[C ]| afraid of? Do you think Henry will claim the necklace 208:259,20[C ]| as mine, and fancy you did not come honestly by it? ~~ 208:259,21[C ]| or are you imagining he would be too much flattered by 208:259,22[C ]| seeing round your lovely throat an ornament which his 208:259,23[C ]| money purchased three years ago, before he knew there 208:259,24[C ]| was such a throat in the world? ~~ or perhaps ~~ 208:259,24[' ]| looking 208:259,25[' ]| archly ~~ 208:259,25[C ]| you suspect a confederacy between us, and that 208:259,26[C ]| what I am now doing is with his knowledge and at his 208:259,27[C ]| desire?" 208:259,28[' ]| With the deepest blushes Fanny protested against such 208:259,29[' ]| a thought. 208:259,30[C ]| "Well then," 208:259,30[' ]| replied Miss*Crawford more seriously but 208:259,31[' ]| without at all believing her, 208:259,31[C ]| "to convince me that you 208:259,32[C ]| suspect no trick, and are as unsuspicious of compliment 208:259,33[C ]| as I have always found you, take the necklace, and say 208:259,34[C ]| no more about it. Its being a gift of my brother's need 208:259,35[C ]| not make the smallest difference in your accepting it, as 208:259,36[C ]| I assure you it makes none in my willingness to part with 208:259,37[C ]| it. He is always giving me something or other. I have 208:259,38[C ]| such innumerable presents from him that it is quite 208:260,01[C ]| impossible for me to value, or for him to remember half. 208:260,02[C ]| And as for this necklace, I do not suppose I have worn it 208:260,03[C ]| six times; it is very pretty ~~ but I never think of it; and 208:260,04[C ]| though you would be most heartily welcome to any other 208:260,05[C ]| in my trinket-box, you have happened to fix on the very 208:260,06[C ]| one which, if I have a choice, I would rather part with 208:260,07[C ]| and see in your possession than any other. Say no more 208:260,08[C ]| against it, I entreat you. Such a trifle is not worth half 208:260,09[C ]| so many words." 208:260,10[' ]| Fanny dared not make any further opposition; and 208:260,11[' ]| with renewed but less happy thanks accepted the necklace 208:260,12[' ]| again, for there was an expression in Miss*Crawford's eyes 208:260,13[' ]| which she could not be satisfied with. 208:260,14@a | It was impossible for her to be insensible of Mr%*Crawford's 208:260,15@a | change of manners. She had long seen it. He 208:260,16@a | evidently tried to please her ~~ he was gallant ~~ he was 208:260,17@a | attentive ~~ he was something like what he had been to 208:260,18@a | her cousins: he wanted, she supposed, to cheat her of her 208:260,19@a | tranquillity as he had cheated them; and whether he 208:260,20@a | might not have some concern in this necklace! ~~ She 208:260,21@a | could not be convinced that he had not, for Miss*Crawford, 208:260,22@a | complaisant as a sister, was careless as a woman and a 208:260,23@a | friend. 208:260,24[' ]| Reflecting and doubting, and feeling that the possession 208:260,25[' ]| of what she had so much wished for, did not bring much 208:260,26[' ]| satisfaction, she now walked home again ~~ with a change 208:260,27[' ]| rather than a diminution of cares since her treading that 208:260,28[' ]| path before. 209:261,01[' ]| On reaching home, Fanny went immediately up*stairs 209:261,02[' ]| to deposit this unexpected acquisition, this doubtful good 209:261,03[' ]| of a necklace, in some favourite box in the east*room 209:261,04[' ]| which held all her smaller treasures; but on opening the 209:261,05[' ]| door, what was her surprize to find her cousin Edmund 209:261,06[' ]| there writing at the table! 209:261,06@a | Such a sight having never 209:261,07@a | occurred before, was almost as wonderful as it was 209:261,08@a | welcome. 209:261,09[B ]| "Fanny," 209:261,09[' ]| said he directly, leaving his seat and his pen, 209:261,10[' ]| and meeting her with something in his hand. 209:261,10[B ]| "I beg your 209:261,11[B ]| pardon for being here. I came to look for you, and after 209:261,12[B ]| waiting a little while in hope of your coming in, was making 209:261,13[B ]| use of your inkstand to explain my errand. You will 209:261,14[B ]| find the beginning of a note to yourself; but I can now 209:261,15[B ]| speak my business, which is merely to beg your acceptance 209:261,16[B ]| of this little trifle ~~ a chain for William's cross. You 209:261,17[B ]| ought to have had it a week ago, but there has been a 209:261,18[B ]| delay from my brother's not being in town by several days 209:261,19[B ]| so soon as I expected; and I have only just now received 209:261,20[B ]| it at Northampton. I hope you will like the chain itself, 209:261,21[B ]| Fanny. I endeavoured to consult the simplicity of your 209:261,22[B ]| taste, but at any rate I know you will be kind to my 209:261,22[B ]| intentions, 209:261,23[B ]| and consider it, as it really is, a token of the love 209:261,24[B ]| of one of your oldest friends." 209:261,25[' ]| And so saying, he was hurrying away, before Fanny, 209:261,26[' ]| overpowered by a thousand feelings of pain and pleasure, 209:261,27[' ]| could attempt to speak; but quickened by one sovereign 209:261,28[' ]| wish she then called out, 209:261,28[A ]| "Oh! cousin, stop a moment, 209:261,29[A ]| pray stop." 209:261,30[' ]| He turned back. 209:261,31[A ]| "I cannot attempt to thank you," 209:261,31[' ]| she continued in 209:261,32[' ]| a very agitated manner, 209:261,32[A ]| "thanks are out of the question. 209:262,01[A ]| I feel much more than I can possibly express. Your 209:262,02[A ]| goodness in thinking of me in such a way is beyond" ~~ 209:262,03[B ]| "If this is all you have to say, Fanny," 209:262,03[' ]| smiling and 209:262,04[' ]| turning away again ~~ 209:262,05[A ]| "No, no, it is not. I want to consult you." 209:262,06[' ]| Almost unconsciously she had now undone the parcel 209:262,07[' ]| he had just put into her hand, and seeing before her, in 209:262,08[' ]| all the niceness of jeweller's packing, a plain gold chain 209:262,09[' ]| perfectly simple and neat, she could not help bursting 209:262,10[' ]| forth again. 209:262,10[A ]| "Oh! this is beautiful indeed! this is the 209:262,11[A ]| very thing, precisely what I wished for! this is the only 209:262,12[A ]| ornament I have ever had a desire to possess. It will 209:262,13[A ]| exactly suit my cross. They must and shall be worn 209:262,14[A ]| together. It comes too in such an acceptable moment. 209:262,15[A ]| Oh! cousin, you do not know how acceptable it is." 209:262,16[B ]| "My dear Fanny, you feel these things a great deal too 209:262,17[B ]| much. I am most happy that you like the chain, and 209:262,18[B ]| that it should be here in time for to-morrow: but your 209:262,19[B ]| thanks are far beyond the occasion. Believe me, I have 209:262,20[B ]| no pleasure in the world superior to that of contributing 209:262,21[B ]| to yours. No, I can safely say, I have no pleasure so 209:262,22[B ]| complete, so unalloyed. It is without a drawback." 209:262,23[' ]| Upon such expressions of affection, Fanny could have 209:262,24[' ]| lived an hour without saying another word; but Edmund, 209:262,25[' ]| after waiting a moment, obliged her to bring down her 209:262,26[' ]| mind from its heavenly flight by saying, 209:262,26[B ]| "But what is it 209:262,27[B ]| that you want to consult me about?" 209:262,28[' ]| It was about the necklace, which she was now most 209:262,29[' ]| earnestly longing to return, and hoped to obtain his approbation 209:262,30[' ]| of her doing. She gave the history of her recent 209:262,31[' ]| visit, and now her raptures might well be over, for Edmund 209:262,32[' ]| was so struck with the circumstance, so delighted 209:262,33[' ]| with what Miss*Crawford had done, so gratified by such 209:262,34[' ]| a coincidence of conduct between them, that Fanny could 209:262,35[' ]| not but admit the superior power of \one\ pleasure over his 209:262,36[' ]| own mind, though it might have its drawback. It was 209:262,37[' ]| some time before she could get his attention to her plan, 209:262,38[' ]| or any answer to her demand of his opinion; he was in a 209:263,01[' ]| reverie of fond reflection, uttering only now and then 209:263,02[' ]| a few half sentences of praise; but when he did awake 209:263,03[' ]| and understand, he was very decided in opposing what 209:263,04[' ]| she wished. 209:263,05[B ]| "Return the necklace! No, my dear Fanny, upon no 209:263,06[B ]| account. It would be mortifying her severely. There 209:263,07[B ]| can hardly be a more unpleasant sensation than the having 209:263,08[B ]| any*thing returned on our hands, which we have given 209:263,09[B ]| with a reasonable hope of its contributing to the comfort 209:263,10[B ]| of a friend. Why should she lose a pleasure which she 209:263,11[B ]| has shewn herself so deserving of?" 209:263,12[A ]| "If it had been given to me in the first instance," 209:263,12[' ]| said 209:263,13[' ]| Fanny, 209:263,13[A ]| "I should not have thought of returning it; but 209:263,14[A ]| being her brother's present, is not it fair to suppose that 209:263,15[A ]| she would rather not part with it, when it is not wanted?" 209:263,16[B ]| "She must not suppose it not wanted, not acceptable 209:263,17[B ]| at least; and its having been originally her brother's gift 209:263,18[B ]| makes no difference, for as she was not prevented from 209:263,19[B ]| offering, nor you from taking it on that account, it ought 209:263,20[B ]| not to affect your keeping it. No doubt it is handsomer 209:263,21[B ]| than mine, and fitter for a ball-room." 209:263,22[A ]| "No, it is not handsomer, not at all handsomer in its 209:263,23[A ]| way, and for my purpose not half so fit. The chain will 209:263,24[A ]| agree with William's cross beyond all comparison better 209:263,25[A ]| than the necklace." 209:263,26[B ]| "For one night, Fanny, for only one night, if it \be\ a 209:263,27[B ]| sacrifice ~~ I am sure you will, upon consideration, make 209:263,28[B ]| that sacrifice rather than give pain to one who has been 209:263,29[B ]| so studious of your comfort. Miss*Crawford's attentions 209:263,30[B ]| to you have been ~~ not more than you were justly entitled 209:263,31[B ]| to ~~ I am the last person to think that \could\ \be\ ~~ but 209:263,31[B ]| they 209:263,32[B ]| have been invariable; and to be returning them with 209:263,33[B ]| what must have something the \air\ of ingratitude, though 209:263,34[B ]| I know it could never have the \meaning\, is not in your 209:263,35[B ]| nature I am sure. Wear the necklace, as you are engaged 209:263,36[B ]| to do to-morrow evening, and let the chain, which was 209:263,37[B ]| not ordered with any reference to the ball, be kept for 209:263,38[B ]| commoner occasions. This is my advice. I would not 209:264,01[B ]| have the shadow of a coolness between the two whose 209:264,02[B ]| intimacy I have been observing with the greatest pleasure, 209:264,03[B ]| and in whose characters there is so much general resemblance 209:264,04[B ]| in true generosity and natural delicacy as to make 209:264,05[B ]| the few slight differences, resulting principally from situation, 209:264,06[B ]| no reasonable hindrance to a perfect friendship. I 209:264,07[B ]| would not have the shadow of a coolness arise," 209:264,07[' ]| he 209:264,08[' ]| repeated, his voice sinking a little, 209:264,08[B ]| "between the two 209:264,09[B ]| dearest objects I have on earth." 209:264,10[' ]| He was gone as he spoke; and Fanny remained to 209:264,11[' ]| tranquillise herself as she could. 209:264,11@a | She was one of his two 209:264,12@a | dearest ~~ that must support her. But the other! ~~ the 209:264,13@a | first! She had never heard him speak so openly before, 209:264,14@a | and though it told her no more than what she had long 209:264,15@a | perceived, it was a stab; ~~ for it told of his own convictions 209:264,16@a | and views. They were decided. He would marry 209:264,17@a | Miss*Crawford. It was a stab, in spite of every long-standing 209:264,18@a | expectation; and she was obliged to repeat 209:264,19@a | again and again that she was one of his two dearest, before 209:264,20@a | the words gave her any sensation. Could she believe Miss*Crawford 209:264,21@a | to deserve him, it would be ~~ Oh! how different 209:264,22@a | would it be ~~ how far more tolerable! But he was 209:264,23@a | deceived in her; he gave her merits which she had not; 209:264,24@a | her faults were what they had ever been, but he saw them 209:264,25@a | no longer. 209:264,25[' ]| Till she had shed many tears over this deception, 209:264,26[' ]| Fanny could not subdue her agitation; and the 209:264,27[' ]| dejection which followed could only be relieved by the 209:264,28[' ]| influence of fervent prayers for his happiness. 209:264,29@a | It was her intention, as she felt it to be her duty, to try 209:264,30@a | to overcome all that was excessive, all that bordered on 209:264,31@a | selfishness in her affection for Edmund. To call or to 209:264,32@a | fancy it a loss, a disappointment, would be a presumption; 209:264,33@a | for which she had not words strong enough to satisfy her 209:264,34@a | own humility. To think of him as Miss*Crawford might 209:264,35@a | be justified in thinking, would in her be insanity. To 209:264,36@a | her, he could be nothing under any circumstances ~~ 209:264,37@a | nothing dearer than a friend. Why did such an idea occur 209:264,38@a | to her even enough to be reprobated and forbidden? It 209:265,01@a | ought not to have touched on the confines of her imagination. 209:265,02@a | She would endeavour to be rational, and to deserve 209:265,03@a | the right of judging of Miss*Crawford's character and the 209:265,04@a | privilege of true solicitude for him by a sound intellect 209:265,05@a | and an honest heart. 209:265,06[' ]| She had all the heroism of principle, and was determined 209:265,07[' ]| to do her duty; but having also many of the feelings of 209:265,08[' ]| youth and nature, let her not be much wondered at if, 209:265,09[' ]| after making all these good resolutions on the side of self-government, 209:265,10[' ]| she seized the scrap of paper on which 209:265,11[' ]| Edmund had begun writing to her, as a treasure beyond 209:265,12[' ]| all her hopes, and reading with the tenderest emotion 209:265,13[' ]| these words, 209:265,13[B ]| "My very dear Fanny, you must do me the 209:265,14[B ]| favour to accept" ~~ 209:265,14[' ]| locked it up with the chain, as the 209:265,15[' ]| dearest part of the gift. 209:265,15@a | It was the only thing approaching 209:265,16@a | to a letter which she had ever received from him; 209:265,17@a | she might never receive another; it was impossible that 209:265,18@a | she ever should receive another so perfectly gratifying in 209:265,19@a | the occasion and the style. 209:265,19[' ]| Two lines more prized had 209:265,20[' ]| never fallen from the pen of the most distinguished author 209:265,21[' ]| ~~ never more completely blessed the researches of the 209:265,22[' ]| fondest biographer. The enthusiasm of a woman's love 209:265,23[' ]| is even beyond the biographer's. To her, the hand-writing 209:265,24[' ]| itself, independent of any*thing it may convey, 209:265,25[' ]| is a blessedness. 209:265,25@a | Never were such characters cut by any 209:265,26@a | other human being, as Edmund's commonest hand-writing, 209:265,27@a | gave! This specimen, written in haste as it was, had 209:265,28@a | not a fault; and there was a felicity in the flow of the 209:265,29@a | first four words, in the arrangement of 209:265,29[B ]| "My very dear 209:265,30[B ]| Fanny," 209:265,30@a | which she could have looked at for*ever. 209:265,31[' ]| Having regulated her thoughts and comforted her feelings 209:265,32[' ]| by this happy mixture of reason and weakness, she 209:265,33[' ]| was able, in due time, to go down and resume her usual 209:265,34[' ]| employments near her aunt Bertram, and pay her the 209:265,35[' ]| usual observances without any apparent want of spirits. 209:265,36[' ]| Thursday, predestined to hope and enjoyment, came; and 209:265,37[' ]| opened with more kindness to Fanny than such self-willed, 209:265,38[' ]| unmanageable days often volunteer, for soon after breakfast 209:266,01[' ]| a very friendly note was brought from Mr%*Crawford 209:266,02[' ]| to William stating that 209:266,02@d | as he found himself obliged to go to 209:266,03@d | London on the morrow for a few days, he could not help 209:266,04@d | trying to procure a companion; and therefore hoped that if 209:266,05@d | William could make up his mind to leave Mansfield half 209:266,06@d | a day earlier than had been proposed, he would accept 209:266,07@d | a place in his carriage. 209:266,07[' ]| Mr%*Crawford meant to be in town 209:266,08[' ]| by his uncle's accustomary late dinner-hour, and William 209:266,09[' ]| was invited to dine with him at the Admiral's. The 209:266,10[' ]| proposal was a very pleasant one to William himself, who 209:266,11@q | enjoyed the idea of travelling post with four horses and 209:266,12@q | such a good*humoured agreeable friend; and in likening 209:266,13@q | it to going up with dispatches, 209:266,13[' ]| was saying at once every*thing 209:266,14[' ]| in favour of its happiness and dignity which his 209:266,15[' ]| imagination could suggest; and Fanny, from a different 209:266,16[' ]| motive, was exceedingly pleased: 209:266,16@a | for the original plan 209:266,17@a | was that William should go up by the mail from Northampton 209:266,18@a | the following night, which would not have allowed 209:266,19@a | him an hour's rest before he must have got into a Portsmouth 209:266,20@a | coach; and though this offer of Mr%*Crawford's 209:266,21@a | would rob her of many hours of his company, she was too 209:266,22@a | happy in having William spared from the fatigue of such 209:266,23@a | a journey, to think of any*thing else. 209:266,23[' ]| Sir*Thomas approved 209:266,24[' ]| of it for another reason. 209:266,24@e | His nephew's introduction 209:266,25@e | to Admiral*Crawford might be of service. The 209:266,26@e | Admiral he believed had interest. 209:266,26[' ]| Upon the whole, it 209:266,27[' ]| was a very joyous note. Fanny's spirits lived on it half 209:266,28[' ]| the morning, deriving some accession of pleasure from its 209:266,29[' ]| writer being himself to go away. 209:266,30[' ]| As for the ball so near at hand, she had too many 209:266,31[' ]| agitations and fears to have half the enjoyment in 209:266,32[' ]| anticipation which she ought to have had, or must have 209:266,33[' ]| been supposed to have, by the many young ladies looking 209:266,34[' ]| forward to the same event in situations more at ease, but 209:266,35[' ]| under circumstances of less novelty, less interest, less 209:266,36[' ]| peculiar gratification than would be attributed to her. 209:266,37[' ]| Miss*Price, known only by name to half the people invited, 209:266,38[' ]| was now to make her first appearance, and must be 209:267,01[' ]| regarded as the Queen of the evening. Who could be 209:267,02[' ]| happier than Miss*Price? But Miss*Price had not been 209:267,03[' ]| brought up to the trade of \coming\ \out\; and had she 209:267,04[' ]| known in what light this ball was, in general, considered 209:267,05[' ]| respecting her, it would very much have lessened her 209:267,06[' ]| comfort by increasing the fears she already had, of doing 209:267,07[' ]| wrong and being looked at. 209:267,07@a | To dance without much 209:267,08@a | observation or any extraordinary fatigue, to have strength 209:267,09@a | and partners for about half the evening, to dance a little 209:267,10@a | with Edmund, and not a great deal with Mr%*Crawford, 209:267,11@a | to see William enjoy himself, and be able to keep away 209:267,12@a | from her aunt Norris, 209:267,12[' ]| was the height of her ambition, 209:267,13[' ]| and seemed to comprehend her greatest possibility of 209:267,14[' ]| happiness. As these were the best of her hopes, they 209:267,15[' ]| could not always prevail; and in the course of a long 209:267,16[' ]| morning, spent principally with her two aunts, she was 209:267,17[' ]| often under the influence of much less sanguine views. 209:267,18[' ]| William, determined to make this last day a day of 209:267,19[' ]| thorough enjoyment, was out snipe shooting; Edmund, 209:267,20[' ]| she had too much reason to suppose, was at the Parsonage; 209:267,21[' ]| and left alone to bear the worrying of Mrs%*Norris, who 209:267,22[' ]| was cross because the house-keeper would have her own 209:267,23[' ]| way with the supper, and whom \she\ could not avoid 209:267,24[' ]| though the house-keeper might, Fanny was worn down 209:267,25[' ]| at last to think every*thing an evil belonging to the ball, 209:267,26[' ]| and when sent off with a parting worry to dress, moved as 209:267,27[' ]| languidly towards her own room, and felt as incapable 209:267,28[' ]| of happiness as if she had been allowed no share in it. 209:267,29[' ]| As she walked slowly up*stairs she thought of yesterday; 209:267,30[' ]| it had been about the same hour that she had returned 209:267,31[' ]| from the Parsonage, and found Edmund in the east*room. 209:267,32[A ]| ~~ "Suppose I were to find him there again to-day!" 209:267,32[' ]| said 209:267,33[' ]| she to herself in a fond indulgence of fancy. 209:267,34[B ]| "Fanny," 209:267,34[' ]| said a voice at that moment near her. 209:267,35[' ]| Starting and looking up she saw across the lobby she 209:267,36[' ]| had just reached Edmund himself, standing at the head 209:267,37[' ]| of a different staircase. He came towards her. 209:267,37[B ]| "You look 209:267,38[B ]| tired and fagged, Fanny. You have been walking too far." 209:268,01[A ]| "No, I have not been out at all." 209:268,02[B ]| "Then you have had fatigues within doors, which are 209:268,03[B ]| worse. You had better have gone out." 209:268,04[' ]| Fanny, not liking to complain, found it easiest to make 209:268,05[' ]| no answer; 209:268,05@a | and though he looked at her with his usual 209:268,06@a | kindness, she believed he had soon ceased to think of her 209:268,07@a | countenance. He did not appear in spirits; something 209:268,08@a | unconnected with her was probably amiss. 209:268,08[' ]| They proceeded 209:268,09[' ]| up*stairs together, their rooms being on the same 209:268,10[' ]| floor above. 209:268,11[B ]| "I come from Dr%*Grant's," 209:268,11[' ]| said Edmund presently. 209:268,12[B ]| "You may guess my errand there, Fanny." 209:268,12[' ]| And he 209:268,13[' ]| looked so conscious, that Fanny could think but of one 209:268,14[' ]| errand, which turned her too sick for speech. ~~ 209:268,14[B ]| "I wished 209:268,15[B ]| to engage Miss*Crawford for the two first dances," 209:268,15[' ]| was 209:268,16[' ]| the explanation that followed, and brought Fanny to life 209:268,17[' ]| again, enabling her, as she found she was expected to 209:268,18[' ]| speak, to utter something like an inquiry as to the result. 209:268,19[B ]| "Yes," 209:268,19[' ]| he answered, 209:268,19[B ]| "she is engaged to me; but 209:268,19[' ]| (with 209:268,20[' ]| a smile that did not sit easy) 209:268,20[B ]| she says it is to be the last 209:268,21[B ]| time that she ever will dance with me. She is not serious. 209:268,22[B ]| I think, I hope, I am sure she is not serious ~~ but I would 209:268,23[B ]| rather not hear it. She never has danced with a clergyman 209:268,24[B ]| she says, and she never \will\. For my own sake, I 209:268,25[B ]| could wish there had been no ball just at ~~ I mean not 209:268,26[B ]| this very week, this very day ~~ to-morrow I leave home." 209:268,27[' ]| Fanny struggled for speech, and said, 209:268,27[A ]| "I am very sorry 209:268,28[A ]| that any*thing has occurred to distress you. This ought 209:268,29[A ]| to be a day of pleasure. My uncle meant it so." 209:268,30[B ]| "Oh! yes, yes, and it will be a day of pleasure. It 209:268,31[B ]| will all end right. I am only vexed for a moment. In 209:268,32[B ]| fact, it is not that I consider the ball as ill-timed; ~~ what 209:268,33[B ]| does it signify? But, Fanny," ~~ 209:268,33[' ]| stopping her by taking 209:268,34[' ]| her hand, and speaking low and seriously, 209:268,34[B ]| "you know 209:268,35[B ]| what all this means. You see how it is; and could tell 209:268,36[B ]| me, perhaps better than I could tell you, how and why 209:268,37[B ]| I am vexed. Let me talk to you a little. You are a kind, 209:268,38[B ]| kind listener. I have been pained by her manner this 209:269,01[B ]| morning, and cannot get the better of it. I know her 209:269,02[B ]| disposition to be as sweet and faultless as your own, but 209:269,03[B ]| the influence of her former companions makes her seem, 209:269,04[B ]| gives to her conversation, to her professed opinions, sometimes 209:269,05[B ]| a tinge of wrong. She does not \think\ evil, but she 209:269,06[B ]| speaks it ~~ speaks it in playfulness ~~ and though I know 209:269,07[B ]| it to be playfulness, it grieves me to the soul." 209:269,08[A ]| "The effect of education," 209:269,08[' ]| said Fanny gently. 209:269,09[' ]| Edmund could not but agree to it. 209:269,09[B ]| "Yes, that uncle 209:269,10[B ]| and aunt! They have injured the finest mind! ~~ for 209:269,11[B ]| sometimes, Fanny, I own to you, it does appear more than 209:269,12[B ]| manner; it appears as if the mind itself was tainted." 209:269,13[' ]| Fanny imagined this to be an appeal to her judgment, 209:269,14[' ]| and therefore, after a moment's consideration, said, 209:269,14[A ]| "If 209:269,15[A ]| you only want me as a listener, cousin, I will be as useful 209:269,16[A ]| as I can; but I am not qualified for an adviser. Do not 209:269,17[A ]| ask advice of \me\. I am not competent." 209:269,18[B ]| "You are right, Fanny, to protest against such an 209:269,19[B ]| office, but you need not be afraid. It is a subject on 209:269,20[B ]| which I should never ask advice. It is the sort of subject on 209:269,21[B ]| which it had better never be asked; and few I imagine 209:269,22[B ]| do ask it, but when they want to be influenced against 209:269,23[B ]| their conscience. I only want to talk to you." 209:269,24[A ]| "One thing more. Excuse the liberty ~~ but take care 209:269,25[A ]| \how\ you talk to me. Do not tell me any*thing now, 209:269,26[A ]| which hereafter you may be sorry for. The time may 209:269,27[A ]| come ~~" 209:269,28[' ]| The colour rushed into her cheeks as she spoke. 209:269,29[B ]| "Dearest Fanny!" 209:269,29[' ]| cried Edmund, pressing her hand 209:269,30[' ]| to his lips, with almost as much warmth as if it had been 209:269,31[' ]| Miss*Crawford's, 209:269,31[B ]| "you are all considerate thought! ~~ 209:269,32[B ]| But it is unnecessary here. The time will never come. 209:269,33[B ]| No such time as you allude to will ever come. I begin to 209:269,34[B ]| think it most improbable; the chances grow less and less. 209:269,35[B ]| And even if it should ~~ there will be nothing to be remembered 209:269,36[B ]| by either you or me, that we need be afraid of, for 209:269,37[B ]| I can never be ashamed of my own scruples; and if they 209:269,38[B ]| are removed, it must be by changes that will only raise 209:270,01[B ]| her character the more by the recollection of the faults 209:270,02[B ]| she once had. You are the only being upon earth to 209:270,03[B ]| whom I should say what I have said; but you have 209:270,04[B ]| always known my opinion of her; you can bear me 209:270,05[B ]| witness, Fanny, that I have never been blinded. How 209:270,06[B ]| many a time have we talked over her little errors! You 209:270,07[B ]| need not fear me. I have almost given up every serious 209:270,08[B ]| idea of her; but I must be a blockhead indeed if, whatever 209:270,09[B ]| befell me, I could think of your kindness and sympathy 209:270,10[B ]| without the sincerest gratitude." 209:270,11[' ]| He had said enough to shake the experience of eighteen. 209:270,12[' ]| He had said enough to give Fanny some happier feelings 209:270,13[' ]| than she had lately known, and with a brighter look, she 209:270,14[' ]| answered, 209:270,14[A ]| "Yes, cousin, I am convinced that \you\ would 209:270,15[A ]| be incapable of any*thing else, though perhaps some might 209:270,16[A ]| not. I cannot be afraid of hearing any*thing you wish 209:270,17[A ]| to say. Do not check yourself. Tell me whatever you 209:270,18[A ]| like." 209:270,19[' ]| They were now on the second floor, and the appearance 209:270,20[' ]| of a housemaid prevented any further conversation. For 209:270,21[' ]| Fanny's present comfort it was concluded perhaps at the 209:270,22[' ]| happiest moment; had he been able to talk another five 209:270,23[' ]| minutes, there is no saying that he might not have talked 209:270,24[' ]| away all Miss*Crawford's faults and his own despondence. 209:270,25[' ]| But as it was, they parted with looks on his side 209:270,26[' ]| of grateful affection, and with some very precious sensations 209:270,27[' ]| on her's. 209:270,27@a | She had felt nothing like it for hours. 209:270,28@a | Since the first joy from Mr%*Crawford's note to William 209:270,29@a | had worn away, she had been in a state absolutely their 209:270,30@a | reverse; there had been no comfort around, no hope 209:270,31@a | within her. Now, every*thing was smiling. William's 209:270,32@a | good fortune returned again upon her mind, and seemed 209:270,33@a | of greater value than at first. The ball too ~~ such an 209:270,34@a | evening of pleasure before her! It was now a real animation! 209:270,35[' ]| and she began to dress for it with much of the 209:270,36[' ]| happy flutter which belongs to a ball. 209:270,36@a | All went well ~~ 209:270,37@a | she did not dislike her own looks; and when she came 209:270,38@a | to the necklaces again, her good fortune seemed complete, 209:271,01@a | for upon trial the one given her by Miss*Crawford 209:271,02@a | would by no means go through the ring of the cross. 209:271,03@a | She had, to oblige Edmund, resolved to wear it ~~ but it 209:271,04@a | was too large for the purpose. His therefore must be 209:271,05@a | worn; and having, with delightful feelings, joined the 209:271,06@a | chain and the cross, those memorials of the two most 209:271,07@a | beloved of her heart, those dearest tokens so formed for 209:271,08@a | each other by every*thing real and imaginary ~~ and put 209:271,09@a | them round her neck, and seen and felt how full of William 209:271,10@a | and Edmund they were, she was able, without an effort, 209:271,11@a | to resolve on wearing Miss*Crawford's necklace too. She 209:271,12@a | acknowledged it to be right. Miss*Crawford had a claim; 209:271,13@a | and when it was no longer to encroach on, to interfere 209:271,14@a | with the stronger claims, the truer kindness of another, 209:271,15@a | she could do her justice even with pleasure to herself. 209:271,16@a | The necklace really looked very well; 209:271,16[' ]| and Fanny left her 209:271,17[' ]| room at last, comfortably satisfied with herself and all 209:271,18[' ]| about her. 209:271,19[' ]| Her aunt Bertram had recollected her on this occasion, 209:271,20[' ]| with an unusual degree of wakefulness. It had really 209:271,21[' ]| occurred to her, unprompted, that Fanny, preparing for 209:271,22[' ]| a ball, might be glad of better help than the upper housemaid's, 209:271,23[' ]| and when dressed herself, she actually sent her 209:271,24[' ]| own maid to assist her; too late of course to be of any use. 209:271,25[' ]| Mrs%*Chapman had just reached the attic floor, when 209:271,25[' ]| Miss*Price 209:271,26[' ]| came out of her room completely dressed, and only 209:271,27[' ]| civilities were necessary ~~ but Fanny felt her aunt's attention 209:271,28[' ]| almost as much as Lady*Bertram or Mrs%*Chapman 209:271,29[' ]| could do themselves. 210:272,01[' ]| Her uncle and both her aunts were in the drawing-room 210:272,02[' ]| when Fanny went down. To the former 210:272,02@e | she was an 210:272,03@e | interesting object, and he saw with pleasure the general 210:272,04@e | elegance of her appearance and her being in remarkably 210:272,05@e | good looks. 210:272,05[' ]| The neatness and propriety of her dress was 210:272,06[' ]| all that he would allow himself to commend in her presence, 210:272,07[' ]| but upon her leaving the room again soon afterwards, he 210:272,08[' ]| spoke of her beauty with very decided praise. 210:272,09[F ]| "Yes," 210:272,09[' ]| said Lady*Bertram 210:272,09[F ]| "she looks very well. I 210:272,10[F ]| sent Chapman to her." 210:272,11[J ]| "Look well! Oh yes," 210:272,11[' ]| cried Mrs%*Norris, 210:272,11[J ]| "she has 210:272,12[J ]| good reason to look well with all her advantages: brought 210:272,13[J ]| up in this family as she has been, with all the benefit of 210:272,14[J ]| her cousins' manners before her. Only think, my dear 210:272,15[J ]| Sir*Thomas, what extraordinary advantages you and I 210:272,16[J ]| have been the means of giving her. The very gown you 210:272,17[J ]| have been taking notice of, is your own generous present 210:272,18[J ]| to her when dear Mrs%*Rushworth married. What would 210:272,19[J ]| she have been if we had not taken her by the hand?" 210:272,20[' ]| Sir*Thomas said no more; but when they sat down to 210:272,21[' ]| table 210:272,21@e | the eyes of the two young men assured him, that 210:272,22@e | the subject might be gently touched again when the ladies 210:272,23@e | withdrew, with more success. 210:272,23[' ]| Fanny saw that she was 210:272,24[' ]| approved; and the consciousness of looking well, made 210:272,25[' ]| her look still better. From a variety of causes she was 210:272,26[' ]| happy, and she was soon made still happier; for in following 210:272,27[' ]| her aunts out of the room, Edmund, who was 210:272,28[' ]| holding open the door, said as she passed him, 210:272,28[B ]| "You must 210:272,29[B ]| dance with me, Fanny; you must keep two dances for 210:272,30[B ]| me; any two that you like, except the first." 210:272,30[' ]| She had 210:272,31[' ]| nothing more to wish for. She had hardly ever been in 210:272,32[' ]| a state so nearly approaching high spirits in her life. 210:272,32@a | Her 210:272,33@a | cousins' former gaiety on the day of a ball was no longer 210:273,01@a | surprizing to her; she felt it to be indeed very charming, 210:273,02[' ]| and was actually practising her steps about the drawing-room 210:273,03[' ]| as long as she could be safe from the notice of her 210:273,04[' ]| aunt Norris, who was entirely taken up at first in fresh 210:273,05[' ]| arranging and injuring the noble fire which the butler had 210:273,06[' ]| prepared. 210:273,07[' ]| Half an hour followed, that would have been at least 210:273,08[' ]| languid under any other circumstances, but Fanny's happiness 210:273,09[' ]| still prevailed. 210:273,09@a | It was but to think of her conversation 210:273,10@a | with Edmund; and what was the restlessness 210:273,11@a | of Mrs%*Norris? What were the yawns of Lady*Bertram? 210:273,12@a | The gentlemen joined them; and soon after began the 210:273,13@a | sweet expectation of a carriage, when a general spirit of 210:273,14@a | ease and enjoyment seemed diffused, and they all stood 210:273,15@a | about and talked and laughed, and every moment had its 210:273,16@a | pleasure and its hope. 210:273,16[' ]| Fanny felt that 210:273,16@a | there must be 210:273,17@a | a struggle in Edmund's cheerfulness, but it was delightful 210:273,18@a | to see the effort so successfully made. 210:273,19[' ]| When the carriages were really heard, when the guests 210:273,20[' ]| began really to assemble, her own gaiety of heart was 210:273,21[' ]| much subdued; the sight of so many strangers threw 210:273,22[' ]| her back into herself; and besides the gravity and formality 210:273,23[' ]| of the first great circle, which the manners of 210:273,24[' ]| neither Sir*Thomas nor Lady*Bertram were of a kind to 210:273,25[' ]| do away, she found herself occasionally called on to 210:273,26[' ]| endure something worse. She was introduced here and 210:273,27[' ]| there by her uncle, and forced to be spoken to, and to 210:273,28[' ]| curtsey, and speak again. This was a hard duty, and 210:273,29[' ]| she was never summoned to it, without looking at William, 210:273,30[' ]| as he walked about at his ease in the back*ground of the 210:273,31[' ]| scene, and longing to be with him. 210:273,32[' ]| The entrance of the Grants and Crawfords was a 210:273,33[' ]| favourable epoch. The stiffness of the meeting soon gave 210:273,34[' ]| way before their popular manners and more diffused 210:273,35[' ]| intimacies: ~~ little groups were formed and every*body 210:273,36[' ]| grew comfortable. Fanny felt the advantage; and, 210:273,37[' ]| drawing back from the toils of civility, would have been 210:273,38[' ]| again most happy, could she have kept her eyes from 210:274,01[' ]| wandering between Edmund and Mary*Crawford. 210:274,01@a | \She\ 210:274,02@a | looked all loveliness ~~ and what might not be the end of it? 210:274,03[' ]| Her own musings were brought to an end on perceiving 210:274,04[' ]| Mr%*Crawford before her, and her thoughts were put into 210:274,05[' ]| another channel by his engaging her almost instantly for 210:274,06[' ]| the two first dances. Her happiness on this occasion 210:274,07[' ]| was very much a`-la-mortal, finely chequered. To be 210:274,08[' ]| secure of a partner at first, was a most essential good ~~ 210:274,09[' ]| for the moment of beginning was now growing seriously 210:274,10[' ]| near, and she so little understood her own claims as to 210:274,11[' ]| think, that 210:274,11@a | if Mr%*Crawford had not asked her, she must 210:274,12@a | have been the last to be sought after, and should have 210:274,13@a | received a partner only through a series of inquiry, and 210:274,14@a | bustle, and interference which would have been terrible; 210:274,15@a | but at the same time there was a pointedness in his manner 210:274,16@a | of asking her, which she did not like, and she saw his eye 210:274,17@a | glancing for a moment at her necklace ~~ with a smile ~~ 210:274,18@a | she thought there was a smile ~~ which made her blush 210:274,19@a | and feel wretched. 210:274,19[' ]| And though there was no second 210:274,20[' ]| glance to disturb her, though his object seemed then to 210:274,21[' ]| be only quietly agreeable, she could not get the better 210:274,22[' ]| of her embarrassment, heightened as it was by the idea 210:274,23[' ]| of his perceiving it, and had no composure till he turned 210:274,24[' ]| away to some*one else. Then she could gradually rise 210:274,25[' ]| up to the genuine satisfaction of having a partner, 210:274,26[' ]| a voluntary partner secured against the dancing began. 210:274,27[' ]| When the company were moving into the ball-room she 210:274,28[' ]| found herself for the first time near Miss*Crawford, whose 210:274,29[' ]| eyes and smiles were immediately and more unequivocally 210:274,30[' ]| directed as her brother's had been, and who was beginning 210:274,31[' ]| to speak on the subject, when Fanny, anxious to get the 210:274,32[' ]| story over, hastened to give the explanation of the second 210:274,33[' ]| necklace ~~ the real chain. Miss*Crawford listened; and 210:274,34[' ]| all her intended compliments and insinuations to Fanny 210:274,35[' ]| were forgotten; she felt only one thing; and her eyes, 210:274,36[' ]| bright as they had been before, shewing they could yet 210:274,37[' ]| be brighter, she exclaimed with eager pleasure, 210:274,37[C ]| "Did he? 210:274,38[C ]| Did Edmund? That was like himself. No other man 210:275,01[C ]| would have thought of it. I honour him beyond expression." 210:275,02[' ]| And she looked around as if longing to tell him 210:275,03[' ]| so. He was not near, he was attending a party of ladies 210:275,04[' ]| out of the room; and Mrs%*Grant coming up to the two 210:275,05[' ]| girls and taking an arm of each, they followed with the 210:275,06[' ]| rest. 210:275,07[' ]| Fanny's heart sunk, but there was no leisure for thinking 210:275,08[' ]| long even of Miss*Crawford's feelings. 210:275,08@a | They were in 210:275,09@a | the ball-room, the violins were playing, and her mind was 210:275,10@a | in a flutter that forbad its fixing on any*thing serious. 210:275,11@a | She must watch the general arrangements and see how 210:275,12@a | every*thing was done. 210:275,13[' ]| In a few minutes Sir*Thomas came to her, and asked 210:275,14[' ]| if she were engaged; and the 210:275,14[A ]| "Yes, sir, to Mr%*Crawford," 210:275,15[' ]| was exactly what he had intended to hear. Mr%*Crawford 210:275,16[' ]| was not far off; Sir*Thomas brought him to her, saying 210:275,17[' ]| something which discovered to Fanny, that 210:275,17@a | \she\ was to 210:275,18@a | lead the way and open the ball; an idea that had never 210:275,19@a | occurred to her before. 210:275,19[' ]| Whenever she had thought on 210:275,20[' ]| the minutia*e of the evening, 210:275,20@a | it had been as a matter of 210:275,21@a | course that Edmund would begin with Miss*Crawford, 210:275,22@a | and the impression was so strong, that though \her\ \uncle\ 210:275,23@a | spoke the contrary, she could not help an exclamation 210:275,24@a | of surprize, a hint of her unfitness, an entreaty even to be 210:275,25@a | excused. To be urging her opinion against Sir*Thomas's, 210:275,26@a | was a proof of the extremity of the case, but such was her 210:275,27@a | horror at the first suggestion, that she could actually look 210:275,28@a | him in the face and say she hoped it might be settled 210:275,29@a | otherwise; in vain however; ~~ Sir*Thomas smiled, tried 210:275,30@a | to encourage her, and then looked too serious and said 210:275,31@a | too decidedly ~~ 210:275,31[E ]| "It must be so, my dear," 210:275,31@a | for her to 210:275,32@a | hazard another word; and she found herself the next 210:275,33@a | moment conducted by Mr%*Crawford to the top of the 210:275,34@a | room, and standing there to be joined by the rest of the 210:275,35@a | dancers, couple after couple as they were formed. 210:275,36@a | She could hardly believe it. To be placed above so 210:275,37@a | many elegant young women! The distinction was too 210:275,38@a | great. It was treating her like her cousins! 210:275,38[' ]| And her 210:276,01[' ]| thoughts flew to those absent cousins with most unfeigned 210:276,02[' ]| and truly tender 210:276,02@a | regret, that they were not at home to 210:276,03@a | take their own place in the room, and have their share of 210:276,04@a | a pleasure which would have been so very delightful to 210:276,05@a | them. So often as she had heard them wish for a ball at 210:276,06@a | home as the greatest of all felicities! And to have them 210:276,07@a | away when it was given ~~ and for \her\ to be opening the 210:276,08@a | ball ~~ and with Mr%*Crawford too! She hoped they would 210:276,09@a | not envy her that distinction \now\; but when she looked 210:276,10@a | back to the state of things in the autumn, to what they 210:276,11@a | had all been to each other when once dancing in that 210:276,12@a | house before, the present arrangement was almost more 210:276,13@a | than she could understand herself. 210:276,14[' ]| The ball began. It was rather honour than happiness 210:276,15[' ]| to Fanny, for the first dance at least; her partner was in 210:276,16[' ]| excellent spirits and tried to impart them to her, but she 210:276,17[' ]| was a great deal too much frightened to have any enjoyment, 210:276,18[' ]| till she could suppose herself no longer looked at. 210:276,19[' ]| Young, pretty, and gentle, however, she had no awkwardnesses 210:276,20[' ]| that were not as good as graces, and there were few 210:276,21[' ]| persons present that were not disposed to praise her. 210:276,22[' ]| She was attractive, she was modest, she was Sir*Thomas's 210:276,23[' ]| niece, and she was soon said to be admired by Mr%*Crawford. 210:276,24[' ]| It was enough to give her general favour. Sir*Thomas 210:276,25[' ]| himself was watching her progress down the 210:276,26[' ]| dance with much complacency; 210:276,26@e | he was proud of his 210:276,27@e | niece, and without attributing all her personal beauty, 210:276,28@e | as Mrs%*Norris seemed to do, to her transplantation to 210:276,29@e | Mansfield, he was pleased with himself for having supplied 210:276,30@e | every*thing else; ~~ education and manners she owed 210:276,31@e | to him. 210:276,32[' ]| Miss*Crawford saw much of Sir*Thomas's thoughts as he 210:276,33[' ]| stood, and having, in spite of all his wrongs towards her, 210:276,34[' ]| a general prevailing desire of recommending herself to 210:276,35[' ]| him, took an opportunity of stepping aside to say something 210:276,36[' ]| agreeable of Fanny. Her praise was warm, 210:276,36@c | and he 210:276,37@c | received it as she could wish, joining in it as far as discretion, 210:276,38@c | and politeness, and slowness of speech would 210:277,01@c | allow, and certainly appearing to greater advantage on the 210:277,02@c | subject, than his lady did, soon afterwards, 210:277,02[' ]| when Mary, 210:277,03[' ]| perceiving her on a sofa very near, turned round before 210:277,04[' ]| she began to dance, to compliment her on Miss*Price's 210:277,05[' ]| looks. 210:277,06[F ]| "Yes, she does look very well," 210:277,06[' ]| was Lady*Bertram's 210:277,07[' ]| placid reply. 210:277,07[F ]| "Chapman helped her dress. I sent Chapman 210:277,08[F ]| to her." 210:277,08[' ]| Not but that she was really pleased to have 210:277,09[' ]| Fanny admired; but she was so much more struck with 210:277,10[' ]| her own kindness in sending Chapman to her, that she 210:277,11[' ]| could not get it out of her head. 210:277,12[' ]| Miss*Crawford knew Mrs%*Norris too well to think of 210:277,13[' ]| gratifying \her\ by commendation of Fanny; to her it was, 210:277,14[' ]| as the occasion offered, ~~ 210:277,14[C ]| "Ah! ma'am, how much we 210:277,15[C ]| want dear Mrs%*Rushworth and Julia to-night!" 210:277,15[' ]| and 210:277,16[' ]| Mrs%*Norris paid her with as many smiles and courteous 210:277,17[' ]| words as she had time for, amid so much occupation as she 210:277,18[' ]| found for herself, in making up card-tables, giving hints 210:277,19[' ]| to Sir*Thomas, and trying to move all the chaperons to 210:277,20[' ]| a better part of the room. 210:277,21[' ]| Miss*Crawford blundered most towards Fanny herself, 210:277,22[' ]| in her intentions to please. 210:277,22@c | She meant to be giving her 210:277,23@c | little heart a happy flutter, and filling her with sensations 210:277,24@c | of delightful self-consequence; 210:277,24[' ]| and misinterpreting Fanny's 210:277,25[' ]| blushes, still thought she must be doing so ~~ when she 210:277,26[' ]| went to her after the two first dances and said, with a 210:277,27[' ]| significant look, 210:277,27[C ]| "perhaps \you\ can tell me why my brother 210:277,28[C ]| goes to town to-morrow. He says, he has business there, 210:277,29[C ]| but will not tell me what. The first time he ever denied 210:277,30[C ]| me his confidence! But this is what we all come to. 210:277,31[C ]| All are supplanted sooner or later. Now, I must apply 210:277,32[C ]| to you for information. Pray what is Henry going for?" 210:277,33[' ]| Fanny protested her ignorance as steadily as her embarrassment 210:277,34[' ]| allowed. 210:277,35[C ]| "Well, then," 210:277,35[' ]| replied Miss*Crawford laughing, 210:277,35[C ]| "I must 210:277,36[C ]| suppose it to be purely for the pleasure of conveying your 210:277,37[C ]| brother and talking of you by the way." 210:277,38[' ]| Fanny was confused, but it was the confusion of discontent; 210:278,01[' ]| while Miss*Crawford wondered she did not smile, 210:278,02[' ]| and thought her over-anxious, or thought her odd, or 210:278,03[' ]| thought her any*thing rather than insensible of pleasure 210:278,04[' ]| in Henry's attentions. Fanny had a good deal of enjoyment 210:278,05[' ]| in the course of the evening ~~ but Henry's attentions 210:278,06[' ]| had very little to do with it. 210:278,06@a | She would much rather 210:278,07@a | \not\ have been asked by him again so very soon, and she 210:278,08@a | wished she had not been obliged to suspect that his previous 210:278,09@a | inquiries of Mrs%*Norris, about the supper-hour, 210:278,10@a | were all for the sake of securing her at that part of the 210:278,11@a | evening. But it was not to be avoided; he made her 210:278,12@a | feel that she was the object of all; though she could not 210:278,13@a | say that it was unpleasantly done, that there was indelicacy 210:278,14@a | or ostentation in his manner ~~ and sometimes, when 210:278,15@a | he talked of William, he was really not un-agreeable, and 210:278,16@a | shewed even a warmth of heart which did him credit. 210:278,17@a | But still his attentions made no part of her satisfaction. 210:278,18@a | She was happy whenever she looked at William, and saw 210:278,19@a | how perfectly he was enjoying himself, in every five 210:278,20@a | minutes that she could walk about with him and hear his 210:278,21@a | account of his partners; she was happy in knowing herself 210:278,22@a | admired, and she was happy in having the two dances 210:278,23@a | with Edmund still to look forward to, during the greatest 210:278,24@a | part of the evening, her hand being so eagerly sought 210:278,25@a | after, that her indefinite engagement with \him\ was in 210:278,26@a | continual perspective. She was happy even when they 210:278,27@a | did take place; but not from any flow of spirits on his side, 210:278,28@a | or any such expressions of tender gallantry as had blessed 210:278,29@a | the morning. His mind was fagged, and her happiness 210:278,30@a | sprung from being the friend with whom it could find 210:278,31@a | repose. 210:278,31[B ]| "I am worn out with civility," 210:278,31[' ]| said he. 210:278,31[B ]| "I have 210:278,32[B ]| been talking incessantly all night, and with nothing to say. 210:278,33[B ]| But with \you\, Fanny, there may be peace. You will not 210:278,34[B ]| want to be talked to. Let us have the luxury of silence." 210:278,35[' ]| Fanny would hardly even speak her agreement. 210:278,35@a | A 210:278,36@a | weariness arising probably, in great measure, from the 210:278,37@a | same feelings which he had acknowledged in the morning, 210:278,38@a | was peculiarly to be respected, 210:278,38[' ]| and they went down their 210:279,01[' ]| two dances together with such sober tranquillity as might 210:279,02[' ]| satisfy any looker-on, that Sir*Thomas had been bringing 210:279,03[' ]| up no wife for his younger son. 210:279,04[' ]| The evening had afforded Edmund little pleasure. Miss*Crawford 210:279,05[' ]| had been in gay spirits when they first danced 210:279,06[' ]| together, but it was not her gaiety that could do him good; 210:279,07[' ]| it rather sank than raised his comfort; and afterwards 210:279,08[' ]| ~~ for he found himself still impelled to seek her again, 210:279,09[' ]| she had absolutely pained him by her manner of speaking 210:279,10[' ]| of the profession to which he was now on the point of 210:279,11[' ]| belonging. They had talked ~~ and they had been silent 210:279,12[' ]| ~~ he had reasoned ~~ she had ridiculed ~~ and they had 210:279,13[' ]| parted at last with mutual vexation. Fanny, not able 210:279,14[' ]| to refrain entirely from observing them, had seen enough 210:279,15[' ]| to be tolerably satisfied. 210:279,15@a | It was barbarous to be happy 210:279,16@a | when Edmund was suffering. Yet some happiness must 210:279,17@a | and would arise, from the very conviction, that he did 210:279,18@a | suffer. 210:279,19@a | When her two dances with him were over, her inclination 210:279,20@a | and strength for more were pretty well at an end; 210:279,21[' ]| and Sir*Thomas having seen her rather walk than dance 210:279,22[' ]| down the shortening set, breathless and with her hand at 210:279,23[' ]| her side, gave his orders for her sitting down entirely. 210:279,24[' ]| From that time, Mr%*Crawford sat down likewise. 210:279,25[Q ]| "Poor Fanny!" 210:279,25[' ]| cried William, coming for a moment 210:279,26[' ]| to visit her and working away his partner's fan as if for 210:279,27[' ]| life: ~~ 210:279,27[Q ]| "how soon she is knocked up! Why, the sport is 210:279,28[Q ]| but just begun. I hope we shall keep it up these two 210:279,29[Q ]| hours. How can you be tired so soon?" 210:279,30[E ]| "So soon! my good friend," 210:279,30[' ]| said Sir*Thomas, producing 210:279,31[' ]| his watch with all necessary caution ~~ 210:279,31[E ]| "it is three 210:279,32[E ]| o'clock, and your sister is not used to these sort of hours." 210:279,33[Q ]| "Well then, Fanny, you shall not get up to-morrow 210:279,34[Q ]| before I go. Sleep as long as you can and never mind me." 210:279,35[A ]| "Oh! William." 210:279,36[E ]| "What! Did she think of being up before you set off?" 210:279,37[A ]| "Oh! yes, sir," 210:279,37[' ]| cried Fanny, rising eagerly from her 210:279,38[' ]| seat to be nearer her uncle, 210:279,38[A ]| "I must get up and breakfast 210:280,01[A ]| with him. It will be the last time you know, the last 210:280,02[A ]| morning." 210:280,03[E ]| "You had better not. ~~ He is to have breakfasted and 210:280,04[E ]| be gone by half past nine. ~~ Mr%*Crawford, I think you call 210:280,05[E ]| for him at half past nine?" 210:280,06[' ]| Fanny was too urgent, however, and had too many tears 210:280,07[' ]| in her eyes for denial; and it ended in a gracious, 210:280,07[E ]| "Well, 210:280,08[E ]| well," 210:280,08[' ]| which was permission. 210:280,09[D ]| "Yes, half past nine," 210:280,09[' ]| said Crawford to William, as the 210:280,10[' ]| latter was leaving them, 210:280,10[D ]| "and I shall be punctual, for 210:280,11[D ]| there will be no kind sister to get up for \me\." 210:280,11[' ]| And in 210:280,12[' ]| a lower tone to Fanny, 210:280,12[D ]| "I shall have only a desolate house 210:280,13[D ]| to hurry from. Your brother will find my ideas of time 210:280,14[D ]| and his own very different to-morrow." 210:280,15[' ]| After a short consideration, Sir*Thomas asked Crawford 210:280,16@e | to join the early breakfast party in that house instead of 210:280,17@e | eating alone; he should himself be of it; and the readiness 210:280,18@e | with which his invitation was accepted, convinced 210:280,19@e | him that the suspicions whence, he must confess to himself, 210:280,20@e | this very ball had in great measure sprung, were well 210:280,21@e | founded. Mr%*Crawford was in love with Fanny. He 210:280,22@e | had a pleasing anticipation of what would be. 210:280,22[' ]| His niece, 210:280,23[' ]| meanwhile, did not thank him for what he had just done. 210:280,24@a | She had hoped to have William all to herself, the last 210:280,25@a | morning. It would have been an unspeakable indulgence. 210:280,26[' ]| But though her wishes were overthrown there was no 210:280,27[' ]| spirit of murmuring within her. On the contrary, she 210:280,28[' ]| was so totally unused to have her pleasure consulted, or 210:280,29[' ]| to have any*thing take place at all in the way she could 210:280,30[' ]| desire, that she was more disposed to wonder and rejoice 210:280,31[' ]| in having carried her point so far, than to repine at the 210:280,32[' ]| counteraction which followed. 210:280,33[' ]| Shortly afterwards, Sir*Thomas was again interfering 210:280,34[' ]| a little with her inclination, by advising her to go immediately 210:280,35[' ]| to bed. "Advise" was his word, but it was the 210:280,36[' ]| advice of absolute power, and she had only to rise and, 210:280,37[' ]| with Mr%*Crawford's very cordial adieus, pass quietly 210:280,38[' ]| away; stopping at the entrance door, like the 210:280,38[' ]| Lady*of*Branxholm*Hall, 210:281,01[' ]| "one moment and no more," to view 210:281,02[' ]| the happy scene, and take a last look at the five or six 210:281,03[' ]| determined couple, who were still hard at work ~~ and then, 210:281,04[' ]| creeping slowly up the principal staircase, pursued by the 210:281,05[' ]| ceaseless country-dance, feverish with hopes and fears, 210:281,06[' ]| soup and negus, sore-footed and fatigued, restless and 210:281,07[' ]| agitated, yet feeling, in spite of every*thing, that 210:281,07@a | a ball 210:281,08@a | was indeed delightful. 210:281,09[' ]| In thus sending her away, Sir*Thomas perhaps might 210:281,10[' ]| not be thinking merely of her health. It might occur to 210:281,11[' ]| him, that Mr%*Crawford had been sitting by her long 210:281,12[' ]| enough, or he might mean to recommend her as a wife by 210:281,13[' ]| shewing her persuadableness. 211:282,01[' ]| The ball was over ~~ and the breakfast was soon over 211:282,02[' ]| too; the last kiss was given, and William was gone. 211:282,02[' ]| Mr%*Crawford 211:282,03[' ]| had, as he foretold, been very punctual, and 211:282,04[' ]| short and pleasant had been the meal. 211:282,05[' ]| After seeing William to the last moment, Fanny walked 211:282,06[' ]| back into the breakfast-room with a very saddened heart 211:282,07[' ]| to grieve over the melancholy change; and there her uncle 211:282,08[' ]| kindly left her to cry in peace, conceiving perhaps that 211:282,09[' ]| the deserted chair of each young man might exercise her 211:282,10[' ]| tender enthusiasm, and that the remaining cold pork 211:282,11[' ]| bones and mustard in William's plate, might but divide 211:282,12[' ]| her feelings with the broken egg-shells in Mr%*Crawford's. 211:282,13[' ]| She sat and cried \con*amore\ as her uncle intended, but it 211:282,14[' ]| was con*amore fraternal and no other. William was gone, 211:282,15[' ]| and she now felt as if she had wasted half his visit in idle 211:282,16[' ]| cares and selfish solicitudes unconnected with him. 211:282,17[' ]| Fanny's disposition was such that she could never even 211:282,18[' ]| think of her aunt Norris in the meagreness and cheerlessness 211:282,19[' ]| of her own small house, without reproaching herself for some 211:282,20[' ]| little want of attention to her when they had been last 211:282,21[' ]| together; much less could her feelings acquit her of having 211:282,22[' ]| done and said and thought every*thing by William, that 211:282,23[' ]| was due to him for a whole fortnight. 211:282,24@a | It was a heavy, melancholy day. ~~ Soon after the second 211:282,25@a | breakfast, Edmund bad them good*bye for a week, and 211:282,26@a | mounted his horse for Peterborough, and then all were 211:282,27@a | gone. Nothing remained of last night but remembrances, 211:282,28@a | which she had nobody to share in. She talked to her 211:282,29@a | aunt Bertram ~~ she must talk to somebody of the ball, 211:282,30@a | but her aunt had seen so little of what passed, and had so 211:282,31@a | little curiosity, that it was heavy work. 211:282,31[' ]| Lady*Bertram 211:282,32[' ]| was not certain of any*body's dress, or any*body's place 211:283,01[' ]| at supper, but her own. 211:283,01[F ]| "She could not recollect what 211:283,02[F ]| it was that she had heard about one of the Miss*Maddoxes, 211:283,03[F ]| or what it was that Lady*Prescott had noticed in Fanny; 211:283,04[F ]| she was not sure whether Colonel*Harrison had been talking 211:283,05[F ]| of Mr%*Crawford or of William, when he said he was 211:283,06[F ]| the finest young man in the room; somebody had whispered 211:283,07[F ]| something to her, she had forgot to ask Sir*Thomas 211:283,08[F ]| what it could be." 211:283,08[' ]| And these were her longest speeches 211:283,09[' ]| and clearest communications; the rest was only a languid 211:283,10[F ]| "Yes ~~ yes ~~ very well ~~ did you? did he? ~~ I did not 211:283,11[F ]| see \that\ ~~ I should not know one from the other." 211:283,11@a | This 211:283,12@a | was very bad. It was only better than Mrs%*Norris's 211:283,13@a | sharp answers would have been; 211:283,13[' ]| but she being gone home 211:283,14[' ]| with all the supernumerary jellies to nurse a sick maid, 211:283,15[' ]| there was peace and good*humour in their little party, 211:283,16[' ]| though it could not boast much beside. 211:283,17@a | The evening was heavy like the day ~~ 211:283,17[F ]| "I cannot think 211:283,18[F ]| what is the matter with me!" 211:283,18[' ]| said Lady*Bertram, when 211:283,19[' ]| the tea-things were removed. 211:283,19[F ]| "I feel quite stupid. It 211:283,20[F ]| must be sitting up so late last night. Fanny, you must 211:283,21[F ]| do something to keep me awake. I cannot work. Fetch 211:283,22[F ]| the cards, ~~ I feel so very stupid." 211:283,23[' ]| The cards were brought, and Fanny played at cribbage 211:283,24[' ]| with her aunt till bed-time; and as Sir*Thomas was reading 211:283,25[' ]| to himself, no sounds were heard in the room for the 211:283,26[' ]| next two hours beyond the reckonings of the game ~~ 211:283,27[A ]| "And \that\ makes thirty-one; ~~ four in hand and eight in 211:283,28[A ]| crib. ~~ You are to deal, ma'am; shall I deal for you?" 211:283,29[' ]| Fanny thought and thought again 211:283,29@a | of the difference which 211:283,30@a | twenty-four hours had made in that room, and all that 211:283,31@a | part of the house. Last night it had been hope and smiles, 211:283,32@a | bustle and motion, noise and brilliancy in the drawing-room, 211:283,33@a | and out of the drawing-room, and every*where. 211:283,34@a | Now it was languor, and all but solitude. 211:283,35[' ]| A good night's rest improved her spirits. She could 211:283,36[' ]| think of William the next day more cheerfully, and as the 211:283,37[' ]| morning afforded her an opportunity of talking over 211:283,38[' ]| Thursday night with Mrs%*Grant and Miss*Crawford, in a 211:284,01[' ]| very handsome style, with all the heightenings of imagination 211:284,02[' ]| and all the laughs of playfulness which are so 211:284,03[' ]| essential to the shade of a departed ball, she could afterwards 211:284,04[' ]| bring her mind without much effort into its everyday 211:284,05[' ]| state, and easily conform to the tranquillity of the 211:284,06[' ]| present quiet week. 211:284,07@a | They were indeed a smaller party than she had ever 211:284,08@a | known there for a whole day together, and \he\ was gone 211:284,09@a | on whom the comfort and cheerfulness of every family-meeting 211:284,10@a | and every meal chiefly depended. But this must 211:284,11@a | be learned to be endured. He would soon be always gone; 211:284,12@a | and she was thankful that she could now sit in the same 211:284,13@a | room with her uncle, hear his voice, receive his questions, 211:284,14@a | and even answer them without such wretched feelings as 211:284,15@a | she had formerly known. 211:284,16[E ]| "We miss our two young men," 211:284,16[' ]| was Sir*Thomas's 211:284,17[' ]| observation on both the first and second day, as they 211:284,18[' ]| formed their very reduced circle after dinner; and in 211:284,19[' ]| consideration of Fanny's swimming eyes, nothing more was 211:284,20[' ]| said on the first day than to drink their good*health; but 211:284,21[' ]| on the second it led to something farther. William was 211:284,22[' ]| kindly commended and his promotion hoped for. 211:284,22[E ]| "And 211:284,23[E ]| there is no reason to suppose," 211:284,23[' ]| added Sir*Thomas, 211:284,23[E ]| "but 211:284,24[E ]| that his visits to us may now be tolerably frequent. As to 211:284,25[E ]| Edmund, we must learn to do without him. This will be 211:284,26[E ]| the last winter of his belonging to us, as he has done." 211:284,27[F ]| "Yes," 211:284,27[' ]| said Lady*Bertram, 211:284,27[F ]| "but I wish he was not going 211:284,28[F ]| away. They are all going away I think. I wish they 211:284,29[F ]| would stay at home." 211:284,30[' ]| This wish was levelled principally at Julia, who had just 211:284,31[' ]| applied for permission to go to town with Maria; and as 211:284,32[' ]| Sir*Thomas thought it best for each daughter that the 211:284,33[' ]| permission should be granted, Lady*Bertram, though in 211:284,34[' ]| her own good*nature she would not have prevented it, was 211:284,35[' ]| lamenting the change it made in the prospect of Julia's 211:284,36[' ]| return, which would otherwise have taken place about this 211:284,37[' ]| time. A great deal of good sense followed on Sir*Thomas's 211:284,38[' ]| side, tending to reconcile his wife to the arrangement. 211:285,01[' ]| Every*thing that a considerate parent \ought\ to feel was 211:285,02[' ]| advanced for her use; and every*thing that an affectionate 211:285,03[' ]| mother \must\ feel in promoting her children's enjoyment, 211:285,04[' ]| was attributed to her nature. Lady*Bertram agreed to it 211:285,05[' ]| all with a calm 211:285,05[F ]| "Yes" ~~ 211:285,05[' ]| and at the end of a quarter of an 211:285,06[' ]| hour's silent consideration, spontaneously observed, 211:285,06[F ]| "Sir*Thomas, 211:285,07[F ]| I have been thinking ~~ and I am very glad we 211:285,08[F ]| took Fanny as we did, for now the others are away, we feel 211:285,09[F ]| the good of it." 211:285,10[' ]| Sir*Thomas immediately improved this compliment by 211:285,11[' ]| adding, 211:285,11[E ]| "Very true. We shew Fanny what a good girl we 211:285,12[E ]| think her by praising her to her face ~~ she is now a very 211:285,13[E ]| valuable companion. If we have been kind to \her\, she is 211:285,14[E ]| now quite as necessary to \us\." 211:285,15[F ]| "Yes," 211:285,15[' ]| said Lady*Bertram presently ~~ 211:285,15[F ]| "and it is a comfort 211:285,16[F ]| to think that we shall always have \her\." 211:285,17[' ]| Sir*Thomas paused, half smiled, glanced at his niece, and 211:285,18[' ]| then gravely replied, 211:285,18[E ]| "She will never leave us, I hope, till 211:285,19[E ]| invited to some other home that may reasonably promise 211:285,20[E ]| her greater happiness than she knows here." 211:285,21[F ]| "And \that\ is not very likely to be, Sir*Thomas. Who 211:285,22[F ]| should invite her? Maria might be very glad to see her at 211:285,23[F ]| Sotherton now and then, but she would not think of asking 211:285,24[F ]| her to live there ~~ and I am sure she is better off here ~~ and 211:285,25[F ]| besides I cannot do without her." 211:285,26[' ]| The week which passed so quietly and peaceably at the 211:285,27[' ]| great house in Mansfield, had a very different character at 211:285,28[' ]| the Parsonage. To the young lady at least in each family, 211:285,29[' ]| it brought very different feelings. What was tranquillity 211:285,30[' ]| and comfort to Fanny was tediousness and vexation to 211:285,31[' ]| Mary. Something arose from difference of disposition and 211:285,32[' ]| habit ~~ one so easily satisfied, the other so unused to 211:285,33[' ]| endure; but still more might be imputed to difference 211:285,34[' ]| of circumstances. In some points of interest they were 211:285,35[' ]| exactly opposed to each other. To Fanny's mind, 211:285,36[' ]| Edmund's absence was really in its cause and its tendency 211:285,37[' ]| a relief. To Mary it was every way painful. She felt the 211:285,38[' ]| want of his society every day, almost every hour; and was 211:286,01[' ]| too much in want of it to derive any*thing but irritation 211:286,02[' ]| from considering the object for which he went. He could 211:286,03[' ]| not have devised any*thing more likely to raise his consequence 211:286,04[' ]| than this week's absence, occurring as it did at the 211:286,05[' ]| very time of her brother's going away, of William*Price's 211:286,06[' ]| going too, and completing the sort of general break-up of 211:286,07[' ]| a party which had been so animated. She felt it keenly. 211:286,08@c | They were now a miserable trio, confined within doors by 211:286,09@c | a series of rain and snow, with nothing to do and no variety 211:286,10@c | to hope for. 211:286,10[' ]| Angry as she was with Edmund for adhering 211:286,11[' ]| to his own notions and acting on them in defiance of her, 211:286,12[' ]| (and she had been so angry that they had hardly parted 211:286,13[' ]| friends at the ball,) she could not help thinking of him 211:286,14[' ]| continually when absent, dwelling on his merit and affection, 211:286,15[' ]| and longing again for the almost daily meetings they 211:286,16[' ]| lately had. 211:286,16@c | His absence was unnecessarily long. He 211:286,17@c | should not have planned such an absence ~~ he should not 211:286,18@c | have left home for a week, when her own departure from 211:286,19@c | Mansfield was so near. 211:286,19[' ]| Then she began to blame herself. 211:286,20@c | She wished she had not spoken so warmly in their last 211:286,21@c | conversation. She was afraid she had used some strong ~~ 211:286,22@c | some contemptuous expressions in speaking of the clergy, 211:286,23@c | and \that\ should not have been. It was ill-bred ~~ it 211:286,24@c | was wrong. She wished such words unsaid with all her 211:286,25@c | heart. 211:286,26[' ]| Her vexation did not end with the week. All this was 211:286,27[' ]| bad, but she had still more to feel when Friday came round 211:286,28[' ]| again and brought no Edmund ~~ when Saturday came and 211:286,29[' ]| still no Edmund ~~ and when, through the slight communication 211:286,30[' ]| with the other family which Sunday produced, she 211:286,31[' ]| learnt that he had actually written home to defer his 211:286,32[' ]| return, having promised to remain some days longer with 211:286,33[' ]| his friend! 211:286,34[' ]| If she had felt impatience and regret before ~~ if she had 211:286,35[' ]| been sorry for what she said, and feared its too strong 211:286,36[' ]| effect on him, she now felt and feared it all tenfold more. 211:286,37[' ]| She had, moreover, to contend with one disagreeable 211:286,38[' ]| emotion entirely new to her ~~ jealousy. 211:286,38@c | His friend 211:287,01@c | Mr%*Owen had sisters ~~ He might find them attractive. 211:287,02@c | But at any rate his staying away at a time, when, according 211:287,03@c | to all preceding plans, she was to remove to London, meant 211:287,04@c | something that she could not bear. Had Henry returned, 211:287,05@c | as he talked of doing, at the end of three or four days, she 211:287,06@c | should now have been leaving Mansfield. It became 211:287,07@c | absolutely necessary for her to get to Fanny and try to 211:287,08@c | learn something more. She could not live any longer in 211:287,09@c | such solitary wretchedness; 211:287,09[' ]| and she made her way to the 211:287,10[' ]| Park, through difficulties of walking which she had deemed 211:287,11[' ]| unconquerable a week before, for the chance of hearing 211:287,12[' ]| a little in addition, for the sake of at least hearing his 211:287,13[' ]| name. 211:287,14@c | The first half hour was lost, for Fanny and Lady*Bertram 211:287,15@c | were together, and unless she had Fanny to herself she 211:287,16@c | could hope for nothing. But at last Lady*Bertram left the 211:287,17@c | room ~~ 211:287,17[' ]| and then almost immediately Miss*Crawford thus 211:287,18[' ]| began, with a voice as well regulated as she could ~~ 211:287,18[C ]| "And 211:287,19[C ]| how do \you\ like your cousin Edmund's staying away so 211:287,20[C ]| long? ~~ being the only young person at home, I consider 211:287,21[C ]| \you\ as the greatest sufferer. ~~ You must miss him. Does 211:287,22[C ]| his staying longer surprize you?" 211:287,23[A ]| "I do not know," 211:287,23[' ]| said Fanny hesitatingly. 211:287,23[A ]| "Yes ~~ 211:287,24[A ]| I had not particularly expected it." 211:287,25[C ]| "Perhaps he will always stay longer than he talks of. 211:287,26[C ]| It is the general way; all young men do." 211:287,27[A ]| "He did not, the only time he went to see Mr%*Owen 211:287,28[A ]| before." 211:287,29[C ]| "He finds the house more agreeable \now\. ~~ He is a very ~~ 211:287,30[C ]| a very pleasing young man himself, and I cannot help 211:287,31[C ]| being rather concerned at not seeing him again before I go 211:287,32[C ]| to London, as will now undoubtedly be the case. ~~ I am 211:287,33[C ]| looking for Henry every day, and as soon as he comes there 211:287,34[C ]| will be nothing to detain me at Mansfield. I should like to 211:287,35[C ]| have seen him once more, I confess. But you must give my 211:287,36[C ]| compliments to him. Yes ~~ I think it must be compliments. 211:287,37[C ]| Is not there a something wanted, Miss*Price, in our 211:287,38[C ]| language a something between compliments and ~~ and 211:288,01[C ]| love ~~ to suit the sort of friendly acquaintance we have had 211:288,02[C ]| together? ~~ So many months acquaintance! ~~ But compliments 211:288,03[C ]| may be sufficient here. ~~ Was his letter a long one? 211:288,04[C ]| ~~ Does he give you much account of what he is doing? ~~ 211:288,05[C ]| Is it Christmas gaieties that he is staying for?" 211:288,06[A ]| "I only heard a part of the letter; it was to my uncle ~~ 211:288,07[A ]| but I believe it was very short; indeed I am sure it was 211:288,08[A ]| but a few lines. All that I heard was that his friend had 211:288,09[A ]| pressed him to stay longer, and that he had agreed to do so. 211:288,10[A ]| A \few\ days longer, or \some\ days longer, I am not quite 211:288,11[A ]| sure which." 211:288,12[C ]| "Oh! if he wrote to his father ~~ but I thought it might 211:288,13[C ]| have been to Lady*Bertram or you. But if he wrote to his 211:288,14[C ]| father, no wonder he was concise. Who could write chat to 211:288,15[C ]| Sir*Thomas? If he had written to you, there would have 211:288,16[C ]| been more particulars. You would have heard of balls and 211:288,17[C ]| parties. ~~ He would have sent you a description of every*thing 211:288,18[C ]| and every*body. How many Miss*Owens are there?" 211:288,19[A ]| "Three grown up." 211:288,20[C ]| "Are they musical?" 211:288,21[A ]| "I do not at all know. I never heard." 211:288,22[C ]| "That is the first question, you know," 211:288,22[' ]| said Miss*Crawford, 211:288,23[' ]| trying to appear gay and unconcerned, 211:288,23[C ]| "which every 211:288,24[C ]| woman who plays herself is sure to ask about another. 211:288,25[C ]| But it is very foolish to ask questions about any young 211:288,26[C ]| ladies ~~ about any three sisters just grown up; for one 211:288,27[C ]| knows, without being told, exactly what they are ~~ all very 211:288,28[C ]| accomplished and pleasing, and \one\ very pretty. There is 211:288,29[C ]| a beauty in every family. ~~ It is a regular thing. Two play 211:288,30[C ]| on the piano-forte, and one on the harp ~~ and all sing ~~ or 211:288,31[C ]| would sing if they were taught ~~ or sing all the better for 211:288,32[C ]| not being taught ~~ or something like it." 211:288,33[A ]| "I know nothing of the Miss*Owens," 211:288,33[' ]| said Fanny 211:288,34[' ]| calmly. 211:288,35[C ]| "You know nothing and you care less, as people say. 211:288,36[C ]| Never did tone express indifference plainer. Indeed how 211:288,37[C ]| can one care for those one has never seen? ~~ Well, when 211:288,38[C ]| your cousin comes back, he will find Mansfield very quiet; 211:289,01[C ]| ~~ all the noisy ones gone, your brother and mine and 211:289,02[C ]| myself. I do not like the idea of leaving Mrs%*Grant now 211:289,03[C ]| the time draws near. She does not like my going." 211:289,04[' ]| Fanny felt obliged to speak. 211:289,04[A ]| "You cannot doubt your 211:289,05[A ]| being missed by many," 211:289,05[' ]| said she. 211:289,05[A ]| "You will be very 211:289,06[A ]| much missed." 211:289,07[' ]| Miss*Crawford turned her eye on her, as if wanting to 211:289,08[' ]| hear or see more, and then laughingly said, 211:289,08[C ]| "Oh! yes, 211:289,09[C ]| missed as every noisy evil is missed when it is taken away; 211:289,10[C ]| that is, there is a great difference felt. But I am not 211:289,11[C ]| fishing; don't compliment me. If I \am\ missed, it will 211:289,12[C ]| appear. I may be discovered by those who want to see 211:289,13[C ]| me. I shall not be in any doubtful, or distant, or unapproachable 211:289,14[C ]| region." 211:289,15[' ]| Now Fanny could not bring herself to speak, and 211:289,16[' ]| Miss*Crawford was disappointed; for she had hoped to 211:289,17[' ]| hear some pleasant assurance of her power, from one who 211:289,18[' ]| she thought must know; and her spirits were clouded 211:289,19[' ]| again. 211:289,20[C ]| "The Miss*Owens," 211:289,20[' ]| said she soon afterwards ~~ 211:289,20[C ]| "Suppose 211:289,21[C ]| you were to have one of the Miss*Owens settled at 211:289,22[C ]| Thornton*Lacey; how should you like it? Stranger things 211:289,23[C ]| have happened. I dare say they are trying for it. And 211:289,24[C ]| they are quite in the right, for it would be a very pretty 211:289,25[C ]| establishment for them. I do not at all wonder or blame 211:289,26[C ]| them. ~~ It is every*body's duty to do as well for themselves 211:289,27[C ]| as they can. Sir*Thomas*Bertram's son is somebody; and 211:289,28[C ]| now, he is in their own line. Their father is a clergyman 211:289,29[C ]| and their brother is a clergyman, and they are all clergymen 211:289,30[C ]| together. He is their lawful property, he fairly 211:289,31[C ]| belongs to them. You don't speak, Fanny ~~ Miss*Price ~~ 211:289,32[C ]| you don't speak. ~~ But honestly now, do not you rather 211:289,33[C ]| expect it than otherwise?" 211:289,34[A ]| "No," 211:289,34[' ]| said Fanny stoutly, 211:289,34[A ]| "I do not expect it at all." 211:289,35[C ]| "Not at all!" ~~ 211:289,35[' ]| cried Miss*Crawford with alacrity. 211:289,36[C ]| "I wonder at that. But I dare say you know exactly ~~ 211:289,37[C ]| I always imagine you are ~~ perhaps you do not think him 211:289,38[C ]| likely to marry at all ~~ or not at present." 211:290,01[A ]| "No, I do not," 211:290,01[' ]| said Fanny softly ~~ hoping she did not 211:290,02[' ]| err either in the belief or the acknowledgment of it. 211:290,03[' ]| Her companion looked at her keenly; and gathering 211:290,04[' ]| greater spirit from the blush soon produced from such 211:290,05[' ]| a look, only said, 211:290,05[C ]| "He is best off as he is," 211:290,05[' ]| and turned the 211:290,06[' ]| subject. 212:291,01[' ]| Miss*Crawford's uneasiness was much lightened by 212:291,02[' ]| this conversation, and she walked home again in spirits 212:291,03[' ]| which might have defied almost another week of the same 212:291,04[' ]| small party in the same bad weather, had they been put to 212:291,05[' ]| the proof; but as that very evening brought her brother 212:291,06[' ]| down from London again in quite, or more than quite, his 212:291,07[' ]| usual cheerfulness, she had nothing further to try her own. 212:291,08[' ]| His still refusing to tell her what he had gone for, was but 212:291,09[' ]| the promotion of gaiety; a day before it might have 212:291,10[' ]| irritated, but now it was a pleasant joke ~~ suspected only 212:291,11[' ]| of concealing something planned as a pleasant surprize to 212:291,12[' ]| herself. And the next day \did\ bring a surprize to her. 212:291,13[' ]| Henry had said 212:291,13@d | he should just go and ask the Bertrams 212:291,14@d | how they did, and be back in ten minutes ~~ 212:291,14[' ]| but he was 212:291,15[' ]| gone above an hour; and when his sister, who had been 212:291,16[' ]| waiting for him to walk with her in the garden, met him at 212:291,17[' ]| last most impatiently in the sweep, and cried out, 212:291,17[C ]| "My dear 212:291,18[C ]| Henry, where can you possibly have been all this time?" 212:291,19[' ]| he had only to say that he had been sitting 212:291,20[' ]| with Lady*Bertram 212:291,21[' ]| and Fanny. 212:291,21[C ]| "Sitting with them an hour and half!" 212:291,21[' ]| exclaimed 212:291,22[' ]| Mary. 212:291,23[' ]| But this was only the beginning of her surprize. 212:291,24[D ]| "Yes, Mary," 212:291,24[' ]| said he, drawing her arm within his, and 212:291,25[' ]| walking along the sweep as if not knowing where he was ~~ 212:291,26[D ]| "I could not get away sooner ~~ Fanny looked so lovely! ~~ 212:291,27[D ]| I am quite determined, Mary. My mind is entirely made 212:291,28[D ]| up. Will it astonish you? No ~~ You must be aware that 212:291,29[D ]| I am quite determined to marry Fanny*Price." 212:291,30[' ]| The surprize was now complete; for in spite of whatever 212:291,31[' ]| his consciousness might suggest, a suspicion of his having 212:291,32[' ]| any such views had never entered his sister's imagination; 212:291,33[' ]| and she looked so truly the astonishment she felt, that he 212:292,01[' ]| was obliged to repeat what he had said, and more fully and 212:292,02[' ]| more solemnly. The conviction of his determination once 212:292,03[' ]| admitted, it was not unwelcome. There was even pleasure 212:292,04[' ]| with the surprize. Mary was in a state of mind to rejoice 212:292,05[' ]| in a connection with the Bertram family, and to be not 212:292,06[' ]| displeased with her brother's marrying a little beneath 212:292,07[' ]| him. 212:292,08[D ]| "Yes, Mary," 212:292,08[' ]| was Henry's concluding assurance, 212:292,09[D ]| "I am fairly caught. You know with what idle designs 212:292,10[D ]| I began ~~ but this is the end of them. I have (I flatter 212:292,11[D ]| myself) made no inconsiderable progress in her affections; 212:292,12[D ]| but my own are entirely fixed." 212:292,13[C ]| "Lucky, lucky girl!" 212:292,13[' ]| cried Mary as soon as she could 212:292,14[' ]| speak ~~ 212:292,14[C ]| "what a match for her! My dearest Henry, this 212:292,15[C ]| must be my \first\ feeling; but my \second\, which you shall 212:292,16[C ]| have as sincerely, is that I approve your choice from my 212:292,17[C ]| soul, and foresee your happiness as heartily as I wish and 212:292,18[C ]| desire it. You will have a sweet little wife; all gratitude 212:292,19[C ]| and devotion. Exactly what you deserve. What an 212:292,20[C ]| amazing match for her! Mrs%*Norris often talks of her 212:292,21[C ]| luck; what will she say now? The delight of all the 212:292,22[C ]| family indeed! And she has some \true\ friends in it. How 212:292,23[C ]| \they\ will rejoice! But tell me all about it. Talk to me 212:292,24[C ]| for*ever. When did you begin to think seriously about 212:292,25[C ]| her?" 212:292,26[' ]| Nothing could be more impossible than to answer such 212:292,27[' ]| a question, though nothing be more agreeable than to have 212:292,28[' ]| it asked. "How the pleasing plague had stolen on him" 212:292,29[' ]| he could not say, and before he had expressed the same 212:292,30[' ]| sentiment with a little variation of words three times over, 212:292,31[' ]| his sister eagerly interrupted him with, 212:292,31[C ]| "Ah! my dear 212:292,32[C ]| Henry, and this is what took you to London! This was 212:292,33[C ]| your business! You chose to consult the Admiral, before 212:292,34[C ]| you made up your mind." 212:292,35[' ]| But this he stoutly denied. 212:292,35@d | He knew his uncle too well 212:292,36@d | to consult him on any matrimonial scheme. 212:292,36[' ]| The Admiral 212:292,37[' ]| hated marriage, and thought it never pardonable in a 212:292,38[' ]| young man of independent fortune. 212:293,01[D ]| "When Fanny is known to him," 212:293,01[' ]| continued Henry, 212:293,01[D ]| "he 212:293,02[D ]| will doat on her. She is exactly the woman to do away 212:293,03[D ]| every prejudice of such a man as the Admiral, for she is 212:293,04[D ]| exactly such a woman as he thinks does not exist in the 212:293,05[D ]| world. She is the very impossibility he would describe ~~ if 212:293,06[D ]| indeed he has now delicacy of language enough to embody 212:293,07[D ]| his own ideas. But till it is absolutely settled ~~ settled 212:293,08[D ]| beyond all interference, he shall know nothing of the 212:293,09[D ]| matter. No, Mary, you are quite mistaken. You have 212:293,10[D ]| not discovered my business yet!" 212:293,11[C ]| "Well, well, I am satisfied. I know now to whom it 212:293,12[C ]| must relate, and am in no hurry for the rest. Fanny*Price 212:293,13[C ]| ~~ Wonderful ~~ quite wonderful! ~~ That Mansfield should 212:293,14[C ]| have done so much for ~~ that \you\ should have found your 212:293,15[C ]| fate in Mansfield! But you are quite right, you could not 212:293,16[C ]| have chosen better. There is not a better girl in the world, 212:293,17[C ]| and you do not want for fortune; and as to her connections, 212:293,18[C ]| they are more than good. The Bertrams are undoubtedly 212:293,19[C ]| some of the first people in this country. She is niece 212:293,20[C ]| to Sir*Thomas*Bertram; that will be enough for the world. 212:293,21[C ]| But go on, go on. Tell me more. What are your plans? 212:293,22[C ]| Does she know her own happiness?" 212:293,23[D ]| "No." 212:293,24[C ]| "What are you waiting for?" 212:293,25[D ]| "For ~~ for very little more than opportunity. Mary, 212:293,26[D ]| she is not like her cousins; but I think I shall not ask in 212:293,27[D ]| vain." 212:293,28[C ]| "Oh! no, you cannot. Were you even less pleasing ~~ 212:293,29[C ]| supposing her not to love you already (of which however 212:293,30[C ]| I can have little doubt,) you would be safe. The gentleness 212:293,31[C ]| and gratitude of her disposition would secure her all your 212:293,32[C ]| own immediately. From my soul I do not think she would 212:293,33[C ]| marry you \without\ love; that is, if there is a girl in the 212:293,34[C ]| world capable of being uninfluenced by ambition, I can 212:293,35[C ]| suppose it her; but ask her to love you, and she will never 212:293,36[C ]| have the heart to refuse." 212:293,37[' ]| As soon as her eagerness could rest in silence, he was as 212:293,38[' ]| happy to tell as she could be to listen, and a conversation 212:294,01[' ]| followed almost as deeply interesting to her as to himself, 212:294,02[' ]| though he had in fact nothing to relate but his own sensations, 212:294,03[' ]| nothing to dwell on but Fanny's charms. ~~ Fanny's 212:294,04[' ]| beauty of face and figure, Fanny's graces of manner and 212:294,05[' ]| goodness of heart were the exhaustless theme. The 212:294,06[' ]| gentleness, modesty, and sweetness of her character were 212:294,07[' ]| warmly expatiated on, that sweetness which makes so 212:294,08[' ]| essential a part of every woman's worth in the judgment 212:294,09[' ]| of man, that though he sometimes loves where it is not, he 212:294,10[' ]| can never believe it absent. 212:294,10@d | Her temper he had good 212:294,11@d | reason to depend on and to praise. He had often seen it 212:294,12@d | tried. Was there one of the family, excepting Edmund, 212:294,13@d | who had not in some way or other continually exercised 212:294,14@d | her patience and forbearance? Her affections were 212:294,15@d | evidently strong. To see her with her brother! What 212:294,16@d | could more delightfully prove that the warmth of her 212:294,17@d | heart was equal to its gentleness? ~~ What could be more 212:294,18@d | encouraging to a man who had her love in view? Then, 212:294,19@d | her understanding was beyond every suspicion, quick and 212:294,20@d | clear; and her manners were the mirror of her own modest 212:294,21@d | and elegant mind. 212:294,21[' ]| Nor was this all. Henry*Crawford had 212:294,22[' ]| too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in 212:294,23[' ]| a wife, though he was too little accustomed to serious 212:294,24[' ]| reflection to know them by their proper name; but when 212:294,25[' ]| he talked of 212:294,25@d | her having such a steadiness and regularity of 212:294,26@d | conduct, such a high notion of honour, and such an observance 212:294,27@d | of decorum as might warrant any man in the fullest 212:294,28@d | dependence on her faith and integrity, 212:294,28[' ]| he expressed what 212:294,29[' ]| was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled 212:294,30[' ]| and religious. 212:294,31[D ]| "I could so wholly and absolutely confide in her," 212:294,31[' ]| said 212:294,32[' ]| he; 212:294,32[D ]| "and \that\ is what I want." 212:294,33[' ]| Well might his sister, believing as she really did that his 212:294,34[' ]| opinion of Fanny*Price was scarcely beyond her merits, 212:294,35[' ]| rejoice in her prospects. 212:294,36[C ]| "The more I think of it," 212:294,36[' ]| she cried, 212:294,36[C ]| "the more am 212:294,37[C ]| I convinced that you are doing quite right, and though 212:294,38[C ]| I should never have selected Fanny*Price as the girl most 212:295,01[C ]| likely to attach you, I am now persuaded she is the very 212:295,02[C ]| one to make you happy. Your wicked project upon her 212:295,03[C ]| peace turns out a clever thought indeed. You will both 212:295,04[C ]| find your good in it." 212:295,05[D ]| "It was bad, very bad in me against such a creature! 212:295,06[D ]| but I did not know her then. And she shall have no reason 212:295,07[D ]| to lament the hour that first put it into my head. I will 212:295,08[D ]| make her very happy, Mary, happier than she has ever yet 212:295,09[D ]| been herself, or ever seen any*body else. I will not take her 212:295,10[D ]| from Northamptonshire. I shall let Everingham, and rent 212:295,11[D ]| a place in this neighbourhood ~~ perhaps Stanwix*Lodge. 212:295,12[D ]| I shall let a seven year's lease of Everingham. I am sure of 212:295,13[D ]| an excellent tenant at half a word. I could name three 212:295,14[D ]| people now, who would give me my own terms and thank 212:295,15[D ]| me." 212:295,16[C ]| "Ha!" 212:295,16[' ]| cried Mary, 212:295,16[C ]| "settle in Northamptonshire! 212:295,17[C ]| That is pleasant! Then we shall be all together." 212:295,18[' ]| When she had spoken it, she recollected herself, and 212:295,19[' ]| wished it unsaid; but there was no need of confusion, for 212:295,20[' ]| her brother saw her only as the supposed inmate of Mansfield*Parsonage, 212:295,21[' ]| and replied but to invite her in the kindest 212:295,22[' ]| manner to his own house, and to claim the best right in her. 212:295,23[D ]| "You must give us more than half your time," 212:295,23[' ]| said he; 212:295,24[D ]| "I cannot admit Mrs%*Grant to have an equal claim with 212:295,25[D ]| Fanny and myself, for we shall both have a right in you. 212:295,26[D ]| Fanny will be so truly your sister!" 212:295,27[' ]| Mary had only to be grateful and give general assurances; 212:295,28[' ]| but she was now very fully purposed to be the 212:295,29[' ]| guest of neither brother nor sister many months longer. 212:295,30[C ]| "You will divide your year between London and 212:295,31[C ]| Northamptonshire?" 212:295,32[D ]| "Yes." 212:295,33[C ]| "That's right; and in London, of course, a house of 212:295,34[C ]| your own; no longer with the Admiral. My dearest 212:295,35[C ]| Henry, the advantage to you of getting away from the 212:295,36[C ]| Admiral before your manners are hurt by the contagion 212:295,37[C ]| of his, before you have contracted any of his foolish 212:295,38[C ]| opinions, or learnt to sit over your dinner, as if it were 212:296,01[C ]| the best blessing of life! ~~ \You\ are not sensible of the 212:296,02[C ]| gain, for your regard for him has blinded you; but, in 212:296,03[C ]| my estimation, your marrying early may be the saving of 212:296,04[C ]| you. To have seen you grow like the Admiral in word 212:296,05[C ]| or deed, look or gesture, would have broken my heart." 212:296,06[D ]| "Well, well, we do not think quite alike here. The 212:296,07[D ]| Admiral has his faults, but he is a very good man, and 212:296,08[D ]| has been more than a father to me. Few fathers would 212:296,09[D ]| have let me have my own way half so much. You must 212:296,10[D ]| not prejudice Fanny against him. I must have them 212:296,11[D ]| love one another." 212:296,12[' ]| Mary refrained from saying what she felt, that 212:296,12@c | there 212:296,13@c | could not be two persons in existence, whose characters 212:296,14@c | and manners were less accordant; time would discover 212:296,15@c | it to him; 212:296,15[' ]| but she could not help \this\ reflection on the 212:296,16[' ]| Admiral. 212:296,16[C ]| "Henry, I think so highly of Fanny*Price, 212:296,17[C ]| that if I could suppose the next Mrs%*Crawford would have 212:296,18[C ]| half the reason which my poor ill*used aunt had to abhor 212:296,19[C ]| the very name, I would prevent the marriage, if possible; 212:296,20[C ]| but I know you, I know that a wife you \loved\ would be 212:296,21[C ]| the happiest of women, and that even when you ceased 212:296,22[C ]| to love, she would yet find in you the liberality and good-breeding 212:296,23[C ]| of a gentleman." 212:296,24@d | The impossibility of not doing every*thing in the 212:296,25@d | world to make Fanny*Price happy, or of ceasing to love 212:296,26@d | Fanny*Price, 212:296,26[' ]| was of course the ground-work of his 212:296,27[' ]| eloquent answer. 212:296,28[D ]| "Had you seen her this morning, Mary," 212:296,28[' ]| he continued, 212:296,29[D ]| "attending with such ineffable sweetness and 212:296,30[D ]| patience, to all the demands of her aunt's stupidity, 212:296,31[D ]| working with her, and for her, her colour beautifully 212:296,32[D ]| heightened as she leant over the work, then returning 212:296,33[D ]| to her seat to finish a note which she was previously 212:296,34[D ]| engaged in writing for that stupid woman's service, and 212:296,35[D ]| all this with such unpretending gentleness, so much as if 212:296,36[D ]| it were a matter of course that she was not to have 212:296,37[D ]| a moment at her own command, her hair arranged as 212:296,38[D ]| neatly as it always is, and one little curl falling forward 212:297,01[D ]| as she wrote, which she now and then shook back, and in 212:297,02[D ]| the midst of all this, still speaking at intervals to \me\, or 212:297,03[D ]| listening, and as if she liked to listen to what I said. 212:297,04[D ]| Had you seen her so, Mary, you would not have implied 212:297,05[D ]| the possibility of her power over my heart ever ceasing." 212:297,06[C ]| "My dearest Henry," 212:297,06[' ]| cried Mary, stopping short, and 212:297,07[' ]| smiling in his face, 212:297,07[C ]| "how glad I am to see you so much 212:297,08[C ]| in love! It quite delights me. But what will Mrs%*Rushworth 212:297,09[C ]| and Julia say?" 212:297,10[D ]| "I care neither what they say, nor what they feel. 212:297,11[D ]| They will now see what sort of woman it is that can 212:297,12[D ]| attach me, that can attach a man of sense. I wish the 212:297,13[D ]| discovery may do them any good. And they will now 212:297,14[D ]| see their cousin treated as she ought to be, and I wish 212:297,15[D ]| they may be heartily ashamed of their own abominable 212:297,16[D ]| neglect and unkindness. They will be angry," 212:297,16[' ]| he added, 212:297,17[' ]| after a moment's silence, and in a cooler tone, 212:297,17[D ]| "Mrs%*Rushworth 212:297,18[D ]| will be very angry. It will be a bitter pill 212:297,19[D ]| to her; that is, like other bitter pills, it will have two 212:297,20[D ]| moments ill-flavour, and then be swallowed and forgotten; 212:297,21[D ]| for I am not such a coxcomb as to suppose her 212:297,22[D ]| feelings more lasting than other women's, though \I\ was 212:297,23[D ]| the object of them. Yes, Mary, my Fanny will feel 212:297,24[D ]| a difference indeed, a daily, hourly difference, in the 212:297,25[D ]| behaviour of every being who approaches her; and it 212:297,26[D ]| will be the completion of my happiness to know that 212:297,27[D ]| I am the doer of it, that I am the person to give the 212:297,28[D ]| consequence so justly her due. Now she is dependent, 212:297,29[D ]| helpless, friendless, neglected, forgotten." 212:297,30[C ]| "Nay, Henry, not by all, not forgotten by all, not 212:297,31[C ]| friendless or forgotten. Her cousin Edmund never 212:297,32[C ]| forgets her." 212:297,33[D ]| "Edmund ~~ True, I believe he is (generally speaking) 212:297,34[D ]| kind to her; and so is Sir*Thomas in his way, but it is 212:297,35[D ]| the way of a rich, superior, longworded, arbitrary uncle. 212:297,36[D ]| What can Sir*Thomas and Edmund together do, what \do\ 212:297,37[D ]| they do for her happiness, comfort, honour, and dignity 212:297,38[D ]| in the world to what I \shall\ do?" 213:298,01[' ]| Henry*Crawford was at Mansfield*Park again the 213:298,02[' ]| next morning, and at an earlier hour than common visiting 213:298,03[' ]| warrants. The two ladies were together in the 213:298,04[' ]| breakfast-room, and fortunately for him, Lady*Bertram 213:298,05[' ]| was on the very point of quitting it as he entered. She 213:298,06[' ]| was almost at the door, and not chusing by any means 213:298,07[' ]| to take so much trouble in vain, she still went on, after 213:298,08[' ]| a civil reception, a short sentence about being waited 213:298,09[' ]| for, and a 213:298,09[F ]| "Let Sir*Thomas know," 213:298,09[' ]| to the servant. 213:298,10[' ]| Henry, overjoyed to have her go, bowed and watched 213:298,11[' ]| her off, and without losing another moment, turned 213:298,12[' ]| instantly to Fanny, and taking out some letters said, 213:298,13[' ]| with a most animated look, 213:298,13[D ]| "I must acknowledge myself 213:298,14[D ]| infinitely obliged to any creature who gives me such an 213:298,15[D ]| opportunity of seeing you alone: I have been wishing 213:298,16[D ]| it more than you can have any idea. Knowing as I do 213:298,17[D ]| what your feelings as a sister are, I could hardly have 213:298,18[D ]| borne that any*one in the house should share with you 213:298,19[D ]| in the first knowledge of the news I now bring. He is 213:298,20[D ]| made. Your brother is a Lieutenant. I have the 213:298,21[D ]| infinite satisfaction of congratulating you on your 213:298,22[D ]| brother's promotion. Here are the letters which announce 213:298,23[D ]| it, this moment come to hand. You will, perhaps, 213:298,24[D ]| like to see them." 213:298,25[' ]| Fanny could not speak, 213:298,25@d | but he did not want her to 213:298,26@d | speak. To see the expression of her eyes, the change 213:298,27@d | of her complexion, the progress of her feelings, their 213:298,28@d | doubt, confusion, and felicity, was enough. 213:298,28[' ]| She took the 213:298,29[' ]| letters as he gave them. The first was from the Admiral 213:298,30[' ]| to inform his nephew, in a few words, of his having 213:298,31[' ]| succeeded in the object he had undertaken, the promotion 213:298,32[' ]| of young Price, and inclosing two more, one from 213:298,33[' ]| the Secretary of the First*Lord to a friend, whom the 213:299,01[' ]| Admiral had set to work in the business, the other from 213:299,02[' ]| that friend to himself, by which it appeared that his 213:299,03[' ]| Lordship had the very great happiness of attending to 213:299,04[' ]| the recommendation of Sir*Charles, that Sir*Charles was 213:299,05[' ]| much delighted in having such an opportunity of proving 213:299,06[' ]| his regard for Admiral*Crawford, and that the circumstance 213:299,07[' ]| of Mr%*William*Price's commission as second 213:299,08[' ]| Lieutenant of H%*M%*sloop*Thrush, being made out, was 213:299,09[' ]| spreading general joy through a wide circle of great 213:299,10[' ]| people. 213:299,11[' ]| While her hand was trembling under these letters, 213:299,12[' ]| her eye running from one to the other, and her heart 213:299,13[' ]| swelling with emotion, Crawford thus continued, with 213:299,14[' ]| unfeigned eagerness, to express his interest in the event. 213:299,15[D ]| "I will not talk of my own happiness," 213:299,15[' ]| said he, 213:299,15[D ]| "great 213:299,16[D ]| as it is, for I think only of yours. Compared with you, 213:299,17[D ]| who has a right to be happy? I have almost grudged 213:299,18[D ]| myself my own prior knowledge of what you ought to 213:299,19[D ]| have known before all the world. I have not lost a 213:299,20[D ]| moment, however. The post was late this morning, but 213:299,21[D ]| there has not been since, a moment's delay. How 213:299,22[D ]| impatient, how anxious, how wild I have been on the 213:299,23[D ]| subject, I will not attempt to describe; how severely 213:299,24[D ]| mortified, how cruelly disappointed, in not having it 213:299,25[D ]| finished while I was in London! I was kept there from 213:299,26[D ]| day to day in the hope of it, for nothing less dear to me 213:299,27[D ]| than such an object would have detained me half the 213:299,28[D ]| time from Mansfield. But though my uncle entered 213:299,29[D ]| into my wishes with all the warmth I could desire, and 213:299,30[D ]| exerted himself immediately, there were difficulties from 213:299,31[D ]| the absence of one friend, and the engagements of another, 213:299,32[D ]| which at last I could no longer bear to stay the end of, 213:299,33[D ]| and knowing in what good hands I left the cause, I came 213:299,34[D ]| away on Monday, trusting that many posts would not 213:299,35[D ]| pass before I should be followed by such very letters as 213:299,36[D ]| these. My uncle, who is the very best man in the world, 213:299,37[D ]| has exerted himself, as I knew he would after seeing your 213:299,38[D ]| brother. He was delighted with him. I would not 213:300,01[D ]| allow myself yesterday to say \how\ delighted, or to repeat 213:300,02[D ]| half that the Admiral said in his praise. I deferred it all, 213:300,03[D ]| till his praise should be proved the praise of a friend, 213:300,04[D ]| as this day \does\ prove it. \Now\ I may say that even 213:300,05[D ]| \I\ could not require William*Price to excite a greater 213:300,06[D ]| interest, or be followed by warmer wishes and higher 213:300,07[D ]| commendation, than were most voluntarily bestowed by 213:300,08[D ]| my uncle, after the evening they passed together." 213:300,09[A ]| "Has this been all \your\ doing then?" 213:300,09[' ]| cried Fanny. 213:300,10[A ]| "Good Heaven! how very, very kind! Have you 213:300,11[A ]| really ~~ was it by \your\ desire ~~ I beg your pardon, but 213:300,12[A ]| I am bewildered. Did Admiral*Crawford apply? ~~ how 213:300,13[A ]| was it? ~~ I am stupified." 213:300,14[' ]| Henry was most happy to make it more intelligible, 213:300,15[' ]| by beginning at an earlier stage, and explaining very 213:300,16[' ]| particularly what he had done. 213:300,16@d | His last journey to 213:300,17@d | London had been undertaken with no other view than 213:300,18@d | that of introducing her brother in Hill-street, and prevailing 213:300,19@d | on the Admiral to exert whatever interest he 213:300,20@d | might have for getting him on. This had been his 213:300,21@d | business. He had communicated it to no creature; he 213:300,22@d | had not breathed a syllable of it even to Mary; while 213:300,23@d | uncertain of the issue, he could not have borne any 213:300,24@d | participation of his feelings, but this had been his business; 213:300,25[' ]| and he spoke with such a glow of what his solicitude had 213:300,26[' ]| been, and used such strong expressions, was so abounding 213:300,27@d | in the \deepest\ \interest\, in \twofold\ \motives\, in \views\ \and\ 213:300,28@d | \wishes\ \more\ \than\ \could\ \be\ \told\, 213:300,28[' ]| that Fanny could not have 213:300,29[' ]| remained insensible of his drift, had she been able to 213:300,30[' ]| attend; but her heart was so full and her senses still 213:300,31[' ]| so astonished, that she could listen but imperfectly even 213:300,32[' ]| to what he told her of William, and saying only when he 213:300,33[' ]| paused, 213:300,33[A ]| "How kind! how very kind! Oh! Mr%*Crawford, 213:300,34[A ]| we are infinitely obliged to you. Dearest, dearest 213:300,35[A ]| William!" 213:300,35[' ]| she jumped up and moved in haste towards 213:300,36[' ]| the door, crying out, 213:300,36[A ]| "I will go to my uncle. My uncle 213:300,37[A ]| ought to know it as soon as possible." 213:300,37[' ]| But this could 213:300,38[' ]| not be suffered. The opportunity was too fair, and his 213:301,01[' ]| feelings too impatient. He was after her immediately. 213:301,02[D ]| "She must not go, she must allow him five minutes 213:301,03[D ]| longer," 213:301,03[' ]| and he took her hand and led her back to her 213:301,04[' ]| seat, and was in the middle of his further explanation, 213:301,05[' ]| before she had suspected for what she was detained. 213:301,06[' ]| When she did understand it, however, and found herself 213:301,07[' ]| expected to believe that \she\ had created sensations which 213:301,08[' ]| his heart had never known before, and that every*thing 213:301,09[' ]| he had done for William, was to be placed to the account 213:301,10[' ]| of his excessive and unequalled attachment to her, she 213:301,11[' ]| was exceedingly distressed, and for some moments unable 213:301,12[' ]| to speak. She considered it 213:301,12@a | all as nonsense, as mere 213:301,13@a | trifling and gallantry, which meant only to deceive for 213:301,14@a | the hour; she could not but feel that it was treating her 213:301,15@a | improperly and unworthily, and in such a way as she 213:301,16@a | had not deserved; but it was like himself, and entirely 213:301,17@a | of a piece with what she had seen before; and she would 213:301,18@a | not allow herself to shew half the displeasure she felt, 213:301,19@a | because he had been conferring an obligation, which no 213:301,20@a | want of delicacy on his part could make a trifle to her. 213:301,21[' ]| While her heart was still bounding with joy and gratitude 213:301,22[' ]| on William's behalf, she could not be severely resentful 213:301,23[' ]| of any*thing that injured only herself; and after having 213:301,24[' ]| twice drawn back her hand, and twice attempted in vain 213:301,25[' ]| to turn away from him, she got up and said only, with 213:301,26[' ]| much agitation, 213:301,26[A ]| "Don't, Mr%*Crawford, pray don't. 213:301,27[A ]| I beg you would not. This is a sort of talking which 213:301,28[A ]| is very unpleasant to me. I must go away. I cannot 213:301,29[A ]| bear it." 213:301,29[' ]| But he was still talking on, describing his 213:301,30[' ]| affection, soliciting a return, and, finally, in words so 213:301,31[' ]| plain as to bear but one meaning even to \her\, offering 213:301,32[' ]| himself, hand, fortune, every*thing to her acceptance. 213:301,33@a | It was so; he had said it. 213:301,33[' ]| Her astonishment and confusion 213:301,34[' ]| increased; and though still not knowing how to 213:301,35[' ]| suppose him serious, she could hardly stand. He pressed 213:301,36[' ]| for an answer. 213:301,37[A ]| "No, no, no," 213:301,37[' ]| she cried, hiding her face. 213:301,37[A ]| "This is all 213:301,38[A ]| nonsense. Do not distress me. I can hear no more of 213:302,01[A ]| this. Your kindness to William makes me more obliged 213:302,02[A ]| to you than words can express; but I do not want, 213:302,03[A ]| I cannot bear, I must not listen to such ~~ No, no, don't 213:302,04[A ]| think of me. But you are \not\ thinking of me. I know 213:302,05[A ]| it is all nothing." 213:302,06[' ]| She had burst away from him, and at that moment 213:302,07[' ]| Sir*Thomas was heard speaking to a servant in his way 213:302,08[' ]| towards the room they were in. It was no time for 213:302,09[' ]| further assurances or entreaty, though to part with her 213:302,10[' ]| at a moment when her modesty alone seemed to his 213:302,11[' ]| sanguine and pre-assured mind to stand in the way of 213:302,12[' ]| the happiness he sought, was a cruel necessity. ~~ She 213:302,13[' ]| rushed out at an opposite door from the one her uncle 213:302,14[' ]| was approaching, and was walking up and down the east*room 213:302,15[' ]| in the utmost confusion of contrary feelings, before 213:302,16[' ]| Sir*Thomas's politeness and apologies were over, or he 213:302,17[' ]| had reached the beginning of the joyful intelligence, 213:302,18[' ]| which his visitor came to communicate. 213:302,19[' ]| She was feeling, thinking, trembling, about every*thing; ~~ 213:302,20[' ]| agitated, happy, miserable, infinitely obliged, 213:302,21[' ]| absolutely angry. 213:302,21@a | It was all beyond belief! He was 213:302,22@a | inexcusable, incomprehensible! ~~ But such were his habits, 213:302,23@a | that he could do nothing without a mixture of evil. He 213:302,24@a | had previously made her the happiest of human beings, 213:302,25@a | and now he had insulted ~~ she knew not what to say ~~ 213:302,26@a | how to class or how to regard it. She would not have 213:302,27@a | him be serious, and yet what could excuse the use of such 213:302,28@a | words and offers, if they meant but to trifle? 213:302,29@a | But William was a Lieutenant. ~~ \That\ was a fact 213:302,30@a | beyond a doubt and without an alloy. She would think 213:302,31@a | of it for*ever and forget all the rest. Mr%*Crawford would 213:302,32@a | certainly never address her so again: he must have seen 213:302,33@a | how unwelcome it was to her; and in that case, how gratefully 213:302,34@a | she could esteem him for his friendship to William! 213:302,35[' ]| She would not stir farther from the east-room than the 213:302,36[' ]| head of the great staircase, till she had satisfied herself of 213:302,37[' ]| Mr%*Crawford's having left the house; but when convinced 213:302,38[' ]| of his being gone, she was eager to go down and be with her 213:303,01[' ]| uncle, and have all the happiness of his joy as well as her 213:303,02[' ]| own, and all the benefit of his information or his conjectures 213:303,03[' ]| as to what would now be William's destination. 213:303,04[' ]| Sir*Thomas was as joyful as she could desire, and very kind 213:303,05[' ]| and communicative; and she had so comfortable a talk 213:303,06[' ]| with him about William as to make her feel as if nothing 213:303,07[' ]| had occurred to vex her, till she found towards the close 213:303,08[' ]| that Mr%*Crawford was engaged to return and dine there 213:303,09[' ]| that very day. 213:303,09@a | This was a most unwelcome hearing, for 213:303,10@a | though \he\ might think nothing of what had passed, it 213:303,11@a | would be quite distressing to her to see him again so soon. 213:303,12[' ]| She tried to get the better of it, tried very hard as the 213:303,13[' ]| dinner hour approached, to feel and appear as usual; but 213:303,14[' ]| it was quite impossible for her not to look most shy and 213:303,15[' ]| uncomfortable when their visitor entered the room. She 213:303,16[' ]| could not have supposed it in the power of any concurrence 213:303,17[' ]| of circumstances to give her so many painful sensations on 213:303,18[' ]| the first day of hearing of William's promotion. 213:303,19@a | Mr%*Crawford was not only in the room; he was soon 213:303,20@a | close to her. He had a note to deliver from his sister. 213:303,21[' ]| Fanny could not look at him, but there was no consciousness 213:303,22[' ]| of past folly in his voice. She opened her note immediately, 213:303,23[' ]| glad to have any*thing to do, and happy, as she 213:303,24[' ]| read it, to feel that the fidgettings of her aunt Norris, who 213:303,25[' ]| was also to dine there, screened her a little from view. 213:303,26[C ]| "My dear Fanny, for so I may now always call you, to 213:303,27[C ]| the infinite relief of a tongue that has been stumbling at 213:303,28[C ]| \Miss*Price\ for at least the last six weeks ~~ I cannot let my 213:303,29[C ]| brother go without sending you a few lines of general 213:303,30[C ]| congratulation, and giving my most joyful consent and 213:303,31[C ]| approval. ~~ Go on, my dear Fanny, and without fear; 213:303,32[C ]| there can be no difficulties worth naming. I chuse to 213:303,33[C ]| suppose that the assurance of \my\ consent will be something; 213:303,34[C ]| so, you may smile upon him with your sweetest 213:303,35[C ]| smiles this afternoon, and send him back to me even 213:303,36[C ]| happier than he goes. Your's affectionately, 213:303,37[C ]| M%*C%" 213:304,01[' ]| These were not expressions to do Fanny any good; 213:304,02[' ]| for though she read in too much haste and confusion to 213:304,03[' ]| form the clearest judgment of Miss*Crawford's meaning, 213:304,04@a | it was evident that she meant to compliment her on her 213:304,05@a | brother's attachment and even to \appear\ to believe it 213:304,06@a | serious. She did not know what to do, or what to think. 213:304,07@a | There was wretchedness in the idea of its being serious; 213:304,08@a | there was perplexity and agitation every way. She was 213:304,09@a | distressed whenever Mr%*Crawford spoke to her, and he 213:304,10@a | spoke to her much too often; and she was afraid there 213:304,11@a | was a something in his voice and manner in addressing 213:304,12@a | her, very different from what they were when he talked to 213:304,13@a | the others. Her comfort in that day's dinner was quite 213:304,14@a | destroyed; she could hardly eat any*thing; 213:304,14[' ]| and when 213:304,15[' ]| Sir*Thomas good*humouredly observed, that joy had 213:304,16[' ]| taken away her appetite, she was ready to sink with 213:304,17[' ]| shame, from the dread of Mr%*Crawford's interpretation; 213:304,18[' ]| for though nothing could have tempted her to turn her 213:304,19[' ]| eyes to the right hand where he sat, she felt that \his\ were 213:304,20[' ]| immediately directed towards her. 213:304,21[' ]| She was more silent than ever. She would hardly join 213:304,22[' ]| even when William was the subject, for his commission 213:304,23[' ]| came all from the right hand too, and there was pain in the 213:304,24[' ]| connection. 213:304,25[' ]| She thought Lady*Bertram sat longer than ever, and 213:304,26[' ]| began to be in despair of ever getting away; 213:304,26@a | but at last 213:304,27@a | they were in the drawing-room and she was able to think 213:304,28@a | as she would, while her aunts finished the subject of 213:304,29@a | William's appointment in their own style. 213:304,30@a | Mrs%*Norris seemed as much delighted with the saving it 213:304,31@a | would be to Sir*Thomas, as with any part of it. 213:304,31[J ]| "\Now\ 213:304,32[J ]| William would be able to keep himself, which would make 213:304,33[J ]| a vast difference to his uncle, for it was unknown how 213:304,34[J ]| much he had cost his uncle; and indeed it would make 213:304,35[J ]| some difference in \her\ presents too. She was very glad that 213:304,36[J ]| she had given William what she did at parting, very glad 213:304,37[J ]| indeed that it had been in her power, without material 213:304,38[J ]| inconvenience just at that time, to give him something 213:305,01[J ]| rather considerable; that is, for \her\, with \her\ limited 213:305,02[J ]| means, for now it would all be useful in helping to fit up his 213:305,03[J ]| cabin. She knew he must be at some expense, that he 213:305,04[J ]| would have many things to buy, though to be sure his 213:305,05[J ]| father and mother would be able to put him in the way of 213:305,06[J ]| getting every*thing very cheap ~~ but she was very glad 213:305,07[J ]| that she had contributed her mite towards it." 213:305,08[F ]| "I am glad you gave him something considerable," 213:305,09[' ]| said Lady*Bertram, with most unsuspicious calmness ~~ 213:305,10[F ]| "for \I\ gave him only 10L%" 213:305,11[J ]| "Indeed!" 213:305,11[' ]| cried Mrs%*Norris, reddening. 213:305,11[J ]| "Upon my 213:305,12[J ]| word, he must have gone off with his pockets well lined! 213:305,13[J ]| and at no expense for his journey to London either!" 213:305,14[F ]| "Sir*Thomas told me 10L% would be enough." 213:305,15[' ]| Mrs%*Norris being not at all inclined to question its 213:305,16[' ]| sufficiency, began to take the matter in another point. 213:305,17[J ]| "It is amazing," 213:305,17[' ]| said she, 213:305,17[J ]| "how much young people 213:305,18[J ]| cost their friends, what with bringing them up and putting 213:305,19[J ]| them out in the world! They little think how much it 213:305,20[J ]| comes to, or what their parents, or their uncles and aunts 213:305,21[J ]| pay for them in the course of the year. Now, here are my 213:305,22[J ]| sister Price's children; ~~ take them all together, I dare say 213:305,23[J ]| nobody would believe what a sum they cost Sir*Thomas 213:305,24[J ]| every year, to say nothing of what \I\ do for them." 213:305,25[F ]| "Very true, sister, as you say. But, poor things! they 213:305,26[F ]| cannot help it; and you know it makes very little 213:305,27[F ]| difference to Sir*Thomas. Fanny, William must not forget 213:305,28[F ]| my shawl, if he goes to the East*Indies; and I shall give 213:305,29[F ]| him a commission for any*thing else that is worth having. 213:305,30[F ]| I wish he may go to the East*Indies, that I may have my 213:305,31[F ]| shawl. I think I will have two shawls, Fanny." 213:305,32[' ]| Fanny, meanwhile, speaking only when she could not 213:305,33[' ]| help it, was very earnestly trying to understand what 213:305,34[' ]| Mr% and Miss*Crawford were at. 213:305,34@a | There was every*thing in 213:305,35@a | the world \against\ their being serious, but his words and 213:305,36@a | manner. Every*thing natural, probable, reasonable was 213:305,37@a | against it; all their habits and ways of thinking, and all 213:305,38@a | her own demerits. ~~ How could \she\ have excited serious 213:306,01@a | attachment in a man, who had seen so many, and been 213:306,02@a | admired by so many, and flirted with so many, infinitely 213:306,03@a | her superiors ~~ who seemed so little open to serious 213:306,04@a | impressions, even where pains had been taken to please 213:306,05@a | him ~~ who thought so slightly, so carelessly, so unfeelingly 213:306,06@a | on all such points ~~ who was every*thing to every*body, 213:306,07@a | and seemed to find no*one essential to him? ~~ And further, 213:306,08@a | how could it be supposed that his sister, with all her high 213:306,09@a | and worldly notions of matrimony, would be forwarding 213:306,10@a | any*thing of a serious nature in such a quarter? Nothing 213:306,11@a | could be more unnatural in either. 213:306,11[' ]| Fanny was ashamed of 213:306,12[' ]| her own doubts. 213:306,12@a | Every*thing might be possible rather 213:306,13@a | than serious attachment or serious approbation of it 213:306,14@a | toward her. 213:306,14[' ]| She had quite convinced herself of this 213:306,15[' ]| before Sir*Thomas and Mr%*Crawford joined them. The 213:306,16[' ]| difficulty was in maintaining the conviction quite so 213:306,17[' ]| absolutely after Mr%*Crawford was in the room; 213:306,17@a | for once 213:306,18@a | or twice a look seemed forced on her which she did not 213:306,19@a | know how to class among the common meaning; in any 213:306,20@a | other man at least, she would have said that it meant 213:306,21@a | something very earnest, very pointed. But she still tried 213:306,22@a | to believe it no more than what he might often have 213:306,23@a | expressed towards her cousins and fifty other women. 213:306,24@a | She thought he was wishing to speak to her unheard by 213:306,25@a | the rest. She fancied he was trying for it the whole evening 213:306,26@a | at intervals, whenever Sir*Thomas was out of the room, or 213:306,27@a | at all engaged with Mrs%*Norris, and she carefully refused 213:306,28@a | him every opportunity. 213:306,29@a | At last ~~ 213:306,29[' ]| it seemed an at last to Fanny's nervousness, 213:306,30[' ]| though not remarkably late, ~~ 213:306,30@a | he began to talk of going 213:306,31@a | away; but the comfort of the sound was impaired by his 213:306,32@a | turning to her the next moment, and saying, 213:306,32[D ]| "Have you 213:306,33[D ]| nothing to send to Mary? No answer to her note? She 213:306,34[D ]| will be disappointed if she receives nothing from you. 213:306,35[D ]| Pray write to her, if it be only a line." 213:306,36[A ]| "Oh! yes, certainly," 213:306,36[' ]| cried Fanny, rising in haste, the 213:306,37[' ]| haste of embarrassment and of wanting to get away ~~ 213:306,38[A ]| "I will write directly." 213:307,01[' ]| She went accordingly to the table, where she was in the 213:307,02[' ]| habit of writing for her aunt, and prepared her materials 213:307,03[' ]| without knowing what in the world to say! She had read 213:307,04[' ]| Miss*Crawford's note only once; 213:307,04@a | and how to reply to any*thing 213:307,05@a | so imperfectly understood was most distressing. 213:307,06[' ]| Quite unpractised in such sort of note-writing, had there 213:307,07[' ]| been time for scruples and fears as to style, she would 213:307,08[' ]| have felt them in abundance; 213:307,08@a | but something must be 213:307,09@a | instantly written, 213:307,09[' ]| and with only one decided feeling, 213:307,10[' ]| that of wishing not to appear to think any*thing really 213:307,11[' ]| intended, she wrote thus, in great trembling both of 213:307,12[' ]| spirits and hand: 213:307,13[A ]| "I am very much obliged to you, my dear Miss*Crawford, 213:307,14[A ]| for your kind congratulations, as far as they relate to 213:307,15[A ]| my dearest William. The rest of your note I know 213:307,16[A ]| means nothing; but I am so unequal to any*thing of the 213:307,17[A ]| sort, that I hope you will excuse my begging you to take no 213:307,18[A ]| further notice. I have seen too much of Mr%*Crawford not 213:307,19[A ]| to understand his manners; if he understood me as well, 213:307,20[A ]| he would, I dare say, behave differently. I do not know 213:307,21[A ]| what I write, but it would be a great favour of you never to 213:307,22[A ]| mention the subject again. With thanks for the honour of 213:307,23[A ]| your note, 213:307,24[A ]| I remain, dear Miss*Crawford, 213:307,25[A ]| &c%*&c%" 213:307,26[' ]| The conclusion was scarcely intelligible from increasing 213:307,27[' ]| fright, for she found that Mr%*Crawford, under pretence of 213:307,28[' ]| receiving the note, was coming towards her. 213:307,29[D ]| "You cannot think I mean to hurry you," 213:307,29[' ]| said he, in an 213:307,30[' ]| under voice, perceiving the amazing trepidation with which 213:307,31[' ]| she made up the note; 213:307,31[D ]| "you cannot think I have any such 213:307,32[D ]| object. Do not hurry yourself, I entreat." 213:307,33[A ]| "Oh! I thank you, I have quite done, just done ~~ it 213:307,34[A ]| will be ready in a moment ~~ I am very much obliged to 213:307,35[A ]| you ~~ if you will be so good as to give \that\ to 213:307,35[A ]| Miss*Crawford." 213:307,36[' ]| The note was held out and must be taken; and as she 213:307,37[' ]| instantly and with averted eyes walked towards the 213:308,01[' ]| fireplace, where sat the others, he had nothing to do but to 213:308,02[' ]| go in good earnest. 213:308,03[' ]| Fanny thought 213:308,03@a | she had never known a day of greater 213:308,04@a | agitation, both of pain and pleasure; but happily the 213:308,05@a | pleasure was not of a sort to die with the day ~~ for every 213:308,06@a | day would restore the knowledge of William's advancement, 213:308,07@a | whereas the pain she hoped would return no more. 213:308,08@a | She had no doubt that her note must appear excessively 213:308,09@a | ill-written, that the language would disgrace a child, for 213:308,10@a | her distress had allowed no arrangement; but at least it 213:308,11@a | would assure them both of her being neither imposed on, 213:308,12@a | nor gratified by Mr%*Crawford's attentions. 301:311,01[' ]| Fanny had by no means forgotten Mr%*Crawford, when 301:311,02[' ]| she awoke the next morning; but she remembered the 301:311,03[' ]| purport of her note, and was not less sanguine, as to 301:311,04[' ]| its effect, than she had been the night before. 301:311,04@a | If Mr%*Crawford 301:311,05@a | would but go away! ~~ That was what she most 301:311,06@a | earnestly desired; ~~ go and take his sister with him, as he 301:311,07@a | was to do, and as he returned to Mansfield on purpose to 301:311,08@a | do. And why it was not done already, she could not devise, 301:311,09@a | for Miss*Crawford certainly wanted no delay. ~~ 301:311,09[' ]| Fanny 301:311,10[' ]| had hoped, in the course of his yesterday's visit, to hear 301:311,11[' ]| the day named; 301:311,11@a | but he had only spoken of their journey 301:311,12@a | as what would take place ere long. 301:311,13[' ]| Having so satisfactorily settled the conviction her note 301:311,14[' ]| would convey, she could not but be astonished to see Mr%*Crawford, 301:311,15[' ]| as she accidentally did, coming up to the house 301:311,16[' ]| again, and at an hour as early as the day before. ~~ 301:311,16@a | His 301:311,17@a | coming might have nothing to do with her, but she must 301:311,18@a | avoid seeing him if possible; 301:311,18[' ]| and being then in her way 301:311,19[' ]| up*stairs, she resolved 301:311,19@a | there to remain, during the whole of 301:311,20@a | his visit, unless actually sent for; and as Mrs%*Norris was 301:311,21@a | still in the house, there seemed little danger of her being 301:311,22@a | wanted. 301:311,23[' ]| She sat some time in a good deal of agitation, listening, 301:311,24[' ]| trembling, and fearing to be sent for every moment; but 301:311,25[' ]| as no footsteps approached the east*room, she grew 301:311,26[' ]| gradually composed, could sit down, and be able to employ 301:311,27[' ]| herself, and able to hope that 301:311,27@a | Mr%*Crawford had come, 301:311,28@a | and would go without her being obliged to know any*thing 301:311,29@a | of the matter. 301:312,01[' ]| Nearly half an hour had passed, and she was growing 301:312,02[' ]| very comfortable, when suddenly the sound of a step in 301:312,03[' ]| regular approach was heard ~~ 301:312,03@a | a heavy step, an unusual 301:312,04@a | step in that part of the house; it was her uncle's; she 301:312,05@a | knew it as well as his voice; 301:312,05[' ]| she had trembled at it as 301:312,06[' ]| often, and began to tremble again, at the idea of his 301:312,07[' ]| coming up to speak to her, whatever might be the subject. 301:312,08@a | ~~ It was indeed Sir*Thomas, who opened the door, and 301:312,09@a | asked if she were there, and if he might come in. The 301:312,10@a | terror of his former occasional visits to that room seemed 301:312,11@a | all renewed, and she felt as if he were going to examine 301:312,12@a | her again in French and English. 301:312,13[' ]| She was all attention, however, in placing a chair for 301:312,14[' ]| him, and trying to appear honoured; and in her agitation, 301:312,15[' ]| had quite overlooked the deficiences of her apartment, 301:312,16[' ]| till he, stopping short as he entered, said, with much 301:312,17[' ]| surprise, 301:312,17[E ]| "Why have you no fire to-day?" 301:312,18[' ]| There was snow on the ground, and she was sitting in 301:312,19[' ]| a shawl. She hesitated. 301:312,20[A ]| "I am not cold, Sir ~~ I never sit here long at this time 301:312,21[A ]| of year." 301:312,22[E ]| "But, ~~ you have a fire in general?" 301:312,23[A ]| "No, Sir." 301:312,24[E ]| "How comes this about; here must be some mistake. 301:312,25[E ]| I understood that you had the use of this room by way 301:312,26[E ]| of making you perfectly comfortable. ~~ In your bed-chamber 301:312,27[E ]| I know you \cannot\ have a fire. Here is some 301:312,28[E ]| great misapprehension which must be rectified. It is 301:312,29[E ]| highly unfit for you to sit ~~ be it only half an hour a day, 301:312,30[E ]| without a fire. You are not strong. You are chilly. 301:312,31[E ]| Your aunt cannot be aware of this." 301:312,32[' ]| Fanny would rather have been silent, but being obliged 301:312,33[' ]| to speak, she could not forbear, in justice to the aunt she 301:312,34[' ]| loved best, from saying something in which the words 301:312,35[A ]| "my aunt Norris" 301:312,35[' ]| were distinguishable. 301:312,36[E ]| "I understand," 301:312,36[' ]| cried her uncle recollecting himself, 301:312,37[' ]| and not wanting to hear more ~~ 301:312,37[E ]| "I understand. Your 301:312,38[E ]| aunt Norris has always been an advocate, and very judiciously, 301:313,01[E ]| for young people's being brought up without 301:313,02[E ]| unnecessary indulgences; but there should be moderation 301:313,03[E ]| in every*thing. ~~ She is also very hardy herself, which 301:313,04[E ]| of course will influence her in her opinion of the wants 301:313,05[E ]| of others. And on another account too, I can perfectly 301:313,06[E ]| comprehend. ~~ I know what her sentiments have always 301:313,07[E ]| been. The principle was good in itself, but it may have 301:313,08[E ]| been, and I believe \has\ \been\ carried too far in your case. 301:313,09[E ]| ~~ I am aware that there has been sometimes, in some 301:313,10[E ]| points, a misplaced distinction; but I think too well of 301:313,11[E ]| you, Fanny, to suppose you will ever harbour resentment 301:313,12[E ]| on that account. ~~ You have an understanding, which will 301:313,13[E ]| prevent you from receiving things only in part, and judging 301:313,14[E ]| partially by the event. ~~ You will take in the whole 301:313,15[E ]| of the past, you will consider times, persons, and probabilities, 301:313,16[E ]| and you will feel that \they\ were not least your 301:313,17[E ]| friends who were educating and preparing you for that 301:313,18[E ]| mediocrity of condition which \seemed\ to be your lot. ~~ 301:313,19[E ]| Though their caution may prove eventually unnecessary, 301:313,20[E ]| it was kindly meant; and of this you may be assured, 301:313,21[E ]| that every advantage of affluence will be doubled by the 301:313,22[E ]| little privations and restrictions that may have been 301:313,23[E ]| imposed. I am sure you will not disappoint my opinion 301:313,24[E ]| of you, by failing at any time to treat your aunt Norris 301:313,25[E ]| with the respect and attention that are due to her. 301:313,26[E ]| ~~ But enough of this. Sit down, my dear. I must 301:313,27[E ]| speak to you for a few minutes, but I will not detain 301:313,28[E ]| you long." 301:313,29[' ]| Fanny obeyed, with eyes cast down and colour rising. 301:313,30[' ]| ~~ After a moment's pause, Sir*Thomas, trying to suppress 301:313,31[' ]| a smile, went on. 301:313,32[E ]| "You are not aware, perhaps, that I have had a visitor 301:313,33[E ]| this morning. ~~ I had not been long in my own room, after 301:313,34[E ]| breakfast, when Mr%*Crawford was shewn in. ~~ His errand 301:313,35[E ]| you may probably conjecture." 301:313,36[' ]| Fanny's colour grew deeper and deeper; and her uncle 301:313,37[' ]| perceiving that she was embarrassed to a degree that 301:313,38[' ]| made either speaking or looking up quite impossible. 301:314,01[' ]| turned away his own eyes, and without any farther pause, 301:314,02[' ]| proceeded in his account of Mr%*Crawford's visit. 301:314,03@e | Mr%*Crawford's business had been to declare himself 301:314,04@e | the lover of Fanny, make decided proposals for her, and 301:314,05@e | intreat the sanction of the uncle, who seemed to stand 301:314,06@e | in the place of her parents; and he had done it all so well, 301:314,07@e | so openly, so liberally, so properly, 301:314,07[' ]| that Sir*Thomas, feeling, 301:314,08[' ]| moreover, his own replies, and his own remarks to have 301:314,09[' ]| been very much to the purpose ~~ was exceedingly happy 301:314,10[' ]| to give the particulars of their conversation ~~ and, little 301:314,11[' ]| aware of what was passing in his niece's mind, conceived 301:314,12[' ]| that by such details he must be gratifying her far more 301:314,13[' ]| than himself. He talked therefore for several minutes 301:314,14[' ]| without Fanny's daring to interrupt him. ~~ She had hardly 301:314,15[' ]| even attained the wish to do it. Her mind was in too 301:314,16[' ]| much confusion. She had changed her position, and with 301:314,17[' ]| her eyes fixed intently on one of the windows, was listening 301:314,18[' ]| to her uncle, in the utmost perturbation and dismay. ~~ For 301:314,19[' ]| a moment he ceased, but she had barely become conscious 301:314,20[' ]| of it, when, rising from his chair, he said, 301:314,20[E ]| "And now, 301:314,21[E ]| Fanny, having performed one part of my commission, 301:314,22[E ]| and shewn you every*thing placed on a basis the most 301:314,23[E ]| assured and satisfactory, I may execute the remainder by 301:314,24[E ]| prevailing on you to accompany me down*stairs, where ~~ 301:314,25[E ]| though I cannot but presume on having been no unacceptable 301:314,26[E ]| companion myself, I must submit to your finding 301:314,27[E ]| one still better worth listening to. ~~ Mr%*Crawford, as you 301:314,28[E ]| have perhaps foreseen, is yet in the house. He is in my 301:314,29[E ]| room, and hoping to see you there." 301:314,30[' ]| There was a look, a start, an exclamation, on hearing 301:314,31[' ]| this, which astonished Sir*Thomas; but what was his 301:314,32[' ]| increase of astonishment on hearing her exclaim ~~ 301:314,32[A ]| "Oh! 301:314,33[A ]| no, Sir, I cannot, indeed I cannot go down to him. 301:314,33[A ]| Mr%*Crawford 301:314,34[A ]| ought to know ~~ he must know that ~~ I told 301:314,35[A ]| him enough yesterday to convince him ~~ he spoke to me 301:314,36[A ]| on this subject yesterday ~~ and I told him without disguise 301:314,37[A ]| that it was very disagreeable to me, and quite out 301:314,38[A ]| of my power to return his good opinion." 301:315,01[E ]| "I do not catch your meaning," 301:315,01[' ]| said Sir*Thomas, sitting 301:315,02[' ]| down again. ~~ 301:315,02[E ]| "Out of your power to return his good 301:315,03[E ]| opinion! what is all this? I know he spoke to you yesterday, 301:315,04[E ]| and (as far as I understand), received as much 301:315,05[E ]| encouragement to proceed as a well-judging young woman 301:315,06[E ]| could permit herself to give. I was very much pleased 301:315,07[E ]| with what I collected to have been your behaviour on 301:315,08[E ]| the occasion; it shewed a discretion highly to be commended. 301:315,09[E ]| But now, when he has made his overtures so 301:315,10[E ]| properly, and honourably ~~ what are your scruples \now\?" 301:315,11[A ]| "You are mistaken, Sir," ~~ 301:315,11[' ]| cried Fanny, forced by the 301:315,12[' ]| anxiety of the moment even to tell her uncle that he was 301:315,13[' ]| wrong ~~ 301:315,13[A ]| "You are quite mistaken. How could Mr%*Crawford 301:315,14[A ]| say such a thing? I gave him no encouragement 301:315,15[A ]| yesterday ~~ On the contrary, I told him ~~ I cannot recollect 301:315,16[A ]| my exact words ~~ but I am sure I told him that I 301:315,17[A ]| would not listen to him, that it was very unpleasant to 301:315,18[A ]| me in every respect, and that I begged him never to talk 301:315,19[A ]| to me in that manner again. ~~ I am sure I said as much 301:315,20[A ]| as that and more; and I should have said still more, ~~ 301:315,21[A ]| if I had been quite certain of his meaning any*thing 301:315,22[A ]| seriously, but I did not like to be ~~ I could not bear to be 301:315,23[A ]| ~~ imputing more than might be intended. I thought it 301:315,24[A ]| might all pass for nothing with \him\." 301:315,25[' ]| She could say no more; her breath was almost gone. 301:315,26[E ]| "Am I to understand," 301:315,26[' ]| said Sir*Thomas, after a few 301:315,27[' ]| moments silence, 301:315,27[E ]| "that you mean to \refuse\ Mr%*Crawford?" 301:315,28[E ]| 301:315,29[A ]| "Yes, Sir." 301:315,30[E ]| "Refuse him?" 301:315,31[A ]| "Yes, Sir." 301:315,32[E ]| "Refuse Mr%*Crawford! Upon what plea? For what 301:315,33[E ]| reason?" 301:315,34[A ]| "I ~~ I cannot like him, Sir, well enough to marry him." 301:315,35[E ]| "This is very strange!" 301:315,35[' ]| said Sir*Thomas, in a voice 301:315,36[' ]| of calm displeasure. 301:315,36[E ]| "There is something in this which 301:315,37[E ]| my comprehension does not reach. Here is a young man 301:315,38[E ]| wishing to pay his addresses to you, with every*thing to 301:316,01[E ]| recommend him; not merely situation in life, fortune, 301:316,02[E ]| and character, but with more than common agreeableness, 301:316,03[E ]| with address and conversation pleasing to every*body. 301:316,04[E ]| And he is not an acquaintance of to-day, you have 301:316,05[E ]| now known him some time. His sister, moreover, is your 301:316,06[E ]| intimate friend, and he has been doing \that\ for your 301:316,07[E ]| brother, which I should suppose would have been almost 301:316,08[E ]| sufficient recommendation to you, had there been no 301:316,09[E ]| other. It is very uncertain when my interest might have 301:316,10[E ]| got William on. He has done it already." 301:316,11[A ]| "Yes," 301:316,11[' ]| said Fanny, in a faint voice, and looking down 301:316,12[' ]| with fresh shame; 301:316,12@a | and she did feel almost ashamed of 301:316,13@a | herself, after such a picture as her uncle had drawn, for 301:316,14@a | not liking Mr%*Crawford. 301:316,15[E ]| "You must have been aware," 301:316,15[' ]| continued Sir*Thomas, 301:316,16[' ]| presently, 301:316,16[E ]| "you must have been some time aware of 301:316,17[E ]| a particularity in Mr%*Crawford's manners to you. This 301:316,18[E ]| cannot have taken you by surprise. You must have 301:316,19[E ]| observed his attentions; and though you always received 301:316,20[E ]| them very properly, (I have no accusation to make on 301:316,21[E ]| that head,) I never perceived them to be unpleasant to 301:316,22[E ]| you. I am half inclined to think, Fanny, that you do not 301:316,23[E ]| quite know your own feelings." 301:316,24[A ]| "Oh! yes, Sir, indeed I do. His attentions were 301:316,25[A ]| always ~~ what I did not like." 301:316,26[' ]| Sir*Thomas looked at her with deeper surprise. 301:316,26[E ]| "This 301:316,27[E ]| is beyond me," 301:316,27[' ]| said he. 301:316,27[E ]| "This requires explanation. 301:316,28[E ]| Young as you are, and having seen scarcely any*one, it is 301:316,29[E ]| hardly possible that your affections ~~" 301:316,30[' ]| He paused and eyed her fixedly. 301:316,30@e | He saw her lips 301:316,31@e | formed into a \no\, though the sound was inarticulate, but 301:316,32@e | her face was like scarlet. That, however, in so modest 301:316,33@e | a girl might be very compatible with innocence; and 301:316,34@e | chusing at least to appear satisfied, 301:316,34[' ]| he quickly added, 301:316,35[E ]| "No, no, I know \that\ is quite out of the question ~~ quite 301:316,36[E ]| impossible. Well, there is nothing more to be said." 301:316,37[' ]| And for a few minutes he did say nothing. He was 301:316,38[' ]| deep in thought. His niece was deep in thought likewise, 301:317,01[' ]| trying to harden and prepare herself against farther questioning. 301:317,02@a | She would rather die than own the truth, and 301:317,03@a | she hoped by a little reflection to fortify herself beyond 301:317,04@a | betraying it. 301:317,05[E ]| "Independently of the interest which Mr%*Crawford's 301:317,06[E ]| \choice\ seemed to justify," 301:317,06[' ]| said Sir*Thomas, beginning 301:317,07[' ]| again, and very composedly, 301:317,07[E ]| "his wishing to marry at 301:317,08[E ]| all so early is recommendatory to me. I am an advocate 301:317,09[E ]| for early marriages, where there are means in proportion, 301:317,10[E ]| and would have every young man, with a sufficient 301:317,11[E ]| income, settle as soon after four*and*twenty as he can. 301:317,12[E ]| This is so much my opinion, that I am sorry to think how 301:317,13[E ]| little likely my own eldest son, your cousin, Mr%*Bertram, 301:317,14[E ]| is to marry early; but at present, as far as I can judge, 301:317,15[E ]| matrimony makes no part of his plans or thoughts. I 301:317,16[E ]| wish he were more likely to fix." 301:317,16[' ]| Here was a glance at 301:317,17[' ]| Fanny. 301:317,17[E ]| "Edmund I consider from his disposition and 301:317,18[E ]| habits as much more likely to marry early than his 301:317,19[E ]| brother. \He\, indeed, I have lately thought has seen the 301:317,20[E ]| woman he could love, which, I am convinced, my eldest 301:317,21[E ]| son has not. Am I right? Do you agree with me, my 301:317,22[E ]| dear?" 301:317,23[A ]| "Yes, Sir." 301:317,24[' ]| It was gently, but it was calmly said, and Sir*Thomas 301:317,25[' ]| was easy on the score of the cousins. But the removal 301:317,26[' ]| of his alarm did his niece no service; as her unaccountableness 301:317,27[' ]| was confirmed, his displeasure increased; and 301:317,28[' ]| getting up and walking about the room, with a frown, 301:317,29[' ]| which Fanny could picture to herself, though she dared 301:317,30[' ]| not lift up her eyes, he shortly afterwards, and in a voice 301:317,31[' ]| of authority, said, 301:317,31[E ]| "Have you any reason, child, to think 301:317,32[E ]| ill of Mr%*Crawford's temper?" 301:317,33[A ]| "No, Sir." 301:317,34@a | She longed to add, "but of his principles I have;" 301:317,34[' ]| but 301:317,35[' ]| her heart sunk under the appalling prospect of discussion, 301:317,36[' ]| explanation, and probably non-conviction. 301:317,36@a | Her ill*opinion 301:317,37@a | of him was founded chiefly on observations, which, for her 301:317,38@a | cousins' sake, she could scarcely dare mention to their 301:318,01@a | father. Maria and Julia ~~ and especially Maria, were so 301:318,02@a | closely implicated in Mr%*Crawford's misconduct, that she 301:318,03@a | could not give his character, such as she believed it, without 301:318,04@a | betraying them. She had hoped that to a man like 301:318,05@a | her uncle, so discerning, so honourable, so good, the simple 301:318,06@a | acknowledgment of settled \dislike\ on her side, would have 301:318,07@a | been sufficient. To her infinite grief she found it was not. 301:318,08[' ]| Sir*Thomas came towards the table where she sat in 301:318,09[' ]| trembling wretchedness, and with a good deal of cold 301:318,10[' ]| sternness, said, 301:318,10[E ]| "It is of no use, I perceive, to talk to you. 301:318,11[E ]| We had better put an end to this most mortifying conference. 301:318,12[E ]| Mr%*Crawford must not be kept longer waiting. I will, 301:318,13[E ]| therefore, only add, as thinking it my duty to mark my 301:318,14[E ]| opinion of your conduct ~~ that you have disappointed 301:318,15[E ]| every expectation I had formed, and proved yourself of 301:318,16[E ]| a character the very reverse of what I had supposed. 301:318,17[E ]| For I \had\, Fanny, as I think my behaviour must have 301:318,18[E ]| shewn, formed a very favourable opinion of you from the 301:318,19[E ]| period of my return to England. I had thought you 301:318,20[E ]| peculiarly free from wilfulness of temper, self-conceit, and 301:318,21[E ]| every tendency to that independence of spirit, which prevails 301:318,22[E ]| so much in modern days, even in young women, and 301:318,23[E ]| which in young women is offensive and disgusting beyond 301:318,24[E ]| all common offence. But you have now shewn me that 301:318,25[E ]| you can be wilful and perverse, that you can and will 301:318,26[E ]| decide for yourself, without any consideration or deference 301:318,27[E ]| for those who have surely some right to guide you ~~ without 301:318,28[E ]| even asking their advice. You have shewn yourself 301:318,29[E ]| very, very different from any*thing that I had imagined. 301:318,30[E ]| The advantage or disadvantage of your family ~~ of your 301:318,31[E ]| parents ~~ your brothers and sisters ~~ never seems to have 301:318,32[E ]| had a moment's share in your thoughts on this occasion. 301:318,33[E ]| How \they\ might be benefited, how \they\ must rejoice in 301:318,34[E ]| such an establishment for you ~~ is nothing to \you\. You 301:318,35[E ]| think only of yourself; and because you do not feel for 301:318,36[E ]| Mr%*Crawford exactly what a young, heated fancy imagines 301:318,37[E ]| to be necessary for happiness, you resolve to refuse him 301:318,38[E ]| at once, without wishing even for a little time to consider 301:319,01[E ]| of it ~~ a little more time for cool consideration, and for 301:319,02[E ]| really examining your own inclinations ~~ and are, in a 301:319,03[E ]| wild fit of folly, throwing away from you such an opportunity 301:319,04[E ]| of being settled in life, eligibly, honourably, nobly 301:319,05[E ]| settled, as will, probably, never occur to you again. 301:319,06[E ]| Here is a young man of sense, of character, of temper, of 301:319,07[E ]| manners, and of fortune, exceedingly attached to you, 301:319,08[E ]| and seeking your hand in the most handsome and disinterested 301:319,09[E ]| way; and let me tell you, Fanny, that you may 301:319,10[E ]| live eighteen years longer in the world, without being 301:319,11[E ]| addressed by a man of half Mr%*Crawford's estate, or 301:319,12[E ]| a tenth part of his merits. Gladly would I have bestowed 301:319,13[E ]| either of my own daughters on him. Maria is nobly 301:319,14[E ]| married ~~ but had Mr%*Crawford sought Julia's hand, I 301:319,15[E ]| should have given it to him with superior and more heartfelt 301:319,16[E ]| satisfaction than I gave Maria's to Mr%*Rushworth." 301:319,17[' ]| After half a moment's pause ~~ 301:319,17[E ]| "And I should have been 301:319,18[E ]| very much surprised had either of my daughters, on 301:319,19[E ]| receiving a proposal of marriage at any time, which might 301:319,20[E ]| carry with it only \half\ the eligibility of \this\, immediately 301:319,21[E ]| and peremptorily, and without paying my opinion or my 301:319,22[E ]| regard the compliment of any consultation, put a decided 301:319,23[E ]| negative on it. I should have been much surprised, and 301:319,24[E ]| much hurt, by such a proceeding. I should have thought 301:319,25[E ]| it a gross violation of duty and respect. \You\ are not to be 301:319,26[E ]| judged by the same rule. You do not owe me the duty 301:319,27[E ]| of a child. But, Fanny, if your heart can acquit you of 301:319,28[E ]| \ingratitude\ ~~" 301:319,29[' ]| He ceased. Fanny was by this time crying so bitterly, 301:319,30[' ]| that angry as he was, he would not press that article 301:319,31[' ]| farther. 301:319,31@a | Her heart was almost broke by such a picture 301:319,32@a | of what she appeared to him; by such accusations, so 301:319,33@a | heavy, so multiplied, so rising in dreadful gradation! 301:319,34@a | Self-willed, obstinate, selfish, and ungrateful. He thought 301:319,35@a | her all this. She had deceived his expectations; she had 301:319,36@a | lost his good opinion. What was to become of her? 301:319,37[A ]| "I am very sorry," 301:319,37[' ]| said she inarticulately through her 301:319,38[' ]| tears, 301:319,38[A ]| "I am very sorry indeed." 301:320,01[E ]| "Sorry! yes, I hope you are sorry; and you will 301:320,02[E ]| probably have reason to be long sorry for this day's 301:320,03[E ]| transactions." 301:320,04[A ]| "If it were possible for me to do otherwise," 301:320,04[' ]| said she 301:320,05[' ]| with another strong effort, 301:320,05[A ]| "but I am so perfectly convinced 301:320,06[A ]| that I could never make him happy, and that I 301:320,07[A ]| should be miserable myself." 301:320,08[' ]| Another burst of tears; but in spite of that burst, and 301:320,09[' ]| in spite of that great black word \miserable\, which served 301:320,10[' ]| to introduce it, Sir*Thomas began to think 301:320,10@e | a little relenting, 301:320,11@e | a little change of inclination, might have something to 301:320,12@e | do with it; and to augur favourably from the personal 301:320,13@e | intreaty of the young man himself. He knew her to be 301:320,14@e | very timid, and exceedingly nervous; and thought it not 301:320,15@e | improbable that her mind might be in such a state, as a 301:320,16@e | little time, a little pressing, a little patience, and a little 301:320,17@e | impatience, a judicious mixture of all on the lover's side, 301:320,18@e | might work their usual effect on. If the gentleman would 301:320,19@e | but persevere, if he had but love enough to persevere ~~ 301:320,20[' ]| Sir*Thomas began to have hopes; and these reflections 301:320,21[' ]| having passed across his mind and cheered it, 301:320,21[E ]| "Well," 301:320,22[' ]| said he, in a tone of becoming gravity, but of less anger, 301:320,23[E ]| "well, child, dry up your tears. There is no use in these 301:320,24[E ]| tears; they can do no good. You must now come down*stairs 301:320,25[E ]| with me. Mr%*Crawford has been kept waiting too 301:320,26[E ]| long already. You must give him your own answer; we 301:320,27[E ]| cannot expect him to be satisfied with less; and you only 301:320,28[E ]| can explain to him the grounds of that misconception of 301:320,29[E ]| your sentiments, which, unfortunately for himself, he 301:320,30[E ]| certainly has imbibed. I am totally unequal to it." 301:320,31[' ]| But Fanny shewed such reluctance, such misery, at the 301:320,32[' ]| idea of going down to him, that Sir*Thomas, after a little 301:320,33[' ]| consideration, judged it better to indulge her. 301:320,33@e | His hopes 301:320,34@e | from both gentleman and lady suffered a small depression 301:320,35@e | in consequence; but when he looked at his niece, and saw 301:320,36@e | the state of feature and complexion which her crying had 301:320,37@e | brought her into, he thought there might be as much lost 301:320,38@e | as gained by an immediate interview. 301:320,38[' ]| With a few words, 301:321,01[' ]| therefore, of no particular meaning, he walked off by himself, 301:321,02[' ]| leaving his poor niece to sit and cry over what had 301:321,03[' ]| passed, with very wretched feelings. 301:321,04[' ]| Her mind was all disorder. 301:321,04@a | The past, present, future, 301:321,05@a | every*thing was terrible. But her uncle's anger gave her 301:321,06@a | the severest pain of all. Selfish and ungrateful! to have 301:321,07@a | appeared so to him! She was miserable for*ever. She 301:321,08@a | had no*one to take her part, to counsel, or speak for her. 301:321,09@a | Her only friend was absent. He might have softened his 301:321,10@a | father; but all, perhaps all, would think her selfish and 301:321,11@a | ungrateful. She might have to endure the reproach again 301:321,12@a | and again; she might hear it, or see it, or know it to exist 301:321,13@a | for*ever in every connection about her. She could not 301:321,14@a | but feel some resentment against Mr%*Crawford; yet, if 301:321,15@a | he really loved her, and were unhappy too! ~~ it was all 301:321,16@a | wretchedness together. 301:321,17[' ]| In about a quarter of an hour her uncle returned; she 301:321,18[' ]| was almost ready to faint at the sight of him. He spoke 301:321,19[' ]| calmly, however, without austerity, without reproach, 301:321,20[' ]| and she revived a little. There was comfort too in his 301:321,21[' ]| words, as well as his manner, for he began with, 301:321,21[E ]| "Mr%*Crawford 301:321,22[E ]| is gone; he has just left me. I need not repeat 301:321,23[E ]| what has passed. I do not want to add to any*thing you 301:321,24[E ]| may now be feeling, by an account of what he has felt. 301:321,25[E ]| Suffice it, that he has behaved in the most gentlemanlike 301:321,26[E ]| and generous manner; and has confirmed me in a 301:321,27[E ]| most favourable opinion of his understanding, heart, and 301:321,28[E ]| temper. Upon my representation of what you were suffering, 301:321,29[E ]| he immediately, and with the greatest delicacy, ceased 301:321,30[E ]| to urge to see you for the present." 301:321,31[' ]| Here Fanny, who had looked up, looked down again. 301:321,32[E ]| "Of course," 301:321,32[' ]| continued her uncle, 301:321,32[E ]| "it cannot be supposed 301:321,33[E ]| but that he should request to speak with you alone, 301:321,34[E ]| be it only for five minutes; a request too natural, a claim 301:321,35[E ]| too just to be denied. But there is no time fixed, perhaps 301:321,36[E ]| to-morrow, or whenever your spirits are composed enough. 301:321,37[E ]| For the present you have only to tranquillize yourself. 301:321,38[E ]| Check these tears; they do but exhaust you. If, as I am 301:322,01[E ]| willing to suppose, you wish to shew me any observance, 301:322,02[E ]| you will not give way to these emotions, but endeavour 301:322,03[E ]| to reason yourself into a stronger frame of mind. I advise 301:322,04[E ]| you to go out, the air will do you good; go out for an hour 301:322,05[E ]| on the gravel, you will have the shrubbery to yourself, 301:322,06[E ]| and will be the better for air and exercise. And, Fanny, 301:322,07[' ]| (turning back again for a moment) 301:322,07[E ]| I shall make no mention 301:322,08[E ]| below of what has passed; I shall not even tell your 301:322,09[E ]| aunt Bertram. There is no occasion for spreading the 301:322,10[E ]| disappointment; say nothing about it yourself." 301:322,11[' ]| This was an order to be most joyfully obeyed; this was 301:322,12[' ]| an act of kindness which Fanny felt at her heart. 301:322,12@a | To be 301:322,13@a | spared from her aunt Norris's interminable reproaches! ~~ 301:322,14@a | he left her in a glow of gratitude. Any*thing might be 301:322,15@a | bearable rather than such reproaches. Even to see Mr%*Crawford 301:322,16@a | would be less overpowering. 301:322,17[' ]| She walked out directly as her uncle recommended, and 301:322,18[' ]| followed his advice throughout, as far as she could; did 301:322,19[' ]| check her tears, did earnestly try to compose her spirits, 301:322,20[' ]| and strengthen her mind. She wished to prove to him 301:322,21[' ]| that she did desire his comfort, and sought to regain his 301:322,22[' ]| favour; and he had given her another strong motive for 301:322,23[' ]| exertion, in keeping the whole affair from the knowledge 301:322,24[' ]| of her aunts. 301:322,24@a | Not to excite suspicion by her look or 301:322,25@a | manner was now an object worth attaining; and she 301:322,26@a | felt equal to almost any*thing that might save her from 301:322,27@a | her aunt Norris. 301:322,28[' ]| She was struck, quite struck, when on returning from 301:322,29[' ]| her walk, and going into the east*room again, the first thing 301:322,30[' ]| which caught her eye was a fire lighted and burning. 301:322,30@a | A 301:322,31@a | fire! it seemed too much; just at that time to be giving 301:322,32@a | her such an indulgence, was exciting even painful gratitude. 301:322,33@a | She wondered that Sir*Thomas could have leisure 301:322,34@a | to think of such a trifle again; 301:322,34[' ]| but she soon found, from 301:322,35[' ]| the voluntary information of the housemaid, who came 301:322,36[' ]| in to attend it, that so it was to be every day. Sir*Thomas 301:322,37[' ]| had given orders for it. 301:322,38[A ]| "I must be a brute indeed, if I can be really ungrateful!" 301:323,01[' ]| said she in soliloquy; 301:323,01[A ]| "Heaven defend me from being 301:323,02[A ]| ungrateful!" 301:323,03[' ]| She saw nothing more of her uncle, nor of her aunt Norris, 301:323,04[' ]| till they met at dinner. 301:323,04@a | Her uncle's behaviour to her was 301:323,05@a | then as nearly as possible what it had been before; she 301:323,06@a | was sure he did not mean there should be any change, and 301:323,07@a | that it was only her own conscience that could fancy any; 301:323,08@a | but her aunt was soon quarrelling with her: and when 301:323,09@a | she found how much and how unpleasantly her having 301:323,10@a | only walked out without her aunt's knowledge could be 301:323,11@a | dwelt on, she felt all the reason she had to bless the kindness 301:323,12@a | which saved her from the same spirit of reproach, 301:323,13@a | exerted on a more momentous subject. 301:323,14[J ]| "If I had known you were going out, I should have 301:323,15[J ]| got you just to go as far as my house with some orders 301:323,16[J ]| for Nanny," 301:323,16[' ]| said she, 301:323,16[J ]| "which I have since, to my very 301:323,17[J ]| great inconvenience, been obliged to go and carry myself. 301:323,18[J ]| I could very ill spare the time, and you might have saved 301:323,19[J ]| me the trouble, if you would only have been so good as to 301:323,20[J ]| let us know you were going out. It would have made no 301:323,21[J ]| difference to you, I suppose, whether you had walked in 301:323,22[J ]| the shrubbery, or gone to my house." 301:323,23[E ]| "I recommended the shrubbery to Fanny as the dryest 301:323,24[E ]| place," 301:323,24[' ]| said Sir*Thomas. 301:323,25[J ]| "Oh!" 301:323,25[' ]| said Mrs%*Norris with a moment's check, 301:323,25[J ]| "that 301:323,26[J ]| was very kind of you, Sir*Thomas; but you do not know 301:323,27[J ]| how dry the path is to my house. Fanny would have 301:323,28[J ]| had quite as good a walk there, I assure you; with the 301:323,29[J ]| advantage of being of some use, and obliging her aunt: 301:323,30[J ]| it is all her fault. If she would but have let us know she 301:323,31[J ]| was going out ~~ but there is a something about Fanny, 301:323,32[J ]| I have often observed it before, ~~ she likes to go her own 301:323,33[J ]| way to work; she does not like to be dictated to; she 301:323,34[J ]| takes her own independent walk whenever she can; she 301:323,35[J ]| certainly has a little spirit of secrecy, and independence, 301:323,36[J ]| and nonsense, about her, which I would advise her to get 301:323,37[J ]| the better of." 301:323,38[' ]| As a general reflection on Fanny, Sir*Thomas thought 301:324,01[' ]| nothing could be more unjust, though he had been so 301:324,02[' ]| lately expressing the same sentiments himself, and he 301:324,03[' ]| tried to turn the conversation; tried repeatedly before 301:324,04[' ]| he could succeed; for Mrs%*Norris had not discernment 301:324,05[' ]| enough to perceive, either now, or at any other time, to 301:324,06[' ]| what degree he thought well of his niece, or how very far 301:324,07[' ]| he was from wishing to have his own children's merits 301:324,08[' ]| set off by the depreciation of hers. She was talking \at\ 301:324,09[' ]| Fanny, and resenting this private walk half through the 301:324,10[' ]| dinner. 301:324,11[' ]| It was over, however, at last; and the evening set in 301:324,12[' ]| with more composure to Fanny, and more cheerfulness 301:324,13[' ]| of spirits than she could have hoped for after so stormy 301:324,14[' ]| a morning; 301:324,14@a | but she trusted, in the first place, that she 301:324,15@a | had done right, that her judgment had not misled her; 301:324,16@a | for the purity of her intentions she could answer; and 301:324,17@a | she was willing to hope, secondly, that her uncle's displeasure 301:324,18@a | was abating, and would abate farther as he considered 301:324,19@a | the matter with more impartiality, and felt, as 301:324,20@a | a good man must feel, how wretched, and how unpardonable, 301:324,21@a | how hopeless and how wicked it was, to marry 301:324,22@a | without affection. 301:324,23@a | When the meeting with which she was threatened for 301:324,24@a | the morrow was past, she could not but flatter herself 301:324,25@a | that the subject would be finally concluded, and Mr%*Crawford 301:324,26@a | once gone from Mansfield, that every*thing would 301:324,27@a | soon be as if no such subject had existed. She would not, 301:324,28@a | could not believe, that Mr%*Crawford's affection for her 301:324,29@a | could distress him long; his mind was not of that sort. 301:324,30@a | London would soon bring its cure. In London he would 301:324,31@a | soon learn to wonder at his infatuation, and be thankful 301:324,32@a | for the right reason in her, which had saved him from its 301:324,33@a | evil consequences. 301:324,34[' ]| While Fanny's mind was engaged in these sort of hopes, 301:324,35[' ]| her uncle was soon after tea called out of the room; an 301:324,36[' ]| occurrence too common to strike her, and she thought 301:324,37[' ]| nothing of it till the butler re-appeared ten minutes afterwards, 301:324,38[' ]| and advancing decidedly towards herself, said, 301:325,01[W ]| "Sir*Thomas wishes to speak with you, Ma'am, in his 301:325,02[W ]| own room." 301:325,02[' ]| Then it occurred to her what might be going 301:325,03[' ]| on; a suspicion rushed over her mind which drove the 301:325,04[' ]| colour from her cheeks; but instantly rising, she was 301:325,05[' ]| preparing to obey, when Mrs%*Norris called out, 301:325,05[J ]| "Stay, 301:325,06[J ]| stay, Fanny! what are you about? ~~ where are you going? 301:325,07[J ]| ~~ don't be in such a hurry. Depend upon it, it is not you 301:325,08[J ]| that are wanted; depend upon it it is me; 301:325,08[' ]| (looking at the 301:325,09[' ]| butler) 301:325,09[J ]| but you are so very eager to put yourself forward. 301:325,10[J ]| What should Sir*Thomas want you for? It is me, Baddeley, 301:325,11[J ]| you mean; I am coming this moment. You mean 301:325,12[J ]| me, Baddeley, I am sure; Sir*Thomas wants me, not 301:325,12[J ]| Miss*Price." 301:325,13[J ]| 301:325,14[' ]| But Baddeley was stout. 301:325,14[W ]| "No, Ma'am, it is Miss*Price, 301:325,15[W ]| I am certain of its being Miss*Price." 301:325,15[' ]| And there was a 301:325,16[' ]| half smile with the words which meant, 301:325,16@w | "I do not think 301:325,17@w | \you\ would answer the purpose at all." 301:325,18[' ]| Mrs%*Norris, much discontented, was obliged to compose 301:325,19[' ]| herself to work again; and Fanny, walking off in 301:325,20[' ]| agitating consciousness, found herself, as she anticipated, 301:325,21[' ]| in another minute alone with Mr%*Crawford. 302:326,01[' ]| The conference was neither so short, nor so conclusive, 302:326,02[' ]| as the lady had designed. The gentleman was not so 302:326,03[' ]| easily satisfied. He had all the disposition to persevere 302:326,04[' ]| that Sir*Thomas could wish him. He had vanity, which 302:326,05[' ]| strongly inclined him, in the first place, to think she did 302:326,06[' ]| love him, though she might not know it herself; and 302:326,07[' ]| which, secondly, when constrained at last to admit that 302:326,08[' ]| she did know her own present feelings, convinced him 302:326,09[' ]| that he should be able in time to make those feelings what 302:326,10[' ]| he wished. 302:326,11[' ]| He was in love, very much in love; and it was a love 302:326,12[' ]| which, operating on an active, sanguine spirit, of more 302:326,13[' ]| warmth than delicacy, made her affection appear of 302:326,14[' ]| greater consequence, because it was withheld, and determined 302:326,15[' ]| him to have the glory, as well as the felicity, of 302:326,16[' ]| forcing her to love him. 302:326,17@d | He would not despair: he would not desist. He had 302:326,18@d | every well-grounded reason for solid attachment; he 302:326,19@d | knew her to have all the worth that could justify the 302:326,20@d | warmest hopes of lasting happiness with her; her conduct 302:326,21@d | at this very time, by speaking the disinterestedness 302:326,22@d | and delicacy of her character (qualities which he believed 302:326,23@d | most rare indeed), was of a sort to heighten all his wishes, 302:326,24@d | and confirm all his resolutions. 302:326,24[' ]| He knew not that he had 302:326,25[' ]| a pre-engaged heart to attack. Of \that\, he had no suspicion. 302:326,26@d | He considered her rather as one who had never 302:326,27@d | thought on the subject enough to be in danger; who had 302:326,28@d | been guarded by youth, a youth of mind as lovely as of 302:326,29@d | person; whose modesty had prevented her from understanding 302:326,30@d | his attentions, and who was still overpowered 302:326,31@d | by the suddenness of addresses so wholly unexpected, 302:326,32@d | and the novelty of a situation which her fancy had never 302:326,33@d | taken into account. 302:327,01@d | Must it not follow of course, that when he was understood, 302:327,02@d | he should succeed? ~~ 302:327,02[' ]| he believed it fully. 302:327,02@d | Love 302:327,03@d | such as his, in a man like himself, must with perseverance 302:327,04@d | secure a return, and at no great distance; 302:327,04[' ]| and he had so 302:327,05[' ]| much delight in the idea of obliging her to love him in 302:327,06[' ]| a very short time, that her not loving him now was 302:327,07[' ]| scarcely regretted. A little difficulty to be overcome, 302:327,08[' ]| was no evil to Henry*Crawford. He rather derived spirits 302:327,09[' ]| from it. He had been apt to gain hearts too easily. His 302:327,10[' ]| situation was new and animating. 302:327,11[' ]| To Fanny, however, who had known too much opposition 302:327,12[' ]| all her life, to find any charm in it, all this was unintelligible. 302:327,13@a | She found that he did mean to persevere; 302:327,14@a | but how he could, after such language from her as she felt 302:327,15@a | herself obliged to use, was not to be understood. She 302:327,16@a | told him, that she did not love him, could not love him, 302:327,17@a | was sure she never should love him: that such a change 302:327,18@a | was quite impossible, that the subject was most painful 302:327,19@a | to her, that she must intreat him never to mention it 302:327,20@a | again, to allow her to leave him at once, and let it be considered 302:327,21@a | as concluded for*ever. 302:327,21[' ]| And when farther pressed, 302:327,22[' ]| had added, that 302:327,22@a | in her opinion their dispositions were so 302:327,23@a | totally dissimilar, as to make mutual affection incompatible; 302:327,24@a | and that they were unfitted for each other by 302:327,25@a | nature, education, and habit. All this she had said, and 302:327,26@a | with the earnestness of sincerity; yet this was not 302:327,27@a | enough, for he immediately denied there being anything 302:327,28@a | uncongenial in their characters, or anything unfriendly 302:327,29@a | in their situations; and positively declared, that he 302:327,30@a | would still love, and still hope! 302:327,31[' ]| Fanny knew her own meaning, but was no judge of her 302:327,32[' ]| own manner. Her manner was incurably gentle, and she 302:327,33[' ]| was not aware how much it concealed the sternness of her 302:327,34[' ]| purpose. Her diffidence, gratitude, and softness, made 302:327,35[' ]| every expression of indifference seem almost an effort of 302:327,36[' ]| self-denial; seem at least, to be giving nearly as much 302:327,37[' ]| pain to herself as to him. 302:327,37@a | Mr%*Crawford was no longer 302:327,38@a | the Mr%*Crawford who, as the clandestine, insidious, 302:328,01@a | treacherous admirer of Maria*Bertram, had been her 302:328,02@a | abhorrence, whom she had hated to see or to speak to, in 302:328,03@a | whom she could believe no good quality to exist, and 302:328,04@a | whose power, even of being agreeable, she had barely 302:328,05@a | acknowledged. He was now the Mr%*Crawford who was 302:328,06@a | addressing herself with ardent, disinterested, love; whose 302:328,07@a | feelings were apparently become all that was honourable 302:328,08@a | and upright, whose views of happiness were all fixed on 302:328,09@a | a marriage of attachment; who was pouring out his sense 302:328,10@a | of her merits, describing and describing again his affection, 302:328,11@a | proving, as far as words could prove it, and in the 302:328,12@a | language, tone, and spirit of a man of talent too, that he 302:328,13@a | sought her for her gentleness, and her goodness; and to 302:328,14@a | complete the whole, he was now the Mr%*Crawford who 302:328,15@a | had procured William's promotion! 302:328,16[' ]| Here was a change! and here were claims which could 302:328,17[' ]| not but operate. She might have disdained him in all 302:328,18[' ]| the dignity of angry virtue, in the grounds of Sotherton, 302:328,19[' ]| or the theatre at Mansfield*Park; but he approached her 302:328,20[' ]| now with rights that demanded different treatment. 302:328,20@a | She 302:328,21@a | must be courteous, and she must be compassionate. She 302:328,22@a | must have a sensation of being honoured, and whether 302:328,23@a | thinking of herself or her brother, she must have a strong 302:328,24@a | feeling of gratitude. 302:328,24[' ]| The effect of the whole was a manner 302:328,25[' ]| so pitying and agitated, and words intermingled with her 302:328,26[' ]| refusal so expressive of obligation and concern, that to 302:328,27[' ]| a temper of vanity and hope like Crawford's, the truth, 302:328,28[' ]| or at least the strength of her indifference, might well be 302:328,29[' ]| questionable; and he was not so irrational as Fanny considered 302:328,30[' ]| him, in the professions of persevering, assiduous, 302:328,31[' ]| and not desponding attachment which closed the interview. 302:328,32[' ]| It was with reluctance that he suffered her to go, but 302:328,33[' ]| there was no look of despair in parting to bely his words, 302:328,34[' ]| or give her hopes of his being less unreasonable than he 302:328,35[' ]| professed himself. 302:328,36[' ]| Now she was angry. 302:328,36@a | Some resentment did arise at 302:328,37@a | a perseverance so selfish and ungenerous. Here was again 302:328,38@a | a want of delicacy and regard for others which had formerly 302:329,01@a | so struck and disgusted her. Here was again a 302:329,02@a | something of the same Mr%*Crawford whom she had so 302:329,03@a | reprobated before. How evidently was there a gross want 302:329,04@a | of feeling and humanity where his own pleasure was concerned ~~ 302:329,05@a | And, alas! how always known no principle to 302:329,06@a | supply as a duty what the heart was deficient in. Had 302:329,07@a | her own affections been as free ~~ as perhaps they ought 302:329,08@a | to have been ~~ he never could have engaged them. 302:329,09[' ]| So thought Fanny in good truth and sober sadness, as 302:329,10[' ]| she sat musing over that too great indulgence and luxury 302:329,11[' ]| of a fire upstairs ~~ wondering at the past and present, 302:329,12[' ]| wondering at what was yet to come, and in a nervous 302:329,13[' ]| agitation which made nothing clear to her but the persuasion 302:329,14[' ]| of her being never under any circumstances able 302:329,15[' ]| to love Mr%*Crawford, and the felicity of having a fire to 302:329,16[' ]| sit over and think of it. 302:329,17[' ]| Sir*Thomas was obliged or obliged himself to wait till 302:329,18[' ]| the morrow for a knowledge of what had passed between 302:329,19[' ]| the young people. He then saw Mr%*Crawford, and received 302:329,20[' ]| his account. ~~ 302:329,20@e | The first feeling was disappointment; 302:329,21@e | he had hoped better things; he had thought that an hour's 302:329,22@e | intreaty from a young man like Crawford could not have 302:329,23@e | worked so little change on a gentle tempered girl like 302:329,24@e | Fanny; but there was speedy comfort in the determined 302:329,25@e | view and sanguine perseverance of the lover; 302:329,25[' ]| and when 302:329,26[' ]| seeing such confidence of success in the principal, Sir*Thomas 302:329,27[' ]| was soon able to depend on it himself. 302:329,28[' ]| Nothing was omitted, on his side, of civility, compliment, 302:329,29[' ]| or kindness, that might assist the plan. Mr%*Crawford's 302:329,30[' ]| steadiness was honoured, and Fanny was praised, 302:329,31[' ]| and the connection was still the most desirable in the 302:329,32[' ]| world. 302:329,32@e | At Mansfield*Park Mr%*Crawford would always 302:329,33@e | be welcome; he had only to consult his own judgment 302:329,34@e | and feelings as to the frequency of his visits, at present 302:329,35@e | or in future. In all his niece's family and friends there 302:329,36@e | could be but one opinion, one wish on the subject; the 302:329,37@e | influence of all who loved her must incline one way. 302:329,38[' ]| Every*thing was said that could encourage, every 302:330,01[' ]| encouragement received with grateful joy, and the gentlemen 302:330,02[' ]| parted the best of friends. 302:330,03[' ]| Satisfied that the cause was now on a footing the most 302:330,04[' ]| proper and hopeful, Sir*Thomas resolved to abstain from 302:330,05[' ]| all farther importunity with his niece, and to shew no 302:330,06[' ]| open interference. Upon her disposition he believed kindness 302:330,07[' ]| might be the best way of working. Intreaty should 302:330,08[' ]| be from one quarter only. The forbearance of her family 302:330,09[' ]| on a point, respecting which she could be in no doubt of 302:330,10[' ]| their wishes, might be their surest means of forwarding it. 302:330,11[' ]| Accordingly, on this principle Sir*Thomas took the first 302:330,12[' ]| opportunity of saying to her, with a mild gravity, intended 302:330,13[' ]| to be overcoming, 302:330,13[E ]| "Well, Fanny, I have seen Mr%*Crawford 302:330,14[E ]| again, and learn from him exactly how matters stand 302:330,15[E ]| between you. He is a most extraordinary young man, 302:330,16[E ]| and whatever be the event, you must feel that you have 302:330,17[E ]| created an attachment of no common character; though, 302:330,18[E ]| young as you are, and little acquainted with the transient, 302:330,19[E ]| varying, unsteady nature of love, as it generally exists, 302:330,20[E ]| you cannot be struck as I am with all that is wonderful 302:330,21[E ]| in a perseverance of this sort, against discouragement. 302:330,22[E ]| With him, it is entirely a matter of feeling; he claims no 302:330,23[E ]| merit in it, perhaps is entitled to none. Yet, having 302:330,24[E ]| chosen so well, his constancy has a respectable stamp. 302:330,25[E ]| Had his choice been less unexceptionable, I should have 302:330,26[E ]| condemned his persevering." 302:330,27[A ]| "Indeed, Sir," 302:330,27[' ]| said Fanny, 302:330,27[A ]| "I am very sorry that Mr%*Crawford 302:330,28[A ]| should continue to ~~ I know that it is paying 302:330,29[A ]| me a very great compliment, and I feel most undeservedly 302:330,30[A ]| honoured, but I am so perfectly convinced, and I have 302:330,31[A ]| told him so, that it never will be in my power ~~" 302:330,32[E ]| "My dear," 302:330,32[' ]| interrupted Sir*Thomas, 302:330,32[E ]| "there is no occasion 302:330,33[E ]| for this. Your feelings are as well known to me, as 302:330,34[E ]| my wishes and regrets must be to you. There is nothing 302:330,35[E ]| more to be said or done. From this hour, the subject is 302:330,36[E ]| never to be revived between us. You will have nothing 302:330,37[E ]| to fear, or to be agitated about. You cannot suppose me 302:330,38[E ]| capable of trying to persuade you to marry against your 302:331,01[E ]| inclinations. Your happiness and advantage are all that 302:331,02[E ]| I have in view, and nothing is required of you but to bear 302:331,03[E ]| with Mr%*Crawford's endeavours to convince you, that they 302:331,04[E ]| may not be incompatible with his. He proceeds at his 302:331,05[E ]| own risk. You are on safe ground. I have engaged for 302:331,06[E ]| your seeing him whenever he calls, as you might have 302:331,07[E ]| done, had nothing of this sort occurred. You will see him 302:331,08[E ]| with the rest of us, in the same manner, and as much as 302:331,09[E ]| you can, dismissing the recollection of every*thing unpleasant. 302:331,10[E ]| He leaves Northamptonshire so soon, that even 302:331,11[E ]| this slight sacrifice cannot be often demanded. The 302:331,12[E ]| future must be very uncertain. And now, my dear 302:331,13[E ]| Fanny, this subject is closed between us." 302:331,14[' ]| The promised departure was all that Fanny could think 302:331,15[' ]| of with much satisfaction. 302:331,15@a | Her uncle's kind expressions, 302:331,16@a | however, and forbearing manner, were sensibly felt; and 302:331,17@a | when she considered how much of the truth was unknown 302:331,18@a | to him, she believed she had no right to wonder at the 302:331,19@a | line of conduct he pursued. He who had married a 302:331,20@a | daughter to Mr%*Rushworth. Romantic delicacy was certainly 302:331,21@a | not to be expected from him. She must do her 302:331,22@a | duty, and trust that time might make her duty easier than 302:331,23@a | it now was. 302:331,24[' ]| She could not, though only eighteen, suppose Mr%*Crawford's 302:331,25[' ]| attachment would hold out for*ever; she could not 302:331,26[' ]| but imagine that steady, unceasing discouragement from 302:331,27[' ]| herself would put an end to it in time. How much time 302:331,28[' ]| she might, in her own fancy, allot for its dominion, is 302:331,29[' ]| another concern. It would not be fair to enquire into 302:331,30[' ]| a young lady's exact estimate of her own perfections. 302:331,31[' ]| In spite of his intended silence, Sir*Thomas found himself 302:331,32[' ]| once more obliged to mention the subject to his niece, 302:331,33[' ]| to prepare her briefly for its being imparted to her aunts; 302:331,34[' ]| a measure which he would still have avoided, if possible, 302:331,35[' ]| but which became necessary from the totally opposite 302:331,36[' ]| feelings of Mr%*Crawford, as to any secrecy of proceeding. 302:331,37[' ]| He had no idea of concealment. It was all known at the 302:331,38[' ]| parsonage, where he loved to talk over the future with 302:332,01[' ]| both his sisters; and it would be rather gratifying to him 302:332,02[' ]| to have enlightened witnesses of the progress of his success. 302:332,03[' ]| When Sir*Thomas understood this, he felt the 302:332,04[' ]| necessity of making his own wife and sister-in-law acquainted 302:332,05[' ]| with the business without delay; though on 302:332,06[' ]| Fanny's account, he almost dreaded the effect of the 302:332,07[' ]| communication to Mrs%*Norris as much as Fanny herself. 302:332,08[' ]| He deprecated her mistaken, but well-meaning zeal. Sir*Thomas, 302:332,09[' ]| indeed, was, by this time, not very far from 302:332,10[' ]| classing Mrs%*Norris as one of those well-meaning people, 302:332,11[' ]| who are always doing mistaken and very disagreeable 302:332,12[' ]| things. 302:332,13[' ]| Mrs%*Norris, however, relieved him. He pressed for 302:332,14[' ]| the strictest forbearance and silence towards their niece; 302:332,15[' ]| she not only promised, but did observe it. She only 302:332,16[' ]| looked her increased ill-will. Angry she was, bitterly 302:332,17[' ]| angry; but she was more angry with Fanny for having 302:332,18[' ]| received such an offer, than for refusing it. It was an 302:332,19[' ]| injury and affront to Julia, who ought to have been 302:332,20[' ]| Mr%*Crawford's choice; and, independently of that, she 302:332,21[' ]| disliked Fanny, because she had neglected her; and 302:332,22[' ]| she would have grudged such an elevation to one whom 302:332,23[' ]| she had been always trying to depress. 302:332,24[' ]| Sir*Thomas gave her more credit for discretion on the 302:332,25[' ]| occasion than she deserved; and Fanny could have blessed 302:332,26[' ]| her for allowing her only to see her displeasure, and not 302:332,27[' ]| to hear it. 302:332,28[' ]| Lady*Bertram took it differently. She had been a 302:332,29[' ]| beauty, and a prosperous beauty, all her life; and beauty 302:332,30[' ]| and wealth were all that excited her respect. To know 302:332,31[' ]| Fanny to be sought in marriage by a man of fortune, 302:332,32[' ]| raised her, therefore, very much in her opinion. By convincing 302:332,33[' ]| her that Fanny \was\ very pretty, which she had 302:332,34[' ]| been doubting about before, and that she would be advantageously 302:332,35[' ]| married, it made her feel a sort of credit in 302:332,36[' ]| calling her niece. 302:332,37[F ]| "Well, Fanny," 302:332,37[' ]| said she, as soon as they were alone 302:332,38[' ]| together afterwards, ~~ and she really had known something 302:333,01[' ]| like impatience, to be alone with her, and her countenance, 302:333,02[' ]| as she spoke, had extraordinary animation ~~ 302:333,03[F ]| "Well, Fanny, I have had a very agreeable surprise this 302:333,04[F ]| morning. I must just speak of it \once\, I told Sir*Thomas 302:333,05[F ]| I must \once\, and then I shall have done. I give you joy, 302:333,06[F ]| my dear niece." ~~ 302:333,06[' ]| And looking at her complacently, she 302:333,07[' ]| added 302:333,07[F ]| "Humph ~~ We certainly are a handsome family." 302:333,08[' ]| Fanny coloured, and doubted at first what to say; 302:333,09[' ]| when hoping to assail her on her vulnerable side, she 302:333,10[' ]| presently answered ~~ 302:333,11[A ]| "My dear aunt, \you\ cannot wish me to do differently 302:333,12[A ]| from what I have done, I am sure. \You\ cannot wish me 302:333,13[A ]| to marry; for you would miss me, should not you? ~~ 302:333,14[A ]| Yes, I am sure you would miss me too much for that." 302:333,15[F ]| "No, my dear, I should not think of missing you, when 302:333,16[F ]| such an offer as this comes in your way. I could do very 302:333,17[F ]| well without you, if you were married to a man of such 302:333,18[F ]| good estate as Mr%*Crawford. And you must be aware, 302:333,19[F ]| Fanny, that it is every young woman's duty to accept such 302:333,20[F ]| a very unexceptionable offer as this." 302:333,21[' ]| This was almost the only rule of conduct, the only piece 302:333,22[' ]| of advice, which Fanny had ever received from her aunt in 302:333,23[' ]| the course of eight years and a half. ~~ It silenced her. She 302:333,24[' ]| felt now unprofitable contention would be. If her aunt's 302:333,25[' ]| feelings were against her, nothing could be hoped from 302:333,26[' ]| attacking her understanding. Lady*Bertram was quite 302:333,27[' ]| talkative. 302:333,28[F ]| "I will tell you what, Fanny," 302:333,28[' ]| said she. ~~ 302:333,28[F ]| "I am sure he 302:333,29[F ]| fell in love with you at the ball, I am sure the mischief was 302:333,30[F ]| done that evening. You did look remarkably well. Every*body 302:333,31[F ]| said so. Sir*Thomas said so. And you know you had 302:333,32[F ]| Chapman to help you dress. I am very glad I sent 302:333,33[F ]| Chapman to you. I shall tell Sir*Thomas that I am sure it 302:333,34[F ]| was done that evening." ~~ 302:333,34[' ]| And still pursuing the same 302:333,35[' ]| cheerful thoughts, she soon afterwards added, ~~ 302:333,35[F ]| "And 302:333,36[F ]| I will tell you what, Fanny ~~ which is more than I did for 302:333,37[F ]| Maria ~~ the next time pug has a litter you shall have 302:333,38[F ]| a puppy." 303:334,01[' ]| Edmund had great things to hear on his return. Many 303:334,02[' ]| surprises were awaiting him. The first that occurred was 303:334,03[' ]| not least in interest, ~~ the appearance of Henry*Crawford 303:334,04[' ]| and his sister walking together through the village, as he 303:334,05[' ]| rode into it. ~~ He had concluded, ~~ he had meant them to 303:334,06[' ]| be far distant. His absence had been extended beyond 303:334,07[' ]| a fortnight purposely to avoid Miss*Crawford. He was 303:334,08[' ]| returning to Mansfield with spirits ready to feed on 303:334,09[' ]| melancholy remembrances, and tender associations, when 303:334,10[' ]| her own fair self was before him, leaning on her brother's 303:334,11[' ]| arm; and he found himself receiving a welcome, unquestionably 303:334,12[' ]| friendly, from the woman whom, two 303:334,13[' ]| moments before, he had been thinking of as seventy miles 303:334,14[' ]| off, and as farther, much farther from him in inclination 303:334,15[' ]| than any distance could express. 303:334,16[' ]| Her reception of him was of a sort which he could not have 303:334,17[' ]| hoped for, had he expected to see her. Coming as he did 303:334,18[' ]| from such a purport fulfilled as had taken him away, he 303:334,19[' ]| would have expected any*thing rather than a look of 303:334,20[' ]| satisfaction, and words of simple, pleasant meaning. It 303:334,21[' ]| was enough to set his heart in a glow, and to bring him 303:334,22[' ]| home in the properest state for feeling the full value of the 303:334,23[' ]| other joyful surprises at hand. 303:334,24[' ]| William's promotion, with all its particulars, he was 303:334,25[' ]| soon master of; and with such a secret provision of 303:334,26[' ]| comfort within his own breast to help the joy, he found in 303:334,27[' ]| it a source of most gratifying sensation, and unvarying 303:334,28[' ]| cheerfulness all dinner-time. 303:334,29[' ]| After dinner, when he and his father were alone, he had 303:334,30[' ]| Fanny's history; and then all the great events of the last 303:334,31[' ]| fortnight, and the present situation of matters at Mansfield 303:334,32[' ]| were known to him. 303:334,33[' ]| Fanny suspected what was going on. They sat so much 303:335,01[' ]| longer than usual in the dining*parlour, that she was sure 303:335,02[' ]| they must be talking of her; and when tea at last brought 303:335,03[' ]| them away, and she was to be seen by Edmund again, she 303:335,04[' ]| felt dreadfully guilty. He came to her, sat down by her, 303:335,05[' ]| took her hand, and pressed it kindly; and at that moment 303:335,06[' ]| she thought that, but for the occupation and the scene 303:335,07[' ]| which the tea things afforded, she must have betrayed her 303:335,08[' ]| emotion in some unpardonable excess. 303:335,09[' ]| He was not intending, however, by such action, to be 303:335,10[' ]| conveying to her that unqualified approbation and 303:335,11[' ]| encouragement which her hopes drew from it. It was 303:335,12[' ]| designed only to express his participation in all that 303:335,13[' ]| interested her, and to tell her that he had been hearing 303:335,14[' ]| what quickened every feeling of affection. He was, in fact, 303:335,15[' ]| entirely on his father's side of the question. His surprise 303:335,16[' ]| was not so great as his father's, at her refusing Crawford, 303:335,17[' ]| because, so far from supposing her to consider him with 303:335,18[' ]| anything like a preference, he had always believed it to be 303:335,19[' ]| rather the reverse, and could imagine her to be taken 303:335,20[' ]| perfectly unprepared, but Sir*Thomas could not regard the 303:335,21[' ]| connection as more desirable than he did. It had every 303:335,22[' ]| recommendation to him, and while honouring her for what 303:335,23[' ]| she had done under the influence of her present indifference, 303:335,24[' ]| honouring her in rather stronger terms than Sir*Thomas 303:335,25[' ]| could quite echo, he was most earnest in hoping, 303:335,26[' ]| and sanguine in believing, that it would be a match at last, 303:335,27[' ]| and that, united by mutual affection, it would appear that 303:335,28[' ]| their dispositions were as exactly fitted to make them 303:335,29[' ]| blessed in each other, as he was now beginning seriously to 303:335,30[' ]| consider them. 303:335,30@b | Crawford had been too precipitate. He 303:335,31@b | had not given her time to attach herself. He had begun at 303:335,32@b | the wrong end. With such powers as his, however, and 303:335,33@b | such a disposition as hers, 303:335,33[' ]| Edmund trusted that 303:335,33@b | every*thing 303:335,34@b | would work out a happy conclusion. 303:335,34[' ]| Meanwhile, he 303:335,35[' ]| saw enough of Fanny's embarrassment to make him 303:335,36[' ]| scrupulously guard against exciting it a second time, by 303:335,37[' ]| any word, or look, or movement. 303:335,38[' ]| Crawford called the next day, and on the score of 303:336,01[' ]| Edmund's return, Sir*Thomas felt himself more than 303:336,02[' ]| licensed to ask him to stay dinner; it was really a 303:336,03[' ]| necessary compliment. He staid of course, and Edmund 303:336,04[' ]| had then ample opportunity for observing how he sped 303:336,05[' ]| with Fanny, and what degree of immediate encouragement 303:336,06[' ]| for him might be extracted from her manners; 303:336,06@b | and it was 303:336,07@b | so little, so very very little, (every chance, every possibility 303:336,08@b | of it, resting upon her embarrassment only, if there was not 303:336,09@b | hope in her confusion, there was hope in nothing else) that 303:336,10@b | he was almost ready to wonder at his friend's perseverance. 303:336,11@b | ~~ Fanny was worth it all; he held her to be worth every 303:336,12@b | effort of patience, every exertion of mind ~~ but he did not 303:336,13@b | think he could have gone on himself with any woman 303:336,14@b | breathing, without something more to warm his courage 303:336,15@b | than his eyes could discern in hers. He was very willing to 303:336,16@b | hope that Crawford saw clearer; and this was the most 303:336,17@b | comfortable conclusion for his friend that he could come to 303:336,18@b | from all that he observed to pass before, and at, and after 303:336,19@b | dinner. 303:336,20[' ]| In the evening a few circumstances occurred which he 303:336,21[' ]| thought more promising. When he and Crawford walked 303:336,22[' ]| into the drawing-room, his mother and Fanny were sitting 303:336,23[' ]| as intently and silently at work as if there were nothing 303:336,24[' ]| else to care for. Edmund could not help noticing their 303:336,25[' ]| apparently deep tranquillity. 303:336,26[F ]| "We have not been so silent all the time," 303:336,26[' ]| replied his 303:336,27[' ]| mother. 303:336,27[F ]| "Fanny has been reading to me, and only put the 303:336,28[F ]| book down upon hearing you coming." ~~ 303:336,28[' ]| And sure enough 303:336,29[' ]| there was a book on the table which had the air of being 303:336,30[' ]| very recently closed, a volume of Shakespeare. ~~ 303:336,30[F ]| "She 303:336,31[F ]| often reads to me out of those books; and she was in the 303:336,32[F ]| middle of a very fine speech of that man's ~~ What's his 303:336,33[F ]| name, Fanny? ~~ when we heard your footsteps." 303:336,34[' ]| Crawford took the volume. 303:336,34[D ]| "Let me have the pleasure 303:336,35[D ]| of finishing that speech to your ladyship," 303:336,35[' ]| said he. 303:336,36[D ]| "I shall find it immediately," 303:336,36[' ]| And by carefully giving 303:336,37[' ]| way to the inclination of the leaves, he did find it, or within 303:336,38[' ]| a page or two, quite near enough to satisfy Lady*Bertram, 303:337,01[' ]| who assured him, as soon as he mentioned the name of 303:337,02[' ]| Cardinal*Wolsey, that he had got the very speech. ~~ Not 303:337,03[' ]| a look, or an offer of help had Fanny given; not a syllable 303:337,04[' ]| for or against. All her attention was for her work. She 303:337,05[' ]| seemed determined to be interested by nothing else. But 303:337,06[' ]| taste was too strong in her. She could not abstract her 303:337,07[' ]| mind five minutes; she was forced to listen; 303:337,07@a | his reading 303:337,08@a | was capital, and her pleasure in good reading extreme. 303:337,09@a | To \good\ reading, however, she had been long used; her 303:337,10@a | uncle read well ~~ her cousins all ~~ Edmund very well; but 303:337,11@a | in Mr%*Crawford's reading there was a variety of excellence 303:337,12@a | beyond what she had ever met with. The King, the 303:337,13@a | Queen, Buckingham, Wolsey, Cromwell, all were given in 303:337,14@a | turn; for with the happiest knack, the happiest power of 303:337,15@a | jumping and guessing, he could always light, at will, on the 303:337,16@a | best scene, or the best speeches of each; and whether 303:337,17@a | it were dignity or pride, or tenderness or remorse, or 303:337,18@a | whatever were to be expressed, he could do it with equal 303:337,19@a | beauty. ~~ It was truly dramatic. ~~ 303:337,19[' ]| His acting had first 303:337,20[' ]| taught Fanny what pleasure a play might give, and his 303:337,21[' ]| reading brought all his acting before her again; nay, 303:337,22[' ]| perhaps with greater enjoyment, for it came unexpectedly, 303:337,23[' ]| and with no such drawback as she had been used to suffer 303:337,24[' ]| in seeing him on the stage with Miss*Bertram. 303:337,25[' ]| Edmund watched the progress of her attention, and was 303:337,26[' ]| amused and gratified by seeing how she gradually slackened 303:337,27[' ]| in the needle-work, which, at the beginning, seemed to 303:337,28[' ]| occupy her totally; 303:337,28@b | how it fell from her hand while she sat 303:337,29@b | motionless over it ~~ and at last, how the eyes which had 303:337,30@b | appeared so studiously to avoid him throughout the day, 303:337,31@b | were turned and fixed on Crawford, fixed on him for 303:337,32@b | minutes, fixed on him in short till the attraction drew 303:337,33@b | Crawford's upon her, and the book was closed, and the 303:337,34@b | charm was broken. Then, she was shrinking again into 303:337,35@b | herself, and blushing and working as hard as ever; 303:337,35[' ]| but it 303:337,36[' ]| had been enough to give Edmund encouragement for his 303:337,37[' ]| friend, and as he cordially thanked him, he hoped to be 303:337,38[' ]| expressing Fanny's secret feelings too. 303:338,01[B ]| "That play must be a favourite with you," 303:338,01[' ]| said he; 303:338,02[B ]| "You read as if you knew it well." 303:338,03[D ]| "It will be a favourite I believe from this hour," 303:338,03[' ]| replied 303:338,04[' ]| Crawford; ~~ 303:338,04[D ]| "but I do not think I have had a volume of 303:338,05[D ]| Shakespeare in my hand before, since I was fifteen. ~~ I 303:338,06[D ]| once saw Henry*the*8th acted. ~~ Or I have heard of it 303:338,07[D ]| from somebody who did ~~ I am not certain which. But 303:338,08[D ]| Shakespeare one gets acquainted with without knowing 303:338,09[D ]| how. It is a part of an Englishman's constitution. His 303:338,10[D ]| thoughts and beauties are so spread abroad that one 303:338,11[D ]| touches them every*where, one is intimate with him by 303:338,12[D ]| instinct. ~~ No man of any brain can open at a good part 303:338,13[D ]| of one of his plays, without falling into the flow of his 303:338,14[D ]| meaning immediately." 303:338,15[B ]| "No doubt, one is familiar with Shakespeare in a degree," 303:338,16[' ]| said Edmund, 303:338,16[B ]| "from one's earliest years. His celebrated 303:338,17[B ]| passages are quoted by every*body; they are in half the 303:338,18[B ]| books we open, and we all talk Shakespeare, use his 303:338,19[B ]| similies, and describe with his descriptions; but this is 303:338,20[B ]| totally distinct from giving his sense as you gave it. To 303:338,21[B ]| know him in bits and scraps, is common enough; to know 303:338,22[B ]| him pretty thoroughly, is, perhaps, not uncommon; but to 303:338,23[B ]| read him well aloud, is no every-day talent." 303:338,24[D ]| "Sir, you do me honour;" 303:338,24[' ]| was Crawford's answer, with 303:338,25[' ]| a bow of mock gravity. 303:338,26[' ]| Both gentlemen had a glance at Fanny, to see if a word 303:338,27[' ]| of accordant praise could be extorted from her; yet both 303:338,28[' ]| feeling that it could not be. Her praise had been given in 303:338,29[' ]| her attention; \that\ must content them. 303:338,30[' ]| Lady*Bertram's admiration was expressed, and strongly 303:338,31[' ]| too. 303:338,31[F ]| "It was really like being at a play," 303:338,31[' ]| said she. ~~ 303:338,32[F ]| "I wish Sir*Thomas had been here." 303:338,33[' ]| Crawford was excessively pleased. ~~ 303:338,33@d | If Lady*Bertram, 303:338,34@d | with all her incompetency and languor, could feel this, the 303:338,35@d | inference of what her niece, alive and enlightened as she 303:338,36@d | was, must feel, was elevating. 303:338,37[F ]| "You have a great turn for acting, I am sure, Mr%*Crawford," 303:338,38[' ]| said her Ladyship soon afterwards ~~ 303:338,38[F ]| "and I will tell 303:339,01[F ]| you what, I think you will have a theatre, some time or 303:339,02[F ]| other, at your house in Norfolk. I mean when you are 303:339,03[F ]| settled there. I do, indeed. I think you will fit up 303:339,04[F ]| a theatre at your house in Norfolk." 303:339,05[D ]| "Do you, Ma'am?" 303:339,05[' ]| cried he with quickness. 303:339,05[D ]| "No, no, 303:339,06[D ]| that will never be. Your Ladyship is quite mistaken. No 303:339,07[D ]| theatre at Everingham! Oh! no." ~~ 303:339,07[' ]| And he looked at 303:339,08[' ]| Fanny with an expressive smile, which evidently meant, 303:339,09@d | "that lady will never allow a theatre at Everingham." 303:339,10[' ]| Edmund saw it all, 303:339,10@b | and saw Fanny so determined \not\ to 303:339,11@b | see it, as to make it clear that the voice was enough to 303:339,12@b | convey the full meaning of the protestation; and such 303:339,13@b | a quick consciousness of compliment, such a ready comprehension 303:339,14@b | of a hint, 303:339,14[' ]| he thought, 303:339,14@b | was rather favourable 303:339,15@b | than not. 303:339,16[' ]| The subject of reading aloud was farther discussed. 303:339,17[' ]| The two young men were the only talkers, but they, 303:339,18[' ]| standing by the fire, talked over the too common neglect of 303:339,19[' ]| the qualification, the total inattention to it, in the ordinary 303:339,20[' ]| school-system for boys, the consequently natural ~~ yet in 303:339,21[' ]| some instances almost unnatural degree of ignorance and 303:339,22[' ]| uncouthness of men, of sensible and well-informed men, 303:339,23[' ]| when suddenly called to the necessity of reading aloud, 303:339,24[' ]| which had fallen within their notice, giving instances of 303:339,25[' ]| blunders, and failures with their secondary causes, the 303:339,26[' ]| want of management of the voice, of proper modulation 303:339,27[' ]| and emphasis, of foresight and judgment, all proceeding 303:339,28[' ]| from the first cause, want of early attention and habit; 303:339,29[' ]| and Fanny was listening again with great entertainment. 303:339,30[B ]| "Even in my profession" ~~ 303:339,30[' ]| said Edmund with a smile 303:339,31[B ]| ~~ "how little the art of reading has been studied! how 303:339,32[B ]| little a clear manner, and good delivery, have been attended 303:339,33[B ]| to! I speak rather of the past, however, than the present. 303:339,34[B ]| ~~ There is now a spirit of improvement abroad; but 303:339,35[B ]| among those who were ordained twenty, thirty, forty years 303:339,36[B ]| ago, the larger number, to judge by their performance, 303:339,37[B ]| must have thought reading was reading, and preaching was 303:339,38[B ]| preaching. It is different now. The subject is more justly 303:340,01[B ]| considered. It is felt that distinctness and energy may 303:340,02[B ]| have weight in recommending the most solid truths; and, 303:340,03[B ]| besides, there is more general observation and taste, 303:340,04[B ]| a more critical knowledge diffused, than formerly; in 303:340,05[B ]| every congregation, there is a larger proportion who know 303:340,06[B ]| a little of the matter, and who can judge and criticize." 303:340,07[' ]| Edmund had already gone through the service once since 303:340,08[' ]| his ordination; and upon this being understood, he had 303:340,09[' ]| a variety of questions from Crawford as to his feelings and 303:340,10[' ]| success; questions which being made ~~ though with the 303:340,11[' ]| vivacity of friendly interest and quick taste ~~ without any 303:340,12[' ]| touch of that spirit of banter or air of levity which Edmund 303:340,13[' ]| knew to be most offensive to Fanny, he had true pleasure in 303:340,14[' ]| satisfying; and when Crawford proceeded to ask his 303:340,15[' ]| opinion and give his own as to the properest manner in 303:340,16[' ]| which particular passages in the service should be delivered, 303:340,17[' ]| shewing it to be a subject on which he had thought 303:340,18[' ]| before, and thought with judgment, Edmund was still 303:340,19[' ]| more and more pleased. 303:340,19@b | This would be the way to Fanny's 303:340,20@b | heart. She was not to be won by all that gallantry and wit, 303:340,21@b | and good*nature together, could do; or at least, she would 303:340,22@b | not be won by them nearly so soon, without the assistance 303:340,23@b | of sentiment and feeling, and seriousness on serious 303:340,24@b | subjects. 303:340,25[D ]| "Our liturgy," 303:340,25[' ]| observed Crawford, 303:340,25[D ]| "has beauties, 303:340,26[D ]| which not even a careless, slovenly style of reading can 303:340,27[D ]| destroy; but it has also redundancies and repetitions, 303:340,28[D ]| which require good reading not to be felt. For myself, at 303:340,29[D ]| least, I must confess being not always so attentive as 303:340,30[D ]| I ought to be ~~ 303:340,30[' ]| (here was a glance at Fanny) 303:340,30[D ]| that nineteen 303:340,31[D ]| times out of twenty I am thinking how such a prayer 303:340,32[D ]| ought to be read, and longing to have it to read myself ~~ 303:340,33[D ]| Did you speak?" 303:340,33[' ]| stepping eagerly to Fanny, and addressing 303:340,34[' ]| her in a softened voice; and upon her saying, 303:340,34[A ]| "No," 303:340,35[' ]| he added, 303:340,35[D ]| "Are you sure you did not speak? I saw your 303:340,36[D ]| lips move. I fancied you might be going to tell me 303:340,37[D ]| I \ought\ to be more attentive, and not \allow\ my thoughts to 303:340,38[D ]| wander. Are not you going to tell me so?" 303:341,01[A ]| "No, indeed, you know your duty too well for me to ~~ 303:341,02[A ]| even supposing ~~" 303:341,03[' ]| She stopt, felt herself getting into a puzzle, and could not 303:341,04[' ]| be prevailed on to add another word, not by dint of several 303:341,05[' ]| minutes of supplication and waiting. He then returned to 303:341,06[' ]| his former station, and went on as if there had been no such 303:341,07[' ]| tender interruption. 303:341,08[D ]| "A sermon, well delivered, is more uncommon even than 303:341,09[D ]| prayers well read. A sermon, good in itself, is no rare 303:341,10[D ]| thing. It is more difficult to speak well than to compose 303:341,11[D ]| well; that is, the rules and trick of composition are oftener 303:341,12[D ]| an object of study. A thoroughly good sermon, thoroughly 303:341,13[D ]| well delivered, is a capital gratification. I can never hear 303:341,14[D ]| such a one without the greatest admiration and respect, 303:341,15[D ]| and more than half a mind to take orders and preach 303:341,16[D ]| myself. There is something in the eloquence of the pulpit, 303:341,17[D ]| when it is really eloquence, which is entitled to the highest 303:341,18[D ]| praise and honour. The preacher who can touch and 303:341,19[D ]| affect such an heterogeneous mass of hearers, on subjects 303:341,20[D ]| limited, and long worn thread-bare in all common hands; 303:341,21[D ]| who can say any*thing new or striking, any*thing that 303:341,22[D ]| rouses the attention, without offending the taste, or 303:341,23[D ]| wearing out the feelings of his hearers, is a man whom one 303:341,24[D ]| could not (in his public capacity) honour enough. I should 303:341,25[D ]| like to be such a man." 303:341,26[' ]| Edmund laughed. 303:341,27[D ]| "I should indeed. I never listened to a distinguished 303:341,28[D ]| preacher in my life, without a sort of envy. But then, 303:341,29[D ]| I must have a London audience. I could not preach, but 303:341,30[D ]| to the educated; to those who were capable of estimating 303:341,31[D ]| my composition. And, I do not know that I should be fond 303:341,32[D ]| of preaching often; now and then, perhaps, once or twice 303:341,33[D ]| in the spring, after being anxiously expected for half 303:341,34[D ]| a dozen Sundays together; but not for a constancy; it 303:341,35[D ]| would not do for a constancy." 303:341,36[' ]| Here Fanny, who could not but listen, involuntarily 303:341,37[' ]| shook her head, and Crawford was instantly by her side 303:341,38[' ]| again, intreating to know her meaning; and as Edmund 303:342,01[' ]| perceived, 303:342,01@b | by his drawing in a chair, and sitting down close 303:342,02@b | by her, that it was to be a very thorough attack, that looks 303:342,03@b | and undertones were to be well tried, 303:342,03[' ]| he sank as quietly 303:342,04[' ]| as possible into a corner, turned his back, and took up 303:342,05[' ]| a newspaper, 303:342,05@b | very sincerely wishing that dear little Fanny 303:342,06@b | might be persuaded into explaining away that shake of the 303:342,07@b | head to the satisfaction of her ardent lover; 303:342,07[' ]| and as 303:342,08[' ]| earnestly trying to bury every sound of the business from 303:342,09[' ]| himself in murmurs of his own, over the various advertisements 303:342,10[' ]| of 303:342,10@z | "a most desirable estate in South*Wales" ~~ "To 303:342,11@z | Parents and Guardians" 303:342,11[' ]| and a 303:342,11@z | "Capital season'd Hunter." 303:342,12[' ]| Fanny, meanwhile, 303:342,12@a | vexed with herself for not having 303:342,13@a | been as motionless as she was speechless, and grieved to the 303:342,14@a | heart to see Edmund's arrangements, 303:342,14[' ]| was trying, by every*thing 303:342,15[' ]| in the power of her modest gentle nature, to repulse 303:342,16[' ]| Mr%*Crawford, and avoid both his looks and enquiries; and 303:342,17[' ]| he unrepulsable was persisting in both. 303:342,18[D ]| "What did that shake of the head mean?" 303:342,18[' ]| said he. 303:342,19[D ]| "What was it meant to express? Disapprobation, I fear. 303:342,20[D ]| But of what? ~~ What had I been saying to displease you? 303:342,21[D ]| ~~ Did you think me speaking improperly? ~~ lightly, 303:342,22[D ]| irreverently on the subject? ~~ Only tell me if I was. Only 303:342,23[D ]| tell me if I was wrong. I want to be set right. Nay, nay, 303:342,24[D ]| I entreat you; for one moment put down your work. 303:342,25[D ]| What did that shake of the head mean?" 303:342,26[' ]| In vain was her 303:342,26[A ]| "Pray, Sir, don't ~~ pray, Mr%*Crawford," 303:342,27[' ]| repeated twice over; and in vain did she try to move 303:342,28[' ]| away ~~ In the same low eager voice, and the same close 303:342,29[' ]| neighbourhood, he went on, re-urging the same questions 303:342,30[' ]| as before. She grew more agitated and displeased. 303:342,31[A ]| "How can you, Sir? You quite astonish me ~~ I wonder 303:342,32[A ]| how you can" ~~ 303:342,33[D ]| "Do I astonish you?" 303:342,33[' ]| said he. 303:342,33[D ]| "Do you wonder? 303:342,34[D ]| Is there any*thing in my present intreaty that you do not 303:342,35[D ]| understand? I will explain to you instantly all that makes 303:342,36[D ]| me urge you in this manner, all that gives me an interest in 303:342,37[D ]| what you look and do, and excites my present curiosity. 303:342,38[D ]| I will not leave you to wonder long." 303:343,01[' ]| In spite of herself, she could not help half a smile, but 303:343,02[' ]| she said nothing. 303:343,03[D ]| "You shook your head at my acknowledging that 303:343,04[D ]| I should not like to engage in the duties of a clergyman 303:343,05[D ]| always, for a constancy. Yes, that was the word. Constancy, 303:343,06[D ]| I am not afraid of the word. I would spell it, read 303:343,07[D ]| it, write it with any*body. I see nothing alarming in the 303:343,08[D ]| word. Did you think I ought?" 303:343,09[A ]| "Perhaps, Sir," 303:343,09[' ]| said Fanny, wearied at last into 303:343,10[' ]| speaking ~~ 303:343,10[A ]| "perhaps, Sir, I thought it was a pity you did 303:343,11[A ]| not always know yourself as well as you seemed to do at 303:343,12[A ]| that moment." 303:343,13[' ]| Crawford, delighted to get her to speak at any rate, was 303:343,14[' ]| determined to keep it up; and poor Fanny, 303:343,14@a | who had 303:343,15@a | hoped to silence him by such an extremity of reproof, found 303:343,16@a | herself sadly mistaken, and that it was only a change from 303:343,17@a | one object of curiosity and one set of words to another. 303:343,18@d | He had always something to intreat the explanation of. 303:343,19@d | The opportunity was too fair. None such had occurred 303:343,20@d | since his seeing her in her uncle's room, none such might 303:343,21@d | occur again before his leaving Mansfield. Lady*Bertram's 303:343,22@d | being just on the other side of the table was a trifle, for 303:343,22@d | she 303:343,23@d | might always be considered as only half awake, and 303:343,24@d | Edmund's advertisements were still of the first utility. 303:343,25[D ]| "Well," 303:343,25[' ]| said Crawford, after a course of rapid questions 303:343,26[' ]| and reluctant answers ~~ 303:343,26[D ]| "I am happier than I was, 303:343,27[D ]| because I now understand more clearly your opinion of me. 303:343,28[D ]| You think me unsteady ~~ easily swayed by the whim of the 303:343,29[D ]| moment ~~ easily tempted ~~ easily put aside. With such an 303:343,30[D ]| opinion, no wonder that ~~ But we shall see. ~~ It is not by 303:343,31[D ]| protestations that I shall endeavour to convince you I am 303:343,32[D ]| wronged, it is not by telling you that my affections are 303:343,33[D ]| steady. My conduct shall speak for me ~~ absence, 303:343,34[D ]| distance, time shall speak for me. ~~ \They\ shall prove, that 303:343,35[D ]| as far as you can be deserved by any*body, I do deserve 303:343,36[D ]| you. ~~ You are infinitely my superior in merit; all \that\ 303:343,37[D ]| I know. ~~ You have qualities which I had not before 303:343,38[D ]| supposed to exist in such a degree in any human creature. 303:344,01[D ]| You have some touches of the angel in you, beyond what ~~ 303:344,02[D ]| not merely beyond what one sees, because one never sees 303:344,03[D ]| any*thing like it ~~ but beyond what one fancies might be. 303:344,04[D ]| But still I am not frightened. It is not by equality of merit 303:344,05[D ]| that you can be won. That is out of the question. It is he 303:344,06[D ]| who sees and worships your merit the strongest, who loves 303:344,07[D ]| you most devotedly, that has the best right to a return. 303:344,08[D ]| There I build my confidence. By that right I do and will 303:344,09[D ]| deserve you; and when once convinced that my attachment 303:344,10[D ]| is what I declare it, I know you too well not to 303:344,11[D ]| entertain the warmest hopes ~~ Yes, dearest, sweetest 303:344,12[D ]| Fanny ~~ Nay ~~ 303:344,12[' ]| (seeing her draw back displeased) 303:344,12[D ]| forgive 303:344,13[D ]| me. Perhaps I have as yet no right ~~ but by what other 303:344,14[D ]| name can I call you? Do you suppose you are ever 303:344,15[D ]| present to my imagination under any other? No, it is 303:344,16[D ]| ""Fanny"" that I think of all day, and dream of all night. ~~ 303:344,17[D ]| You have given the name such reality of sweetness, that 303:344,18[D ]| nothing else can now be descriptive of you." 303:344,19[' ]| Fanny could hardly have kept her seat any longer, or 303:344,20[' ]| have refrained from at least trying to get away in spite of 303:344,21[' ]| all the too public opposition she foresaw to it, had it not 303:344,22[' ]| been for the sound of approaching relief, the very sound 303:344,23[' ]| which she had been long watching for, and long thinking 303:344,24[' ]| strangely delayed. 303:344,25[' ]| The solemn procession, headed by Baddely, of tea-board, 303:344,26[' ]| urn, and cake-bearers, made its appearance, and delivered 303:344,27[' ]| her from a grievous imprisonment of body and mind. 303:344,28[' ]| Mr%*Crawford was obliged to move. She was at liberty, 303:344,29[' ]| she was busy, she was protected. 303:344,30[' ]| Edmund was not sorry to be admitted again among the 303:344,31[' ]| number of those who might speak and hear. But though 303:344,32[' ]| the conference had seemed full long to him, and though on 303:344,33[' ]| looking at Fanny he saw rather a flush of vexation, he 303:344,34[' ]| inclined to hope that so much could not have been said and 303:344,35[' ]| listened to, without some profit to the speaker. 304:345,01[' ]| Edmund had determined that 304:345,01@b | it belonged entirely to 304:345,02@b | Fanny to chuse whether her situation with regard to 304:345,03@b | Crawford should be mentioned between them or not; 304:345,04@b | and that if she did not lead the way, it should never be 304:345,05@b | touched on by him; 304:345,05[' ]| but after a day or two of mutual 304:345,06[' ]| reserve, he was induced by his father to change his mind, 304:345,07[' ]| and try what his influence might do for his friend. 304:345,08[' ]| A day, and a very early day, was actually fixed for the 304:345,09[' ]| Crawfords' departure; and Sir*Thomas thought 304:345,09@e | it might 304:345,10@e | be as well to make one more effort for the young man 304:345,11@e | before he left Mansfield, that all his professions and vows 304:345,12@e | of unshaken attachment might have as much hope to 304:345,13@e | sustain them as possible. 304:345,14[' ]| Sir*Thomas was most cordially anxious for the perfection 304:345,15[' ]| of Mr%*Crawford's character in that point. 304:345,15@e | He wished 304:345,16@e | him to be a model of constancy; and fancied the best 304:345,17@e | means of effecting it would be by not trying him too long. 304:345,18[' ]| Edmund was not unwilling to be persuaded to engage 304:345,19[' ]| in the business; 304:345,19@b | he wanted to know Fanny's feelings. 304:345,20@b | She had been used to consult him in every difficulty, and 304:345,21@b | he loved her too well to bear to be denied her confidence 304:345,22@b | now; he hoped to be of service to her, he thought he must 304:345,23@b | be of service to her, whom else had she to open her heart 304:345,24@b | to? If she did not need counsel, she must need the comfort 304:345,25@b | of communication. Fanny estranged from him, 304:345,26@b | silent and reserved, was an unnatural state of things; 304:345,27@b | a state which he must break through, and which he 304:345,28@b | could easily learn to think she was wanting him to break 304:345,29@b | through. 304:345,30[B ]| "I will speak to her, Sir; I will take the first opportunity 304:345,31[B ]| of speaking to her alone," 304:345,31[' ]| was the result of such 304:345,32[' ]| thoughts as these; and upon Sir*Thomas's information 304:346,01[' ]| of her being at that very time walking alone in the shrubbery, 304:346,02[' ]| he instantly joined her. 304:346,03[B ]| "I am come to walk with you, Fanny," 304:346,03[' ]| said he. 304:346,04[B ]| "Shall I?" ~~ 304:346,04[' ]| (drawing her arm within his,) 304:346,04[B ]| "it is a long 304:346,05[B ]| while since we have had a comfortable walk together." 304:346,06[' ]| She assented to it all rather by look than word. Her 304:346,07[' ]| spirits were low. 304:346,08[B ]| "But, Fanny," 304:346,08[' ]| he presently added, 304:346,08[B ]| "in order to have 304:346,09[B ]| a comfortable walk, something more is necessary than 304:346,10[B ]| merely pacing this gravel together. You must talk to 304:346,11[B ]| me. I know you have something on your mind. I know 304:346,12[B ]| what you are thinking of. You cannot suppose me uninformed. 304:346,13[B ]| Am I to hear of it from every*body but Fanny 304:346,14[B ]| herself?" 304:346,15[' ]| Fanny, at once agitated and dejected, replied, 304:346,15[A ]| "If you 304:346,16[A ]| hear of it from every*body, cousin, there can be nothing 304:346,17[A ]| for me to tell." 304:346,18[B ]| "Not of facts, perhaps; but of feelings, Fanny. No*one 304:346,19[B ]| but you can tell me them. I do not mean to press 304:346,20[B ]| you, however. If it is not what you wish yourself, I have 304:346,21[B ]| done. I had thought it might be a relief." 304:346,22[A ]| "I am afraid we think too differently, for me to find 304:346,23[A ]| any relief in talking of what I feel." 304:346,24[B ]| "Do you suppose that we think differently? I have 304:346,25[B ]| no idea of it. I dare say, that on a comparison of our 304:346,26[B ]| opinions, they would be found as much alike as they have 304:346,27[B ]| been used to be: to the point ~~ I consider Crawford's 304:346,28[B ]| proposals as most advantageous and desirable, if you could 304:346,29[B ]| return his affection. I consider it as most natural that all 304:346,30[B ]| your family should wish you could return it; but that 304:346,31[B ]| as you cannot, you have done exactly as you ought in 304:346,32[B ]| refusing him. Can there be any disagreement between 304:346,33[B ]| us here?" 304:346,34[A ]| "Oh no! But I thought you blamed me. I thought 304:346,35[A ]| you were against me. This is such a comfort." 304:346,36[B ]| "This comfort you might have had sooner, Fanny, had 304:346,37[B ]| you sought it. But how could you possibly suppose me 304:346,38[B ]| against you? How could you imagine me an advocate 304:347,01[B ]| for marriage without love? Were I even careless in 304:347,02[B ]| general on such matters, how could you imagine me so 304:347,03[B ]| where \your\ happiness was at stake?" 304:347,04[A ]| "My uncle thought me wrong, and I knew he had been 304:347,05[A ]| talking to you." 304:347,06[B ]| "As far as you have gone, Fanny, I think you perfectly 304:347,07[B ]| right. I may be sorry, I may be surprised ~~ though 304:347,08[B ]| hardly \that\, for you had not had time to attach yourself; 304:347,09[B ]| but I think you perfectly right. Can it admit of a question? 304:347,10[B ]| It is disgraceful to us if it does. You did not love 304:347,11[B ]| him ~~ nothing could have justified your accepting him." 304:347,12[' ]| Fanny had not felt so comfortable for days and days. 304:347,13[B ]| "So far your conduct has been faultless, and they were 304:347,14[B ]| quite mistaken who wished you to do otherwise. But the 304:347,15[B ]| matter does not end here. Crawford's is no common 304:347,16[B ]| attachment; he perseveres, with the hope of creating 304:347,17[B ]| that regard which had not been created before. This, 304:347,18[B ]| we know, must be a work of time. But 304:347,18[' ]| (with an affectionate 304:347,19[' ]| smile), 304:347,19[B ]| let him succeed at last, Fanny, let him 304:347,20[B ]| succeed at last. You have proved yourself upright and 304:347,21[B ]| disinterested, prove yourself grateful and tender-hearted; 304:347,22[B ]| and then you will be the perfect model of a woman, which 304:347,23[B ]| I have always believed you born for." 304:347,24[A ]| "Oh! never, never, never; he never will succeed with 304:347,25[A ]| me." 304:347,25[' ]| And she spoke with a warmth which quite astonished 304:347,26[' ]| Edmund, and which she blushed at the recollection 304:347,27[' ]| of herself, when she saw his look, and heard him reply, 304:347,28[B ]| "Never, Fanny, so very determined and positive! This 304:347,29[B ]| is not like yourself, your rational self." 304:347,30[A ]| "I mean," 304:347,30[' ]| she cried, sorrowfully, correcting herself, 304:347,31[A ]| "that I \think\, I never shall, as far as the future can be 304:347,32[A ]| answered for ~~ I think I never shall return his regard." 304:347,33[B ]| "I must hope better things. I am aware, more aware 304:347,34[B ]| than Crawford can be, that the man who means to make 304:347,35[B ]| you love him (you having due notice of his intentions), 304:347,36[B ]| must have very up-hill work, for there are all your early 304:347,37[B ]| attachments, and habits, in battle array; and before he 304:347,38[B ]| can get your heart for his own use, he has to unfasten it 304:348,01[B ]| from all the holds upon things animate and inanimate, 304:348,02[B ]| which so many years growth have confirmed, and which 304:348,03[B ]| are considerably tightened for the moment by the very 304:348,04[B ]| idea of separation. I know that the apprehension of 304:348,05[B ]| being forced to quit Mansfield will for a time be arming 304:348,06[B ]| you against him. I wish he had not been obliged to tell 304:348,07[B ]| you what he was trying for. I wish he had known you 304:348,08[B ]| as well as I do, Fanny. Between us, I think we should 304:348,09[B ]| have won you. My theoretical and his practical knowledge 304:348,10[B ]| together, could not have failed. He should have 304:348,11[B ]| worked upon my plans. I must hope, however, that time 304:348,12[B ]| proving him (as I firmly believe it will), to deserve you 304:348,13[B ]| by his steady affection, will give him his reward. I cannot 304:348,14[B ]| suppose that you have not the \wish\ to love him ~~ the 304:348,15[B ]| natural wish of gratitude. You must have some feeling 304:348,16[B ]| of that sort. You must be sorry for your own indifference." 304:348,17[A ]| "We are so totally unlike," 304:348,17[' ]| said Fanny, avoiding a 304:348,18[' ]| direct answer, 304:348,18[A ]| "we are so very, very different in all our 304:348,19[A ]| inclinations and ways, that I consider it as quite impossible 304:348,20[A ]| we should ever be tolerably happy together, even if 304:348,21[A ]| I \could\ like him. There never were two people more dissimilar. 304:348,22[A ]| We have not one taste in common. We should 304:348,23[A ]| be miserable." 304:348,24[B ]| "You are mistaken, Fanny. The dissimilarity is not 304:348,25[B ]| so strong. You are quite enough alike. You \have\ tastes 304:348,26[B ]| in common. You have moral and literary tastes in common. 304:348,27[B ]| You have both warm hearts and benevolent feelings; 304:348,28[B ]| and Fanny, who that heard him read, and saw you 304:348,29[B ]| listen to Shakespeare the other night, will think you 304:348,30[B ]| unfitted as companions? You forget yourself: there is 304:348,31[B ]| a decided difference in your tempers, I allow. He is lively, 304:348,32[B ]| you are serious; but so much the better; his spirits will 304:348,33[B ]| support yours. It is your disposition to be easily dejected, 304:348,34[B ]| and to fancy difficulties greater than they are. His cheerfulness 304:348,35[B ]| will counteract this. He sees difficulties no*where; 304:348,36[B ]| and his pleasantness and gaiety will be a constant support 304:348,37[B ]| to you. Your being so far unlike, Fanny, does not in the 304:348,38[B ]| smallest degree make against the probability of your happiness 304:349,01[B ]| together: do not imagine it. I am myself convinced 304:349,02[B ]| that it is rather a favourable circumstance. I am 304:349,03[B ]| perfectly persuaded that the tempers had better be unlike; 304:349,04[B ]| I mean unlike in the flow of spirits, in the manners, in 304:349,05[B ]| the inclination for much or little company, in the propensity 304:349,06[B ]| to talk or to be silent, to be grave or to be gay. 304:349,07[B ]| Some opposition here is, I am thoroughly convinced, 304:349,08[B ]| friendly to matrimonial happiness. I exclude extremes 304:349,09[B ]| of course; and a very close resemblance in all those points 304:349,10[B ]| would be the likeliest way to produce an extreme. A 304:349,11[B ]| counteraction, gentle and continual, is the best safeguard 304:349,12[B ]| of manners and conduct." 304:349,13[' ]| Full well could Fanny guess where his thoughts were 304:349,14[' ]| now. 304:349,14@a | Miss*Crawford's power was all returning. He had 304:349,15@a | been speaking of her cheerfully from the hour of his coming 304:349,16@a | home. His avoiding her was quite at an end. He had 304:349,17@a | dined at the parsonage only the preceding day. 304:349,18[' ]| After leaving him to his happier thoughts for some 304:349,19[' ]| minutes, Fanny feeling it due to herself, returned to 304:349,19[' ]| Mr%*Crawford, 304:349,20[' ]| and said, 304:349,20[A ]| "It is not merely in \temper\ that I consider 304:349,21[A ]| him as totally unsuited to myself; though in \that\ 304:349,22[A ]| respect, I think the difference between us too great, 304:349,23[A ]| infinitely too great; his spirits often oppress me ~~ but 304:349,24[A ]| there is something in him which I object to still more. 304:349,25[A ]| I must say, cousin, that I cannot approve his character. 304:349,26[A ]| I have not thought well of him from the time of the play. 304:349,27[A ]| I then saw him behaving, as it appeared to me, so very 304:349,28[A ]| improperly and unfeelingly, I may speak of it now because 304:349,29[A ]| it is all over ~~ so improperly by poor Mr%*Rushworth, not 304:349,30[A ]| seeming to care how he exposed or hurt him, and paying 304:349,31[A ]| attentions to my cousin Maria, which ~~ in short, at the 304:349,32[A ]| time of the play, I received an impression which will never 304:349,33[A ]| be got over." 304:349,34[B ]| "My dear Fanny," 304:349,34[' ]| replied Edmund, scarcely hearing 304:349,35[' ]| her to the end, 304:349,35[B ]| "let us not, any of us, be judged by what 304:349,36[B ]| we appeared at that period of general folly. The time 304:349,37[B ]| of the play, is a time which I hate to recollect. Maria 304:349,38[B ]| was wrong, Crawford was wrong, we were all wrong 304:350,01[B ]| together; but none so wrong as myself. Compared with 304:350,02[B ]| me, all the rest were blameless. I was playing the fool 304:350,03[B ]| with my eyes open." 304:350,04[A ]| "As a by-stander," 304:350,04[' ]| said Fanny, 304:350,04[A ]| "perhaps I saw more 304:350,05[A ]| than you did; and I do think that Mr%*Rushworth was 304:350,06[A ]| sometimes very jealous." 304:350,07[B ]| "Very possibly. No wonder. Nothing could be more 304:350,08[B ]| improper than the whole business. I am shocked whenever 304:350,09[B ]| I think that Maria could be capable of it; but if she 304:350,10[B ]| could undertake the part, we must not be surprised at the 304:350,11[B ]| rest." 304:350,12[A ]| "Before the play, I am much mistaken, if \Julia\ did 304:350,13[A ]| not think he was paying her attentions." 304:350,14[B ]| "Julia! ~~ I have heard before from some*one of his 304:350,15[B ]| being in love with Julia, but I could never see anything 304:350,16[B ]| of it. And Fanny, though I hope I do justice to my 304:350,17[B ]| sisters' good qualities, I think it very possible that they 304:350,18[B ]| might, one or both, be more desirous of being admired 304:350,19[B ]| by Crawford, and might shew that desire rather more 304:350,20[B ]| unguardedly than was perfectly prudent. I can remember 304:350,21[B ]| that they were evidently fond of his society; and 304:350,22[B ]| with such encouragement, a man like Crawford, lively, 304:350,23[B ]| and it may be a little unthinking, might be led on to ~~ 304:350,24[B ]| There could be nothing very striking, because it is clear 304:350,25[B ]| that he had no pretensions; his heart was reserved for 304:350,26[B ]| you. And I must say, that its being for you, has raised 304:350,27[B ]| him inconceivably in my opinion. It does him the highest 304:350,28[B ]| honour; it shews his proper estimation of the blessing of 304:350,29[B ]| domestic happiness, and pure attachment. It proves him 304:350,30[B ]| unspoilt by his uncle. It proves him, in short, every*thing 304:350,31[B ]| that I had been used to wish to believe him, and 304:350,32[B ]| feared he was not." 304:350,33[A ]| "I am persuaded that he does not think as he ought, 304:350,34[A ]| on serious subjects." 304:350,35[B ]| "Say rather, that he has not thought at all upon serious 304:350,36[B ]| subjects, which I believe to be a good deal the case. How 304:350,37[B ]| could it be otherwise, with such an education and adviser? 304:350,38[B ]| Under the disadvantages, indeed, which both have had, 304:351,01[B ]| is it not wonderful that they should be what they are? 304:351,02[B ]| Crawford's \feelings\, I am ready to acknowledge, have 304:351,03[B ]| hitherto been too much his guides. Happily, those feelings 304:351,04[B ]| have generally been good. You will supply the rest; and 304:351,05[B ]| a most fortunate man he is to attach himself to such a 304:351,06[B ]| creature ~~ to a woman, who firm as a rock in her own principles, 304:351,07[B ]| has a gentleness of character so well adapted to 304:351,08[B ]| recommend them. He has chosen his partner, indeed, 304:351,09[B ]| with rare felicity. He will make you happy, Fanny, I 304:351,10[B ]| know he will make you happy; but you will make him 304:351,11[B ]| every*thing." 304:351,12[A ]| "I would not engage in such a charge," 304:351,12[' ]| cried Fanny 304:351,13[' ]| in a shrinking accent ~~ 304:351,13[A ]| "in such an office of high responsibility!" 304:351,14[A ]| 304:351,15[B ]| "As usual, believing yourself unequal to anything! ~~ 304:351,16[B ]| fancying every*thing too much for you! Well, though 304:351,17[B ]| I may not be able to persuade you into different feelings, 304:351,18[B ]| you will be persuaded into them I trust. I confess myself 304:351,19[B ]| sincerely anxious that you may. I have no common 304:351,20[B ]| interest in Crawford's well doing. Next to your happiness, 304:351,21[B ]| Fanny, his has the first claim on me. You are aware 304:351,22[B ]| of my having no common interest in Crawford." 304:351,23[' ]| Fanny was too well aware of it, to have anything to 304:351,24[' ]| say; and they walked on together some fifty yards in 304:351,25[' ]| mutual silence and abstraction. Edmund first began 304:351,26[' ]| again: ~~ 304:351,27[B ]| "I was very much pleased by her manner of speaking 304:351,28[B ]| of it yesterday, particularly pleased, because I had not 304:351,29[B ]| depended upon her seeing every*thing in so just a light. 304:351,30[B ]| I knew she was very fond of you, but yet I was afraid of 304:351,31[B ]| her not estimating your worth to her brother, quite as it 304:351,32[B ]| deserved, and of her regretting that he had not rather 304:351,33[B ]| fixed on some woman of distinction, or fortune. I was 304:351,34[B ]| afraid of the bias of those worldly maxims, which she has 304:351,35[B ]| been too much used to hear. But it was very different. 304:351,36[B ]| She spoke of you, Fanny, just as she ought. She desires 304:351,37[B ]| the connection as warmly as your uncle or myself. We 304:351,38[B ]| had a long talk about it. I should not have mentioned 304:352,01[B ]| the subject, though very anxious to know her sentiments 304:352,02[B ]| ~~ but I had not been in the room five minutes, before she 304:352,03[B ]| began, introducing it with all that openness of heart, and 304:352,04[B ]| sweet peculiarity of manner, that spirit and ingenuousness, 304:352,05[B ]| which are so much a part of herself. Mrs%*Grant 304:352,06[B ]| laughed at her for her rapidity." 304:352,07[A ]| "Was Mrs%*Grant in the room, then?" 304:352,08[B ]| "Yes, when I reached the house I found the two sisters 304:352,09[B ]| together by themselves; and when once we had begun, 304:352,10[B ]| we had not done with you, Fanny, till Crawford and 304:352,11[B ]| Dr%*Grant came in." 304:352,12[A ]| "It is above a week since I saw Miss*Crawford." 304:352,13[B ]| "Yes, she laments it; yet owns it may have been best. 304:352,14[B ]| You will see her, however, before she goes. She is very 304:352,15[B ]| angry with you, Fanny; you must be prepared for that. 304:352,16[B ]| She calls herself very angry, but you can imagine her 304:352,17[B ]| anger. It is the regret and disappointment of a sister, 304:352,18[B ]| who thinks her brother has a right to every*thing he may 304:352,19[B ]| wish for, at the first moment. She is hurt, as you would 304:352,20[B ]| be for William; but she loves and esteems you with all 304:352,21[B ]| her heart." 304:352,22[A ]| "I knew she would be very angry with me." 304:352,23[B ]| "My dearest Fanny," 304:352,23[' ]| cried Edmund, pressing her arm 304:352,24[' ]| closer to him, 304:352,24[B ]| "do not let the idea of her anger distress 304:352,25[B ]| you. It is anger to be talked of, rather than felt. Her 304:352,26[B ]| heart is made for love and kindness, not for resentment. 304:352,27[B ]| I wish you could have overheard her tribute of praise; 304:352,28[B ]| I wish you could have seen her countenance, when she 304:352,29[B ]| said that you \should\ be Henry's wife. And I observed, 304:352,30[B ]| that she always spoke of you as ""Fanny,"" which she was 304:352,31[B ]| never used to do; and it had a sound of most sisterly 304:352,32[B ]| cordiality." 304:352,33[A ]| "And Mrs%*Grant, did she say ~~ did she speak ~~ was 304:352,34[A ]| she there all the time?" 304:352,35[B ]| "Yes, she was agreeing exactly with her sister. The 304:352,36[B ]| surprise of your refusal, Fanny, seems to have been 304:352,37[B ]| unbounded. That you could refuse such a man as Henry*Crawford, 304:352,38[B ]| seems more than they can understand. I said 304:353,01[B ]| what I could for you; but in good truth, as they stated the 304:353,02[B ]| case ~~ you must prove yourself to be in your senses as soon 304:353,03[B ]| as you can, by a different conduct; nothing else will 304:353,04[B ]| satisfy them. But this is teazing you. I have done. Do 304:353,05[B ]| not turn away from me." 304:353,06[A ]| "I \should\ have thought," 304:353,06[' ]| said Fanny, after a pause of 304:353,07[' ]| recollection and exertion, 304:353,07[A ]| "that every woman must have 304:353,08[A ]| felt the possibility of a man's not being approved, not 304:353,09[A ]| being loved by some one of her sex, at least, let him be ever 304:353,10[A ]| so generally agreeable. Let him have all the perfections 304:353,11[A ]| in the world, I think it ought not to be set down as certain, 304:353,12[A ]| that a man must be acceptable to every woman he may 304:353,13[A ]| happen to like himself. But even supposing it is so, 304:353,14[A ]| allowing Mr%*Crawford to have all the claims which his 304:353,15[A ]| sisters think he has, how was I to be prepared to meet him 304:353,16[A ]| with any feeling answerable to his own? He took me 304:353,17[A ]| wholly by surprise. I had not an idea that his behaviour 304:353,18[A ]| to me before had any meaning; and surely I was not to 304:353,19[A ]| be teaching myself to like him only because he was taking, 304:353,20[A ]| what seemed, very idle notice of me. In my situation, it 304:353,21[A ]| would have been the extreme of vanity to be forming 304:353,22[A ]| expectations on Mr%*Crawford. I am sure his sisters, 304:353,23[A ]| rating him as they do, must have thought it so, supposing 304:353,24[A ]| he had meant nothing. How then was I to be ~~ to be in 304:353,25[A ]| love with him the moment he said he was with me? How 304:353,26[A ]| was I to have an attachment at his service, as soon as it 304:353,27[A ]| was asked for? His sisters should consider me as well 304:353,28[A ]| as him. The higher his deserts, the more improper for 304:353,29[A ]| me ever to have thought of him. And, and ~~ we think 304:353,30[A ]| very differently of the nature of women, if they can 304:353,31[A ]| imagine a woman so very soon capable of returning an 304:353,32[A ]| affection as this seems to imply." 304:353,33[B ]| "My dear, dear Fanny, now I have the truth. I know 304:353,34[B ]| this to be the truth; and most worthy of you are such 304:353,35[B ]| feelings. I had attributed them to you before. I thought 304:353,36[B ]| I could understand you. You have now given exactly 304:353,37[B ]| the explanation which I ventured to make for you to your 304:353,38[B ]| friend and Mrs%*Grant, and they were both better satisfied, 304:354,01[B ]| though your warm-hearted friend was still run away with 304:354,02[B ]| a little, by the enthusiasm of her fondness for Henry. I 304:354,03[B ]| told them, that you were of all human creatures the one, 304:354,04[B ]| over whom habit had most power, and novelty least: 304:354,05[B ]| and that the very circumstance of the novelty of Crawford's 304:354,06[B ]| addresses was against him. Their being so new 304:354,07[B ]| and so recent was all in their disfavour; that you could 304:354,08[B ]| tolerate nothing that you were not used to; and a great 304:354,09[B ]| deal more to the same purpose, to give them a knowledge 304:354,10[B ]| of your character. Miss*Crawford made us laugh by her 304:354,11[B ]| plans of encouragement for her brother. She meant to 304:354,12[B ]| urge him to persevere in the hope of being loved in time, 304:354,13[B ]| and of having his addresses most kindly received at the 304:354,14[B ]| end of about ten years' happy marriage." 304:354,15[' ]| Fanny could with difficulty give the smile that was here 304:354,16[' ]| asked for. Her feelings were all in revolt. 304:354,16@a | She feared 304:354,17@a | she had been doing wrong, saying too much, overacting 304:354,18@a | the caution which she had been fancying necessary, in 304:354,19@a | guarding against one evil, laying herself open to another, 304:354,20@a | and to have Miss*Crawford's liveliness repeated to her at 304:354,21@a | such a moment, and on such a subject, was a bitter aggravation. 304:354,22@a | 304:354,23[' ]| Edmund saw weariness and distress in her face, and 304:354,24[' ]| immediately resolved 304:354,24@b | to forbear all farther discussion; 304:354,25@b | and not even to mention the name of Crawford again, 304:354,26@b | except as it might be connected with what \must\ be agreeable 304:354,27@b | to her. 304:354,27[' ]| On this principle, he soon afterwards observed, 304:354,28[B ]| "They go on Monday. You are sure therefore 304:354,29[B ]| of seeing your friend either to-morrow or Sunday. They 304:354,30[B ]| really go on Monday! and I was within a trifle of being 304:354,31[B ]| persuaded to stay at Lessingby till that very day! I had 304:354,32[B ]| almost promised it. What a difference it might have 304:354,33[B ]| made. Those five or six days more at Lessingby might 304:354,34[B ]| have been felt all my life." 304:354,35[A ]| "You were near staying there?" 304:354,36[B ]| "Very. I was most kindly pressed, and had nearly 304:354,37[B ]| consented. Had I received any letter from Mansfield, 304:354,38[B ]| to tell me how you were all going on, I believe I should 304:355,01[B ]| certainly have stayed; but I knew nothing that had 304:355,02[B ]| happened here for a fortnight, and felt that I had been 304:355,03[B ]| away long enough." 304:355,04[A ]| "You spent your time pleasantly there." 304:355,05[B ]| "Yes; that is, it was the fault of my own mind if I did 304:355,06[B ]| not. They were all very pleasant. I doubt their finding 304:355,07[B ]| me so. I took uneasiness with me, and there was no getting 304:355,08[B ]| rid of it till I was in Mansfield again." 304:355,09[A ]| "The Miss*Owens ~~ you liked them, did not you?" 304:355,10[B ]| "Yes, very well. Pleasant, good-humoured, unaffected 304:355,11[B ]| girls. But I am spoilt, Fanny, for common female society. 304:355,12[B ]| Good-humoured, unaffected girls, will not do for a man 304:355,13[B ]| who has been used to sensible women. They are two distinct 304:355,14[B ]| orders of being. You and Miss*Crawford have made 304:355,15[B ]| me too nice." 304:355,16[' ]| Still, however, Fanny was oppressed and wearied; he 304:355,17[' ]| saw it in her looks, it could not be talked away, and 304:355,18[' ]| attempting it no more, he led her directly with the kind 304:355,19[' ]| authority of a privileged guardian into the house. 305:356,01[' ]| Edmund now believed himself perfectly acquainted 305:356,02[' ]| with all that Fanny could tell, or could leave to be 305:356,02[' ]| conjectured 305:356,03[' ]| of her sentiments, and he was satisfied. ~~ 305:356,03@b | It had 305:356,04@b | been, as he before presumed, too hasty a measure on 305:356,05@b | Crawford's side, and time must be given to make the idea 305:356,06@b | first familiar, and then agreeable to her. She must be 305:356,07@b | used to the consideration of his being in love with her, 305:356,08@b | and then a return of affection might not be very distant. 305:356,09[' ]| He gave this opinion as the result of the conversation, 305:356,10[' ]| to his father; and recommended 305:356,10@b | there being nothing more 305:356,11@b | said to her, no farther attempts to influence or persuade; 305:356,12@b | but that every*thing should be left to Crawford's assiduities, 305:356,13@b | and the natural workings of her own mind. 305:356,14[' ]| Sir*Thomas promised that it should be so. 305:356,14@e | Edmund's 305:356,15@e | account of Fanny's disposition he could believe to be just, 305:356,16@e | he supposed she had all those feelings, but he must consider 305:356,17@e | it as very unfortunate that she \had\; for, less willing 305:356,18@e | than his son to trust to the future, he could not help fearing 305:356,19@e | that if such very long allowances of time and habit 305:356,20@e | were necessary for her, she might not have persuaded herself 305:356,21@e | into receiving his addresses properly, before the young 305:356,22@e | man's inclination for paying them were over. There was 305:356,23@e | nothing to be done, however, but to submit quietly, and 305:356,24@e | hope the best. 305:356,25[' ]| The promised visit from her "friend," as Edmund called 305:356,26[' ]| Miss*Crawford, was a formidable threat to Fanny, and she 305:356,27[' ]| lived in continual terror of it. 305:356,27@a | As a sister, so partial and 305:356,28@a | so angry, and so little scrupulous of what she said; and 305:356,29@a | in another light, so triumphant and secure, she was in 305:356,30@a | every way an object of painful alarm. Her displeasure, 305:356,31@a | her penetration, and her happiness were all fearful to 305:356,32@a | encounter; 305:356,32[' ]| and the dependence of having others present 305:357,01[' ]| when they met, was Fanny's only support in looking forward 305:357,02[' ]| to it. She absented herself as little as possible from 305:357,03[' ]| Lady*Bertram, kept away from the east*room, and took 305:357,04[' ]| no solitary walk in the shrubbery, in her caution to avoid 305:357,05[' ]| any sudden attack. 305:357,06[' ]| She succeeded. She was safe in the breakfast-room, 305:357,07[' ]| with her aunt, when Miss*Crawford did come; 305:357,07@a | and the 305:357,08@a | first misery over, and Miss*Crawford looking and speaking 305:357,09@a | with much less particularity of expression than she had 305:357,10@a | anticipated, 305:357,10[' ]| Fanny began to hope 305:357,10@a | there would be nothing 305:357,11@a | worse to be endured than an half-hour of moderate agitation. 305:357,12[' ]| But here she hoped too much, Miss*Crawford 305:357,13[' ]| was not the slave of opportunity. She was determined 305:357,14[' ]| to see Fanny alone, and therefore said to her tolerably 305:357,15[' ]| soon, in a low voice, 305:357,15[C ]| "I must speak to you for a few minutes 305:357,16[C ]| somewhere;" 305:357,16[' ]| words that Fanny felt all over her, in all 305:357,17[' ]| her pulses, and all her nerves. 305:357,17@a | Denial was impossible. 305:357,18[' ]| Her habits of ready submission, on the contrary, made her 305:357,19[' ]| almost instantly rise and lead the way out of the room. 305:357,20[' ]| She did it with wretched feelings, but it was inevitable. 305:357,21[' ]| They were no sooner in the hall than all restraint of 305:357,22[' ]| countenance was over on Miss*Crawford's side. She 305:357,23[' ]| immediately shook her head at Fanny with arch, yet 305:357,24[' ]| affectionate reproach, and taking her hand, seemed hardly 305:357,25[' ]| able to help beginning directly. She said nothing, however, 305:357,26[' ]| but, 305:357,26[C ]| "Sad, sad girl! I do not know when I shall 305:357,27[C ]| have done scolding you," 305:357,27[' ]| and had discretion enough to 305:357,28[' ]| reserve the rest till they might be secure of having four 305:357,29[' ]| walls to themselves. Fanny naturally turned up*stairs, 305:357,30[' ]| and took her guest to the apartment which was now always 305:357,31[' ]| fit for comfortable use; opening the door, however, with 305:357,32[' ]| a most aching heart, 305:357,32@a | and feeling that she had a more distressing 305:357,33@a | scene before her than ever that spot had yet witnessed. 305:357,34[' ]| But the evil ready to burst on her, was at least 305:357,35[' ]| delayed by the sudden change in Miss*Crawford's ideas; 305:357,36[' ]| by the strong effect on her mind which the finding herself 305:357,37[' ]| in the east*room again produced. 305:357,38[C ]| "Ha!" 305:357,38[' ]| she cried, with instant animation, 305:357,38[C ]| "am I here 305:358,01[C ]| again? The east*room. Once only was I in this room 305:358,02[C ]| before!" ~~ 305:358,02[' ]| and after stopping to look about her, and 305:358,03[' ]| seemingly to retrace all that had then passed, she added, 305:358,04[C ]| "Once only before. Do you remember it? I came to 305:358,05[C ]| rehearse. Your cousin came too; and we had a rehearsal. 305:358,06[C ]| You were our audience and prompter. A delightful 305:358,07[C ]| rehearsal. I shall never forget it. Here we were, just 305:358,08[C ]| in this part of the room; here was your cousin, here was 305:358,09[C ]| I, here were the chairs. ~~ Oh! why will such things ever 305:358,10[C ]| pass away?" 305:358,11[' ]| Happily for her companion, she wanted no answer. 305:358,12[' ]| Her mind was entirely self-engrossed. She was in a reverie 305:358,13[' ]| of sweet remembrances. 305:358,14[C ]| "The scene we were rehearsing was so very remarkable! 305:358,15[C ]| The subject of it so very ~~ very ~~ what shall I say? He 305:358,16[C ]| was to be describing and recommending matrimony to me. 305:358,17[C ]| I think I see him now, trying to be as demure and composed 305:358,18[C ]| as Anhalt ought, through the two long speeches. 305:358,19@z | ""When two sympathetic hearts meet in the marriage state, 305:358,20@z | matrimony may be called a happy life."" 305:358,20[C ]| I suppose no 305:358,21[C ]| time can ever wear out the impression I have of his looks 305:358,22[C ]| and voice, as he said those words. It was curious, very 305:358,23[C ]| curious, that we should have such a scene to play! If I 305:358,24[C ]| had the power of recalling any one week of my existence, 305:358,25[C ]| it should be that week, that acting week. Say what you 305:358,26[C ]| would, Fanny, it should be \that\; for I never knew such 305:358,27[C ]| exquisite happiness in any other. His sturdy spirit to 305:358,28[C ]| bend as it did! Oh! it was sweet beyond expression. 305:358,29[C ]| But alas! that very evening destroyed it all. That very 305:358,30[C ]| evening brought your most unwelcome uncle. Poor Sir*Thomas, 305:358,31[C ]| who was glad to see you? Yet, Fanny, do not 305:358,32[C ]| imagine I would now speak disrespectfully of Sir*Thomas, 305:358,33[C ]| though I certainly did hate him for many a week. No, 305:358,34[C ]| I do him justice now. He is just what the head of such 305:358,35[C ]| a family should be. Nay, in sober sadness, I believe I 305:358,36[C ]| now love you all." 305:358,36[' ]| And having said so, with a degree of 305:358,37[' ]| tenderness and consciousness which Fanny had never seen 305:358,38[' ]| in her before, and now thought only too becoming, she 305:359,01[' ]| turned away for a moment to recover herself. 305:359,01[C ]| "I have 305:359,02[C ]| had a little fit since I came into this room, as you may 305:359,03[C ]| perceive," 305:359,03[' ]| said she presently, with a playful smile, 305:359,03[C ]| "but 305:359,04[C ]| it is over now; so let us sit down and be comfortable; 305:359,05[C ]| for as to scolding you, Fanny, which I came fully intending 305:359,06[C ]| to do, I have not the heart for it when it comes to the 305:359,07[C ]| point." 305:359,07[' ]| And embracing her very affectionately, ~~ 305:359,07[C ]| "Good, 305:359,08[C ]| gentle Fanny! when I think of this being the last time of 305:359,09[C ]| seeing you; for I do not know how long ~~ I feel it quite 305:359,10[C ]| impossible to do any*thing but love you." 305:359,11[' ]| Fanny was affected. She had not foreseen anything 305:359,12[' ]| of this, and her feelings could seldom withstand the melancholy 305:359,13[' ]| influence of the word "last." She cried as if she 305:359,14[' ]| had loved Miss*Crawford more than she possibly could; 305:359,15[' ]| and Miss*Crawford, yet farther softened by the sight of 305:359,16[' ]| such emotion, hung about her with fondness, and said, 305:359,17[C ]| "I hate to leave you. I shall see no*one half so amiable 305:359,18[C ]| where I am going. Who says we shall not be sisters? 305:359,19[C ]| I know we shall. I feel that we are born to be connected; 305:359,20[C ]| and those tears convince me that you feel it too, dear 305:359,21[C ]| Fanny." 305:359,22[' ]| Fanny roused herself, and replying only in part, said, 305:359,23[A ]| "But you are only going from one set of friends to another. 305:359,24[A ]| You are going to a very particular friend." 305:359,25[C ]| "Yes, very true. Mrs%*Fraser has been my intimate 305:359,26[C ]| friend for years. But I have not the least inclination to 305:359,27[C ]| go near her. I can think only of the friends I am leaving; 305:359,28[C ]| my excellent sister, yourself, and the Bertrams in general. 305:359,29[C ]| You have all so much more \heart\ among you, than one 305:359,30[C ]| finds in the world at large. You all give me a feeling of 305:359,31[C ]| being able to trust and confide in you; which, in common 305:359,32[C ]| intercourse, one knows nothing of. I wish I had settled 305:359,33[C ]| with Mrs%*Fraser not to go to her till after Easter, a much 305:359,34[C ]| better time for the visit ~~ but now I cannot put her off. 305:359,35[C ]| And when I have done with her, I must go to her sister, 305:359,36[C ]| Lady*Stornaway, because \she\ was rather my most particular 305:359,37[C ]| friend of the two; but I have not cared much for 305:359,38[C ]| \her\ these three years." 305:360,01[' ]| After this speech, the two girls sat many minutes silent, 305:360,02[' ]| each thoughtful; Fanny meditating on the different sorts 305:360,03[' ]| of friendship in the world, Mary on something of less 305:360,04[' ]| philosophic tendency. \She\ first spoke again. 305:360,05[C ]| "How perfectly I remember my resolving to look for 305:360,06[C ]| you up*stairs; and setting off to find my way to the east*room, 305:360,07[C ]| without having an idea whereabouts it was! How 305:360,08[C ]| well I remember what I was thinking of as I came along; 305:360,09[C ]| and my looking in and seeing you here, sitting at this table 305:360,10[C ]| at work; and then your cousin's astonishment when he 305:360,11[C ]| opened the door at seeing me here! To be sure, your 305:360,12[C ]| uncle's returning that very evening! There never was 305:360,13[C ]| anything quite like it." 305:360,14[' ]| Another short fit of abstraction followed ~~ when, shaking 305:360,15[' ]| it off, she thus attacked her companion. 305:360,16[C ]| "Why, Fanny, you are absolutely in a reverie! 305:360,17[C ]| Thinking, I hope, of one who is always thinking of you. 305:360,18[C ]| Oh! that I could transport you for a short time into our 305:360,19[C ]| circle in town, that you might understand how your power 305:360,20[C ]| over Henry is thought of there! Oh! the envyings and 305:360,21[C ]| heart-burnings of dozens and dozens! the wonder, the 305:360,22[C ]| incredulity that will be felt at hearing what you have 305:360,23[C ]| done! For as to secrecy, Henry is quite the hero of an 305:360,24[C ]| old romance, and glories in his chains. You should come 305:360,25[C ]| to London, to know how to estimate your conquest. If 305:360,26[C ]| you were to see how he is courted, and how I am courted 305:360,27[C ]| for his sake! Now I am well aware, that I shall not be 305:360,28[C ]| half so welcome to Mrs%*Fraser in consequence of his 305:360,28[C ]| situation 305:360,29[C ]| with you. When she comes to know the truth, she 305:360,30[C ]| will very likely wish me in Northamptonshire again; for 305:360,31[C ]| there is a daughter of Mr%*Fraser by a first wife, whom she 305:360,32[C ]| is wild to get married, and wants Henry to take. Oh! 305:360,33[C ]| she has been trying for him to such a degree! Innocent 305:360,34[C ]| and quiet as you sit here, you cannot have an idea of the 305:360,35[C ]| \sensation\ that you will be occasioning, of the curiosity 305:360,36[C ]| there will be to see you, of the endless questions I shall 305:360,37[C ]| have to answer! Poor Margaret*Fraser will be at me for*ever 305:360,38[C ]| about your eyes and your teeth, and how you do 305:361,01[C ]| your hair, and who makes your shoes. I wish Margaret 305:361,02[C ]| were married, for my poor friend's sake, for I look upon 305:361,03[C ]| the Frasers to be about as unhappy as most other married 305:361,04[C ]| people. And yet it was a most desirable match for Janet 305:361,05[C ]| at the time. We were all delighted. She could not do 305:361,06[C ]| otherwise than accept him, for he was rich, and she had 305:361,07[C ]| nothing; but he turns out ill-tempered, and \exigeant\; 305:361,08[C ]| and wants a young woman, a beautiful young woman of 305:361,09[C ]| five-and-twenty, to be as steady as himself. And my 305:361,10[C ]| friend does not manage him well; she does not seem to 305:361,11[C ]| know how to make the best of it. There is a spirit of 305:361,12[C ]| irritation, which, to say nothing worse, is certainly very 305:361,13[C ]| ill-bred. In their house I shall call to mind the conjugal 305:361,14[C ]| manners of Mansfield*Parsonage with respect. Even 305:361,15[C ]| Dr%*Grant does shew a thorough confidence in my sister, 305:361,16[C ]| and a certain consideration for her judgment, which makes 305:361,17[C ]| one feel there \is\ attachment; but of that, I shall see 305:361,18[C ]| nothing with the Frasers. I shall be at Mansfield for*ever, 305:361,19[C ]| Fanny. My own sister as a wife, Sir*Thomas*Bertram as 305:361,20[C ]| a husband, are my standards of perfection. Poor Janet 305:361,21[C ]| has been sadly taken in; and yet there was nothing 305:361,22[C ]| improper on her side; she did not run into the match 305:361,23[C ]| inconsiderately, there was no want of foresight. She 305:361,24[C ]| took three days to consider of his proposals; and during 305:361,25[C ]| those three days asked the advice of every*body connected 305:361,26[C ]| with her, whose opinion was worth having; and especially 305:361,27[C ]| applied to my late dear aunt, whose knowledge of the 305:361,28[C ]| world made her judgment very generally and deservedly 305:361,29[C ]| looked up to by all the young people of her acquaintance; 305:361,30[C ]| and she was decidedly in favour of Mr%*Fraser. This 305:361,31[C ]| seems as if nothing were a security for matrimonial comfort! 305:361,32[C ]| I have not so much to say for my friend Flora, 305:361,33[C ]| who jilted a very nice young man in the Blues, for the 305:361,34[C ]| sake of that horrid Lord*Stornaway, who has about as 305:361,35[C ]| much sense, Fanny, as Mr%*Rushworth, but much worse 305:361,36[C ]| looking, and with a blackguard character. I \had\ my 305:361,37[C ]| doubts at the time about her being right, for he has not 305:361,38[C ]| even the air of a gentleman, and now, I am sure, she was 305:362,01[C ]| wrong. By*the*bye, Flora*Ross was dying for Henry the 305:362,02[C ]| first winter she came out. But were I to attempt to tell 305:362,03[C ]| you of all the women whom I have known to be in love 305:362,04[C ]| with him, I should never have done. It is you only, you, 305:362,05[C ]| insensible Fanny, who can think of him with any*thing 305:362,06[C ]| like indifference. But are you so insensible as you profess 305:362,07[C ]| yourself? No, no, I see you are not." 305:362,08[' ]| There was indeed so deep a blush over Fanny's face at 305:362,09[' ]| that moment, as might warrant strong suspicion in a predisposed 305:362,10[' ]| mind. 305:362,11[C ]| "Excellent creature! I will not teaze you. Every*thing 305:362,12[C ]| shall take its course. But dear Fanny, you must 305:362,13[C ]| allow that you were not so absolutely unprepared to have 305:362,14[C ]| the question asked as your cousin fancies. It is not possible, 305:362,15[C ]| but that you must have had some thoughts on the 305:362,16[C ]| subject, some surmises as to what might be. You must 305:362,17[C ]| have seen that he was trying to please you, by every attention 305:362,18[C ]| in his power. Was not he devoted to you at the ball? 305:362,19[C ]| And then before the ball, the necklace! Oh! you received 305:362,20[C ]| it just as it was meant. You were as conscious as heart 305:362,21[C ]| could desire. I remember it perfectly." 305:362,22[A ]| "Do you mean then that your brother knew of the 305:362,23[A ]| necklace beforehand? Oh! Miss*Crawford, \that\ was not 305:362,24[A ]| fair." 305:362,25[C ]| "Knew of it! it was his own doing entirely, his own 305:362,26[C ]| thought. I am ashamed to say, that it had never entered 305:362,27[C ]| my head; but I was delighted to act on his proposal, for 305:362,28[C ]| both your sakes." 305:362,29[A ]| "I will not say," 305:362,29[' ]| replied Fanny, 305:362,29[A ]| "that I was not half 305:362,30[A ]| afraid at the time, of its being so; for there was something 305:362,31[A ]| in your look that frightened me ~~ but not at first ~~ 305:362,32[A ]| I was as unsuspicious of it at first! ~~ indeed, indeed I was. 305:362,33[A ]| It is as true as that I sit here. And had I had an idea of 305:362,34[A ]| it, nothing should have induced me to accept the necklace. 305:362,35[A ]| As to your brother's behaviour, certainly I was sensible 305:362,36[A ]| of a particularity, I had been sensible of it some little 305:362,37[A ]| time, perhaps two or three weeks; but then I considered 305:362,38[A ]| it as meaning nothing, I put it down as simply being his 305:363,01[A ]| way, and was as far from supposing as from wishing him 305:363,02[A ]| to have any serious thoughts of me. I had not, Miss*Crawford, 305:363,03[A ]| been an inattentive observer of what was passing 305:363,04[A ]| between him and some part of this family in the 305:363,05[A ]| summer and autumn. I was quiet, but I was not blind. 305:363,06[A ]| I could not but see that Mr%*Crawford allowed himself in 305:363,07[A ]| gallantries which did mean nothing." 305:363,08[C ]| "Ah! I cannot deny it. He has now and then been 305:363,09[C ]| a sad flirt, and cared very little for the havock he might 305:363,10[C ]| be making in young ladies' affections. I have often 305:363,11[C ]| scolded him for it, but it is his only fault; and there is 305:363,12[C ]| this to be said, that very few young ladies have any affections 305:363,13[C ]| worth caring for. And then, Fanny, the glory of 305:363,14[C ]| fixing one who has been shot at by so many; of having 305:363,15[C ]| it in one's power to pay off the debts of one's sex! Oh, 305:363,16[C ]| I am sure it is not in woman's nature to refuse such a 305:363,17[C ]| triumph." 305:363,18[' ]| Fanny shook her head. 305:363,18[A ]| "I cannot think well of a man 305:363,19[A ]| who sports with any woman's feelings; and there may 305:363,20[A ]| often be a great deal more suffered than a stander-by can 305:363,21[A ]| judge of." 305:363,22[C ]| "I do not defend him. I leave him entirely to your 305:363,23[C ]| mercy; and when he has got you at Everingham, I do 305:363,24[C ]| not care how much you lecture him. But this I will say, 305:363,25[C ]| that his fault, the liking to make girls a little in love with 305:363,26[C ]| him, is not half so dangerous to a wife's happiness, as a 305:363,27[C ]| tendency to fall in love himself, which he has never been 305:363,28[C ]| addicted to. And I do seriously and truly believe that 305:363,29[C ]| he is attached to you in a way that he never was to any 305:363,30[C ]| woman before; that he loves you with all his heart, and 305:363,31[C ]| will love you as nearly for*ever as possible. If any man 305:363,32[C ]| ever loved a woman for*ever, I think Henry will do as 305:363,33[C ]| much for you." 305:363,34[' ]| Fanny could not avoid a faint smile, but had nothing 305:363,35[' ]| to say. 305:363,36[C ]| "I cannot imagine Henry ever to have been happier," 305:363,37[' ]| continued Mary, presently, 305:363,37[C ]| "than when he had succeeded 305:363,38[C ]| in getting your brother's commission." 305:364,01[' ]| She had made a sure push at Fanny's feelings here. 305:364,02[A ]| "Oh! yes. How very, very kind of him!" 305:364,03[C ]| "I know he must have exerted himself very much, for 305:364,04[C ]| I know the parties he had to move. The Admiral hates 305:364,05[C ]| trouble, and scorns asking favours; and there are so many 305:364,06[C ]| young men's claims to be attended to in the same way, 305:364,07[C ]| that a friendship and energy, not very determined, is 305:364,08[C ]| easily put by. What a happy creature William must be! 305:364,09[C ]| I wish we could see him." 305:364,10[' ]| Poor Fanny's mind was thrown into the most distressing 305:364,11[' ]| of all its varieties. The recollection of what had been done 305:364,12[' ]| for William was always the most powerful disturber of 305:364,13[' ]| every decision against Mr%*Crawford; and she sat thinking 305:364,14[' ]| deeply of it till Mary, who had been first watching her 305:364,15[' ]| complacently, and then musing on something else, suddenly 305:364,16[' ]| called her attention, by saying, 305:364,16[C ]| "I should like to 305:364,17[C ]| sit talking with you here all day, but we must not forget 305:364,18[C ]| the ladies below, and so good*bye, my dear, my amiable, 305:364,19[C ]| my excellent Fanny, for though we shall nominally part 305:364,20[C ]| in the breakfast*parlour, I must take leave of you here. 305:364,21[C ]| And I do take leave, longing for a happy re-union, and 305:364,22[C ]| trusting, that when we meet again, it will be under circumstances 305:364,23[C ]| which may open our hearts to each other 305:364,24[C ]| without any remnant or shadow of reserve." 305:364,25[' ]| A very, very kind embrace, and some agitation of 305:364,26[' ]| manner, accompanied these words. 305:364,27[C ]| "I shall see your cousin in town soon; he talks of being 305:364,28[C ]| there tolerably soon; and Sir*Thomas, I dare say, in the 305:364,29[C ]| course of the spring; and your eldest cousin and the 305:364,30[C ]| Rushworths and Julia I am sure of meeting again and 305:364,31[C ]| again, and all but you. I have two favours to ask, 305:364,32[C ]| Fanny; one is your correspondence. You must write to 305:364,33[C ]| me. And the other, that you will often call on Mrs%*Grant 305:364,34[C ]| and make her amends for my being gone." 305:364,35[' ]| The first, at least, of these favours Fanny would rather 305:364,36[' ]| not have been asked; but it was impossible for her to 305:364,37[' ]| refuse the correspondence; it was impossible for her even 305:364,38[' ]| not to accede to it more readily than her own judgment 305:365,01[' ]| authorised. There was no resisting so much apparent 305:365,02[' ]| affection. Her disposition was peculiarly calculated to 305:365,03[' ]| value a fond treatment, and from having hitherto known 305:365,04[' ]| so little of it, she was the more overcome by Miss*Crawford's. 305:365,05[' ]| Besides, there was gratitude towards her, for 305:365,06[' ]| having made their te^te*a`*te^te so much less painful than 305:365,07[' ]| her fears had predicted. 305:365,08@a | It was over, and she had escaped without reproaches 305:365,09@a | and without detection. Her secret was still her own; 305:365,10@a | and while that was the case, she thought she could resign 305:365,11@a | herself to almost every*thing. 305:365,12[' ]| In the evening there was another parting. 305:365,12@a | Henry*Crawford 305:365,13@a | came and sat some time with them; and her 305:365,14@a | spirits not being previously in the strongest state, her 305:365,15@a | heart was softened for a while towards him ~~ because he 305:365,16@a | really seemed to feel. ~~ Quite unlike his usual self, he 305:365,17@a | scarcely said any*thing. He was evidently oppressed, 305:365,17[' ]| and 305:365,18[' ]| Fanny must grieve for him, though hoping she might 305:365,19[' ]| never see him again till he were the husband of some 305:365,20[' ]| other woman. 305:365,21[' ]| When it came to the moment of parting, he would take 305:365,22[' ]| her hand, he would not be denied it; he said nothing, 305:365,23[' ]| however, or nothing that she heard, and when he had left 305:365,24[' ]| the room, she was better pleased that such a token of 305:365,25[' ]| friendship had passed. 305:365,26[' ]| On the morrow the Crawfords were gone. 306:366,01[' ]| Mr%*Crawford gone, Sir*Thomas's next object was, 306:366,02@e | that he should be missed, and he entertained great hope 306:366,03@e | that his niece would find a blank in the loss of those attentions 306:366,04@e | which at the time she had felt, or fancied an evil. 306:366,05@e | She had tasted of consequence in its most flattering form; 306:366,06@e | and he did hope that the loss of it, the sinking again 306:366,07@e | into nothing, would awaken very wholesome regrets in 306:366,08@e | her mind. ~~ He watched her with this idea ~~ but he could 306:366,09@e | hardly tell with what success. He hardly knew whether 306:366,10@e | there were any difference in her spirits or not. She was 306:366,11@e | always so gentle and retiring, that her emotions were 306:366,12@e | beyond his discrimination. He did not understand her; 306:366,13@e | he felt that he did not; and therefore applied to Edmund 306:366,14@e | to tell him how she stood affected on the present occasion, 306:366,15@e | and whether she were more or less happy than she had 306:366,16@e | been. 306:366,17[' ]| Edmund did not discern any symptoms of regret, 306:366,17@b | and 306:366,18@b | thought his father a little unreasonable in supposing the 306:366,19@b | first three or four days could produce any. 306:366,20@b | What chiefly surprised Edmund was, that Crawford's 306:366,21@b | sister, the friend and companion, who had been so much 306:366,22@b | to her, should not be more visibly regretted. He wondered 306:366,23@b | that Fanny spoke so seldom of \her\, and had so little 306:366,24@b | voluntarily to say of her concern at this separation. 306:366,25[' ]| Alas! it was this sister, this friend and companion, who 306:366,26[' ]| was now the chief bane of Fanny's comfort. ~~ 306:366,26@a | If she could 306:366,27@a | have believed Mary's future fate as unconnected with 306:366,28@a | Mansfield, as she was determined the brother's should be, 306:366,29@a | if she could have hoped her return thither, to be as distant 306:366,30@a | as she was much inclined to think his, she would have 306:366,31@a | been light of heart indeed; but the more she recollected 306:366,32@a | and observed, the more deeply was she convinced that 306:366,33@a | every*thing was now in a fairer train for Miss*Crawford's 306:367,01@a | marrying Edmund than it had ever been before. ~~ On his 306:367,02@a | side, the inclination was stronger, on hers less equivocal. 306:367,03@a | His objections, the scruples of his integrity, seemed all 306:367,04@a | done away ~~ nobody could tell how; and the doubts 306:367,05@a | and hesitations of her ambition were equally got over ~~ 306:367,06@a | and equally without apparent reason. It could only be 306:367,07@a | imputed to increasing attachment. His good and her 306:367,08@a | bad feelings yielded to love, and such love must unite 306:367,09@a | them. He was to go to town, as soon as some business 306:367,10@a | relative to Thornton*Lacey were completed ~~ perhaps, 306:367,11@a | within a fortnight, he talked of going, he loved to talk 306:367,12@a | of it; and when once with her again, Fanny could not 306:367,13@a | doubt the rest. ~~ Her acceptance must be as certain as 306:367,14@a | his offer; and yet, there were bad feelings still remaining 306:367,15@a | which made the prospect of it most sorrowful to her, 306:367,16@a | independently ~~ she believed independently of self. 306:367,17@a | In their very last conversation, Miss*Crawford, in spite 306:367,18@a | of some amiable sensations, and much personal kindness, 306:367,19@a | had still been Miss*Crawford, still shewn a mind led astray 306:367,20@a | and bewildered, and without any suspicion of being so; 306:367,21@a | darkened, yet fancying itself light. She might love, but 306:367,22@a | she did not deserve Edmund by any other sentiment. 306:367,23[' ]| Fanny believed there was scarcely a second feeling in 306:367,24[' ]| common between them; and she may be forgiven by 306:367,25[' ]| older sages, for looking on the chance of Miss*Crawford's 306:367,26[' ]| future improvement as nearly desperate, for thinking that 306:367,27@a | if Edmund's influence in this season of love, had already 306:367,28@a | done so little in clearing her judgment, and regulating her 306:367,29@a | notions, his worth would be finally wasted on her even in 306:367,30@a | years of matrimony. 306:367,31[' ]| Experience might have hoped more for any young 306:367,32[' ]| people, so circumstanced, and impartiality would not have 306:367,33[' ]| denied to Miss*Crawford's nature, that participation of 306:367,34[' ]| the general nature of women, which would lead her to 306:367,35[' ]| adopt the opinions of the man she loved and respected, 306:367,36[' ]| as her own. ~~ But as such were Fanny's persuasions, she 306:367,37[' ]| suffered very much from them, and could never speak 306:367,38[' ]| of Miss*Crawford without pain. 306:368,01[' ]| Sir*Thomas, meanwhile, went on with his own hopes, 306:368,02[' ]| and his own observations, still feeling a right, by all his 306:368,03[' ]| knowledge of human nature, to expect to see the effect 306:368,04[' ]| of the loss of power and consequence, on his niece's spirits, 306:368,05[' ]| and the past attentions of the lover producing a craving 306:368,06[' ]| for their return; and he was soon afterwards able to 306:368,07[' ]| account for his not yet completely and indubitably seeing 306:368,08[' ]| all this, by the prospect of another visitor, whose approach 306:368,09[' ]| he could allow to be quite enough to support the spirits 306:368,10[' ]| he was watching. ~~ William had obtained a ten days' 306:368,11[' ]| leave of absence to be given to Northamptonshire, and 306:368,12[' ]| was coming, the happiest of lieutenants, because the latest 306:368,13[' ]| made, to shew his happiness and describe his uniform. 306:368,14[' ]| He came; and he would have been delighted to shew 306:368,15[' ]| his uniform there too, had not cruel custom prohibited its 306:368,16[' ]| appearance except on duty. So the uniform remained 306:368,17[' ]| at Portsmouth, and Edmund conjectured that 306:368,17@b | before 306:368,18@b | Fanny had any chance of seeing it, all its own freshness, 306:368,19@b | and all the freshness of its wearer's feelings, must be worn 306:368,20@b | away. It would be sunk into a badge of disgrace; for 306:368,21@b | what can be more unbecoming, or more worthless, than 306:368,22@b | the uniform of a lieutenant, who has been a lieutenant 306:368,23@b | a year or two, and sees others made commanders before 306:368,24@b | him? 306:368,24[' ]| So reasoned Edmund, till his father made him 306:368,25[' ]| the confident of a scheme which placed Fanny's chance 306:368,26[' ]| of seeing the 2d lieutenant of H%*M%*S%*Thrush, in all his 306:368,27[' ]| glory, in another light. 306:368,28[' ]| This scheme was that she should accompany her brother 306:368,29[' ]| back to Portsmouth, and spend a little time with her own 306:368,30[' ]| family. It had occurred to Sir*Thomas, in one of his 306:368,31[' ]| dignified musings, as a right and desirable measure; but 306:368,32[' ]| before he absolutely made up his mind, he consulted his 306:368,33[' ]| son. Edmund considered it every way, and saw nothing 306:368,34[' ]| but what was right. 306:368,34@b | The thing was good in itself, and 306:368,35@b | could not be done at a better time; and he had no doubt 306:368,36@b | of it being highly agreeable to Fanny. 306:368,36[' ]| This was enough 306:368,37[' ]| to determine Sir*Thomas; and a decisive 306:368,37[E ]| "then so it shall 306:368,38[E ]| be," 306:368,38[' ]| closed that stage of the business; Sir*Thomas retiring 306:369,01[' ]| from it with some feelings of satisfaction, and views of 306:369,02[' ]| good over and above what he had communicated to his 306:369,03[' ]| son, for his prime motive in sending her away, had very 306:369,04[' ]| little to do with the propriety of her seeing her parents 306:369,05[' ]| again, and nothing at all with any idea of making her 306:369,06[' ]| happy. 306:369,06@e | He certainly wished her to go willingly, but he 306:369,07@e | as certainly wished her to be heartily sick of home before 306:369,08@e | her visit ended; and that a little abstinence from the elegancies 306:369,09@e | and luxuries of Mansfield*Park, would bring her 306:369,10@e | mind into a sober state, and incline her to a juster estimate 306:369,11@e | of the value of that home of greater permanence, and equal 306:369,12@e | comfort, of which she had the offer. 306:369,13@e | It was a medicinal project upon his niece's understanding, 306:369,14@e | which he must consider as at present diseased. A 306:369,15@e | residence of eight or nine years in the abode of wealth and 306:369,16@e | plenty had a little disordered her powers of comparing 306:369,17@e | and judging. Her Father's house would, in all probability, 306:369,18@e | teach her the value of a good income; and he 306:369,19@e | trusted that she would be the wiser and happier woman 306:369,20@e | all her life, for the experiment he had devised. 306:369,21[' ]| Had Fanny been at all addicted to raptures, she must 306:369,22[' ]| have had a strong attack of them, when she first understood 306:369,23[' ]| what was intended, when her uncle first made her 306:369,24[' ]| the offer of visiting the parents and brothers, and sisters, 306:369,25[' ]| from whom she had been divided, almost half her life, of 306:369,26[' ]| returning for a couple of months to the scenes of her 306:369,27[' ]| infancy, with William for the protector and companion 306:369,28[' ]| of her journey; and the certainty of continuing to see 306:369,29[' ]| William to the last hour of his remaining on land. Had 306:369,30[' ]| she ever given way to bursts of delight, it must have been 306:369,31[' ]| then, for she was delighted, but her happiness was of a 306:369,32[' ]| quiet, deep, heart-swelling sort; and though never a great 306:369,33[' ]| talker, she was always more inclined to silence when feeling 306:369,34[' ]| most strongly. At the moment she could only thank and 306:369,35[' ]| accept. Afterwards, when familiarized with the visions 306:369,36[' ]| of enjoyment so suddenly opened, she could speak more 306:369,37[' ]| largely to William and Edmund of what she felt; but 306:369,38[' ]| still there were emotions of tenderness that could not be 306:370,01[' ]| clothed in words ~~ 306:370,01@a | The remembrance of all her earliest 306:370,02@a | pleasures, and of what she had suffered in being torn from 306:370,03@a | them, came over her with renewed strength, and it seemed 306:370,04@a | as if to be at home again, would heal every pain that had 306:370,05@a | since grown out of the separation. To be in the centre 306:370,06@a | of such a circle, loved by so many, and more loved by all 306:370,07@a | than she had ever been before, to feel affection without 306:370,08@a | fear or restraint, to feel herself the equal of those who 306:370,09@a | surrounded her, to be at peace from all mention of the 306:370,10@a | Crawfords, safe from every look which could be fancied 306:370,11@a | a reproach on their account! ~~ This was a prospect to be 306:370,12@a | dwelt on with a fondness that could be but half acknowledged. 306:370,13@a | Edmund too ~~ to be two months from \him\, (and perhaps, 306:370,14@a | she might be allowed to make her absence three) must do 306:370,15@a | her good. At a distance unassailed by his looks or his 306:370,16@a | kindness, and safe from the perpetual irritation of knowing 306:370,17@a | his heart, and striving to avoid his confidence, she should 306:370,18@a | be able to reason herself into a properer state; she should 306:370,19@a | be able to think of him as in London, and arranging every*thing 306:370,20@a | there, without wretchedness. ~~ What might have 306:370,21@a | been hard to bear at Mansfield, was to become a slight evil 306:370,22@a | at Portsmouth. 306:370,23@a | The only drawback was the doubt of her Aunt Bertram's 306:370,24@a | being comfortable without her. She was of use to no*one 306:370,25@a | else; but \there\ she might be missed to a degree that she 306:370,26@a | did not like to think of; 306:370,27[' ]| and that part of the arrangement 306:370,28[' ]| was, indeed, the hardest for Sir*Thomas to accomplish, 306:370,29[' ]| and what only \he\ could have accomplished at all. 306:370,30[' ]| But he was master at Mansfield*Park. When he had 306:370,31[' ]| really resolved on any measure, he could always carry it 306:370,32[' ]| through; and now by dint of long talking on the subject, 306:370,33[' ]| explaining and dwelling on the duty of Fanny's sometimes 306:370,34[' ]| seeing her family, he did induce his wife to let her go; 306:370,35[' ]| obtaining it rather from submission, however, than conviction, 306:370,36[' ]| for Lady*Bertram was convinced of very little 306:370,37[' ]| more than that 306:370,37@f | Sir*Thomas thought Fanny ought to go, 306:370,38@f | and therefore that she must. 306:370,38[' ]| In the calmness of her own 306:371,01[' ]| dressing*room, in the impartial flow of her own meditations, 306:371,02[' ]| unbiassed by his bewildering statements, she could 306:371,03[' ]| not acknowledge any necessity for Fanny's ever going 306:371,04[' ]| near a Father and Mother who had done without her so 306:371,05[' ]| long, while she was so useful to herself. ~~ And as to the 306:371,06[' ]| not missing her, which under Mrs%*Norris's discussion was 306:371,07[' ]| the point attempted to be proved, she set herself very 306:371,08[' ]| steadily against admitting any such thing. 306:371,09[' ]| Sir*Thomas had appealed to her reason, conscience, and 306:371,10[' ]| dignity. He called it a sacrifice, and demanded it of her 306:371,11[' ]| goodness and self-command as such. But Mrs%*Norris 306:371,12[' ]| wanted to persuade her that 306:371,12@j | Fanny could be very well 306:371,13@j | spared ~~ \She\ being ready to give up all her own time to 306:371,14@j | her as requested) and in short could not really be wanted 306:371,15@j | or missed. 306:371,16[F ]| "That may be, sister," ~~ 306:371,16[' ]| was all Lady*Bertram's reply ~~ 306:371,17[F ]| "I dare say you are very right, but I am sure I shall miss 306:371,18[F ]| her very much." 306:371,19[' ]| The next step was to communicate with Portsmouth. 306:371,20[' ]| Fanny wrote to offer herself; and her mother's answer, 306:371,21[' ]| though short, was so kind, a few simple lines expressed 306:371,22[' ]| so natural and motherly a joy in the prospect of seeing 306:371,23[' ]| her child again, as to confirm all the daughter's views of 306:371,24[' ]| happiness in being with her ~~ convincing her that she 306:371,25[' ]| should now find a warm and affectionate friend in the 306:371,26[' ]| "Mamma" who had certainly shewn no remarkable fondness 306:371,27[' ]| for her formerly; but this she could easily suppose 306:371,28[' ]| to have been her own fault, or her own fancy. 306:371,28@a | She had 306:371,29@a | probably alienated Love by the helplessness and fretfulness 306:371,30@a | of a fearful temper, or been unreasonable in wanting 306:371,31@a | a larger share than any one among so many could deserve. 306:371,32@a | Now, when she knew better how to be useful and how to 306:371,33@a | forbear, and when her mother could be no longer occupied 306:371,34@a | by the incessant demands of a house full of little children, 306:371,35@a | there would be leisure and inclination for every comfort, 306:371,36@a | and they should soon be what mother and daughter ought 306:371,37@a | to be to each other. 306:371,38[' ]| William was almost as happy in the plan as his sister. 306:372,01@q | It would be the greatest pleasure to him to have her there 306:372,02@q | to the last moment before he sailed, and perhaps find her 306:372,03@q | there still when he came in, from his first cruise! And 306:372,04@q | besides, he wanted her so very much to see the Thrush 306:372,05@q | before she went out of harbour (the Thrush was certainly 306:372,06@q | the finest sloop in the service). And there were several 306:372,07@q | improvements in the dock-yard, too, which he quite longed 306:372,08@q | to shew her. 306:372,09[' ]| He did not scruple to add, that 306:372,09@q | her being at home for 306:372,10@q | a while would be a great advantage to every*body. 306:372,11[Q ]| "I do not know how it is," 306:372,11[' ]| said he, 306:372,11[Q ]| "but we seem 306:372,12[Q ]| to want some of your nice ways and orderliness at my 306:372,13[Q ]| father's. The house is always in confusion. You will set 306:372,14[Q ]| things going in a better way, I am sure. You will tell my 306:372,15[Q ]| mother how it all ought to be, and you will be so useful to 306:372,16[Q ]| Susan, and you will teach Betsey, and make the boys love 306:372,17[Q ]| and mind you. How right and comfortable it will all be!" 306:372,18[' ]| By the time Mrs%*Price's answer arrived, there remained 306:372,19[' ]| but a very few days more to be spent at Mansfield; and 306:372,20[' ]| for part of one of those days the young travellers were in 306:372,21[' ]| a good deal of alarm on the subject of their journey, for 306:372,22[' ]| when the mode of it came to be talked of, and Mrs%*Norris 306:372,23[' ]| found that 306:372,23@j | all her anxiety to save her Brother-in-law's 306:372,24@j | money was vain, and that in spite of her wishes and hints 306:372,25@j | for a less expensive conveyance of Fanny, they were to 306:372,26@j | travel post, when she saw Sir*Thomas actually give William 306:372,27@j | notes for the purpose, she was struck with the idea of there 306:372,28@j | being room for a third in the carriage, and suddenly seized 306:372,29@j | with a strong inclination to go with them ~~ to go and see 306:372,30@j | her poor dear sister Price. 306:372,30[' ]| She proclaimed her thoughts. 306:372,31@j | She must say that she had more than half a mind to go 306:372,32@j | with the young people; it would be such an indulgence 306:372,33@j | to her; she had not seen her poor dear sister Price for 306:372,34@j | more than twenty years; and it would be a help to the 306:372,35@j | young people in their journey to have her older head to 306:372,36@j | manage for them; and she could not help thinking her 306:372,37@j | poor dear sister Price would feel it very unkind of her not 306:372,38@j | to come by such an opportunity. 306:373,01[' ]| William and Fanny were horror-struck at the idea. 306:373,02[' ]| All the comfort of their comfortable journey would be 306:373,03[' ]| destroyed at once. With woeful countenances they looked 306:373,04[' ]| at each other. Their suspense lasted an hour or two. No*one 306:373,05[' ]| interfered to encourage or dissuade. Mrs%*Norris was 306:373,06[' ]| left to settle the matter by herself; and it ended to the 306:373,07[' ]| infinite joy of her nephew and niece, in the recollection 306:373,08@j | that she could not possibly be spared from Mansfield*Park 306:373,09@j | at present; that she was a great deal too necessary 306:373,09@j | to Sir*Thomas 306:373,10@j | and Lady*Bertram for her to be able to answer 306:373,11@j | it to herself to leave them even for a week, and therefore 306:373,12@j | must certainly sacrifice every other pleasure to that of 306:373,13@j | being useful to them. 306:373,14[' ]| It had, in fact, occurred to her, that, though taken to 306:373,15[' ]| Portsmouth for nothing, it would be hardly possible for her 306:373,16[' ]| to avoid paying her own expenses back again. So, her 306:373,17[' ]| poor dear sister Price was left to all the disappointment 306:373,18[' ]| of her missing such an opportunity; and another twenty 306:373,19[' ]| years' absence, perhaps, begun. 306:373,20[' ]| Edmund's plans were affected by this Portsmouth 306:373,21[' ]| journey, this absence of Fanny's. He too had a sacrifice 306:373,22[' ]| to make to Mansfield*Park, as well as his aunt. He had 306:373,23[' ]| intended, about this time, to be going to London, but he 306:373,24[' ]| could not leave his father and mother just when every*body 306:373,25[' ]| else of most importance to their comfort, was leaving 306:373,26[' ]| them; and with an effort, felt but not boasted of, he 306:373,27[' ]| delayed for a week or two longer a journey which he was 306:373,28[' ]| looking forward to, with the hope of its fixing his happiness 306:373,29[' ]| for*ever. 306:373,30[' ]| He told Fanny of it. She knew so much already, that 306:373,31[' ]| she must know every*thing. It made the substance of 306:373,32[' ]| one other confidential discourse about Miss*Crawford; 306:373,33[' ]| and Fanny was the more affected from feeling it to be the 306:373,34[' ]| last time in which Miss*Crawford's name would ever be 306:373,35[' ]| mentioned between them with any remains of liberty. 306:373,36[' ]| Once afterwards, she was alluded to by him. Lady*Bertram 306:373,37[' ]| had been telling her niece in the evening to write to 306:373,38[' ]| her soon and often, and promising to be a good correspondent 306:374,01[' ]| herself; and Edmund, at a convenient moment, 306:374,02[' ]| then added, in a whisper, 306:374,02[B ]| "And \I\ shall write to you, 306:374,03[B ]| Fanny, when I have any*thing worth writing about; any*thing 306:374,04[B ]| to say, that I think you will like to hear, and that 306:374,05[B ]| you will not hear so soon from any other quarter." 306:374,05[' ]| Had 306:374,06[' ]| she doubted his meaning while she listened, the glow in 306:374,07[' ]| his face, when she looked up at him, would have been 306:374,08[' ]| decisive. 306:374,09@a | For this letter she must try to arm herself. That a 306:374,10@a | letter from Edmund should be a subject of terror! She 306:374,11@a | began to feel that she had not yet gone through all the 306:374,12@a | changes of opinion and sentiment, which the progress of 306:374,13@a | time and variation of circumstances occasion in this world 306:374,14@a | of changes. 306:374,14[' ]| The vicissitudes of the human mind had not 306:374,15[' ]| yet been exhausted by her. 306:374,16[' ]| Poor Fanny! though going, as she did, willingly and 306:374,17[' ]| eagerly, the last evening at Mansfield*Park must still be 306:374,18[' ]| wretchedness. Her heart was completely sad at parting. 306:374,19[' ]| She had tears for every room in the house, much more for 306:374,20[' ]| every beloved inhabitant. She clung to her aunt, because 306:374,21[' ]| she would miss her; she kissed the hand of her uncle with 306:374,22[' ]| struggling sobs, because she had displeased him; and as 306:374,23[' ]| for Edmund, she could neither speak, nor look, nor think, 306:374,24[' ]| when the last moment came with \him\, and it was not till 306:374,25[' ]| it was over that she knew he was giving her the affectionate 306:374,26[' ]| farewell of a brother. 306:374,27[' ]| All this passed over night, for the journey was to begin 306:374,28[' ]| very early in the morning; and when the small, diminished 306:374,29[' ]| party met at breakfast, William and Fanny were talked 306:374,30[' ]| of as already advanced one stage. 307:375,01[' ]| The novelty of travelling, and the happiness of being 307:375,02[' ]| with William, soon produced their natural effect on 307:375,03[' ]| Fanny's spirits, when Mansfield*Park was fairly left 307:375,04[' ]| behind, and by the time their first stage was ended, and 307:375,05[' ]| they were to quit Sir*Thomas's carriage, she was able to 307:375,06[' ]| take leave of the old coachman, and send back proper 307:375,07[' ]| messages, with cheerful looks. 307:375,08[' ]| Of pleasant talk between the brother and sister, there was 307:375,09[' ]| no end. Every*thing supplied an amusement to the high 307:375,10[' ]| glee of William's mind, and he was full of frolic and joke, 307:375,11[' ]| in the intervals of their higher-toned subjects, all of which 307:375,12[' ]| ended, if they did not begin, in praise of the Thrush, conjectures 307:375,13[' ]| how she would be employed, schemes for an 307:375,14[' ]| action with some superior force, which (supposing the 307:375,15[' ]| first lieutenant out of the way ~~ and William was not very 307:375,16[' ]| merciful to the first lieutenant) was to give himself the 307:375,17[' ]| next step as soon as possible, or speculations upon prize 307:375,18[' ]| money, which was to be generously distributed at home, 307:375,19[' ]| with only the reservation of enough to make the little 307:375,20[' ]| cottage comfortable, in which he and Fanny were to pass 307:375,21[' ]| all their middle and latter life together. 307:375,22[' ]| Fanny's immediate concerns, as far as they involved 307:375,23[' ]| Mr%*Crawford, made no part of their conversation. William 307:375,24[' ]| knew what had passed, 307:375,24@q | and from his heart lamented 307:375,25@q | that his sister's feelings should be so cold towards a man 307:375,26@q | whom he must consider as the first of human characters; 307:375,27[' ]| but he was of an age to be all for love, and therefore 307:375,28[' ]| unable to blame; and knowing her wish on the subject, 307:375,29[' ]| he would not distress her by the slightest allusion. 307:375,30[' ]| She had reason to suppose herself not yet forgotten by 307:375,31[' ]| Mr%*Crawford. ~~ She had heard repeatedly from his sister 307:375,32[' ]| within the three weeks which had passed since their leaving 307:375,33[' ]| Mansfield, and in each letter there had been a few lines 307:376,01[' ]| from himself, warm and determined like his speeches. It 307:376,02[' ]| was a correspondence which Fanny found quite as unpleasant 307:376,03[' ]| as she had feared. 307:376,03@a | Miss*Crawford's style of 307:376,04@a | writing, lively and affectionate, was itself an evil, independent 307:376,05@a | of what she was thus forced into reading from 307:376,06@a | the brother's pen, for Edmund would never rest till she 307:376,07@a | had read the chief of the letter to him, and then she had 307:376,08@a | to listen to his admiration of her language, and the warmth 307:376,09@a | of her attachments. ~~ There had, in fact, been so much 307:376,10@a | of message, of allusion, of recollection, so much of Mansfield 307:376,11@a | in every letter, that Fanny could not but suppose it 307:376,12@a | meant for him to hear; and to find herself forced into 307:376,13@a | a purpose of that kind, compelled into a correspondence 307:376,14@a | which was bringing her the addresses of the man she did 307:376,15@a | not love, and obliging her to administer to the adverse 307:376,16@a | passion of the man she did, was cruelly mortifying. Here, 307:376,17@a | too, her present removal promised advantage. When no 307:376,18@a | longer under the same roof with Edmund, she trusted that 307:376,19@a | Miss*Crawford would have no motive for writing, strong 307:376,20@a | enough to overcome the trouble, and that at Portsmouth 307:376,21@a | their correspondence would dwindle into nothing. 307:376,22[' ]| With such thoughts as these among ten hundred others, 307:376,23[' ]| Fanny proceeded in her journey, safely and cheerfully, 307:376,24[' ]| and as expeditiously as could rationally be hoped in the 307:376,25[' ]| dirty month of February. They entered Oxford, but she 307:376,26[' ]| could take only a hasty glimpse of Edmund's College as 307:376,27[' ]| they passed along, and made no stop any*where, till they 307:376,28[' ]| reached Newbury, where a comfortable meal, uniting 307:376,29[' ]| dinner and supper, wound up the enjoyments and fatigues 307:376,30[' ]| of the day. 307:376,31[' ]| The next morning saw them off again at an early hour; 307:376,32[' ]| and with no events and no delays they regularly advanced, 307:376,33[' ]| and were in the environs of Portsmouth while there was 307:376,34[' ]| yet daylight for Fanny to look around her, and wonder at 307:376,35[' ]| the new buildings. ~~ They passed the Drawbridge, and 307:376,36[' ]| entered the town; and the light was only beginning to 307:376,37[' ]| fail, as, guided by William's powerful voice, they were 307:376,38[' ]| rattled into a narrow street, leading from the high street, 307:377,01[' ]| and drawn up before the door of a small house now 307:377,02[' ]| inhabited by Mr%*Price. 307:377,03[' ]| Fanny was all agitation and flutter ~~ all hope and apprehension. 307:377,04[' ]| The moment they stopt, a trollopy-looking 307:377,05[' ]| maid-servant, seemingly in waiting for them at the door, 307:377,06[' ]| stept forward, and more intent on telling the news, than 307:377,07[' ]| giving them any help, immediately began with, 307:377,07[V ]| "the 307:377,08[V ]| Thrush is gone out of harbour, please Sir, and one of the 307:377,09[V ]| officers has been here to" ~~ 307:377,09[' ]| She was interrupted by 307:377,10[' ]| a fine tall boy of eleven years old, who rushing out of the 307:377,11[' ]| house, pushed the maid aside, and while William was 307:377,12[' ]| opening the chaise door himself, called out, 307:377,12[W ]| "you are just 307:377,13[W ]| in time. We have been looking for you this half hour. 307:377,14[W ]| The Thrush went out of harbour this morning. I saw 307:377,15[W ]| her. It was a beautiful sight. And they think she will 307:377,16[W ]| have her orders in a day or two. And Mr%*Campbell was 307:377,17[W ]| here at four o'clock, to ask for you; he has got one of the 307:377,18[W ]| Thrush's boats, and is going off to her at six, and hoped 307:377,19[W ]| you would be here in time to go with him." 307:377,20[' ]| A stare or two at Fanny, as William helped her out 307:377,21[' ]| of the carriage, was all the voluntary notice which this 307:377,22[' ]| brother bestowed; ~~ but he made no objection to her 307:377,23[' ]| kissing him, though still entirely engaged in detailing 307:377,24[' ]| farther particulars of the Thrush's going out of harbour, 307:377,25[' ]| in which he had a strong right of interest, being to commence 307:377,26[' ]| his career of seamanship in her at this very time. 307:377,27[' ]| Another moment, and Fanny was in the narrow entrance-passage 307:377,28[' ]| of the house, and in her mother's arms, who met 307:377,29[' ]| her there with looks of true kindness, and with features 307:377,30[' ]| which Fanny loved the more, because they brought her 307:377,31[' ]| aunt Bertram's before her; and there were her two sisters, 307:377,32[' ]| Susan, a well-grown fine girl of fourteen, and Betsey, the 307:377,33[' ]| youngest of the family, about five ~~ both glad to see her 307:377,34[' ]| in their way, though with no advantage of manner in 307:377,35[' ]| receiving her. But manner Fanny did not want. 307:377,35@a | Would 307:377,36@a | they but love her, she should be satisfied. 307:377,37[' ]| She was then taken into a parlour, so small that 307:377,38[' ]| her first conviction was of its being only a passage-room to 307:378,01[' ]| something better, and she stood for a moment expecting 307:378,02[' ]| to be invited on; but when she saw there was no other 307:378,03[' ]| door, and that there were signs of habitation before her, 307:378,04[' ]| she called back her thoughts, reproved herself, and grieved 307:378,05[' ]| lest they should have been suspected. Her mother, 307:378,06[' ]| however, could not stay long enough to suspect any*thing. 307:378,07[' ]| She was gone again to the street door, to welcome William. 307:378,08[P ]| "Oh! my dear William, how glad I am to see you. But 307:378,09[P ]| have you heard about the Thrush? She is gone out of 307:378,10[P ]| harbour already, three days before we had any thought of 307:378,11[P ]| it; and I do not know what I am to do about Sam's things, 307:378,12[P ]| they will never be ready in time; for she may have her 307:378,13[P ]| orders to-morrow, perhaps. It takes me quite unawares. 307:378,14[P ]| And now you must be off for Spithead too. Campbell has 307:378,15[P ]| been here, quite in a worry about you; and now, what 307:378,16[P ]| shall we do? I thought to have had such a comfortable 307:378,17[P ]| evening with you, and here every*thing comes upon me at 307:378,18[P ]| once." 307:378,19[' ]| Her son answered cheerfully, telling her that every*thing 307:378,20[' ]| was always for the best; and making light of his own 307:378,21[' ]| inconvenience, in being obliged to hurry away so soon. 307:378,22[Q ]| "To be sure, I had much rather she had stayed in 307:378,23[Q ]| harbour, that I might have sat a few hours with you in 307:378,24[Q ]| comfort; but as there is a boat ashore, I had better go off 307:378,25[Q ]| at once, and there is no help for it. Whereabouts does the 307:378,26[Q ]| Thrush lay at Spithead! Near the Canopus? But no 307:378,27[Q ]| matter ~~ here's Fanny in the parlour, and why should we 307:378,28[Q ]| stay in the passage? ~~ Come, mother, you have hardly 307:378,29[Q ]| looked at your dear Fanny yet." 307:378,30[' ]| In they both came, and Mrs%*Price having kindly kissed 307:378,31[' ]| her daughter again, and commented a little on her growth, 307:378,32[' ]| began with very natural solicitude to feel for their fatigues 307:378,33[' ]| and wants as travellers. 307:378,34[P ]| "Poor dears! how tired you must both be! ~~ and now 307:378,35[P ]| what will you have? I began to think you would never 307:378,36[P ]| come. Betsey and I have been watching for you this half 307:378,37[P ]| hour. And when did you get anything to eat? And what 307:378,38[P ]| would you like to have now? I could not tell whether you 307:379,01[P ]| would be for some meat, or only a dish of tea after your 307:379,02[P ]| journey, or else I would have got something ready. And 307:379,03[P ]| now I am afraid Campbell will be here, before there is time 307:379,04[P ]| to dress a steak, and we have no butcher at hand. It is 307:379,05[P ]| very inconvenient to have no butcher in the street. We 307:379,06[P ]| were better off in our last house. Perhaps you would like 307:379,07[P ]| some tea, as soon as it can be got." 307:379,08[' ]| They both declared they should prefer it to anything. 307:379,09[P ]| "Then, Betsey, my dear, run into the kitchen, and see if 307:379,10[P ]| Rebecca has put the water on; and tell her to bring in the 307:379,11[P ]| tea-things as soon as she can. I wish we could get the bell 307:379,12[P ]| mended ~~ but Betsey is a very handy little messenger." 307:379,13[' ]| Betsey went with alacrity; proud to shew her abilities 307:379,14[' ]| before her fine new sister. 307:379,15[P ]| "Dear me!" 307:379,15[' ]| continued the anxious mother, 307:379,15[P ]| "what 307:379,16[P ]| a sad fire we have got, and I dare say you are both starved 307:379,17[P ]| with cold. Draw your chair nearer, my dear. I cannot 307:379,18[P ]| think what Rebecca has been about. I am sure I told her 307:379,19[P ]| to bring some coals half an hour ago. Susan, \you\ should 307:379,20[P ]| have taken care of the fire." 307:379,21[V ]| "I was up*stairs, mamma, moving my things;" 307:379,21[' ]| said 307:379,22[' ]| Susan, in a fearless, self-defending tone, which startled 307:379,23[' ]| Fanny. 307:379,23[V ]| "You know you had but just settled that my 307:379,24[V ]| sister Fanny and I should have the other room; and 307:379,25[V ]| I could not get Rebecca to give me any help." 307:379,26[' ]| Farther discussion was prevented by various bustles; 307:379,27[' ]| first, the driver came to be paid ~~ then there was a squabble 307:379,28[' ]| between Sam and Rebecca, about the manner of carrying 307:379,29[' ]| up his sister's trunk, which he would manage all his own 307:379,30[' ]| way; and lastly in walked Mr%*Price himself, his own loud 307:379,31[' ]| voice preceding him, as with something of the oath kind he 307:379,32[' ]| kicked away his son's portmanteau, and his daughter's 307:379,33[' ]| band-box in the passage, and called out for a candle; no 307:379,34[' ]| candle was brought, however, and he walked into the 307:379,35[' ]| room. 307:379,36[' ]| Fanny, with doubting feelings, had risen to meet him, 307:379,37[' ]| but sank down again on finding herself undistinguished in 307:379,38[' ]| the dusk, and unthought of. With a friendly shake of his 307:380,01[' ]| son's hand, and an eager voice, he instantly began ~~ 307:380,01[O ]| "Ha! 307:380,02[O ]| welcome back, my boy. Glad to see you. Have you heard 307:380,03[O ]| the news? The Thrush went out of harbour this morning. 307:380,04[O ]| Sharp is the word, you see. By G***, you are just in time. 307:380,05[O ]| The doctor has been here enquiring for you; he has got 307:380,06[O ]| one of the boats, and is to be off for Spithead by six, so you 307:380,07[O ]| had better go with him. I have been to Turner's about 307:380,08[O ]| your mess; it is all in a way to be done. I should not 307:380,09[O ]| wonder if you had your orders to-morrow; but you cannot 307:380,10[O ]| sail with this wind, if you are to cruize to the westward; 307:380,11[O ]| and Captain*Walsh thinks you will certainly have a cruize 307:380,12[O ]| to the westward, with the Elephant. By G***, I wish you 307:380,13[O ]| may. But old Scholey was saying just now, that he 307:380,14[O ]| thought you would be sent first to the Texel. Well, well, 307:380,15[O ]| we are ready, whatever happens. But by G***, you lost 307:380,16[O ]| a fine sight by not being here in the morning to see the 307:380,17[O ]| Thrush go out of harbour. I would not have been out of 307:380,18[O ]| the way for a thousand pounds. Old Scholey ran in at 307:380,19[O ]| breakfast*time, to say she had slipped her moorings and 307:380,20[O ]| was coming out. I jumped up, and made but two steps to 307:380,21[O ]| the platform. If ever there was a perfect beauty afloat, she 307:380,22[O ]| is one; and there she lays at Spithead, and anybody in 307:380,23[O ]| England would take her for an eight-and-twenty. I was 307:380,24[O ]| upon the platform two hours this afternoon, looking at her. 307:380,25[O ]| She lays close to the Endymion, between her and the 307:380,26[O ]| Cleopatra, just to the eastward of the sheer hulk." 307:380,27[Q ]| "Ha!" 307:380,27[' ]| cried William, 307:380,27[Q ]| "\that's\ just where I should have 307:380,28[Q ]| put her myself. It's the best birth at Spithead. But here 307:380,29[Q ]| is my sister, Sir, here is Fanny;" 307:380,29[' ]| turning and leading her 307:380,30[' ]| forward; ~~ 307:380,30[Q ]| "it is so dark you do not see her." 307:380,31[' ]| With an acknowledgement that he had quite forgot her, 307:380,32[' ]| Mr%*Price now received his daughter; and, having given 307:380,33[' ]| her a cordial hug, and observed that 307:380,33@o | she was grown into 307:380,34@o | a woman, and he supposed would be wanting a husband 307:380,35@o | soon, 307:380,35[' ]| seemed very much inclined to forget her again. 307:380,36[' ]| Fanny shrunk back to her seat, with feelings sadly 307:380,37[' ]| pained by his language and his smell of spirits; and he 307:380,38[' ]| talked on only to his son, and only of the Thrush, though 307:381,01[' ]| William, warmly interested, as he was, in that subject, 307:381,02[' ]| more than once tried to make his father think of Fanny, 307:381,03[' ]| and her long absence and long journey. 307:381,04[' ]| After sitting some time longer, a candle was obtained; 307:381,05[' ]| but, as there was still no appearance of tea, nor, from 307:381,06[' ]| Betsey's reports from the kitchen, much hope of any under 307:381,07[' ]| a considerable period, William determined to go and 307:381,08[' ]| change his dress, and make the necessary preparations for 307:381,09[' ]| his removal on board directly, that he might have his tea 307:381,10[' ]| in comfort afterwards. 307:381,11[' ]| As he left the room, two rosy-faced boys, ragged and 307:381,12[' ]| dirty, about eight and nine years old, rushed into it just 307:381,13[' ]| released from school, and coming eagerly to see their sister, 307:381,14[' ]| and tell that the Thrush was gone out of the harbour; Tom 307:381,15[' ]| and Charles: Charles had been born since Fanny's going 307:381,16[' ]| away, but Tom she often helped to nurse, and now felt 307:381,17[' ]| a particular pleasure in seeing again. Both were kissed 307:381,18[' ]| very tenderly, but Tom she wanted to keep by her, to try 307:381,19[' ]| to trace the features of the baby she had loved, and talk to 307:381,20[' ]| him of his infant preference of herself. Tom, however, had 307:381,21[' ]| no mind for such treatment: he came home, not to stand 307:381,22[' ]| and be talked to, but to run about and make a noise; and 307:381,23[' ]| both boys had soon burst away from her, and slammed the 307:381,24[' ]| parlour door till her temples ached. 307:381,25[' ]| She had now seen all that were at home; there remained 307:381,26[' ]| only two brothers between herself and Susan, one of whom 307:381,27[' ]| was clerk in a public office in London, and the other 307:381,28[' ]| midshipman on board an Indiaman. But though she had 307:381,29[' ]| \seen\ all the members of the family, she had not yet \heard\ all 307:381,30[' ]| the noise they could make. Another quarter of an hour 307:381,31[' ]| brought her a great deal more. William was soon calling 307:381,32[' ]| out from the landing-place of the second story, for his 307:381,33[' ]| mother and for Rebecca. He was in distress for something 307:381,34[' ]| that he had left there, and did not find again. A key was 307:381,35[' ]| mislaid, Betsey accused of having got at his new hat, and 307:381,36[' ]| some slight, but essential alteration of his uniform waistcoat, 307:381,37[' ]| which he had been promised to have done for him, 307:381,38[' ]| entirely neglected. 307:382,01[' ]| Mrs%*Price, Rebecca, and Betsey, all went up to defend 307:382,02[' ]| themselves, all talking together, but Rebecca loudest, and 307:382,03[' ]| the job was to be done, as well as it could, in a great hurry; 307:382,04[' ]| William trying in vain to send Betsey down again, or keep 307:382,05[' ]| her from being troublesome where she was; the whole of 307:382,06[' ]| which, as almost every door in the house was open, could 307:382,07[' ]| be plainly distinguished in the parlour, except when 307:382,08[' ]| drowned at intervals by the superior noise of Sam, Tom, 307:382,09[' ]| and Charles chasing each other up and down*stairs, and 307:382,10[' ]| tumbling about and hallooing. 307:382,11[' ]| Fanny was almost stunned. The smallness of the house, 307:382,12[' ]| and thinness of the walls, brought every*thing so close 307:382,13[' ]| to her, that, added to the fatigue of her journey, and all 307:382,14[' ]| her recent agitation, she hardly knew how to bear it. 307:382,15[' ]| \Within\ the room all was tranquil enough, for Susan having 307:382,16[' ]| disappeared with the others, there were soon only her 307:382,17[' ]| father and herself remaining; and he taking out a newspaper 307:382,18[' ]| ~~ the accustomary loan of a neighbour, applied 307:382,19[' ]| himself to studying it, without seeming to recollect her 307:382,20[' ]| existence. The solitary candle was held between himself 307:382,21[' ]| and the paper, without any reference to her possible 307:382,22[' ]| convenience; but she had nothing to do, and was glad to 307:382,23[' ]| have the light screened from her aching head, as she sat in 307:382,24[' ]| bewildered, broken, sorrowful contemplation. 307:382,25[' ]| She was at home. 307:382,25@a | But alas! it was not such a home, she 307:382,26@a | had not such a welcome, as ~~ 307:382,26[' ]| she checked herself; 307:382,26@a | she 307:382,27@a | was unreasonable. What right had she to be of importance 307:382,28@a | to her family? She could have none, so long lost sight of! 307:382,29@a | William's concerns must be dearest ~~ they always had 307:382,30@a | been ~~ and he had every right. Yet to have so little said or 307:382,31@a | asked about herself ~~ to have scarcely an enquiry made 307:382,32@a | after Mansfield! It did pain her to have Mansfield 307:382,33@a | forgotten; the friends who had done so much ~~ the dear, 307:382,34@a | dear friends! But here, one subject swallowed up all the 307:382,35@a | rest. Perhaps it must be so. The destination of the 307:382,36@a | Thrush must be now pre-eminently interesting. A day or 307:382,37@a | two might shew the difference. \She\ only was to blame. 307:382,38@a | Yet she thought it would not have been so at Mansfield. 307:383,01@a | No, in her uncle's house there would have been a consideration 307:383,02@a | of times and seasons, a regulation of subject, a propriety, 307:383,03@a | an attention towards every*body which there was 307:383,04@a | not here. 307:383,05[' ]| The only interruption which thoughts like these received 307:383,06[' ]| for nearly half an hour, was from a sudden burst of her 307:383,07[' ]| father's, not at all calculated to compose them. At a more 307:383,08[' ]| than ordinary pitch of thumping and hallooing in the 307:383,09[' ]| passage, he exclaimed, 307:383,09[O ]| "Devil take those young dogs! 307:383,10[O ]| How they are singing out! Ay, Sam's voice louder than all 307:383,11[O ]| the rest! That boy is fit for a boatswain. Holla ~~ you 307:383,12[O ]| there ~~ Sam ~~ stop your confounded pipe, or I shall be after 307:383,13[O ]| you." 307:383,14[' ]| This threat was so palpably disregarded, that though 307:383,15[' ]| within five minutes afterwards the three boys all burst into 307:383,16[' ]| the room together and sat down, Fanny could not consider 307:383,17[' ]| it as a proof of any*thing more than their being for the time 307:383,18[' ]| thoroughly fagged, which their hot faces and panting 307:383,19[' ]| breaths seemed to prove ~~ especially as they were still 307:383,20[' ]| kicking each other's shins, and hallooing out at sudden 307:383,21[' ]| starts immediately under their father's eye. 307:383,22[' ]| The next opening of the door brought something more 307:383,23[' ]| welcome; it was for the tea-things, which she had begun 307:383,24[' ]| almost to despair of seeing that evening. Susan and an 307:383,25[' ]| attendant girl, whose inferior appearance informed Fanny, 307:383,26[' ]| to her great surprise, that she had previously seen the 307:383,27[' ]| upper servant, brought in every*thing necessary for the 307:383,28[' ]| meal; Susan looking as she put the kettle on the fire and 307:383,29[' ]| glanced at her sister, as if divided between the agreeable 307:383,30[' ]| triumph of shewing her activity and usefulness, and the 307:383,31[' ]| dread of being thought to demean herself by such an office. 307:383,32[V ]| "She had been into the kitchen," 307:383,32[' ]| she said, 307:383,32[V ]| "to hurry 307:383,33[V ]| Sally and help make the toast, and spread the bread and 307:383,34[V ]| butter ~~ or she did not know when they should have got 307:383,35[V ]| tea ~~ and she was sure her sister must want something after 307:383,36[V ]| her journey." 307:383,37[' ]| Fanny was very thankful. She could not but own that 307:383,38[' ]| she should be very glad of a little tea, and Susan immediately 307:384,01[' ]| set about making it, as if pleased to have the 307:384,02[' ]| employment all to herself; and with only a little unnecessary 307:384,03[' ]| bustle, and some few injudicious attempts at keeping 307:384,04[' ]| her brothers in better order than she could, acquitted 307:384,05[' ]| herself very well. Fanny's spirit was as much refreshed 307:384,06[' ]| as her body; her head and heart were soon the better for 307:384,07[' ]| such well-timed kindness. Susan had an open, sensible 307:384,08[' ]| countenance; she was like William ~~ and Fanny hoped to 307:384,09[' ]| find her like him in disposition and good*will towards 307:384,10[' ]| herself. 307:384,11[' ]| In this more placid state of things William re-entered, 307:384,12[' ]| followed not far behind by his mother and Betsey. He, 307:384,13[' ]| complete in his Lieutenant's uniform, looking and moving 307:384,14[' ]| all the taller, firmer, and more graceful for it, and with the 307:384,15[' ]| happiest smile over his face, walked up directly to Fanny 307:384,16[' ]| ~~ who, rising from her seat, looked at him for a moment in 307:384,17[' ]| speechless admiration, and then threw her arms round his 307:384,18[' ]| neck to sob out her various emotions of pain and pleasure. 307:384,19[' ]| Anxious not to appear unhappy, she soon recovered 307:384,20[' ]| herself: and wiping away her tears, was able to notice and 307:384,21[' ]| admire all the striking parts of his dress ~~ listening with 307:384,22[' ]| reviving spirits to his cheerful hopes of being on shore some 307:384,23[' ]| part of every day before they sailed, and even of getting 307:384,24[' ]| her to Spithead to see the sloop. 307:384,25[' ]| The next bustle brought in Mr%*Campbell, the Surgeon of 307:384,26[' ]| the Thrush, a very well behaved young man, who came to 307:384,27[' ]| call for his friend, and for whom there was with some 307:384,28[' ]| contrivance found a chair, and with some hasty washing 307:384,29[' ]| of the young tea-maker's, a cup and saucer; and after 307:384,30[' ]| another quarter of an hour of earnest talk between the 307:384,31[' ]| gentlemen, noise rising upon noise, and bustle upon bustle, 307:384,32[' ]| men and boys at last all in motion together, the moment 307:384,33[' ]| came for setting off; every*thing was ready, William took 307:384,34[' ]| leave, and all of them were gone ~~ for the three boys, in 307:384,35[' ]| spite of their mother's intreaty, determined to see their 307:384,36[' ]| brother and Mr%*Campbell to the sally-port; and Mr%*Price 307:384,37[' ]| walked off at the same time to carry back his neighbour's 307:384,38[' ]| newspaper. 307:385,01[' ]| Something like tranquillity might now be hoped for, and 307:385,02[' ]| accordingly, when Rebecca had been prevailed on to carry 307:385,03[' ]| away the tea-things, and Mrs%*Price had walked about the 307:385,04[' ]| room some time looking for a shirt sleeve, which Betsey at 307:385,05[' ]| last hunted out from a drawer in the kitchen, the small 307:385,06[' ]| party of females were pretty well composed, and the 307:385,07[' ]| mother having lamented again over the impossibility of 307:385,08[' ]| getting Sam ready in time, was at leisure to think of her 307:385,09[' ]| eldest daughter and the friends she had come from. 307:385,10[' ]| A few enquiries began; but one of the earliest ~~ 307:385,10[P ]| "How 307:385,11[P ]| did her sister Bertram manage about her servants? Was 307:385,12[P ]| she as much plagued as herself to get tolerable servants?" 307:385,13[' ]| ~~ soon led her mind away from Northamptonshire, and 307:385,14[' ]| fixed it on her own domestic grievances; and the shocking 307:385,15[' ]| character of all the Portsmouth servants, of whom she 307:385,16[' ]| believed her own two were the very worst, engrossed her 307:385,17[' ]| completely. The Bertrams were all forgotten in detailing 307:385,18[' ]| the faults of Rebecca, against whom Susan had also much 307:385,19[' ]| to depose, and little Betsey a great deal more, and who did 307:385,20[' ]| seem so thoroughly without a single recommendation, that 307:385,21[' ]| Fanny could not help modestly presuming that 307:385,21@a | her mother 307:385,22@a | meant to part with her when her year was up. 307:385,23[P ]| "Her year!" 307:385,23[' ]| cried Mrs%*Price; 307:385,23[P ]| "I am sure I hope 307:385,24[P ]| I shall be rid of her before she has staid a year, for that 307:385,24[P ]| will 307:385,25[P ]| not be up till November. Servants are come to such a pass, 307:385,26[P ]| my dear, in Portsmouth, that it is quite a miracle if one 307:385,27[P ]| keeps them more than half-a-year. I have no hope of ever 307:385,28[P ]| being settled; and if I was to part with Rebecca, I should 307:385,29[P ]| only get something worse. And yet, I do not think I am 307:385,30[P ]| a very difficult mistress to please ~~ and I am sure the place 307:385,31[P ]| is easy enough, for there is always a girl under her, and 307:385,32[P ]| I often do half the work myself." 307:385,33[' ]| Fanny was silent; but not from being convinced that 307:385,34[' ]| there might not be a remedy found for some of these evils. 307:385,35[' ]| As she now sat looking at Betsey, 307:385,35@a | she could not but think 307:385,36@a | particularly of another sister, a very pretty little girl, 307:385,37@a | whom she had left there not much younger when she went 307:385,38@a | into Northamptonshire, who had died a few years afterwards. 307:386,01@a | There had been something remarkably amiable 307:386,02@a | about her. 307:386,02[' ]| Fanny, in those early days, had preferred her 307:386,03[' ]| to Susan; and when the news of her death had at last 307:386,04[' ]| reached Mansfield, had for a short time been quite 307:386,05[' ]| afflicted. ~~ The sight of Betsey brought the image of little 307:386,06[' ]| Mary back again, but she would not have pained her 307:386,07[' ]| mother by alluding to her, for the world. ~~ While considering 307:386,08[' ]| her with these ideas, Betsey, at a small distance, was 307:386,09[' ]| holding out something to catch her eyes, meaning to 307:386,10[' ]| screen it at the same time from Susan's. 307:386,11[A ]| "What have you got there, my love?" 307:386,11[' ]| said Fanny, 307:386,12[A ]| "come and shew it to me." 307:386,13[' ]| It was a silver knife. Up jumped Susan, claiming it as 307:386,14[' ]| her own, and trying to get it away; but the child ran to 307:386,15[' ]| her mother's protection, and Susan could only reproach, 307:386,16[' ]| which she did very warmly, and evidently hoping to 307:386,17[' ]| interest Fanny on her side. 307:386,17[V ]| "It was very hard that she 307:386,18[V ]| was not to have her \own\ knife; it was her own knife; little 307:386,19[V ]| sister Mary had left it to her upon her death-bed, and she 307:386,20[V ]| ought to have had it to keep herself long ago. But mamma 307:386,21[V ]| kept it from her, and was always letting Betsey get hold of 307:386,22[V ]| it; and the end of it would be that Betsey would spoil it, 307:386,23[V ]| and get it for her own, though mamma had \promised\ her 307:386,24[V ]| that Betsey should not have it in her own hands." 307:386,25[' ]| Fanny was quite shocked. Every feeling of duty, 307:386,26[' ]| honour, and tenderness was wounded by her sister's speech 307:386,27[' ]| and her mother's reply. 307:386,28[P ]| "Now, Susan," 307:386,28[' ]| cried Mrs%*Price in a complaining voice, 307:386,29[P ]| "now, how can you be so cross? You are always 307:386,30[P ]| quarrelling about that knife. I wish you would not be so 307:386,31[P ]| quarrelsome. Poor little Betsey; how cross Susan is to 307:386,32[P ]| you! But you should not have taken it out, my dear, 307:386,33[P ]| when I sent you to the drawer. You know I told you not 307:386,34[P ]| to touch it, because Susan is so cross about it. I must hide 307:386,35[P ]| it another time, Betsey. Poor Mary little thought it would 307:386,36[P ]| be such a bone of contention when she gave it me to 307:386,37[P ]| keep, only two hours before she died. Poor little soul! she 307:386,38[P ]| could but just speak to be heard, and she said so prettily, 307:387,01@v | Let sister Susan have my knife, mamma, when I am dead 307:387,02@v | and buried." ~~ 307:387,02[P ]| Poor little dear! she was so fond of it, 307:387,03[P ]| Fanny, that she would have it lay by her in bed, all 307:387,04[P ]| through her illness. It was the gift of her good godmother, 307:387,05[P ]| old Mrs%*Admiral*Maxwell, only six weeks before 307:387,06[P ]| she was taken for death. Poor little sweet creature! 307:387,07[P ]| Well, she was taken away from evil to come. My own 307:387,08[P ]| Betsey, 307:387,08[' ]| (fondling her), 307:387,08[P ]| \you\ have not the luck of such a good 307:387,09[P ]| godmother. Aunt Norris lives too far off, to think of such 307:387,10[P ]| little people as you." 307:387,11[' ]| Fanny had indeed nothing to convey from aunt Norris, 307:387,12[' ]| but a message to say 307:387,12@j | she hoped her god-daughter was 307:387,13@j | a good girl, and learnt her book. 307:387,13[' ]| There had been at one 307:387,14[' ]| moment a slight murmur in the drawing-room at Mansfield*Park, 307:387,15[' ]| about sending her a Prayer-book; but no second 307:387,16[' ]| sound had been heard of such a purpose. Mrs%*Norris, 307:387,17[' ]| however, had gone home and taken down two old Prayer-books 307:387,18[' ]| of her husband, with that idea, but upon examination, 307:387,19[' ]| the ardour of generosity went off. One was found to 307:387,20[' ]| have too small a print for a child's eyes, and the other to 307:387,21[' ]| be too cumbersome for her to carry about. 307:387,22[' ]| Fanny fatigued and fatigued again, was thankful to 307:387,23[' ]| accept the first invitation of going to bed; and before 307:387,24[' ]| Betsey had finished her cry at being allowed to sit up only 307:387,25[' ]| one hour extraordinary in honour of sister, she was off, 307:387,26[' ]| leaving all below in confusion and noise again, the boys 307:387,27[' ]| begging for toasted cheese, her father calling out for his rum 307:387,28[' ]| and water, and Rebecca never where she ought to be. 307:387,29[' ]| There was nothing to raise her spirits in the confined and 307:387,30[' ]| scantily-furnished chamber that she was to share with 307:387,31[' ]| Susan. The smallness of the rooms above and below 307:387,32[' ]| indeed, and the narrowness of the passage and staircase, 307:387,33[' ]| struck her beyond her imagination. She soon learnt to 307:387,34[' ]| think with respect of her own little attic at Mansfield*Park, 307:387,35[' ]| in \that\ house reckoned too small for anybody's comfort. 308:388,01[' ]| Could Sir*Thomas have seen all his niece's feelings, 308:388,02[' ]| when she wrote her first letter to her aunt, he would not 308:388,03[' ]| have despaired; for though a good night's rest, a pleasant 308:388,04[' ]| morning, the hope of soon seeing William again, and the 308:388,05[' ]| comparatively quiet state of the house, from Tom and 308:388,06[' ]| Charles being gone to school, Sam on some project of his 308:388,07[' ]| own, and her father on his usual lounges, enabled her to 308:388,08[' ]| express herself cheerfully on the subject of home, there 308:388,09[' ]| were still to her own perfect consciousness, many drawbacks 308:388,10[' ]| suppressed. Could he have seen only half that she 308:388,11[' ]| felt before the end of a week, he would have thought 308:388,12[' ]| Mr%*Crawford sure of her, and been delighted with his own 308:388,13[' ]| sagacity. 308:388,14[' ]| Before the week ended, it was all disappointment. In 308:388,15[' ]| the first place, William was gone. The Thrush had had her 308:388,16[' ]| orders, the wind had changed, and he was sailed within 308:388,17[' ]| four days from their reaching Portsmouth; and during 308:388,18[' ]| those days, she had seen him only twice, in a short and 308:388,19[' ]| hurried way, when he had come ashore on duty. There had 308:388,20[' ]| been no free conversation, no walk on the ramparts, no visit 308:388,21[' ]| to the dock-yard, no acquaintance with the Thrush ~~ 308:388,22[' ]| nothing of all that they had planned and depended on. 308:388,23[' ]| Every*thing in that quarter failed her, except William's 308:388,24[' ]| affection. His last thought on leaving home was for her. 308:388,25[' ]| He stepped back again to the door to say, 308:388,25[Q ]| "Take care of 308:388,26[Q ]| Fanny, mother. She is tender, and not used to rough it 308:388,27[Q ]| like the rest of us. I charge you, take care of Fanny." 308:388,28@a | William was gone; ~~ and the home he had left her in 308:388,29@a | was ~~ 308:388,29[' ]| Fanny could not conceal it from herself ~~ 308:388,29@a | in almost 308:388,30@a | every respect, the very reverse of what she could have 308:388,31@a | wished. It was the abode of noise, disorder, and impropriety. 308:388,32@a | Nobody was in their right place, nothing was done 308:389,01@a | as it ought to be. She could not respect her parents, as she 308:389,02@a | had hoped. On her father, her confidence had not been 308:389,03@a | sanguine, but he was more negligent of his family, his habits 308:389,04@a | were worse, and his manners coarser, than she had been 308:389,05@a | prepared for. He did not want abilities; but he had no 308:389,06@a | curiosity, and no information beyond his profession; he 308:389,07@a | read only the newspaper and the navy-list; he talked only 308:389,08@a | of the dock-yard, the harbour, Spithead, and the Motherbank; 308:389,09@a | he swore and he drank, he was dirty and gross. 308:389,10@a | She had never been able to recal anything approaching to 308:389,11@a | tenderness in his former treatment of herself. There had 308:389,12@a | remained only a general impression of roughness and 308:389,13@a | loudness; and now he scarcely ever noticed her, but to 308:389,14@a | make her the object of a coarse joke. 308:389,15@a | Her disappointment in her mother was greater; \there\ 308:389,16@a | she had hoped much, and found almost nothing. Every 308:389,17@a | flattering scheme of being of consequence to her soon fell to 308:389,18@a | the ground. 308:389,18[' ]| Mrs%*Price was not unkind ~~ but, instead of 308:389,19[' ]| gaining on her affection and confidence, and becoming 308:389,20[' ]| more and more dear, her daughter never met with greater 308:389,21[' ]| kindness from her, than on the first day of her arrival. 308:389,22[' ]| The instinct of nature was soon satisfied, and Mrs%*Price's 308:389,23[' ]| attachment had no other source. Her heart and her time 308:389,24[' ]| were already quite full; she had neither leisure nor 308:389,25[' ]| affection to bestow on Fanny. Her daughters never had 308:389,26[' ]| been much to her. She was fond of her sons, especially of 308:389,27[' ]| William, but Betsey was the first of her girls whom she had 308:389,28[' ]| ever much regarded. To her she was most injudiciously 308:389,29[' ]| indulgent. William was her pride; Betsey, her darling; 308:389,30[' ]| and John, Richard, Sam, Tom, and Charles, 308:389,30[' ]| occupied all 308:389,31[' ]| the rest of her maternal solicitude, alternately her worries 308:389,32[' ]| and her comforts. These shared her heart; her time was 308:389,33[' ]| given chiefly to her house and her servants. Her days 308:389,34[' ]| were spent in a kind of slow bustle; always busy without 308:389,35[' ]| getting on, always behindhand and lamenting it, without 308:389,36[' ]| altering her ways; wishing to be an economist, without 308:389,37[' ]| contrivance or regularity; dissatisfied with her servants, 308:389,38[' ]| without skill to make them better, and whether helping, 308:390,01[' ]| or reprimanding, or indulging them, without any power 308:390,02[' ]| of engaging their respect. 308:390,03[' ]| Of her two sisters, Mrs%*Price very much more resembled 308:390,04[' ]| Lady*Bertram than Mrs%*Norris. She was a manager by 308:390,05[' ]| necessity, without any of Mrs%*Norris's inclination for it, or 308:390,06[' ]| any of her activity. Her disposition was naturally easy 308:390,07[' ]| and indolent, like Lady*Bertram's; and a situation of 308:390,08[' ]| similar affluence and do-nothing-ness would have been 308:390,09[' ]| much more suited to her capacity, than the exertions and 308:390,10[' ]| self-denials of the one, which her imprudent marriage had 308:390,11[' ]| placed her in. She might have made just as good a woman 308:390,12[' ]| of consequence as Lady*Bertram, but Mrs%*Norris would 308:390,13[' ]| have been a more respectable mother of nine children, on 308:390,14[' ]| a small income. 308:390,15[' ]| Much of all this, Fanny could not but be sensible of. 308:390,16[' ]| She might scruple to make use of the words, but she must 308:390,17[' ]| and did feel that 308:390,17@a | her mother was a partial, ill-judging 308:390,18@a | parent, a dawdle, a slattern, who neither taught nor 308:390,19@a | restrained her children, whose house was the scene of 308:390,20@a | mismanagement and discomfort from beginning to end, 308:390,21@a | and who had no talent, no conversation, no affection 308:390,22@a | towards herself; no curiosity to know her better, no desire 308:390,23@a | of her friendship, and no inclination for her company that 308:390,24@a | could lessen her sense of such feelings. 308:390,25[' ]| Fanny was very anxious to be useful, and not to appear 308:390,26[' ]| above her home, or in any way disqualified or disinclined, 308:390,27[' ]| by her foreign education, from contributing her help to its 308:390,28[' ]| comforts, and therefore set about working for Sam 308:390,29[' ]| immediately, and by working early and late, with perseverance 308:390,30[' ]| and great dispatch, did so much, that the boy 308:390,31[' ]| was shipped off at last, with more than half his linen ready. 308:390,32[' ]| She had great pleasure in feeling her usefulness, but could 308:390,33[' ]| not conceive how they would have managed without her. 308:390,34[' ]| Sam, loud and overbearing as he was, she rather 308:390,35[' ]| regretted when he went, for he was clever and intelligent, 308:390,36[' ]| and glad to be employed in any errand in the town; and 308:390,37[' ]| though spurning the remonstrances of Susan, given as they 308:390,38[' ]| were ~~ though very reasonable in themselves, with ill-timed 308:391,01[' ]| and powerless warmth, was beginning to be influenced by 308:391,02[' ]| Fanny's services, and gentle persuasions; and she found 308:391,03[' ]| that the best of the three younger ones was gone in him; 308:391,04[' ]| Tom and Charles being at least as many years as they were 308:391,05[' ]| his juniors distant from that age of feeling and reason, 308:391,06[' ]| which might suggest the expediency of making friends, and 308:391,07[' ]| of endeavouring to be less disagreeable. Their sister soon 308:391,08[' ]| despaired of making the smallest impression on \them\; they 308:391,09[' ]| were quite untameable by any means of address which she 308:391,10[' ]| had spirits or time to attempt. Every afternoon brought 308:391,11[' ]| a return of their riotous games all over the house; and she 308:391,12[' ]| very early learnt to sigh at the approach of Saturday's 308:391,13[' ]| constant half holiday. 308:391,14[' ]| Betsey too, a spoilt child, trained up to think the 308:391,15[' ]| alphabet her greatest enemy, left to be with the servants 308:391,16[' ]| at her pleasure, and then encouraged to report any evil of 308:391,17[' ]| them, she was almost as ready to despair of being able to 308:391,18[' ]| love or assist; and of Susan's temper, she had many 308:391,19[' ]| doubts. Her continual disagreements with her mother, her 308:391,20[' ]| rash squabbles with Tom and Charles, and petulance with 308:391,21[' ]| Betsey, were at least so distressing to Fanny, that though 308:391,22[' ]| admitting they were by no means without provocation, she 308:391,23[' ]| feared the disposition that could push them to such length 308:391,24[' ]| must be far from amiable, and from affording any repose to 308:391,25[' ]| herself. 308:391,26[' ]| Such was the home which was to put Mansfield out of 308:391,27[' ]| her head, and teach her to think of her cousin Edmund 308:391,28[' ]| with moderated feelings. On the contrary, she could think 308:391,29[' ]| of nothing but Mansfield, its beloved inmates, its happy 308:391,30[' ]| ways. Every*thing where she now was was in full contrast 308:391,31[' ]| to it. The elegance, propriety, regularity, harmony ~~ and 308:391,32[' ]| perhaps, above all, the peace and tranquillity of Mansfield, 308:391,33[' ]| were brought to her remembrance every hour of the day, 308:391,34[' ]| by the prevalence of every*thing opposite to them \here\. 308:391,35[' ]| The living in incessant noise was to a frame and temper, 308:391,36[' ]| delicate and nervous like Fanny's, an evil which no super-added 308:391,37[' ]| elegance or harmony could have entirely atoned for. 308:391,38@a | It was the greatest misery of all. At Mansfield, no sounds 308:392,01@a | of contention, no raised voice, no abrupt bursts, no tread 308:392,02@a | of violence was ever heard; all proceeded in a regular 308:392,03@a | course of cheerful orderliness; every*body had their due 308:392,04@a | importance; every*body's feelings were consulted. If 308:392,05@a | tenderness could be ever supposed wanting, good sense and 308:392,06@a | good*breeding supplied its place; and as to the little 308:392,07@a | irritations, sometimes introduced by aunt Norris, they 308:392,08@a | were short, they were trifling, they were as a drop of water 308:392,09@a | to the ocean, compared with the ceaseless tumult of her 308:392,10@a | present abode. Here, every*body was noisy, every voice 308:392,11@a | was loud, (excepting, perhaps, her mother's, which 308:392,12@a | resembled the soft monotony of Lady*Bertram's, only 308:392,13@a | worn into fretfulness.) ~~ Whatever was wanted, was 308:392,14@a | halloo'd for, and the servants halloo'd out their excuses 308:392,15@a | from the kitchen. The doors were in constant banging, 308:392,16@a | the stairs were never at rest, nothing was done without 308:392,17@a | a clatter, nobody sat still, and nobody could command 308:392,18@a | attention when they spoke. 308:392,19[' ]| In a review of the two houses, as they appeared to her 308:392,20[' ]| before the end of a week, Fanny was tempted to apply to 308:392,21[' ]| them Dr%*Johnson's celebrated judgment as to matrimony 308:392,22[' ]| and celibacy, and say, that though Mansfield*Park might 308:392,23[' ]| have some pains, Portsmouth could have no pleasures. 309:393,01[' ]| Fanny was right enough in not expecting to hear from 309:393,02[' ]| Miss*Crawford now, at the rapid rate in which their 309:393,03[' ]| correspondence had begun; Mary's next letter was after 309:393,04[' ]| a decidedly longer interval than the last, but she was not 309:393,05[' ]| right in supposing that such an interval would be felt 309:393,06[' ]| a great relief to herself. ~~ Here was another strange 309:393,07[' ]| revolution of mind! ~~ She was really glad to receive the 309:393,08[' ]| letter when it did come. In her present exile from good 309:393,09[' ]| society, and distance from every*thing that had been wont 309:393,10[' ]| to interest her, a letter from one belonging to the set where 309:393,11[' ]| her heart lived, written with affection, and some degree of 309:393,12[' ]| elegance, was thoroughly acceptable. ~~ The usual plea of 309:393,13[' ]| increasing engagements was made in excuse for not having 309:393,14[' ]| written to her earlier, 309:393,14[C ]| "and now that I have begun," 309:393,14[' ]| she 309:393,15[' ]| continued, 309:393,15[C ]| "my letter will not be worth your reading, for 309:393,16[C ]| there will be no little offering of love at the end, no three or 309:393,17[C ]| four lines passione=es from the most devoted H%*C% in the 309:393,18[C ]| world, for Henry is in Norfolk; business called him to 309:393,19[C ]| Everingham ten days ago, or perhaps he only pretended 309:393,20[C ]| the call, for the sake of being travelling at the same time 309:393,21[C ]| that you were. But there he is, and, by*the*by, his absence 309:393,22[C ]| may sufficiently account for any remissness of his sister's 309:393,23[C ]| in writing, for there has been no ""well, Mary, when do 309:393,24[C ]| you write to Fanny? ~~ is not it time for you to write to 309:393,25[C ]| Fanny?"" to spur me on. At last, after various attempts at 309:393,26[C ]| meeting, I have seen your cousins, ""dear Julia and dearest 309:393,27[C ]| Mrs%*Rushworth;"" they found me at home yesterday, and 309:393,28[C ]| we were glad to see each other again. We \seemed\ \very\ glad 309:393,29[C ]| to see each other, and I do really think we were a little. ~~ 309:393,30[C ]| We had a vast deal to say. ~~ Shall I tell you how Mrs%*Rushworth 309:393,31[C ]| looked when your name was mentioned? I did not 309:393,32[C ]| use to think her wanting in self possession, but she had not 309:394,01[C ]| quite enough for the demands of yesterday. Upon the 309:394,02[C ]| whole Julia was in the best looks of the two, at least after 309:394,03[C ]| you were spoken of. There was no recovering the complexion 309:394,04[C ]| from the moment that I spoke of ""Fanny"", and 309:394,05[C ]| spoke of her as a sister should. ~~ But Mrs%*Rushworth's day 309:394,06[C ]| of good looks will come; we have cards for her first party 309:394,07[C ]| on the 28th. ~~ Then she will be in beauty, for she will open 309:394,08[C ]| one of the best houses in Wimpole*Street. I was in it two 309:394,09[C ]| years ago, when it was Lady*Lascelles's, and prefer it to 309:394,10[C ]| almost any I know in London, and certainly she will then 309:394,11[C ]| feel ~~ to use a vulgar phrase ~~ that she has got her penny-worth 309:394,12[C ]| for her penny. Henry could not have afforded her 309:394,13[C ]| such a house. I hope she will recollect it, and be satisfied, 309:394,14[C ]| as well she may, with moving the queen of a palace, though 309:394,15[C ]| the king may appear best in the back*ground, and as 309:394,16[C ]| I have no desire to tease her, I shall never \force\ your name 309:394,17[C ]| upon her again. She will grow sober by degrees. ~~ From 309:394,18[C ]| all that I hear and guess, Baron*Wildenhaim's attentions 309:394,18[C ]| to 309:394,19[C ]| Julia continue, but I do not know that he has any serious 309:394,20[C ]| encouragement. She ought to do better. A poor honourable 309:394,21[C ]| is no catch, and I cannot imagine any liking in the 309:394,22[C ]| case, for, take away his rants, and the poor Baron has 309:394,23[C ]| nothing. What a difference a vowel makes! ~~ if his rents 309:394,24[C ]| were but equal to his rants! ~~ Your cousin Edmund moves 309:394,25[C ]| slowly; detained, perchance, by parish duties. There 309:394,26[C ]| may be some old woman at Thornton*Lacey to be converted. 309:394,27[C ]| I am unwilling to fancy myself neglected for a 309:394,28[C ]| \young\ one. Adieu, my dear sweet Fanny, this is a long 309:394,29[C ]| letter from London; write me a pretty one in reply to 309:394,30[C ]| gladden Henry's eyes, when he comes back ~~ and send me 309:394,31[C ]| an account of all the dashing young captains whom you 309:394,32[C ]| disdain for his sake." 309:394,33[' ]| There was great food for meditation in this letter, and 309:394,34[' ]| chiefly for unpleasant meditation; 309:394,34@a | and yet, with all the 309:394,35@a | uneasiness it supplied, it connected her with the absent, it 309:394,36@a | told her of people and things about whom she had never 309:394,37@a | felt so much curiosity as now, and she would have been 309:394,38@a | glad to have been sure of such a letter every week. Her 309:395,01@a | correspondence with her aunt Bertram was her only 309:395,02@a | concern of higher interest. 309:395,03@a | As for any society in Portsmouth, that could at all make 309:395,04@a | amends for deficiencies at home, there were none within 309:395,05@a | the circle of her father's and mother's acquaintance to 309:395,06@a | afford her the smallest satisfaction; she saw nobody in 309:395,07@a | whose favour she could wish to overcome her own shyness 309:395,08@a | and reserve. The men appeared to her all coarse, the 309:395,09@a | women all pert, every*body under-bred; and she gave 309:395,10@a | as little contentment as she received from introductions 309:395,11@a | either to old or new acquaintance. 309:395,11[' ]| The young ladies who 309:395,12[' ]| approached her at first with some respect in consideration 309:395,13[' ]| of her coming from a Baronet's family, were soon offended 309:395,14[' ]| by what they termed "airs" ~~ for as she neither played on 309:395,15[' ]| the pianoforte nor wore fine pelisses, they could, on farther 309:395,16[' ]| observation, admit no right of superiority. 309:395,17[' ]| The first solid consolation which Fanny received for the 309:395,18[' ]| evils of home, the first which her judgment could entirely 309:395,19[' ]| approve, and which gave any promise of durability, was in 309:395,20[' ]| a better knowledge of Susan, and a hope of being of service 309:395,21[' ]| to her. Susan had always behaved pleasantly to herself, 309:395,22[' ]| but the determined character of her general manners had 309:395,23[' ]| astonished and alarmed her, and it was at least a fortnight 309:395,24[' ]| before she began to understand a disposition so totally 309:395,25[' ]| different from her own. Susan saw that much was wrong 309:395,26[' ]| at home, and wanted to set it right. That a girl of fourteen, 309:395,27[' ]| acting only on her own unassisted reason, should err in the 309:395,28[' ]| method of reform was not wonderful; and Fanny soon 309:395,29[' ]| became 309:395,29@a | more disposed to admire the natural light of the 309:395,30@a | mind which could so early distinguish justly, than to 309:395,31@a | censure severely the faults of conduct to which it led. 309:395,32@a | Susan was only acting on the same truths, and pursuing 309:395,33@a | the same system, which her own judgment acknowledged, 309:395,34@a | but which her more supine and yielding temper would have 309:395,35@a | shrunk from asserting. Susan tried to be useful, where \she\ 309:395,36@a | could only have gone away and cried; and that Susan was 309:395,37@a | useful she could perceive; that things, bad as they were, 309:395,38@a | would have been worse but for such interposition, and that 309:396,01@a | both her mother and Betsey were restrained from some 309:396,02@a | excesses of very offensive indulgence and vulgarity. 309:396,03[' ]| In every argument with her mother, Susan had in point 309:396,04[' ]| of reason the advantage, and never was there any maternal 309:396,05[' ]| tenderness to buy her off. The blind fondness which was 309:396,06[' ]| for*ever producing evil around her, \she\ had never known. 309:396,07[' ]| There was no gratitude for affection past or present, to 309:396,08[' ]| make her better bear with its excesses to the others. 309:396,09[' ]| All this became gradually evident, and gradually placed 309:396,10[' ]| Susan before her sister as an object of mingled compassion 309:396,11[' ]| and respect. 309:396,11@a | That her manner was wrong, however, at 309:396,12@a | times very wrong ~~ her measures often ill-chosen and 309:396,13@a | ill-timed, and her looks and language very often indefensible, 309:396,14@a | Fanny could not cease to feel; but she began to hope 309:396,15@a | they might be rectified. Susan, she found, looked up to 309:396,16@a | her and wished for her good opinion; 309:396,16[' ]| and new as any*thing 309:396,17[' ]| like an office of authority was to Fanny, new as it was 309:396,18[' ]| to imagine herself capable of guiding or informing any*one, 309:396,19[' ]| she did resolve to give occasional hints to Susan, and 309:396,20[' ]| endeavour to exercise for her advantage the juster notions 309:396,21[' ]| of what was due to every*body, and what would be wisest 309:396,22[' ]| for herself, which her own more favoured education had 309:396,23[' ]| fixed in her. 309:396,24[' ]| Her influence, or at least the consciousness and use of it, 309:396,25[' ]| originated in an act of kindness by Susan, which after 309:396,26[' ]| many hesitations of delicacy, she at last worked herself up 309:396,27[' ]| to. It had very early occurred to her, that a small sum 309:396,28[' ]| of money might, perhaps, restore peace for*ever on the sore 309:396,29[' ]| subject of the silver knife, canvassed as it now was continually, 309:396,30[' ]| and the riches which she was in possession of herself, 309:396,31[' ]| her uncle having given her 10L% at parting, made her as 309:396,32[' ]| able as she was willing to be generous. But she was so 309:396,33[' ]| wholly unused to confer favours, except on the very poor, 309:396,34[' ]| so unpractised in removing evils, or bestowing kindnesses 309:396,35[' ]| among her equals, and so fearful of appearing to elevate 309:396,36[' ]| herself as a great lady at home, that it took some time to 309:396,37[' ]| determine that it would not be unbecoming in her to make 309:396,38[' ]| such a present. It was made, however, at last; a silver 309:397,01[' ]| knife was bought for Betsey, and accepted with great 309:397,02[' ]| delight, its newness giving it every advantage over the 309:397,03[' ]| other that could be desired; Susan was established in the 309:397,04[' ]| full possession of her own, Betsey handsomely declaring 309:397,05[' ]| that 309:397,05@v | now she had got one so much prettier herself, she 309:397,06@v | should never want \that\ again ~~ 309:397,06[' ]| and no reproach seemed 309:397,07[' ]| conveyed to the equally satisfied mother, which Fanny had 309:397,08[' ]| almost feared to be impossible. The deed thoroughly 309:397,09[' ]| answered; a source of domestic altercation was entirely 309:397,10[' ]| done away, and it was the means of opening Susan's heart 309:397,11[' ]| to her, and giving her something more to love and be 309:397,12[' ]| interested in. Susan shewed that she had delicacy; 309:397,13[' ]| pleased as she was to be mistress of property which she 309:397,14[' ]| had been struggling for at least two years, she yet feared 309:397,15[' ]| that her sister's judgment had been against her, and that a 309:397,16[' ]| reproof was designed her for having so struggled as to make 309:397,17[' ]| the purchase necessary for the tranquillity of the house. 309:397,18[' ]| Her temper was open. She acknowledged her fears, 309:397,19[' ]| blamed herself for having contended so warmly, and from 309:397,20[' ]| that hour Fanny understanding the worth of her disposition, 309:397,21[' ]| and perceiving how fully she was inclined to seek her 309:397,22[' ]| good opinion and refer to her judgment, began to feel again 309:397,23[' ]| the blessing of affection, and to entertain the hope of being 309:397,24[' ]| useful to a mind so much in need of help, and so much 309:397,25[' ]| deserving it. She gave advice; advice too sound to be 309:397,26[' ]| resisted by a good understanding, and given so mildly and 309:397,27[' ]| considerately as not to irritate an imperfect temper; and 309:397,28[' ]| she had the happiness of observing its good effects not 309:397,29[' ]| unfrequently; more was not expected by one, who, while 309:397,30[' ]| seeing all the obligation and expediency of submission and 309:397,31[' ]| forbearance, saw also with sympathetic acuteness of feeling, 309:397,32[' ]| all that must be hourly grating to a girl like Susan. Her 309:397,33[' ]| greatest wonder on the subject soon became ~~ 309:397,33@a | not that 309:397,34@a | Susan should have been provoked into disrespect and 309:397,35@a | impatience against her better knowledge ~~ but that so 309:397,36@a | much better knowledge, so many good notions, should have 309:397,37@a | been hers at all; and that, brought up in the midst of 309:397,38@a | negligence and error, she should have formed such proper 309:398,01@a | opinions of what ought to be ~~ she, who had no cousin 309:398,02@a | Edmund to direct her thoughts or fix her principles. 309:398,03[' ]| The intimacy thus begun between them was a material 309:398,04[' ]| advantage to each. By sitting together up*stairs, they 309:398,05[' ]| avoided a great deal of the disturbance of the house; 309:398,06[' ]| Fanny had peace, and Susan learnt to think it no misfortune 309:398,07[' ]| to be quietly employed. They sat without a fire; but 309:398,08[' ]| \that\ was a privation familiar even to Fanny, and she 309:398,09[' ]| suffered the less because reminded by it of the east-room. 309:398,10[' ]| It was the only point of resemblance. In space, light, 309:398,11[' ]| furniture, and prospect, there was nothing alike in the two 309:398,12[' ]| apartments; and she often heaved a sigh at the remembrance 309:398,13[' ]| of all her books and boxes, and various comforts 309:398,14[' ]| there. By degrees the girls came to spend the chief of the 309:398,15[' ]| morning up*stairs, at first only in working and talking; 309:398,16[' ]| but after a few days, the remembrance of the said books 309:398,17[' ]| grew so potent and stimulative, that Fanny found it 309:398,18[' ]| impossible not to try for books again. There were none in 309:398,19[' ]| her father's house; but wealth is luxurious and daring ~~ 309:398,20[' ]| and some of hers found its way to a circulating library. 309:398,21[' ]| She became a subscriber ~~ amazed at being any*thing \in*propria*persona\, 309:398,22[' ]| amazed at her own doings in every way; 309:398,23@a | to be a renter, a chuser of books! And to be having any*one's 309:398,24@a | improvement in view in her choice! But so it was. 309:398,25[' ]| Susan had read nothing, and Fanny longed to give her 309:398,26[' ]| a share in her own first pleasures, and inspire a taste for 309:398,27[' ]| the biography and poetry which she delighted in herself. 309:398,28[' ]| In this occupation she hoped, moreover, to bury some of 309:398,29[' ]| the recollections of Mansfield which were too apt to seize 309:398,30[' ]| her mind if her fingers only were busy; and especially at 309:398,31[' ]| this time, hoped it might be useful in diverting her thoughts 309:398,32[' ]| from pursuing Edmund to London, whither, on the 309:398,33[' ]| authority of her aunt's last letter, she knew he was gone. 309:398,34[' ]| She had no doubt of what would ensue. The promised 309:398,35[' ]| notification was hanging over her head. The postman's 309:398,36[' ]| knock within the neighbourhood was beginning to bring its 309:398,37[' ]| daily terrors ~~ and if reading could banish the idea for even 309:398,38[' ]| half an hour, it was something gained. 310:399,01[' ]| A week was gone since Edmund might be supposed in 310:399,02[' ]| town, and Fanny had heard nothing of him. There were 310:399,03[' ]| three different conclusions to be drawn from his silence, 310:399,04[' ]| between which her mind was in fluctuation; each of them 310:399,05[' ]| at times being held the most probable. 310:399,05@a | Either his going 310:399,06@a | had been again delayed, or he had yet procured no opportunity 310:399,07@a | of seeing Miss*Crawford alone ~~ or, he was too happy 310:399,08@a | for letter writing! 310:399,09[' ]| One morning about this time, Fanny having now been 310:399,10[' ]| nearly four weeks from Mansfield ~~ a point which she never 310:399,11[' ]| failed to think over and calculate every day ~~ as she and 310:399,12[' ]| Susan were preparing to remove as usual up*stairs, they 310:399,13[' ]| were stopt by the knock of a visitor, whom they felt they 310:399,14[' ]| could not avoid, from Rebecca's alertness in going to the 310:399,15[' ]| door, a duty which always interested her beyond any other. 310:399,16[' ]| It was a gentleman's voice; it was a voice that Fanny 310:399,17[' ]| was just turning pale about, when Mr%*Crawford walked 310:399,18[' ]| into the room. 310:399,19[' ]| Good sense, like hers, will always act when really called 310:399,20[' ]| upon; and she found that she had been able to name him 310:399,21[' ]| to her mother, and recal her remembrance of the name, 310:399,22[' ]| as that of 310:399,22[A ]| "William's friend" 310:399,22[' ]| though she could not previously 310:399,23[' ]| have believed herself capable of uttering a syllable 310:399,24[' ]| at such a moment. The consciousness of his being known 310:399,25[' ]| there only as William's friend, was some support. Having 310:399,26[' ]| introduced him, however, and being all re-seated, the 310:399,27[' ]| terrors that occurred of what this visit might lead to, 310:399,28[' ]| were overpowering, and she fancied herself on the point 310:399,29[' ]| of fainting away. 310:399,30[' ]| While trying to keep herself alive, their visitor, who 310:399,31[' ]| had at first approached her with as animated a countenance 310:399,32[' ]| as ever, was wisely and kindly keeping his eyes away, 310:399,33[' ]| and giving her time to recover, while he devoted himself 310:400,01[' ]| entirely to her mother, addressing her, and attending to 310:400,02[' ]| her with the utmost politeness and propriety, at the same 310:400,03[' ]| time with a degree of friendliness ~~ of interest at least ~~ 310:400,04[' ]| which was making his manner perfect. 310:400,05[' ]| Mrs%*Price's manners were also at their best. Warmed 310:400,06[' ]| by the sight of such a friend to her son, and regulated by 310:400,07[' ]| the wish of appearing to advantage before him, she was 310:400,08[' ]| overflowing with gratitude, artless, maternal gratitude, 310:400,09[' ]| which could not be unpleasing. 310:400,09@p | Mr%*Price was out, which 310:400,10@p | she regretted very much. 310:400,10[' ]| Fanny was just recovered 310:400,11[' ]| enough to feel that 310:400,11@a | \she\ could not regret it; for to her many 310:400,12@a | other sources of uneasiness was added the severe one of 310:400,13@a | shame for the home in which he found her. She might 310:400,14@a | scold herself for the weakness, but there was no scolding 310:400,15@a | it away. She was ashamed, and she would have been yet 310:400,16@a | more ashamed of her father, than of all the rest. 310:400,17[' ]| They talked of William, a subject on which Mrs%*Price 310:400,18[' ]| could never tire; and Mr%*Crawford was as warm in his 310:400,19[' ]| commendation, as even her heart could wish. She felt 310:400,20[' ]| that 310:400,20@p | she had never seen so agreeable a man in her life; 310:400,21@p | and was only astonished to find, that so great and so agreeable 310:400,22@p | as he was, he should be come down to Portsmouth 310:400,23@p | neither on a visit to the port-admiral, nor the commissioner, 310:400,24@p | nor yet with the intention of going over to the 310:400,25@p | island, nor of seeing the Dock-yard. 310:400,25[' ]| Nothing of all that 310:400,26[' ]| she had been used to think of as the proof of importance, 310:400,27[' ]| or the employment of wealth, had brought him to Portsmouth. 310:400,28@d | He had reached it late the night before, was come 310:400,29@d | for a day or two, was staying at the Crown, had accidentally 310:400,30@d | met with a navy officer or two of his acquaintance, 310:400,31@d | since his arrival, but had no object of that kind in coming. 310:400,32[' ]| By the time he had given all this information, it was 310:400,33[' ]| not unreasonable to suppose, that Fanny might be looked 310:400,34[' ]| at and spoken to; and she was tolerably able to bear his 310:400,35[' ]| eye, and hear that 310:400,35@d | he had spent half an hour with his sister, 310:400,36@d | the evening before his leaving London; that she had sent 310:400,37@d | her best and kindest love, but had had no time for writing; 310:400,38@d | that he thought himself lucky in seeing Mary for even 310:401,01@d | half an hour, having spent scarcely twenty-four hours in 310:401,02@d | London after his return from Norfolk, before he set off 310:401,03@d | again; that her cousin Edmund was in town, had been 310:401,04@d | in town he understood, a few days; that he had not seen 310:401,05@d | him, himself, but that he was well, had left them all well 310:401,06@d | at Mansfield, and was to dine, as yesterday, with the 310:401,07@d | Frasers. 310:401,08[' ]| Fanny listened collectedly even to the last-mentioned 310:401,09[' ]| circumstance; nay, it seemed a relief to her worn mind 310:401,10[' ]| to be at any certainty; and the words, 310:401,10[D ]| "then by this time 310:401,11[D ]| it is all settled," 310:401,11[' ]| passed internally, without more evidence 310:401,12[' ]| of emotion than a faint blush. 310:401,13[' ]| After talking a little more about Mansfield, a subject in 310:401,14[' ]| which her interest was most apparent, Crawford began to 310:401,15[' ]| hint at the expediency of an early walk; ~~ 310:401,15[D ]| "It was a 310:401,16[D ]| lovely morning, and at that season of the year a fine morning 310:401,17[D ]| so often turned off, that it was wisest for everybody 310:401,18[D ]| not to delay their exercise;" 310:401,18[' ]| and such hints producing 310:401,19[' ]| nothing, he soon proceeded to a positive recommendation 310:401,20[' ]| to Mrs%*Price and her daughters, to take their walk without 310:401,21[' ]| loss of time. Now they came to an understanding. Mrs%*Price, 310:401,22[' ]| it appeared, scarcely ever stirred out of doors, except 310:401,23[' ]| of a Sunday; she owned she could seldom, with her large 310:401,24[' ]| family, find time for a walk. ~~ 310:401,24[D ]| "Would she not then persuade 310:401,25[D ]| her daughters to take advantage of such weather, 310:401,26[D ]| and allow him the pleasure of attending them?" ~~ 310:401,26[' ]| Mrs%*Price 310:401,27[' ]| was greatly obliged, and very complying. ~~ 310:401,27[P ]| "Her 310:401,28[P ]| daughters were very much confined ~~ Portsmouth was 310:401,29[P ]| a sad place ~~ they did not often get out ~~ and she knew 310:401,30[P ]| they had some errands in the town, which they would be 310:401,31[P ]| very glad to do." ~~ 310:401,31[' ]| And the consequence was, that Fanny, 310:401,32@a | strange as it was ~~ strange, awkward, and distressing ~~ 310:401,33@a | found herself and Susan, within ten minutes, walking 310:401,34@a | towards the High*Street, with Mr%*Crawford. 310:401,35@a | It was soon pain upon pain, confusion upon confusion; 310:401,36@a | for they were hardly in the High*Street, before they met 310:401,37@a | her father, whose appearance was not the better from its 310:401,38@a | being Saturday. 310:401,38[' ]| He stopt; and, ungentlemanlike as he 310:402,01[' ]| looked, Fanny was obliged to introduce him to Mr%*Crawford. 310:402,02@a | She could not have a doubt of the manner in which 310:402,03@a | Mr%*Crawford must be struck. He must be ashamed and 310:402,04@a | disgusted altogether. He must soon give her up, and 310:402,05@a | cease to have the smallest inclination for the match; 310:402,05[' ]| and 310:402,06[' ]| yet, though she had been so much wanting his affection 310:402,07[' ]| to be cured, this was a sort of cure that would be almost 310:402,08[' ]| as bad as the complaint; and I believe, there is scarcely 310:402,09[' ]| a young lady in the united kingdoms, who would not 310:402,10[' ]| rather put up with the misfortune of being sought by a 310:402,11[' ]| clever, agreeable man, than have him driven away by the 310:402,12[' ]| vulgarity of her nearest relations. 310:402,13[' ]| Mr%*Crawford probably could not regard his future 310:402,14[' ]| father-in-law with any idea of taking him for a model in 310:402,15[' ]| dress; but (as Fanny instantly, and to her great relief 310:402,16[' ]| discerned), 310:402,16@a | her father was a very different man, a very 310:402,17@a | different Mr%*Price in his behaviour to this most 310:402,17@a | highly-respected 310:402,18@a | stranger, from what he was in his own family 310:402,19@a | at home. His manners now, though not polished, were 310:402,20@a | more than passable; they were grateful, animated, manly; 310:402,21@a | his expressions were those of an attached father, and a 310:402,22@a | sensible man; ~~ his loud tones did very well in the open 310:402,23@a | air, and there was not a single oath to be heard. 310:402,23[' ]| Such 310:402,24[' ]| was his instinctive compliment to the good manners of 310:402,25[' ]| Mr%*Crawford; and be the consequence what it might, 310:402,26[' ]| Fanny's immediate feelings were infinitely soothed. 310:402,27[' ]| The conclusion of the two gentlemen's civilities was an 310:402,28[' ]| offer of Mr%*Price's to take Mr%*Crawford into the dock-yard, 310:402,29[' ]| which Mr%*Crawford, desirous of accepting as a 310:402,30[' ]| favour, what was intended as such, though he had seen 310:402,31[' ]| the dock-yard again and again; and hoping to be so much 310:402,32[' ]| the longer with Fanny, 310:402,32@d | was very gratefully disposed to 310:402,33@d | avail himself of, if the Miss*Prices were not afraid of the 310:402,34@d | fatigue; 310:402,34[' ]| and as it was somehow or other ascertained, or 310:402,35[' ]| inferred, or at least acted upon, that they were not at 310:402,36[' ]| all afraid, to the dock-yard they were all to go; and, 310:402,37[' ]| but for Mr%*Crawford, Mr%*Price would have turned 310:402,38[' ]| thither directly, without the smallest consideration for his 310:403,01[' ]| daughters' errands in the High*Street. He took care, 310:403,02[' ]| however, that they should be allowed to go to the shops 310:403,03[' ]| they came out expressly to visit; and it did not delay 310:403,04[' ]| them long, for Fanny could so little bear to excite 310:403,04[' ]| impatience, 310:403,05[' ]| or be waited for, that before the gentlemen, as 310:403,06[' ]| they stood at the door, could do more than begin upon 310:403,07[' ]| the last naval regulations, or settle the number of three*deckers 310:403,08[' ]| now in commission, their companions were ready 310:403,09[' ]| to proceed. 310:403,10[' ]| They were then to set forward for the dock-yard at once, 310:403,11[' ]| and the walk would have been conducted (according to 310:403,12[' ]| Mr%*Crawford's opinion) 310:403,12@d | in a singular manner, had Mr%*Price 310:403,13@d | been allowed the entire regulation of it, as the two 310:403,14@d | girls, he found, would have been left to follow, and keep 310:403,15@d | up with them, or not, as they could, while they walked on 310:403,16@d | together at their own hasty pace. 310:403,16[' ]| He was able to introduce 310:403,17[' ]| some improvement occasionally, though by no means 310:403,18[' ]| to the extent he wished; he absolutely would not walk 310:403,19[' ]| away from them; and, at any crossing, or any crowd, 310:403,20[' ]| when Mr%*Price was only calling out, 310:403,20[O ]| "Come girls ~~ come, 310:403,21[O ]| Fan ~~ come, Sue ~~ take care of yourselves ~~ keep a sharp 310:403,22[O ]| look out," 310:403,22[' ]| he would give them his particular attendance. 310:403,23[' ]| 310:403,24[' ]| Once fairly in the dock-yard, he began to reckon upon 310:403,25[' ]| some happy intercourse with Fanny, as they were very 310:403,26[' ]| soon joined by a brother lounger of Mr%*Price's, who was 310:403,27[' ]| come to take his daily survey of how things went on, and 310:403,28[' ]| who must prove a far more worthy companion than himself; 310:403,29[' ]| and after a time the two officers seemed very well 310:403,30[' ]| satisfied in going about together and discussing matters 310:403,31[' ]| of equal and never-failing interest, while the young people 310:403,32[' ]| sat down upon some timbers in the yard, or found a seat 310:403,33[' ]| on board a vessel in the stocks which they all went to look 310:403,34[' ]| at. Fanny was most conveniently in want of rest. Crawford 310:403,35@d | could not have wished her more fatigued or more 310:403,36@d | ready to sit down; but he could have wished her sister 310:403,37@d | away. A quick looking girl of Susan's age was the very 310:403,38@d | worst third in the world ~~ totally different from Lady*Bertram ~~ 310:404,01@d | all eyes and ears; and there was no introducing 310:404,02@d | the main point before her. He must content himself with 310:404,03@d | being only generally agreeable, and letting Susan have 310:404,04@d | her share of entertainment, with the indulgence, now and 310:404,05@d | then, of a look or hint for the better informed and conscious 310:404,06@d | Fanny. 310:404,06[' ]| Norfolk was what he had mostly to talk 310:404,07[' ]| of; there he had been some time, and every*thing there 310:404,08[' ]| was rising in importance from his present schemes. Such 310:404,09[' ]| a man could come from no place, no society, without 310:404,10[' ]| importing something to amuse; his journeys and his 310:404,11[' ]| acquaintance were all of use, and Susan was entertained 310:404,12[' ]| in a way quite new to her. For Fanny, somewhat more 310:404,13[' ]| was related than the accidental agreeableness of the 310:404,14[' ]| parties he had been in. For her approbation, 310:404,14@d | the particular 310:404,15@d | reason of his going into Norfolk at all, at this 310:404,16@d | unusual time of year, was given. It had been real business, 310:404,17@d | relative to the renewal of a lease in which the welfare 310:404,18@d | of a large and 310:404,18[' ]| (he believed) 310:404,18@d | industrious family was at stake. 310:404,19@d | He had suspected his agent of some underhand dealing ~~ 310:404,20@d | of meaning to bias him against the deserving ~~ and he had 310:404,21@d | determined to go himself, and thoroughly investigate the 310:404,22@d | merits of the case. He had gone, had done even more 310:404,23@d | good than he had foreseen, had been useful to more than 310:404,24@d | his first plan had comprehended, and was now able to 310:404,25@d | congratulate himself upon it, and to feel, that in performing 310:404,26@d | a duty, he had secured agreeable recollections for his 310:404,27@d | own mind. He had introduced himself to some tenants, 310:404,28@d | whom he had never seen before; he had begun making 310:404,29@d | acquaintance with cottages whose very existence, though 310:404,30@d | on his own estate, had been hitherto unknown to him. 310:404,31[' ]| This was aimed, and well aimed, at Fanny. 310:404,31@a | It was pleasing 310:404,32@a | to hear him speak so properly; here, he had been acting 310:404,33@a | as he ought to do. To be the friend of the poor and 310:404,34@a | oppressed! 310:404,34[' ]| Nothing could be more grateful to her, and 310:404,35[' ]| she was on the point of giving him an approving look when 310:404,36[' ]| it was all frightened off, by his adding a something too 310:404,37[' ]| pointed 310:404,37@d | of his hoping soon to have an assistant, a friend, 310:404,38@d | a guide in every plan of utility or charity for Everingham, 310:405,01@d | a somebody that would make Everingham and all about 310:405,02@d | it, a dearer object than it had ever been yet. 310:405,03[' ]| She turned away, and wished he would not say such 310:405,04[' ]| things. 310:405,04@a | She was willing to allow he might have more 310:405,05@a | good qualities than she had been wont to suppose. She 310:405,06@a | began to feel the possibility of his turning out well at last; 310:405,07@a | but he was and must ever be completely unsuited to her, 310:405,08@a | and ought not to think of her. 310:405,09[' ]| He perceived that enough had been said of Everingham, 310:405,10[' ]| and that it would be as well to talk of something else, and 310:405,11[' ]| turned to Mansfield. He could not have chosen better; 310:405,12[' ]| that was a topic to bring back her attention and her looks 310:405,13[' ]| almost instantly. It was a real indulgence to her to hear 310:405,14[' ]| or to speak of Mansfield. Now so long divided from every*body 310:405,15[' ]| who knew the place, she felt it quite the voice of 310:405,16[' ]| a friend when he mentioned it, and led the way to her fond 310:405,17[' ]| exclamations in praise of its beauties and comforts, and 310:405,18[' ]| by his honourable tribute to its inhabitants allowed her 310:405,19[' ]| to gratify her own heart in the warmest eulogium, in 310:405,20[' ]| speaking of her uncle as all that was clever and good, and 310:405,21[' ]| her aunt as having the sweetest of all sweet tempers. 310:405,22@d | He had a great attachment to Mansfield himself; 310:405,22[' ]| he 310:405,23[' ]| said so; 310:405,23@d | he looked forward with the hope of spending 310:405,24@d | much, very much of his time there ~~ always there, or in 310:405,25@d | the neighbourhood. He particularly built upon a very 310:405,26@d | happy summer and autumn there this year; he felt that 310:405,27@d | it would be so; he depended upon it; a summer and 310:405,28@d | autumn infinitely superior to the last. As animated, as 310:405,29@d | diversified, as social ~~ but with circumstances of superiority 310:405,30@d | undescribable. 310:405,31[D ]| "Mansfield, Sotherton, Thornton*Lacey," 310:405,31[' ]| he continued, 310:405,32[D ]| "what a society will be comprised in those houses! And 310:405,33[D ]| at Michaelmas, perhaps, a fourth may be added, some 310:405,34[D ]| small hunting-box in the vicinity of every*thing so dear 310:405,35[D ]| ~~ for as to any partnership in Thornton*Lacey, as 310:405,35[D ]| Edmund*Bertram 310:405,36[D ]| once good-humouredly proposed, I hope I foresee 310:405,37[D ]| two objections, two fair, excellent, irresistible objections 310:405,38[D ]| to that plan." 310:406,01[' ]| Fanny was doubly silenced here; though when the 310:406,02[' ]| moment was passed, 310:406,02@a | could regret that she had not forced 310:406,03@a | herself into the acknowledged comprehension of one half 310:406,04@a | of his meaning, and encouraged him to say something 310:406,05@a | more of his sister and Edmund. It was a subject which 310:406,06@a | she must learn to speak of, and the weakness that shrunk 310:406,07@a | from it would soon be quite unpardonable. 310:406,08[' ]| When Mr%*Price and his friend had seen all that they 310:406,09[' ]| wished, or had time for, the others were ready to return; 310:406,10[' ]| and in the course of their walk back, Mr%*Crawford contrived 310:406,11[' ]| a minute's privacy for telling Fanny that 310:406,11@d | his only 310:406,12@d | business in Portsmouth was to see her, that he was come 310:406,13@d | down for a couple of days on her account and hers only, 310:406,14@d | and because he could not endure a longer total separation. 310:406,15@a | She was sorry, really sorry; and yet, in spite of this and 310:406,16@a | the two or three other things which she wished he had not 310:406,17@a | said, she thought him altogether improved since she had 310:406,18@a | seen him; he was much more gentle, obliging, and attentive 310:406,19@a | to other people's feelings than he had ever been at 310:406,20@a | Mansfield; she had never seen him so agreeable ~~ so \near\ 310:406,21@a | being agreeable; his behaviour to her father could not 310:406,22@a | offend, and there was something particularly kind and 310:406,23@a | proper in the notice he took of Susan. He was decidedly 310:406,24@a | improved. She wished the next day over, she wished 310:406,25@a | he had come only for one day ~~ but it was not so very bad 310:406,26@a | as she would have expected; the pleasure of talking of 310:406,27@a | Mansfield was so very great! 310:406,28[' ]| Before they parted, she had to thank him for another 310:406,29[' ]| pleasure, and one of no trivial kind. Her father asked 310:406,30[' ]| him to do them the honour of taking his mutton with 310:406,31[' ]| them, and Fanny had time for only one thrill of horror, 310:406,32[' ]| before he declared himself prevented by a prior engagement. 310:406,33@d | He was engaged to dinner already both for that 310:406,34@d | day and the next; he had met with some acquaintance 310:406,35@d | at the Crown who would not be denied; he should have 310:406,36@d | the honour, however, of waiting on them again on the 310:406,37@d | morrow, 310:406,37[' ]| &c% and so they parted ~~ Fanny in a state of 310:406,38[' ]| actual felicity from escaping so horrible an evil! 310:407,01@a | To have had him join their family dinner-party and see 310:407,02@a | all their deficiencies would have been dreadful! Rebecca's 310:407,03@a | cookery and Rebecca's waiting, and Betsey's eating at 310:407,04@a | table without restraint, and pulling every*thing about as 310:407,05@a | she chose, 310:407,05[' ]| were what Fanny herself was not yet enough 310:407,06[' ]| inured to, for her often to make a tolerable meal. \She\ 310:407,07[' ]| was nice only from natural delicacy, but \he\ had been 310:407,08[' ]| brought up in a school of luxury and epicurism. 311:408,01[' ]| The Prices were just setting off for church the next day 311:408,02[' ]| when Mr%*Crawford appeared again. He came ~~ not to 311:408,03[' ]| stop ~~ but to join them; he was asked to go with them 311:408,04[' ]| to the Garrison*chapel, which was exactly what he had 311:408,05[' ]| intended, and they all walked thither together. 311:408,06[' ]| The family were now seen to advantage. Nature had 311:408,07[' ]| given them no inconsiderable share of beauty, and every 311:408,08[' ]| Sunday dressed them in their cleanest skins and best attire. 311:408,09[' ]| Sunday always brought this comfort to Fanny, and on this 311:408,10[' ]| Sunday she felt it more than ever. 311:408,10@a | Her poor mother now 311:408,11@a | did not look so very unworthy of being Lady*Bertram's 311:408,12@a | sister as she was but too apt to look. It often grieved 311:408,13@a | her to the heart ~~ to think of the contrast between them 311:408,14@a | ~~ to think that where nature had made so little difference, 311:408,15@a | circumstances should have made so much, and that her 311:408,16@a | mother, as handsome as Lady*Bertram, and some years 311:408,17@a | her junior, should have an appearance so much more worn 311:408,18@a | and faded, so comfortless, so slatternly, so shabby. 311:408,18[' ]| But 311:408,19[' ]| Sunday made her a very creditable and tolerably cheerful*looking 311:408,20[' ]| Mrs%*Price, coming abroad with a fine family of 311:408,21[' ]| children, feeling a little respite of her weekly cares, and 311:408,22[' ]| only discomposed if she saw her boys run into danger, or 311:408,23[' ]| Rebecca pass by with a flower in her hat. 311:408,24[' ]| In chapel they were obliged to divide, but Mr%*Crawford 311:408,25[' ]| took care not to be divided from the female branch; and 311:408,26[' ]| after chapel he still continued with them, and made one 311:408,27[' ]| in the family party on the ramparts. 311:408,28[' ]| Mrs%*Price took her weekly walk on the ramparts every 311:408,29[' ]| fine Sunday throughout the year, always going directly 311:408,30[' ]| after morning service and staying till dinner-time. It 311:408,31[' ]| was her public place; there she met her acquaintance, 311:408,32[' ]| heard a little news, talked over the badness of the Portsmouth 311:408,33[' ]| servants, and wound up her spirits for the six days 311:408,34[' ]| ensuing. 311:409,01[' ]| Thither they now went; Mr%*Crawford most happy to 311:409,02[' ]| consider the Miss*Prices as his peculiar charge; and 311:409,03[' ]| before they had been there long ~~ somehow or other ~~ 311:409,04[' ]| there was no saying how ~~ Fanny could not have believed 311:409,05[' ]| it ~~ but he was walking between them with an arm of each 311:409,06[' ]| under his, and she did not know how to prevent or put an 311:409,07[' ]| end to it. It made her uncomfortable for a time ~~ but 311:409,08[' ]| yet there were enjoyments in the day and in the view 311:409,09[' ]| which would be felt. 311:409,10[' ]| The day was uncommonly lovely. It was really March; 311:409,11[' ]| but it was April in its mild air, brisk soft wind, and bright 311:409,12[' ]| sun, occasionally clouded for a minute; and every*thing 311:409,13[' ]| looked so beautiful under the influence of such a sky, the 311:409,14[' ]| effects of the shadows pursuing each other, on the ships 311:409,15[' ]| at Spithead and the island beyond, with the ever-varying 311:409,16[' ]| hues of the sea now at high water, dancing in its glee and 311:409,17[' ]| dashing against the ramparts with so fine a sound, produced 311:409,18[' ]| altogether such a combination of charms for Fanny, 311:409,19[' ]| as made her gradually almost careless of the circumstances 311:409,20[' ]| under which she felt them. Nay, had she been without 311:409,21[' ]| his arm, she would soon have known that she needed it, 311:409,22[' ]| for she wanted strength for a two hours' saunter of this 311:409,23[' ]| kind, coming as it generally did upon a week's previous 311:409,24[' ]| inactivity. Fanny was beginning to feel the effect of 311:409,25[' ]| being debarred from her usual, regular exercise; she had 311:409,26[' ]| lost ground as to health since her being in Portsmouth, 311:409,27[' ]| and but for Mr%*Crawford and the beauty of the weather, 311:409,28[' ]| would soon have been knocked up now. 311:409,29[' ]| The loveliness of the day, and of the view, he felt like 311:409,30[' ]| herself. They often stopt with the same sentiment and 311:409,31[' ]| taste, leaning against the wall, some minutes, to look and 311:409,32[' ]| admire; and considering he was not Edmund, Fanny 311:409,33[' ]| could not but allow that he was sufficiently open to the 311:409,34[' ]| charms of nature, and very well able to express his admiration. 311:409,35[' ]| She had a few tender reveries now and then, which 311:409,36[' ]| he could sometimes take advantage of, to look in her 311:409,37[' ]| face without detection; and the result of these looks was, 311:409,38@d | that though as bewitching as ever, her face was less blooming 311:410,01@d | than it ought to be. ~~ She \said\ she was very well, and 311:410,02@d | did not like to be supposed otherwise; but take it all in 311:410,03@d | all, he was convinced that her present residence could not 311:410,04@d | be comfortable, and, therefore, could not be salutary for 311:410,05@d | her, and he was growing anxious for her being again at 311:410,06@d | Mansfield, where her own happiness, and his in seeing her, 311:410,07@d | must be so much greater. 311:410,08[D ]| "You have been here a month, I think?" 311:410,08[' ]| said he. 311:410,09[A ]| "No. Not quite a month. ~~ It is only four weeks tomorrow 311:410,10[A ]| since I left Mansfield." 311:410,11[D ]| "You are a most accurate and honest reckoner. I 311:410,12[D ]| should call that a month." 311:410,13[A ]| "I did not arrive here till Tuesday evening." 311:410,14[D ]| "And it is to be a two months' visit, is not it?" 311:410,15[A ]| "Yes. ~~ My uncle talked of two months. I suppose it 311:410,16[A ]| will not be less." 311:410,17[D ]| "And how are you to be conveyed back again? Who 311:410,18[D ]| comes for you?" 311:410,19[A ]| "I do not know. I have heard nothing about it yet 311:410,20[A ]| from my aunt. Perhaps I may be to stay longer. It may 311:410,21[A ]| not be convenient for me to be fetched exactly at the two 311:410,22[A ]| months' end." 311:410,23[' ]| After a moment's reflection, Mr%*Crawford replied, 311:410,23[D ]| "I 311:410,24[D ]| know Mansfield, I know its way, I know its faults towards 311:410,25[D ]| \you\. I know the danger of your being so far forgotten, 311:410,26[D ]| as to have your comforts give way to the imaginary convenience 311:410,27[D ]| of any single being in the family. I am aware 311:410,28[D ]| that you may be left here week after week, if Sir*Thomas 311:410,29[D ]| cannot settle every*thing for coming himself, or sending 311:410,30[D ]| your aunt's maid for you, without involving the slightest 311:410,31[D ]| alteration of the arrangements which he may have laid 311:410,32[D ]| down for the next quarter of a year. This will not do. 311:410,33[D ]| Two months is an ample allowance, I should think six 311:410,34[D ]| weeks quite enough. ~~ I am considering your sister's 311:410,35[D ]| health," 311:410,35[' ]| said he, addressing himself to Susan, 311:410,35[D ]| "which 311:410,36[D ]| I think the confinement of Portsmouth unfavourable to. 311:410,37[D ]| She requires constant air and exercise. When you know 311:410,38[D ]| her as well as I do, I am sure you will agree that she does, 311:411,01[D ]| and that she ought never to be long banished from the free 311:411,02[D ]| air, and liberty of the country. ~~ If, therefore, 311:411,02[' ]| (turning 311:411,03[' ]| again to Fanny) 311:411,03[D ]| you find yourself growing unwell, and 311:411,04[D ]| any difficulties arise about your returning to Mansfield ~~ 311:411,05[D ]| without waiting for the two months to be ended ~~ \that\ 311:411,06[D ]| must not be regarded as of any consequence, if you feel 311:411,07[D ]| yourself at all less strong, or comfortable than usual, and 311:411,08[D ]| will only let my sister know it, give her only the slightest 311:411,09[D ]| hint, she and I will immediately come down, and take 311:411,10[D ]| you back to Mansfield. You know the ease, and the 311:411,11[D ]| pleasure with which this would be done. You know all 311:411,12[D ]| that would be felt on the occasion." 311:411,13[' ]| Fanny thanked him, but tried to laugh it off. 311:411,14[D ]| "I am perfectly serious," ~~ 311:411,14[' ]| he replied, ~~ 311:411,14[D ]| "as you perfectly 311:411,15[D ]| know. ~~ And I hope you will not be cruelly concealing 311:411,16[D ]| any tendency to indisposition. ~~ Indeed, you shall 311:411,17[D ]| \not\, it shall not be in your power, for so long only as you 311:411,18[D ]| positively say, in every letter to Mary, ""I am well."" ~~ and 311:411,19[D ]| I know you cannot speak or write a falsehood, ~~ so long 311:411,20[D ]| only shall you be considered as well." 311:411,21[' ]| Fanny thanked him again, but was affected and distressed 311:411,22[' ]| to a degree that made it impossible for her to say 311:411,23[' ]| much, or even to be certain of what she ought to say. ~~ 311:411,24[' ]| This was towards the close of their walk. He attended 311:411,25[' ]| them to the last, and left them only at the door of their 311:411,26[' ]| own house, when he knew them to be going to dinner, 311:411,27[' ]| and therefore pretended to be waited for elsewhere. 311:411,28[D ]| "I wish you were not so tired," ~~ 311:411,28[' ]| said he, still detaining 311:411,29[' ]| Fanny after all the others were in the house; 311:411,29[D ]| "I wish I 311:411,30[D ]| left you in stronger health. ~~ Is there anything I can do 311:411,31[D ]| for you in town? I have half an idea of going into Norfolk 311:411,32[D ]| again soon. I am not satisfied about Maddison. ~~ 311:411,33[D ]| I am sure he still means to impose on me if possible, and 311:411,34[D ]| get a cousin of his own into a certain mill, which I design 311:411,35[D ]| for somebody else. ~~ I must come to an understanding 311:411,36[D ]| with him. I must make him know that I will not be 311:411,37[D ]| tricked on the south side of Everingham, any more than 311:411,38[D ]| on the north, that I will be master of my own property. 311:412,01[D ]| I was not explicit enough with him before. ~~ The mischief 311:412,02[D ]| such a man does on an estate, both as to the credit of his 311:412,03[D ]| employer, and the welfare of the poor, is inconceivable. 311:412,04[D ]| I have a great mind to go back into Norfolk directly, and 311:412,05[D ]| put every*thing at once on such a footing as cannot be 311:412,06[D ]| afterwards swerved from. ~~ Maddison is a clever fellow; 311:412,07[D ]| I do not wish to displace him ~~ provided he does not try 311:412,08[D ]| to displace \me\; ~~ but it would be simple to be duped by 311:412,09[D ]| a man who has no right of creditor to dupe me ~~ and 311:412,10[D ]| worse than simple to let him give me a hard-hearted, 311:412,11[D ]| griping fellow for a tenant, instead of an honest man, 311:412,12[D ]| to whom I have given half a promise already. ~~ Would 311:412,13[D ]| not it be worse than simple? Shall I go? ~~ Do you 311:412,14[D ]| advise it?" 311:412,15[A ]| "I advise! ~~ you know very well what is right." 311:412,16[D ]| "Yes. When you give me your opinion, I always know 311:412,17[D ]| what is right. Your judgment is my rule of right." 311:412,18[A ]| "Oh, no! ~~ do not say so. We have all a better guide 311:412,19[A ]| in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other 311:412,20[A ]| person can be. Good*bye; I wish you a pleasant journey 311:412,21[A ]| to-morrow." 311:412,22[D ]| "Is there nothing I can do for you in town?" 311:412,23[A ]| "Nothing, I am much obliged to you." 311:412,24[D ]| "Have you no message for anybody?" 311:412,25[A ]| "My love to your sister, if you please; and when you 311:412,26[A ]| see my cousin ~~ my cousin Edmund, I wish you would be 311:412,27[A ]| so good as to say that ~~ I suppose I shall soon hear from 311:412,28[A ]| him." 311:412,29[D ]| "Certainly; and if he is lazy or negligent, I will write 311:412,30[D ]| his excuses myself ~~" 311:412,31[' ]| He could say no more, for Fanny would be no longer 311:412,32[' ]| detained. He pressed her hand, looked at her, and was 311:412,33[' ]| gone. \He\ went to while away the next three hours 311:412,34[' ]| as he could, with his other acquaintance, till the best 311:412,35[' ]| dinner that a capital inn afforded, was ready for their 311:412,36[' ]| enjoyment, and \she\ turned in to her more simple one 311:412,37[' ]| immediately. 311:412,38[' ]| Their general fare bore a very different character; and 311:413,01[' ]| could he have suspected how many privations, besides 311:413,02[' ]| that of exercise, she endured in her father's house, he 311:413,03[' ]| would have wondered that her looks were not much more 311:413,04[' ]| affected than he found them. She was so little equal to 311:413,05[' ]| Rebecca's puddings, and Rebecca's hashes, brought to 311:413,06[' ]| table as they all were, with such accompaniments of half-cleaned 311:413,07[' ]| plates, and not half-cleaned knives and forks, 311:413,08[' ]| that she was very often constrained to defer her heartiest 311:413,09[' ]| meal, till she could send her brothers in the evening for 311:413,10[' ]| biscuits and buns. After being nursed up at Mansfield, 311:413,11[' ]| it was too late in the day to be hardened at Portsmouth; 311:413,12[' ]| and though Sir*Thomas, had he known all, might have 311:413,13[' ]| thought his niece in the most promising way of being 311:413,14[' ]| starved, both mind and body, into a much juster value 311:413,15[' ]| for Mr%*Crawford's good company and good fortune, he 311:413,16[' ]| would probably have feared to push his experiment 311:413,17[' ]| farther, lest she might die under the cure. 311:413,18[' ]| Fanny was out of spirits all the rest of the day. Though 311:413,19[' ]| tolerably secure of not seeing Mr%*Crawford again, she 311:413,20[' ]| could not help being low. 311:413,20@a | It was parting with somebody 311:413,21@a | of the nature of a friend; and though in one light glad 311:413,22@a | to have him gone, it seemed as if she was now deserted 311:413,23@a | by everybody; it was a sort of renewed separation from 311:413,24@a | Mansfield; 311:413,24[' ]| and she could not think of his returning to 311:413,25[' ]| town, and being frequently with Mary and Edmund, without 311:413,26[' ]| feelings so near akin to envy, as made her hate herself 311:413,27[' ]| for having them. 311:413,28[' ]| Her dejection had no abatement from anything passing 311:413,29[' ]| around her; a friend or two of her father's, as always 311:413,30[' ]| happened if he was not with them, spent the long, long 311:413,31[' ]| evening there; and from six o'clock to half past nine, 311:413,32[' ]| there was little intermission of noise or grog. She was 311:413,33[' ]| very low. The wonderful improvement which she still 311:413,34[' ]| fancied in Mr%*Crawford, was the nearest to administering 311:413,35[' ]| comfort of anything within the current of her thoughts. 311:413,36[' ]| Not considering in how different a circle she had been just 311:413,37[' ]| seeing him, nor how much might be owing to contrast, 311:413,38[' ]| she was quite persuaded of 311:413,38@a | his being astonishingly more 311:414,01@a | gentle, and regardful of others, than formerly. And if 311:414,02@a | in little things, must it not be so in great? So anxious 311:414,03@a | for her health and comfort, so very feeling as he now 311:414,04@a | expressed himself, and really seemed, might not it be 311:414,05@a | fairly supposed, that he would not much longer persevere 311:414,06@a | in a suit so distressing to her? 312:415,01[' ]| It was presumed that Mr%*Crawford was travelling back 312:415,02[' ]| to London, on the morrow, for nothing more was seen of 312:415,03[' ]| him at Mr%*Price's; and two days afterwards, it was a fact 312:415,04[' ]| ascertained to Fanny by the following letter from his 312:415,05[' ]| sister, opened and read by her, on another account, with 312:415,06[' ]| the most anxious curiosity: ~~ 312:415,07[C ]| "I have to inform you, my dearest Fanny, that Henry 312:415,08[C ]| has been down to Portsmouth to see you; that he had 312:415,09[C ]| a delightful walk with you to the Dock-yard last Saturday, 312:415,10[C ]| and one still more to be dwelt on the next day, on the 312:415,11[C ]| ramparts; when the balmy air, the sparkling sea, and 312:415,12[C ]| your sweet looks and conversation were altogether in the 312:415,13[C ]| most delicious harmony, and afforded sensations which 312:415,14[C ]| are to raise ecstacy even in retrospect. This, as well as 312:415,15[C ]| I understand, is to be the substance of my information. 312:415,16[C ]| He makes me write, but I do not know what else is to be 312:415,17[C ]| communicated, except this said visit to Portsmouth, and 312:415,18[C ]| these two said walks, and his introduction to your family, 312:415,19[C ]| especially to a fair sister of your's, a fine girl of fifteen, 312:415,20[C ]| who was of the party on the ramparts, taking her first 312:415,21[C ]| lesson, I presume, in love. I have not time for writing 312:415,22[C ]| much, but it would be out of place if I had, for this is to 312:415,23[C ]| be a mere letter of business, penned for the purpose of 312:415,24[C ]| conveying necessary information, which could not be 312:415,25[C ]| delayed without risk of evil. My dear, dear Fanny, if I 312:415,26[C ]| had you here, how I would talk to you! ~~ You should 312:415,27[C ]| listen to me till you were tired, and advise me till you were 312:415,28[C ]| tired still more; but it is impossible to put an hundredth 312:415,29[C ]| part of my great mind on paper, so I will abstain altogether, 312:415,30[C ]| and leave you to guess what you like. I have no news 312:415,31[C ]| for you. You have politics of course; and it would be 312:415,32[C ]| too bad to plague you with the names of people and 312:415,33[C ]| parties, that fill up my time. I ought to have sent you 312:416,01[C ]| an account of your cousin's first party, but I was lazy, 312:416,02[C ]| and now it is too long ago; suffice it, that every*thing 312:416,03[C ]| was just as it ought to be, in a style that any of her 312:416,03[C ]| connections 312:416,04[C ]| must have been gratified to witness, and that her 312:416,05[C ]| own dress and manners did her the greatest credit. My 312:416,06[C ]| friend Mrs%*Fraser is mad for such a house, and it would 312:416,07[C ]| not make \me\ miserable. I go to Lady*Stornaway after 312:416,08[C ]| Easter. She seems in high spirits, and very happy. I 312:416,09[C ]| fancy Lord*S% is very good-humoured and pleasant in his 312:416,10[C ]| own family, and I do not think him so very ill-looking as 312:416,11[C ]| I did, at least one sees many worse. He will not do by 312:416,12[C ]| the side of your cousin Edmund. Of the last-mentioned 312:416,13[C ]| hero, what shall I say? If I avoided his name entirely, 312:416,14[C ]| it would look suspicious. I will say, then, that we have 312:416,15[C ]| seen him two or three times, and that my friends here 312:416,16[C ]| are very much struck with his gentleman-like appearance. 312:416,17[C ]| Mrs%*Fraser (no bad judge), declares she knows but three 312:416,18[C ]| men in town who have so good a person, height, and air; 312:416,19[C ]| and I must confess, when he dined here the other day, 312:416,20[C ]| there were none to compare with him, and we were a party 312:416,21[C ]| of sixteen. Luckily there is no distinction of dress now-a-days 312:416,22[C ]| to tell tales, but ~~ but ~~ but. 312:416,23[C ]| Your's, affectionately." 312:416,24[C ]| "I had almost forgot (it was Edmund's fault, he gets 312:416,25[C ]| into my head more than does me good), one very material 312:416,26[C ]| thing I had to say from Henry and myself, I mean about 312:416,27[C ]| our taking you back into Northamptonshire. My dear 312:416,28[C ]| little creature, do not stay at Portsmouth to lose your 312:416,29[C ]| pretty looks. Those vile sea-breezes are the ruin of beauty 312:416,30[C ]| and health. My poor aunt always felt affected, if within 312:416,31[C ]| ten miles of the sea, which the Admiral of course never 312:416,32[C ]| believed, but I know it was so. I am at your service and 312:416,33[C ]| Henry's, at an hour's notice. I should like the scheme, 312:416,34[C ]| and we would make a little circuit, and shew you 312:416,35[C ]| Everingham in our way, and perhaps you would not 312:416,36[C ]| mind passing through London, and seeing the inside of 312:416,37[C ]| St%*George's, Hanover-Square. Only keep your cousin 312:416,38[C ]| Edmund from me at such a time, I should not like to be 312:417,01[C ]| tempted. What a long letter! ~~ one word more. Henry 312:417,02[C ]| I find has some idea of going into Norfolk again upon some 312:417,03[C ]| business that \you\ approve, but this cannot possibly be 312:417,04[C ]| permitted before the middle of next week, that is, he cannot 312:417,05[C ]| any*how be spared till after the 14th, for \we\ have a 312:417,06[C ]| party that evening. The value of a man like Henry on 312:417,07[C ]| such an occasion, is what you can have no conception of; 312:417,08[C ]| so you must take it upon my word, to be inestimable. 312:417,09[C ]| He will see the Rushworths, which I own I am not sorry 312:417,10[C ]| for ~~ having a little curiosity ~~ and so I think has he, 312:417,11[C ]| though he will not acknowledge it." 312:417,12[' ]| This was a letter to be run through eagerly, to be read 312:417,13[' ]| deliberately, to supply matter for much reflection, and to 312:417,14[' ]| leave every*thing in greater suspense than ever. 312:417,14@a | The 312:417,15@a | only certainty to be drawn from it was, that nothing 312:417,16@a | decisive had yet taken place. Edmund had not yet 312:417,17@a | spoken. How Miss*Crawford really felt ~~ how she meant 312:417,18@a | to act, or might act without or against her meaning ~~ 312:417,19@a | whether his importance to her were quite what it had been 312:417,20@a | before the last separation ~~ whether if lessened it were 312:417,21@a | likely to lessen more, or to recover itself, were subjects 312:417,22@a | for endless conjecture, and to be thought of on that day 312:417,23@a | and many days to come, without producing any conclusion. 312:417,24@a | The idea that returned the oftenest, was that Miss*Crawford, 312:417,25@a | after proving herself cooled and staggered by 312:417,26@a | a return to London habits, would yet prove herself in the 312:417,27@a | end too much attached to him, to give him up. She 312:417,28@a | would try to be more ambitious than her heart would allow. 312:417,29@a | She would hesitate, she would teaze, she would condition, 312:417,30@a | she would require a great deal, but she would finally accept. 312:417,31[' ]| This was Fanny's most frequent expectation. 312:417,31@a | A house 312:417,32@a | in town! ~~ \that\ she thought must be impossible. Yet 312:417,33@a | there was no saying what Miss*Crawford might not ask. 312:417,34@a | The prospect for her cousin grew worse and worse. The 312:417,35@a | woman who could speak of him, and speak only of his 312:417,36@a | appearance! ~~ What an unworthy attachment! To be 312:417,37@a | deriving support from the commendations of Mrs%*Fraser! 312:417,38@a | \She\ who had known him intimately half a year! 312:417,38[' ]| Fanny 312:418,01[' ]| was ashamed of her. 312:418,01@a | Those parts of the letter which 312:418,02@a | related only to Mr%*Crawford and herself, touched her in 312:418,03@a | comparison, slightly. Whether Mr%*Crawford went into 312:418,04@a | Norfolk before or after the 14th, was certainly no concern 312:418,05@a | of her's, though, every*thing considered, she thought he 312:418,06@a | \would\ go without delay. That Miss*Crawford should 312:418,07@a | endeavour to secure a meeting between him and Mrs%*Rushworth, 312:418,08@a | was all in her worst line of conduct, and 312:418,09@a | grossly unkind and ill-judged; but she hoped \he\ would 312:418,10@a | not be actuated by any such degrading curiosity. He 312:418,11@a | acknowledged no such inducement, and his sister ought 312:418,12@a | to have given him credit for better feelings than her own. 312:418,13[' ]| She was yet more impatient for another letter from 312:418,14[' ]| town after receiving this, than she had been before; and 312:418,15[' ]| for a few days, was so unsettled by it altogether, by what 312:418,16[' ]| had come, and what might come, that her usual readings 312:418,17[' ]| and conversation with Susan were much suspended. She 312:418,18[' ]| could not command her attention as she wished. 312:418,18@a | If Mr%*Crawford 312:418,19@a | remembered her message to her cousin, she 312:418,20@a | thought it very likely, \most\ likely, that he would write to 312:418,21@a | her at all events; it would be most consistent with his 312:418,22@a | usual kindness, 312:418,22[' ]| and till she got rid of this idea, till it 312:418,23[' ]| gradually wore off, by no letters appearing in the course 312:418,24[' ]| of three or four days more, she was in a most restless, 312:418,25[' ]| anxious state. 312:418,26[' ]| At length, a something like composure succeeded. Suspense 312:418,27[' ]| must be submitted to, and must not be allowed to 312:418,28[' ]| wear her out, and make her useless. Time did something, 312:418,29[' ]| her own exertions something more, and she resumed her 312:418,30[' ]| attentions to Susan, and again awakened the same interest 312:418,31[' ]| in them. 312:418,32[' ]| Susan was growing very fond of her, and though without 312:418,33[' ]| any of the early delight in books, which had been so strong 312:418,34[' ]| in Fanny, with a disposition much less inclined to sedentary 312:418,35[' ]| pursuits, or to information for information's sake, 312:418,36[' ]| she had so strong a desire of not \appearing\ ignorant, as 312:418,37[' ]| with a good clear understanding, made her a most attentive, 312:418,38[' ]| profitable, thankful pupil. Fanny was her oracle. 312:419,01[' ]| Fanny's explanations and remarks were a most important 312:419,02[' ]| addition to every essay, or every chapter of history. 312:419,03[' ]| What Fanny told her of former times, dwelt more on her 312:419,04[' ]| mind than the pages of Goldsmith; and she paid her 312:419,05[' ]| sister the compliment of preferring her style to that of 312:419,06[' ]| any printed author. The early habit of reading was 312:419,07[' ]| wanting. 312:419,08[' ]| Their conversations, however, were not always on subjects 312:419,09[' ]| so high as history or morals. Others had their hour; 312:419,10[' ]| and of lesser matters, none returned so often, or remained 312:419,11[' ]| so long between them, as Mansfield*Park, a description 312:419,12[' ]| of the people, the manners, the amusements, the ways of 312:419,13[' ]| Mansfield*Park. Susan, who had an innate taste for the 312:419,14[' ]| genteel and well-appointed, was eager to hear, and Fanny 312:419,15[' ]| could not but indulge herself in dwelling on so beloved 312:419,16[' ]| a theme. 312:419,16@a | She hoped it was not wrong; though after 312:419,17@a | a time, Susan's very great admiration of every*thing said 312:419,18@a | or done in her uncle's house, and earnest longing to go 312:419,19@a | into Northamptonshire, seemed almost to blame her for 312:419,20@a | exciting feelings which could not be gratified. 312:419,21[' ]| Poor Susan was very little better fitted for home than 312:419,22[' ]| her elder sister; and as Fanny grew thoroughly to understand 312:419,23[' ]| this, 312:419,23@a | she began to feel that when her own release 312:419,24@a | from Portsmouth came, her happiness would have a 312:419,25@a | material drawback in leaving Susan behind. That a girl 312:419,26@a | so capable of being made, every*thing good, should be left 312:419,27@a | in such hands, distressed her more and more. Were \she\ 312:419,28@a | likely to have a home to invite her to, what a blessing it 312:419,29@a | would be! ~~ And had it been possible for her to return 312:419,30@a | Mr%*Crawford's regard, the probability of his being very 312:419,31@a | far from objecting to such a measure, would have been 312:419,32@a | the greatest increase of all her own comforts. She thought 312:419,33@a | he was really good-tempered, and could fancy his entering 312:419,34@a | into a plan of that sort, most pleasantly. 313:420,01[' ]| Seven weeks of the two months were very nearly gone, 313:420,02[' ]| when the one letter, the letter from Edmund so long 313:420,03[' ]| expected, was put into Fanny's hands. As she opened 313:420,04[' ]| and saw its length she prepared herself for a minute detail 313:420,05[' ]| of happiness and a profusion of love and praise towards 313:420,06[' ]| the fortunate creature, who was now mistress of his fate. 313:420,07[' ]| These were the contents. 313:420,08[B ]| "\Mansfield*Park\. 313:420,09[B ]| "My dear Fanny, 313:420,10[B ]| "Excuse me that I have not written before. Crawford 313:420,11[B ]| told me that you were wishing to hear from me, but I 313:420,12[B ]| found it impossible to write from London, and persuaded 313:420,13[B ]| myself that you would understand my silence. ~~ Could I 313:420,14[B ]| have sent a few happy lines, they should not have been 313:420,15[B ]| wanting, but nothing of that nature was ever in my power. 313:420,16[B ]| ~~ I am returned to Mansfield in a less assured state than 313:420,17[B ]| when I left it. My hopes are much weaker. ~~ You are 313:420,18[B ]| probably aware of this already. ~~ So very fond of you as 313:420,19[B ]| Miss*Crawford is, it is most natural that she should tell 313:420,20[B ]| you enough of her own feelings, to furnish a tolerable guess 313:420,21[B ]| at mine. ~~ I will not be prevented, however, from making 313:420,22[B ]| my own communication. Our confidences in you need not 313:420,23[B ]| clash. ~~ I ask no questions. ~~ There is something soothing 313:420,24[B ]| in the idea, that we have the same friend, and that 313:420,25[B ]| whatever unhappy differences of opinion may exist 313:420,26[B ]| between us, we are united in our love of you. ~~ It will be 313:420,27[B ]| a comfort to me to tell you how things now are, and what 313:420,28[B ]| are my present plans, if plans I can be said to have. ~~ I 313:420,29[B ]| have been returned since Saturday. I was three weeks 313:420,30[B ]| in London, and saw her (for London) very often. I had 313:420,31[B ]| every attention from the Frasers that could be reasonably 313:420,32[B ]| expected. I dare say I was \not\ reasonable in carrying 313:420,33[B ]| with me hopes of an intercourse at all like that of Mansfield. 313:421,01[B ]| It was her manner, however, rather than any unfrequency 313:421,02[B ]| of meeting. Had she been different when I did 313:421,03[B ]| see her, I should have made no complaint, but from the 313:421,04[B ]| very first she was altered; my first reception was so unlike 313:421,05[B ]| what I had hoped, that I had almost resolved on leaving 313:421,06[B ]| London again directly. ~~ I need not particularize. You 313:421,07[B ]| know the weak side of her character, and may imagine 313:421,08[B ]| the sentiments and expressions which were torturing me. 313:421,09[B ]| She was in high spirits, and surrounded by those who were 313:421,10[B ]| giving all the support of their own bad sense to her too 313:421,11[B ]| lively mind. I do not like Mrs%*Fraser. She is a cold-hearted, 313:421,12[B ]| vain woman, who has married entirely from convenience, 313:421,13[B ]| and though evidently unhappy in her marriage, 313:421,14[B ]| places her disappointment, not to faults of judgment or 313:421,15[B ]| temper, or disproportion of age, but to her being after all, 313:421,16[B ]| less affluent than many of her acquaintance, especially 313:421,17[B ]| than her sister, Lady*Stornaway, and is the determined 313:421,18[B ]| supporter of every*thing mercenary and ambitious, provided 313:421,19[B ]| it be only mercenary and ambitious enough. I look 313:421,20[B ]| upon her intimacy with those two sisters, as the greatest 313:421,21[B ]| misfortune of her life and mine. They have been leading 313:421,22[B ]| her astray for years. Could she be detached from them! 313:421,23[B ]| ~~ and sometimes I do not despair of it, for the affection 313:421,24[B ]| appears to me principally on their side. They are very 313:421,25[B ]| fond of her; but I am sure she does not love them as she 313:421,26[B ]| loves you. When I think of her great attachment to you, 313:421,27[B ]| indeed, and the whole of her judicious, upright conduct 313:421,28[B ]| as a sister, she appears a very different creature, capable 313:421,29[B ]| of every*thing noble, and I am ready to blame myself for 313:421,30[B ]| a too harsh construction of a playful manner. I cannot 313:421,31[B ]| give her up, Fanny. She is the only woman in the world 313:421,32[B ]| whom I could ever think of as a wife. If I did not believe 313:421,33[B ]| that she had some regard for me, of course I should not 313:421,34[B ]| say this, but I do believe it. I am convinced, that she is 313:421,35[B ]| not without a decided preference. I have no jealousy of 313:421,36[B ]| any individual. It is the influence of the fashionable 313:421,37[B ]| world altogether that I am jealous of. It is the habits 313:421,38[B ]| of wealth that I fear. Her ideas are not higher than her 313:422,01[B ]| own fortune may warrant, but they are beyond what our 313:422,02[B ]| incomes united could authorise. There is comfort, however, 313:422,03[B ]| even here. I could better bear to lose her, because 313:422,04[B ]| not rich enough, than because of my profession. That 313:422,05[B ]| would only prove her affection not equal to sacrifices, 313:422,06[B ]| which, in fact, I am scarcely justified in asking; and if I 313:422,07[B ]| am refused, \that\, I think, will be the honest motive. Her 313:422,08[B ]| prejudices, I trust, are not so strong as they were. You 313:422,09[B ]| have my thoughts exactly as they arise, my dear Fanny; 313:422,10[B ]| perhaps they are some*times contradictory, but it will not 313:422,11[B ]| be a less faithful picture of my mind. Having once begun, 313:422,12[B ]| it is a pleasure to me to tell you all I feel. I cannot give 313:422,13[B ]| her up. Connected, as we already are, and, I hope, are 313:422,14[B ]| to be, to give up Mary*Crawford, would be to give up the 313:422,15[B ]| society of some of those most dear to me, to banish myself 313:422,16[B ]| from the very houses and friends whom, under any other 313:422,17[B ]| distress, I should turn to for consolation. The loss of 313:422,18[B ]| Mary I must consider as comprehending the loss of Crawford 313:422,19[B ]| and of Fanny. Were it a decided thing, an actual 313:422,20[B ]| refusal, I hope I should know how to bear it, and how to 313:422,21[B ]| endeavour to weaken her hold on my heart ~~ and in the 313:422,22[B ]| course of a few years ~~ but I am writing nonsense ~~ were 313:422,23[B ]| I refused, I must bear it; and till I am, I can never cease 313:422,24[B ]| to try for her. This is the truth. The only question is 313:422,25[B ]| \how\? What may be the likeliest means? I have sometimes 313:422,26[B ]| thought of going to London again after Easter, and 313:422,27[B ]| sometimes resolved on doing nothing till she returns to 313:422,28[B ]| Mansfield. Even now, she speaks with pleasure of being 313:422,29[B ]| in Mansfield in June; but June is at a great distance, and 313:422,30[B ]| I believe I shall write to her. I have nearly determined 313:422,31[B ]| on explaining myself by letter. To be at an early certainty 313:422,32[B ]| is a material object. My present state is miserably 313:422,33[B ]| irksome. Considering every*thing, I think a letter will 313:422,34[B ]| be decidedly the best method of explanation. I shall be 313:422,35[B ]| able to write much that I could not say, and shall be giving 313:422,36[B ]| her time for reflection before she resolves on her answer, 313:422,37[B ]| and I am less afraid of the result of reflection than of an 313:422,38[B ]| immediate hasty impulse; I think I am. My greatest 313:423,01[B ]| danger would lie in her consulting Mrs%*Fraser, and I at 313:423,02[B ]| a distance, unable to help my own cause. A letter exposes 313:423,03[B ]| to all the evil of consultation, and where the mind is any*thing 313:423,04[B ]| short of perfect decision, an adviser may, in an 313:423,05[B ]| unlucky moment, lead it to do what it may afterwards 313:423,06[B ]| regret. I must think this matter over a little. This long 313:423,07[B ]| letter, full of my own concerns alone, will be enough to 313:423,08[B ]| tire even the friendship of a Fanny. The last time I saw 313:423,09[B ]| Crawford was at Mrs%*Fraser's party. I am more and 313:423,10[B ]| more satisfied with all that I see and hear of him. There 313:423,11[B ]| is not a shadow of wavering. He thoroughly knows his 313:423,12[B ]| own mind, and acts up to his resolutions ~~ an inestimable 313:423,13[B ]| quality. I could not see him, and my eldest sister in the 313:423,14[B ]| same room, without recollecting what you once told me, 313:423,15[B ]| and I acknowledge that they did not meet as friends. 313:423,16[B ]| There was marked coolness on her side. They scarcely 313:423,17[B ]| spoke. I saw him draw back surprised, and I was sorry 313:423,18[B ]| that Mrs%*Rushworth should resent any former supposed 313:423,19[B ]| slight to Miss*Bertram. You will wish to hear my opinion 313:423,20[B ]| of Maria's degree of comfort as a wife. There is no appearance 313:423,21[B ]| of unhappiness. I hope they get on pretty well 313:423,22[B ]| together. I dined twice in Wimpole*Street, and might 313:423,23[B ]| have been there oftener, but it is mortifying to be with 313:423,24[B ]| Rushworth as a brother. Julia seems to enjoy London 313:423,25[B ]| exceedingly. I had little enjoyment there ~~ but have less 313:423,26[B ]| here. We are not a lively party. You are very much 313:423,27[B ]| wanted. I miss you more than I can express. My 313:423,28[B ]| mother desires her best love, and hopes to hear from you 313:423,29[B ]| soon. She talks of you almost every hour, and I am sorry 313:423,30[B ]| to find how many weeks more she is likely to be without 313:423,31[B ]| you. My Father means to fetch you himself, but it will 313:423,32[B ]| not be till after Easter, when he has business in town. 313:423,33[B ]| You are happy at Portsmouth, I hope, but this must not 313:423,34[B ]| be a yearly visit. I want you at home, that I may have 313:423,35[B ]| your opinion about Thornton*Lacey. I have little heart 313:423,36[B ]| for extensive improvements till I know that it will ever 313:423,37[B ]| have a mistress. I think I shall certainly write. It is 313:423,38[B ]| quite settled that the Grants go to Bath; they leave 313:424,01[B ]| Mansfield on Monday. I am glad of it. I am not comfortable 313:424,02[B ]| enough to be fit for any*body; but your aunt 313:424,03[B ]| seems to feel out of luck that such an article of Mansfield 313:424,04[B ]| news should fall to my pen instead of her's. Your's ever, 313:424,05[B ]| my dearest Fanny." 313:424,06[A ]| "I never will ~~ no, I certainly never will wish for a 313:424,06[A ]| letter 313:424,07[A ]| again," 313:424,07[' ]| was Fanny's secret declaration, as she finished 313:424,08[' ]| this. 313:424,08[A ]| "What do they bring but disappointment and 313:424,09[A ]| sorrow? ~~ Not till after Easter! ~~ How shall I bear it? 313:424,10[A ]| ~~ And my poor aunt talking of me every hour!" 313:424,11[' ]| Fanny checked the tendency of these thoughts as well 313:424,12[' ]| as she could, but she was within half a minute of starting 313:424,13[' ]| the idea, that Sir*Thomas was quite unkind, both to her 313:424,14[' ]| aunt and to herself. ~~ As for the main subject of the letter 313:424,15[' ]| ~~ there was nothing in that to soothe irritation. She was 313:424,16[' ]| almost vexed into displeasure, and anger, against Edmund. 313:424,17[A ]| "There is no good in this delay," 313:424,17[' ]| said she. 313:424,17[A ]| "Why is not 313:424,18[A ]| it settled? ~~ He is blinded, and nothing will open his eyes, 313:424,19[A ]| nothing can, after having had truths before him so long 313:424,20[A ]| in vain. ~~ He will marry her, and be poor and miserable. 313:424,21[A ]| God grant that her influence do not make him cease to 313:424,22[A ]| be respectable!" ~~ 313:424,22[' ]| She looked over the letter again. 313:424,23@b | """So very fond of me!"" 313:424,23[A ]| 'tis nonsense all. She loves 313:424,24[A ]| nobody but herself and her brother. Her friends leading 313:424,25[A ]| her astray for years! She is quite as likely to have led 313:424,26[A ]| \them\ astray. They have all, perhaps, been corrupting 313:424,27[A ]| one another; but if they are so much fonder of her than 313:424,28[A ]| she is of them, she is the less likely to have been hurt, 313:424,29[A ]| except by their flattery. 313:424,29@b | ""The only woman in the world, 313:424,30@b | whom he could ever think of as a wife."" 313:424,30[A ]| I firmly believe 313:424,31[A ]| it. It is an attachment to govern his whole life. Accepted 313:424,32[A ]| or refused, his heart is wedded to her for*ever. ~~ 313:424,32@b | ""The loss 313:424,33@b | of Mary, I must consider as comprehending the loss of 313:424,34@b | Crawford and Fanny."" 313:424,34[A ]| Edmund, you do not know \me\. The 313:424,35[A ]| families would never be connected, if you did not connect 313:424,36[A ]| them. Oh! write, write. Finish it at once. Let there be an 313:424,37[A ]| end of this suspense. Fix, commit, condemn yourself." 313:424,38[' ]| Such sensations, however, were too near a kin to resentment 313:425,01[' ]| to be long guiding Fanny's soliloquies. She was 313:425,02[' ]| soon more softened and sorrowful. ~~ 313:425,02@a | His warm regard, his 313:425,03@a | kind expressions, his confidential treatment touched her 313:425,04@a | strongly. He was only too good to every*body. ~~ It was 313:425,05@a | a letter, in short, which she would not but have had for the 313:425,06@a | world, and which could never be valued enough. 313:425,06[' ]| This 313:425,07[' ]| was the end of it. 313:425,08[' ]| Every*body at all addicted to letter writing, without 313:425,09[' ]| having much to say, which will include a large proportion 313:425,10[' ]| of the female world at least, must feel with Lady*Bertram, 313:425,11[' ]| that she was out of luck in having such a capital piece 313:425,12[' ]| of Mansfield news, as the certainty of the Grants going 313:425,13[' ]| to Bath, occur at a time when she could make no advantage 313:425,14[' ]| of it, and will admit that it must have been very 313:425,15[' ]| mortifying to her to see it fall to the share of her thankless 313:425,16[' ]| son, and treated as concisely as possible at the end of 313:425,17[' ]| a long letter, instead of having it to spread over the largest 313:425,18[' ]| part of a page of her own. ~~ For though Lady*Bertram 313:425,19[' ]| rather shone in the epistolary line, having early in her 313:425,20[' ]| marriage, from the want of other employment, and the 313:425,21[' ]| circumstance of Sir*Thomas's being in Parliament, got 313:425,22[' ]| into the way of making and keeping correspondents, and 313:425,23[' ]| formed for herself a very creditable, common-place, amplifying 313:425,24[' ]| style, so that a very little matter was enough for her; 313:425,25[' ]| she could not do entirely without any; she must have 313:425,26[' ]| something to write about, even to her niece, and being 313:425,27[' ]| so soon to lose all the benefit of Dr%*Grant's gouty 313:425,28[' ]| symptoms and Mrs%*Grant's morning calls, it was very 313:425,29[' ]| hard upon her to be deprived of one of the last epistolary 313:425,30[' ]| uses she could put them to. 313:425,31[' ]| There was a rich amends, however, preparing for her. 313:425,32[' ]| Lady*Bertram's hour of good luck came. Within a few 313:425,33[' ]| days from the receipt of Edmund's letter, Fanny had 313:425,34[' ]| one from her aunt, beginning thus: ~~ 313:425,35[F ]| "My dear Fanny, 313:425,36[F ]| "I take up my pen to communicate some very 313:425,37[F ]| alarming intelligence, which I make no doubt will give 313:425,38[F ]| you much concern." 313:426,01[' ]| This was a great deal better than to have to take up 313:426,02[' ]| the pen to acquaint her with all the particulars of the 313:426,03[' ]| Grants' intended journey, for the present intelligence was 313:426,04[' ]| of a nature to promise occupation for the pen for many 313:426,05[' ]| days to come, being no less than the dangerous illness 313:426,06[' ]| of her eldest son, of which they had received notice by 313:426,07[' ]| express, a few hours before. 313:426,08[' ]| Tom had gone from London with a party of young men 313:426,09[' ]| to Newmarket, where a neglected fall, and a good deal of 313:426,10[' ]| drinking, had brought on a fever; and when the party 313:426,11[' ]| broke up, being unable to move, had been left by himself 313:426,12[' ]| at the house of one of these young men, to the comforts 313:426,13[' ]| of sickness and solitude, and the attendance only of servants. 313:426,14[' ]| Instead of being soon well enough to follow his 313:426,15[' ]| friends, as he had then hoped, his disorder increased considerably, 313:426,16[' ]| and it was not long before he thought so ill of 313:426,17[' ]| himself, as to be as ready as his physician to have a letter 313:426,18[' ]| dispatched to Mansfield. 313:426,19[F ]| "This distressing intelligence, as you may suppose," 313:426,20[' ]| observed her Ladyship, after giving the substance of it, 313:426,21[F ]| "has agitated us exceedingly, and we cannot prevent 313:426,22[F ]| ourselves from being greatly alarmed, and apprehensive 313:426,23[F ]| for the poor invalid, whose state Sir*Thomas fears may be 313:426,24[F ]| very critical; and Edmund kindly proposes attending 313:426,25[F ]| his brother immediately, but I am happy to add, that Sir*Thomas 313:426,26[F ]| will not leave me on this distressing occasion, as 313:426,27[F ]| it would be too trying for me. We shall greatly miss 313:426,28[F ]| Edmund in our small circle, but I trust and hope he will 313:426,29[F ]| find the poor invalid in a less alarming state than might 313:426,30[F ]| be apprehended, and that he will be able to bring him to 313:426,31[F ]| Mansfield shortly, which Sir*Thomas proposes should be 313:426,32[F ]| done, and thinks best on every account, and I flatter myself, 313:426,33[F ]| the poor sufferer will soon be able to bear the removal 313:426,34[F ]| without material inconvenience or injury. As I have 313:426,35[F ]| little doubt of your feeling for us, my dear Fanny, under 313:426,36[F ]| these distressing circumstances, I will write again very 313:426,37[F ]| soon." 313:426,38[' ]| Fanny's feelings on the occasion were indeed considerably 313:427,01[' ]| more warm and genuine than her aunt's style of 313:427,02[' ]| writing. She felt truly for them all. Tom dangerously 313:427,03[' ]| ill, Edmund gone to attend him, and the sadly small party 313:427,04[' ]| remaining at Mansfield, were cares to shut out every other 313:427,05[' ]| care, or almost every other. She could just find selfishness 313:427,06[' ]| enough to wonder whether Edmund \had\ written to 313:427,07[' ]| Miss*Crawford before this summons came, but no sentiment 313:427,08[' ]| dwelt long with her, that was not purely affectionate 313:427,09[' ]| and disinterestedly anxious. Her aunt did not neglect 313:427,10[' ]| her; she wrote again and again; they were receiving 313:427,11[' ]| frequent accounts from Edmund, and these accounts were 313:427,12[' ]| as regularly transmitted to Fanny, in the same diffuse 313:427,13[' ]| style, and the same medley of trusts, hopes, and fears, all 313:427,14[' ]| following and producing each other at hap-hazard. It 313:427,15[' ]| was a sort of playing at being frightened. The sufferings 313:427,16[' ]| which Lady*Bertram did not see, had little power over 313:427,17[' ]| her fancy; and she wrote very comfortably about agitation 313:427,18[' ]| and anxiety, and poor invalids, till Tom was actually 313:427,19[' ]| conveyed to Mansfield, and her own eyes had beheld his 313:427,20[' ]| altered appearance. Then, a letter which she had been 313:427,21[' ]| previously preparing for Fanny, was finished in a different 313:427,22[' ]| style, in the language of real feeling and alarm; then, she 313:427,23[' ]| wrote as she might have spoken. 313:427,23[F ]| "He is just come, my 313:427,24[F ]| dear Fanny, and is taken up*stairs; and I am so shocked 313:427,25[F ]| to see him, that I do not know what to do. I am sure he 313:427,26[F ]| has been very ill. Poor Tom, I am quite grieved for him, 313:427,27[F ]| and very much frightened, and so is Sir*Thomas; and 313:427,28[F ]| how glad I should be, if you were here to comfort me. 313:427,29[F ]| But Sir*Thomas hopes he will be better to-morrow, and 313:427,30[F ]| says we must consider his journey." 313:427,31[' ]| The real solicitude now awakened in the maternal 313:427,32[' ]| bosom was not soon over. Tom's extreme impatience 313:427,33[' ]| to be removed to Mansfield, and experience those comforts 313:427,34[' ]| of home and family which had been little thought 313:427,35[' ]| of in uninterrupted health, had probably induced his being 313:427,36[' ]| conveyed thither too early, as a return of fever came on, 313:427,37[' ]| and for a week he was in a more alarming state than ever. 313:427,38[' ]| They were all very seriously frightened. Lady*Bertram 313:428,01[' ]| wrote her daily terrors to her niece, who might now be 313:428,02[' ]| said to live upon letters, and pass all her time between 313:428,03[' ]| suffering from that of to-day, and looking forward to 313:428,03[' ]| tomorrow's. 313:428,04[' ]| Without any particular affection for her eldest 313:428,05[' ]| cousin, her tenderness of heart made her feel that she could 313:428,06[' ]| not spare him; and the purity of her principles added yet 313:428,07[' ]| a keener solicitude, when she considered how little useful, 313:428,08[' ]| how little self-denying his life had (apparently) been. 313:428,09[' ]| Susan was her only companion and listener on this, as 313:428,10[' ]| on more common occasions. Susan was always ready to 313:428,11[' ]| hear and to sympathize. Nobody else could be interested 313:428,12[' ]| in so remote an evil as illness, in a family above an hundred 313:428,13[' ]| miles off ~~ not even Mrs%*Price, beyond a brief question 313:428,14[' ]| or two if she saw her daughter with a letter in her hand, 313:428,15[' ]| and now and then the quiet observation of 313:428,15[P ]| "My poor 313:428,16[P ]| sister Bertram must be in a great deal of trouble." 313:428,17[' ]| So long divided, and so differently situated, the ties of 313:428,18[' ]| blood were little more than nothing. An attachment, 313:428,19[' ]| originally as tranquil as their tempers, was now become 313:428,20[' ]| a mere name. Mrs%*Price did quite as much for Lady*Bertram, 313:428,21[' ]| as Lady*Bertram would have done for Mrs%*Price. 313:428,22[' ]| Three or four Prices might have been swept away, 313:428,23[' ]| any or all, except Fanny and William, and Lady*Bertram 313:428,24[' ]| would have thought little about it; or perhaps might have 313:428,25[' ]| caught from Mrs%*Norris's lips the cant of its being a very 313:428,26[' ]| happy thing, and a great blessing to their poor dear sister 313:428,27[' ]| Price to have them so well provided for. 314:429,01[' ]| At about the week's end from his return to Mansfield, 314:429,02[' ]| Tom's immediate danger was over, and he was so far pronounced 314:429,03[' ]| safe, as to make his mother perfectly easy; for 314:429,04[' ]| being now used to the sight of him in his suffering, helpless 314:429,05[' ]| state, and hearing only the best, and never thinking beyond 314:429,06[' ]| what she heard, with no disposition for alarm, and no 314:429,07[' ]| aptitude at a hint, Lady*Bertram was the happiest subject 314:429,08[' ]| in the world for a little medical imposition. 314:429,08@f | The fever 314:429,09@f | was subdued; the fever had been his complaint, of course 314:429,10@f | he would soon be well again; 314:429,10[' ]| Lady*Bertram could think 314:429,11[' ]| nothing less, and Fanny shared her aunt's security, till 314:429,12[' ]| she received a few lines from Edmund, 314:429,12@b | written purposely 314:429,13@b | to give her a clearer idea of his brother's situation, and 314:429,14@b | acquaint her with the apprehensions which he and his 314:429,15@b | father had imbibed from the physician, with respect to 314:429,16@b | some strong hectic symptoms, which seemed to seize the 314:429,17@b | frame on the departure of the fever. They judged it best 314:429,18@b | that Lady*Bertram should not be harassed by alarms 314:429,19@b | which, it was to be hoped, would prove unfounded; but 314:429,20@b | there was no reason why Fanny should not know the 314:429,21@b | truth. They were apprehensive for his lungs. 314:429,22[' ]| A very few lines from Edmund shewed her the patient 314:429,23[' ]| and the sick room in a juster and stronger light than all 314:429,24[' ]| Lady*Bertram's sheets of paper could do. There was 314:429,25[' ]| hardly any*one in the house who might have not described, 314:429,26[' ]| from personal observation, better than herself; not one 314:429,27[' ]| who was not more useful at times to her son. She could 314:429,28[' ]| do nothing but glide in quietly and look at him; but, 314:429,29[' ]| when able to talk or be talked to, or read to, Edmund was 314:429,30[' ]| the companion he preferred. His aunt worried him by 314:429,31[' ]| her cares, and Sir*Thomas knew not how to bring down 314:429,32[' ]| his conversation or his voice to the level of irritation and 314:429,33[' ]| feebleness. Edmund was all in all. Fanny would certainly 314:430,01[' ]| believe him so at least, and must find that her estimation 314:430,02[' ]| of him was higher than ever when he appeared as 314:430,03[' ]| the attendant, supporter, cheerer of a suffering brother. 314:430,04[' ]| There was not only the debility of recent illness to assist; 314:430,05[' ]| there was also, as she now learnt, nerves much affected, 314:430,06[' ]| spirits much depressed to calm and raise; and her own 314:430,07[' ]| imagination added that there must be a mind to be 314:430,08[' ]| properly guided. 314:430,09[' ]| The family were not consumptive, and she was more 314:430,10[' ]| inclined to hope than fear for her cousin ~~ except when 314:430,11[' ]| she thought of Miss*Crawford ~~ but Miss*Crawford gave 314:430,12[' ]| her the idea of being the child of good luck, and to her 314:430,13[' ]| selfishness and vanity it would be good luck to have 314:430,14[' ]| Edmund the only son. 314:430,15[' ]| Even in the sick chamber, the fortunate Mary was not 314:430,16[' ]| forgotten. Edmund's letter had this postscript. 314:430,16[B ]| "On 314:430,17[B ]| the subject of my last, I had actually begun a letter when 314:430,18[B ]| called away by Tom's illness, but I have now changed my 314:430,19[B ]| mind, and fear to trust the influence of friends. When 314:430,20[B ]| Tom is better, I shall go." 314:430,21[' ]| Such was the state of Mansfield, and so it continued, 314:430,22[' ]| with scarcely any change till Easter. A line occasionally 314:430,23[' ]| added by Edmund to his mother's letter was enough for 314:430,24[' ]| Fanny's information. Tom's amendment was alarmingly 314:430,25[' ]| slow. 314:430,26[' ]| Easter came ~~ particularly late this year, as Fanny had 314:430,27[' ]| most sorrowfully considered, on first learning that she 314:430,28[' ]| had no chance of leaving Portsmouth till after it. 314:430,28@a | It 314:430,29@a | came, and she had yet heard nothing of her return ~~ 314:430,30@a | nothing even of the going to London, which was to precede 314:430,31@a | her return. Her aunt often expressed a wish for her, 314:430,32@a | but there was no notice, no message from the uncle on 314:430,33@a | whom all depended. She supposed he could not yet leave 314:430,34@a | his son, but it was a cruel, a terrible delay to her. The 314:430,35@a | end of April was coming on; it would soon be almost 314:430,36@a | three months instead of two that she had been absent from 314:430,37@a | them all, and that her days had been passing in a state 314:430,38@a | of penance, which she loved them too well to hope they 314:431,01@a | would thoroughly understand; ~~ and who could yet say 314:431,02@a | when there might be leisure to think of, or fetch her? 314:431,03@a | Her eagerness, her impatience, her longings to be with 314:431,04@a | them, were such as to bring a line or two of Cowper's 314:431,05@a | Tirocinium for*ever before her. 314:431,05@z | "With what intense desire 314:431,06@z | she wants her home," 314:431,06@a | was continually on her tongue, as 314:431,07@a | the truest description of a yearning which she could not 314:431,08@a | suppose any school-boy's bosom to feel more keenly. 314:431,09@a | When she had been coming to Portsmouth, she had 314:431,10@a | loved to call it her home, had been fond of saying that she 314:431,11@a | was going home; the word had been very dear to her; 314:431,12@a | and so it still was, but it must be applied to Mansfield. 314:431,13@a | \That\ was now the home. Portsmouth was Portsmouth; 314:431,14@a | Mansfield was home. 314:431,14[' ]| They had been long so arranged 314:431,15[' ]| in the indulgence of her secret meditations; 314:431,15@a | and nothing 314:431,16@a | was more consolatory to her than to find her aunt using 314:431,17@a | the same language. ~~ 314:431,17[F ]| "I cannot but say, I much regret 314:431,18[F ]| your being from home at this distressing time, so very 314:431,19[F ]| trying to my spirits. ~~ I trust and hope, and sincerely 314:431,19[F ]| wish 314:431,20[F ]| you may never be absent from home so long again" ~~ 314:431,21@a | were most delightful sentences to her. 314:431,21[' ]| Still, however, 314:431,22[' ]| it was her private regale. ~~ Delicacy to her parents made 314:431,23[' ]| her careful not to betray such a preference of her uncle's 314:431,24[' ]| house: it was always, 314:431,24[A ]| "when I go back into Northamptonshire, 314:431,25[A ]| or when I return to Mansfield, I shall do so and 314:431,26[A ]| so." ~~ 314:431,26[' ]| For a great while it was so; but at last the longing 314:431,27[' ]| grew stronger, it overthrew caution, 314:431,27@a | and she found herself 314:431,28@a | talking of what she should do when she went home, before 314:431,29@a | she was aware. ~~ 314:431,29[' ]| She reproached herself, coloured and 314:431,30[' ]| looked fearfully towards her Father and Mother. 314:431,30@a | She 314:431,31@a | need not have been uneasy. There was no sign of displeasure, 314:431,32@a | or even of hearing her. They were perfectly free 314:431,33@a | from any jealousy of Mansfield. She was as welcome to 314:431,34@a | wish herself there, as to be there. 314:431,35[' ]| It was sad to Fanny to lose all the pleasures of spring. 314:431,36[' ]| She had not known before what pleasures she \had\ to lose 314:431,37[' ]| in passing March and April in a town. She had not known 314:431,38[' ]| before, how much the beginnings and progress of vegetation 314:432,01[' ]| had delighted her. ~~ What animation both of body 314:432,02[' ]| and mind, she had derived from watching the advance of 314:432,03[' ]| that season which cannot, in spite of its capriciousness, 314:432,04[' ]| be unlovely, and seeing its increasing beauties, from the 314:432,05[' ]| earliest flowers, in the warmest divisions of her aunt's 314:432,06[' ]| garden, to the opening of leaves of her uncle's plantations, 314:432,07[' ]| and the glory of his woods. ~~ To be losing such pleasures 314:432,08[' ]| was no trifle; to be losing them, because she was in the 314:432,09[' ]| midst of closeness and noise, to have confinement, bad 314:432,10[' ]| air, bad smells, substituted for liberty, freshness, fragrance, 314:432,11[' ]| and verdure, was infinitely worse; ~~ but even these 314:432,12[' ]| incitements to regret, were feeble, compared with what 314:432,13[' ]| arose from the conviction of being missed, by her best 314:432,14[' ]| friends, and the longing to be useful to those who were 314:432,15[' ]| wanting her! 314:432,16@a | Could she have been at home, she might have been of 314:432,17@a | service to every creature in the house. She felt that she 314:432,18@a | must have been of use to all. To all, she must have saved 314:432,19@a | some trouble of head or hand; and were it only in supporting 314:432,20@a | the spirits of her aunt Bertram, keeping her from 314:432,21@a | the evil of solitude, or the still greater evil of a restless, 314:432,22@a | officious companion, too apt to be heightening danger in 314:432,23@a | order to enhance her own importance, her being there 314:432,24@a | would have been a general good. She loved to fancy how 314:432,25@a | she could have read to her aunt, how she could have talked 314:432,26@a | to her, and tried at once to make her feel the blessing of 314:432,27@a | what was, and prepare her mind for what might be; and 314:432,28@a | how many walks up and down*stairs she might have saved 314:432,29@a | her, and how many messages she might have carried. 314:432,30@a | It astonished her that Tom's sisters could be satisfied 314:432,31@a | with remaining in London at such a time ~~ through an 314:432,32@a | illness, which had now, under different degrees of danger, 314:432,33@a | lasted several weeks. \They\ might return to Mansfield 314:432,34@a | when they chose; travelling could be no difficulty to 314:432,35@a | \them\, and she could not comprehend how both could still 314:432,36@a | keep away. If Mrs%*Rushworth could imagine any interfering 314:432,37@a | obligations, Julia was certainly able to quit London 314:432,38@a | whenever she chose. ~~ It appeared from one of her aunt's 314:433,01@a | letters, that Julia had offered to return if wanted ~~ but 314:433,02@a | this was all. ~~ It was evident that she would rather remain 314:433,03@a | where she was. 314:433,04[' ]| Fanny was disposed to think the influence of London 314:433,05[' ]| very much at war with all respectable attachments. She 314:433,06[' ]| saw the proof of it in Miss*Crawford, as well as in her 314:433,07[' ]| cousins; 314:433,07@a | \her\ attachment to Edmund had been respectable, 314:433,08@a | the most respectable part of her character, her friendship 314:433,09@a | for herself, had at least been blameless. Where was either 314:433,10@a | sentiment now? 314:433,10[' ]| It was so long since Fanny had had any 314:433,11[' ]| letter from her, that she had some reason to think lightly 314:433,12[' ]| of the friendship which had been so dwelt on. ~~ 314:433,12@a | It was 314:433,13@a | weeks since she had heard any*thing of Miss*Crawford or 314:433,14@a | of her other connections in town, except through Mansfield, 314:433,15@a | and she was beginning to suppose that she might never 314:433,16@a | know whether Mr%*Crawford had gone into Norfolk again 314:433,17@a | or not, till they met, and might never hear from his sister 314:433,18@a | any more this spring, 314:433,18[' ]| when the following letter was received 314:433,19[' ]| to revive old, and create some new sensations. 314:433,20[C ]| "Forgive me, my dear Fanny, as soon as you can, for 314:433,21[C ]| my long silence, and behave as if you could forgive me 314:433,22[C ]| directly. This is my modest request and expectation, 314:433,23[C ]| for you are so good, that I depend upon being treated 314:433,24[C ]| better than I deserve ~~ and I write now to beg an immediate 314:433,25[C ]| answer. I want to know the state of things at 314:433,26[C ]| Mansfield*Park, and you, no doubt, are perfectly able to 314:433,27[C ]| give it. One should be a brute not to feel for the distress 314:433,28[C ]| they are in ~~ and from what I hear, poor Mr%*Bertram has 314:433,29[C ]| a bad chance of ultimate recovery. I thought little of 314:433,30[C ]| his illness at first. I looked upon him as the sort of person 314:433,31[C ]| to be made a fuss with, and to make a fuss himself in any 314:433,32[C ]| trifling disorder, and was chiefly concerned for those who 314:433,33[C ]| had to nurse him; but now it is confidently asserted that 314:433,34[C ]| he is really in a decline, that the symptoms are most 314:433,35[C ]| alarming, and that part of the family, at least, are aware 314:433,36[C ]| of it. If it be so, I am sure you must be included in that 314:433,37[C ]| part, that discerning part, and therefore intreat you to 314:433,38[C ]| let me know how far I have been rightly informed. I need 314:434,01[C ]| not say how rejoiced I shall be to hear there has been 314:434,02[C ]| any mistake, but the report is so prevalent, that I confess 314:434,03[C ]| I cannot help trembling. To have such a fine young 314:434,04[C ]| man cut off in the flower of his days, is most melancholy. 314:434,05[C ]| Poor Sir*Thomas will feel it dreadfully. I really am quite 314:434,06[C ]| agitated on the subject. Fanny, Fanny, I see you smile, 314:434,07[C ]| and look cunning, but upon my honour, I never bribed 314:434,08[C ]| a physician in my life. Poor young man! ~~ If he is to 314:434,09[C ]| die, there will be \two\ poor young men less in the world; 314:434,10[C ]| and with a fearless face and bold voice would I say to any*one, 314:434,11[C ]| that wealth and consequence could fall into no hands 314:434,12[C ]| more deserving of them. It was a foolish precipitation 314:434,13[C ]| last Christmas, but the evil of a few days may be blotted 314:434,14[C ]| out in part. Varnish and gilding hide many stains. It 314:434,15[C ]| will be but the loss of the Esquire after his name. With 314:434,16[C ]| real affection, Fanny, like mine, more might be overlooked. 314:434,17[C ]| Write to me by return of post, judge of my 314:434,18[C ]| anxiety, and do not trifle with it. Tell me the real truth, 314:434,19[C ]| as you have it from the fountain head. And now, do not 314:434,20[C ]| trouble yourself to be ashamed of either my feelings or 314:434,21[C ]| your own. Believe me, they are not only natural, they 314:434,22[C ]| are philanthropic and virtuous. I put it to your conscience, 314:434,23[C ]| whether ""Sir*Edmund"" would not do more good 314:434,24[C ]| with all the Bertram property, than any other possible 314:434,25[C ]| ""Sir."" Had the Grants been at home, I would not have 314:434,26[C ]| troubled you, but you are now the only one I can apply 314:434,27[C ]| to for the truth, his sisters not being within my reach. 314:434,28[C ]| Mrs%*R% has been spending the Easter with the Aylmers 314:434,29[C ]| at Twickenham (as to be sure you know), and is not yet 314:434,30[C ]| returned; and Julia is with the cousins, who live near 314:434,31[C ]| Bedford*Square; but I forgot their name and street. 314:434,32[C ]| Could I immediately apply to either, however, I should 314:434,33[C ]| still prefer you, because it strikes me, that they have all 314:434,34[C ]| along been so unwilling to have their own amusements 314:434,35[C ]| cut up, as to shut their eyes to the truth. I suppose, 314:434,36[C ]| Mrs%*R%'s Easter holidays will not last much longer; no 314:434,37[C ]| doubt they are thorough holidays to her. The Aylmers 314:434,38[C ]| are pleasant people; and her husband away, she can have 314:435,01[C ]| nothing but enjoyment. I give her credit for promoting 314:435,02[C ]| his going dutifully down to Bath, to fetch his mother; 314:435,03[C ]| but how will she and the dowager agree in one house? 314:435,04[C ]| Henry is not at hand, so I have nothing to say from him. 314:435,05[C ]| Do not you think Edmund would have been in town again 314:435,06[C ]| long ago, but for this illness? ~~ Yours ever, Mary." 314:435,07[C ]| "I had actually began folding my letter, when Henry 314:435,08[C ]| walked in; but he brings no intelligence to prevent my 314:435,09[C ]| sending it. Mrs%*R% knows a decline is apprehended; he 314:435,10[C ]| saw her this morning, she returns to Wimpole-Street today, 314:435,11[C ]| the old lady is come. Now do not make yourself 314:435,12[C ]| uneasy with any queer fancies, because he has been spending 314:435,13[C ]| a few days at Richmond. He does it every spring. 314:435,14[C ]| Be assured, he cares for nobody but you. At this very 314:435,15[C ]| moment, he is wild to see you, and occupied only in contriving 314:435,16[C ]| the means for doing so, and for making his pleasure 314:435,17[C ]| conduce to yours. In proof, he repeats, and more eagerly, 314:435,18[C ]| what he said at Portsmouth, about our conveying you 314:435,19[C ]| home, and I join him in it with all my soul. Dear Fanny, 314:435,20[C ]| write directly, and tell us to come. It will do us all good. 314:435,21[C ]| He and I can go to the Parsonage, you know, and be no 314:435,22[C ]| trouble to our friends at Mansfield*Park. It would really 314:435,23[C ]| be gratifying to see them all again, and a little addition 314:435,24[C ]| of society might be of infinite use to them; and, as to 314:435,25[C ]| yourself, you must feel yourself to be so wanted there, 314:435,26[C ]| that you cannot in conscience (conscientious as you are,) 314:435,27[C ]| keep away, when you have the means of returning. I have 314:435,28[C ]| not time or patience to give half Henry's messages; be 314:435,29[C ]| satisfied, that the spirit of each and every one is unalterable 314:435,30[C ]| affection." 314:435,31[' ]| Fanny's disgust at the greater part of this letter, with 314:435,32[' ]| her extreme reluctance to bring the writer of it and her 314:435,33[' ]| cousin Edmund together, would have made her (as she 314:435,34[' ]| felt), 314:435,34@a | incapable of judging impartially whether the concluding 314:435,35@a | offer might be accepted or not. To herself, individually, 314:435,36@a | it was most tempting. To be finding herself, 314:435,37@a | perhaps, within three days, transported to Mansfield, was 314:435,38@a | an image of the greatest felicity ~~ but it would have been a 314:436,01@a | material drawback, to be owing such felicity to persons 314:436,02@a | in whose feelings and conduct, at the present moment, 314:436,03@a | she saw so much to condemn; the sister's feelings ~~ 314:436,04@a | the brother's conduct ~~ \her\ cold-hearted ambition ~~ \his\ 314:436,05@a | thoughtless vanity. To have him still the acquaintance, 314:436,06@a | the flirt, perhaps, of Mrs%*Rushworth! ~~ She was mortified. 314:436,07@a | She had thought better of him. Happily, however, she 314:436,08@a | was not left to weigh and decide between opposite inclinations 314:436,09@a | and doubtful notions of right; there was no occasion 314:436,10@a | to determine, whether she ought to keep Edmund and 314:436,11@a | Mary asunder or not. She had a rule to apply to, which 314:436,12@a | settled every*thing. Her awe of her uncle, and her dread 314:436,13@a | of taking a liberty with him, made it instantly plain to her, 314:436,14@a | what she had to do. She must absolutely decline the 314:436,15@a | proposal. If he wanted, he would send for her; and even 314:436,16@a | to offer an early return, was a presumption which hardly 314:436,17@a | any*thing would have seemed to justify. 314:436,17[' ]| She thanked 314:436,18[' ]| Miss*Crawford, but gave a decided negative. ~~ 314:436,18[A ]| "Her uncle, 314:436,19[A ]| she understood, meant to fetch her; and as her cousin's 314:436,20[A ]| illness had continued so many weeks without her being 314:436,21[A ]| thought at all necessary, she must suppose her return 314:436,22[A ]| would be unwelcome at present, and that she should be 314:436,23[A ]| felt an incumbrance." 314:436,24[' ]| Her representation of her cousin's state at this time, 314:436,25[' ]| was exactly according to her own belief of it, 314:436,25@a | and such 314:436,26@a | as she supposed would convey to the sanguine mind of 314:436,27@a | her correspondent, the hope of every*thing she was 314:436,28@a | wishing for. Edmund would be forgiven for being a 314:436,29@a | clergyman, it seemed, under certain conditions of wealth; 314:436,30@a | and this, she suspected, was all the conquest of prejudice, 314:436,31@a | which he was so ready to congratulate himself upon. 314:436,32@a | She had only learnt to think nothing of consequence but 314:436,33@a | money. 315:437,01[' ]| As Fanny could not doubt that her answer was conveying 315:437,02[' ]| a real disappointment, she was rather in expectation, 315:437,03[' ]| from her knowledge of Miss*Crawford's temper, 315:437,04[' ]| of being urged again; and though no second letter arrived 315:437,05[' ]| for the space of a week, she had still the same feeling when 315:437,06[' ]| it did come. 315:437,07[' ]| On receiving it, she could instantly decide on its containing 315:437,08[' ]| little writing, and was persuaded of its having the 315:437,09[' ]| air of a letter of haste and business. Its object was unquestionable; 315:437,10[' ]| and two moments were enough to start 315:437,11[' ]| the probability of its being merely to give her notice that 315:437,12[' ]| they should be in Portsmouth that very day, and to throw 315:437,13[' ]| her into all the agitation of doubting what she ought to 315:437,14[' ]| do in such a case. If two moments, however, can surround 315:437,15[' ]| with difficulties, a third can disperse them; and 315:437,16[' ]| before she had opened the letter, the possibility of Mr% 315:437,17[' ]| and Miss*Crawford's having applied to her uncle and 315:437,18[' ]| obtained his permission, was giving her ease. This was 315:437,19[' ]| the letter. 315:437,20[C ]| "A most scandalous, ill-natured rumour has just reached 315:437,21[C ]| me, and I write, dear Fanny, to warn you against giving 315:437,22[C ]| the least credit to it, should it spread into the country. 315:437,23[C ]| Depend upon it there is some mistake, and that a day or 315:437,24[C ]| two will clear it up ~~ at any rate, that Henry is blameless, 315:437,25[C ]| and in spite of a moment's \etourderie\ thinks of nobody but 315:437,26[C ]| you. Say not a word of it ~~ hear nothing, surmise nothing, 315:437,27[C ]| whisper nothing, till I write again. I am sure it will be 315:437,28[C ]| all hushed up, and nothing proved but Rushworth's folly. 315:437,29[C ]| If they are gone, I would lay my life they are only gone 315:437,30[C ]| to Mansfield*Park, and Julia with them. But why would 315:437,31[C ]| not you let us come for you? I wish you may not repent 315:437,32[C ]| it. 315:437,33[C ]| "Yours, &c%" 315:438,01[' ]| Fanny stood aghast. 315:438,01@a | As no scandalous, ill-natured 315:438,02@a | rumour had reached her, it was impossible for her to 315:438,03@a | understand much of this strange letter. She could only 315:438,04@a | perceive that it must relate to Wimpole*Street and Mr%*Crawford, 315:438,05@a | and only conjecture that something very imprudent 315:438,06@a | had just occurred in that quarter to draw the 315:438,07@a | notice of the world, and to excite her jealousy, in Miss*Crawford's 315:438,08@a | apprehension, if she heard it. Miss*Crawford 315:438,09@a | need not be alarmed for her. She was only sorry for the 315:438,10@a | parties concerned and for Mansfield, if the report should 315:438,11@a | spread so far; but she hoped it might not. If the Rushworths 315:438,12@a | were gone themselves to Mansfield, as was to be 315:438,13@a | inferred from what Miss*Crawford said, it was not likely 315:438,14@a | that any*thing unpleasant should have preceded them, 315:438,15@a | or at least should make any impression. 315:438,16@a | As to Mr%*Crawford, she hoped it might give him a 315:438,17@a | knowledge of his own disposition, convince him that he 315:438,18@a | was not capable of being steadily attached to any one 315:438,19@a | woman in the world, and shame him from persisting any 315:438,20@a | longer in addressing herself. 315:438,21@a | It was very strange! She had begun to think he really 315:438,22@a | loved her, and to fancy his affection for her something 315:438,23@a | more than common ~~ and his sister still said that he cared 315:438,24@a | for nobody else. Yet there must have been some marked 315:438,25@a | display of attentions to her cousin, there must have been 315:438,26@a | some strong indiscretion, since her correspondent was not 315:438,27@a | of a sort to regard a slight one. 315:438,28[' ]| Very uncomfortable she was and must continue till she 315:438,29[' ]| heard from Miss*Crawford again. It was impossible to 315:438,30[' ]| banish the letter from her thoughts, and she could not 315:438,31[' ]| relieve herself by speaking of it to any human being. 315:438,32@a | Miss*Crawford need not have urged secrecy with so much 315:438,33@a | warmth, she might have trusted to her sense of what was 315:438,34@a | due to her cousin. 315:438,35[' ]| The next day came and brought no second letter. 315:438,36[' ]| Fanny was disappointed. She could still think of little 315:438,37[' ]| else all the morning; but when her father came back in 315:438,38[' ]| the afternoon with the daily newspaper as usual, she was 315:439,01[' ]| so far from expecting any elucidation through such a 315:439,02[' ]| channel, that the subject was for a moment out of her 315:439,03[' ]| head. 315:439,04[' ]| She was deep in other musing. 315:439,04@a | The remembrance of 315:439,05@a | her first evening in that room, of her father and his newspaper 315:439,06@a | came across her. No candle was \now\ wanted. The 315:439,07@a | sun was yet an hour and half above the horizon. She 315:439,08@a | felt that she had, indeed, been three months there; and 315:439,09@a | the sun's rays falling strongly into the parlour, instead 315:439,10@a | of cheering, made her still more melancholy; for sun-shine 315:439,11@a | appeared to her a totally different thing in a town and 315:439,12@a | in the country. Here, its power was only a glare, a stifling, 315:439,13@a | sickly glare, serving but to bring forward stains and 315:439,14@a | dirt that might otherwise have slept. There was neither 315:439,15@a | health nor gaiety in sun-shine in a town. She sat in a 315:439,16@a | blaze of oppressive heat, in a cloud of moving dust; and 315:439,17@a | her eyes could only wander from the walls marked by her 315:439,18@a | father's head, to the table cut and knotched by her 315:439,19@a | brothers, where stood the tea-board never thoroughly 315:439,20@a | cleaned, the cups and saucers wiped in streaks, the milk 315:439,21@a | a mixture of motes floating in thin blue, and the bread 315:439,22@a | and butter growing every minute more greasy than even 315:439,23@a | Rebecca's hands had first produced it. Her father read 315:439,24@a | his newspaper, and her mother lamented over the ragged 315:439,25@a | carpet as usual, while the tea was in preparation ~~ and 315:439,26@a | wished Rebecca would mend it; 315:439,26[' ]| and Fanny was first 315:439,27[' ]| roused by his calling out to her, after humphing and considering 315:439,28[' ]| over a particular paragraph ~~ 315:439,28[O ]| "What's the name 315:439,29[O ]| of your great cousins in town, Fan?" 315:439,30[' ]| A moment's recollection enabled her to say, 315:439,30[A ]| "Rushworth, 315:439,31[A ]| Sir." 315:439,32[O ]| "And don't they live in Wimpole*Street?" 315:439,33[A ]| "Yes, Sir." 315:439,34[O ]| "Then, there's the devil to pay among them, that's all. 315:439,35[O ]| There, 315:439,35[' ]| (holding out the paper to her) ~~ 315:439,35[O ]| much good may 315:439,36[O ]| such fine relations do you. I don't know what Sir*Thomas 315:439,37[O ]| may think of such matters; he may be too much of the 315:439,38[O ]| courtier and fine gentleman to like his daughter the less. 315:440,01[O ]| But by G*** if she belonged to me, I'd give her the rope's 315:440,02[O ]| end as long as I could stand over her. A little flogging 315:440,03[O ]| for man and woman too, would be the best way of preventing 315:440,04[O ]| such things." 315:440,05[' ]| Fanny read to herself that 315:440,05@z | "it was with infinite concern 315:440,06@z | the newspaper had to announce to the world, a matrimonial 315:440,07@z | \fracas\ in the family of Mr%*R% of Wimpole*Street; 315:440,08@z | the beautiful Mrs%*R% whose name had not long been 315:440,09@z | enrolled in the lists of hymen, and who had promised to 315:440,10@z | become so brilliant a leader in the fashionable world, 315:440,11@z | having quitted her husband's roof in company with the 315:440,12@z | well known and captivating Mr%*C% the intimate friend 315:440,13@z | and associate of Mr%*R% and it was not known, even to the 315:440,14@z | editor of the newspaper, whither they were gone." 315:440,15[A ]| "It is a mistake, Sir," 315:440,15[' ]| said Fanny instantly; 315:440,15[A ]| "it must 315:440,16[A ]| be a mistake ~~ it cannot be true ~~ it must mean some other 315:440,17[A ]| people." 315:440,18[' ]| She spoke from the instinctive wish of delaying shame, 315:440,19[' ]| she spoke with a resolution which sprung from despair, 315:440,20[' ]| for she spoke what she did not, could not believe herself. 315:440,21@a | It had been the shock of conviction as she read. The 315:440,22@a | truth rushed on her; and how she could have spoken at 315:440,23@a | all, how she could even have breathed ~~ was afterwards 315:440,24@a | matter of wonder to herself. 315:440,24[' ]| Mr%*Price cared too little about the report, to make her 315:440,25[' ]| much answer. 315:440,26[O ]| "It might be all a lie," 315:440,26[' ]| he acknowledged; 315:440,27[O ]| "but so many fine ladies were going to the devil now-a-days 315:440,28[O ]| that way, that there was no answering for anybody." 315:440,29[P ]| "Indeed, I hope it is not true," 315:440,29[' ]| said Mrs%*Price plaintively, 315:440,30[P ]| "it would be so very shocking! ~~ If I have spoke 315:440,31[P ]| once to Rebecca about that carpet, I am sure I have 315:440,32[P ]| spoke at least a dozen times; have not I, Betsey? 315:440,33[P ]| ~~ And it would not be ten minutes work." 315:440,34[' ]| The horror of a mind like Fanny's, as it received the 315:440,35[' ]| conviction of such guilt, and began to take in some part 315:440,36[' ]| of the misery that must ensue, can hardly be described. 315:440,37[' ]| At first, it was a sort of stupefaction; but every moment 315:440,38[' ]| was quickening her perception of the horrible evil. 315:440,38@a | She 315:441,01@a | could not doubt; she dared not indulge a hope of the 315:441,02@a | paragraph being false. Miss*Crawford's letter, which she 315:441,03@a | had read so often as to make every line her own, was in 315:441,04@a | frightful conformity with it. Her eager defence of her 315:441,05@a | brother, her hope of its being \hushed up\, her evident agitation, 315:441,06@a | were all of a piece with something very bad; and 315:441,07@a | if there was a woman of character in existence, who could 315:441,08@a | treat as a trifle this sin of the first magnitude, who could 315:441,09@a | try to gloss it over, and desire to have it unpunished, she 315:441,10@a | could believe Miss*Crawford to be the woman! Now she 315:441,11@a | could see her own mistake as to \who\ were gone ~~ or \said\ 315:441,12@a | to be gone. It was not Mr% and Mrs%*Rushworth, it was 315:441,13@a | Mrs%*Rushworth and Mr%*Crawford. 315:441,14[' ]| Fanny seemed to herself never to have been shocked 315:441,15[' ]| before. 315:441,15@a | There was no possibility of rest. 315:441,15[' ]| The evening 315:441,16[' ]| passed, without a pause of misery, the night was totally 315:441,17[' ]| sleepless. She passed only from feelings of sickness to 315:441,18[' ]| shudderings of horror; and from hot fits of fever to cold. 315:441,19[' ]| The event was so shocking, that there were moments even 315:441,20[' ]| when her heart revolted from it as impossible ~~ when she 315:441,21[' ]| thought it could not be. 315:441,21@a | A woman married only six 315:441,22@a | months ago, a man professing himself devoted, even 315:441,23@a | \engaged\, to another ~~ that other her near relation ~~ the 315:441,24@a | whole family, both families connected as they were by 315:441,25@a | tie upon tie, all friends, all intimate together! ~~ it was too 315:441,26@a | horrible a confusion of guilt, too gross a complication of 315:441,27@a | evil, for human nature, not in a state of utter barbarism, 315:441,28@a | to be capable of! ~~ 315:441,28[' ]| yet her judgment told her it was so. 315:441,29@a | \His\ unsettled affections, wavering with his vanity, 315:441,30@a | Maria's decided attachment, and no sufficient principle 315:441,31@a | on either side, gave it possibility ~~ Miss*Crawford's letter 315:441,32@a | stampt it a fact. 315:441,33@a | What would be the consequence? Whom would it not 315:441,34@a | injure? Whose views might it not affect? Whose peace 315:441,35@a | would it not cut up for*ever? Miss*Crawford herself ~~ 315:441,36@a | Edmund; but it was dangerous, perhaps, to tread such 315:441,37@a | ground. 315:441,37[' ]| She confined herself, or tried to confine herself 315:441,38[' ]| to the simple, indubitable family-misery which must 315:442,01[' ]| envelope all, if it were indeed a matter of certified guilt 315:442,02[' ]| and public exposure. 315:442,02@a | The mother's sufferings, the father's 315:442,03[' ]| ~~ there, she paused. 315:442,03@a | Julia's, Tom's, Edmund's ~~ 315:442,03[' ]| there, 315:442,04[' ]| a yet longer pause. 315:442,04@a | They were the two on whom it would 315:442,05@a | fall most horribly. Sir*Thomas's parental solicitude, and 315:442,06@a | high sense of honour and decorum, Edmund's upright 315:442,07@a | principles, unsuspicious temper, and genuine strength of 315:442,08@a | feeling, made her think it scarcely possible for them to 315:442,09@a | support life and reason under such disgrace; and it appeared 315:442,10@a | to her, that as far as this world alone was concerned, 315:442,11@a | the greatest blessing to every*one of kindred with Mrs%*Rushworth 315:442,12@a | would be instant annihilation. 315:442,13[' ]| Nothing happened the next day, or the next, to weaken 315:442,14[' ]| her terrors. Two posts came in, and brought no refutation, 315:442,15[' ]| public or private. There was no second letter to 315:442,16[' ]| explain away the first, from Miss*Crawford; there was 315:442,17[' ]| no intelligence from Mansfield, though it was now full 315:442,18[' ]| time for her to hear again from her aunt. This was an 315:442,19[' ]| evil omen. She had, indeed, scarcely the shadow of a hope 315:442,20[' ]| to soothe her mind, and was reduced to so low and wan 315:442,21[' ]| and trembling a condition as no mother ~~ not unkind, 315:442,22[' ]| except Mrs%*Price, could have overlooked, when the third 315:442,23[' ]| day did bring the sickening knock, and a letter was again 315:442,24[' ]| put into her hands. It bore the London postmark, and 315:442,25[' ]| came from Edmund. 315:442,26[B ]| "Dear Fanny, 315:442,27[B ]| You know our present wretchedness. May God support 315:442,28[B ]| you under \your\ share. We have been here two days, 315:442,29[B ]| but there is nothing to be done. They cannot be traced. 315:442,30[B ]| You may not have heard of the last blow ~~ Julia's elopement; 315:442,31[B ]| she is gone to Scotland with Yates. She left 315:442,32[B ]| London a few hours before we entered it. At any other 315:442,33[B ]| time, this would have been felt dreadfully. Now it seems 315:442,34[B ]| nothing, yet it is an heavy aggravation. My father is 315:442,35[B ]| not overpowered. More cannot be hoped. He is still 315:442,36[B ]| able to think and act; and I write, by his desire, to propose 315:442,37[B ]| your returning home. He is anxious to get you there 315:442,38[B ]| for my mother's sake. I shall be at Portsmouth the 315:443,01[B ]| morning after you receive this, and hope to find you ready 315:443,02[B ]| to set off for Mansfield. My Father wishes you to invite 315:443,03[B ]| Susan to go with you, for a few months. Settle it as you 315:443,04[B ]| like; say what is proper; I am sure you will feel such 315:443,05[B ]| an instance of his kindness at such a moment! Do justice 315:443,06[B ]| to his meaning, however I may confuse it. You may 315:443,07[B ]| imagine something of my present state. There is no end 315:443,08[B ]| of the evil let loose upon us. You will see me early, by 315:443,09[B ]| the mail. Your's, &c%" 315:443,10[' ]| Never had Fanny more wanted a cordial. Never had 315:443,11[' ]| she felt such a one as this letter contained. 315:443,11@a | To-morrow! 315:443,12@a | to leave Portsmouth to-morrow! She was, she felt she 315:443,13@a | was, in the greatest danger of being exquisitely happy, 315:443,14@a | while so many were miserable. The evil which brought 315:443,15@a | such good to her! She dreaded lest she should learn to 315:443,16@a | be insensible of it. To be going so soon, sent for so kindly, 315:443,17@a | sent for as a comfort, and with leave to take Susan, was 315:443,18@a | altogether such a combination of blessings as set her heart 315:443,19@a | in a glow, and for a time, seemed to distance every pain, 315:443,20@a | and make her incapable of suitably sharing the distress 315:443,21@a | even of those whose distress she thought of most. Julia's 315:443,22@a | elopement could affect her comparatively but little; she 315:443,23@a | was amazed and shocked; but it could not occupy her, 315:443,24@a | could not dwell on her mind. She was obliged to call 315:443,25@a | herself to think of it, and acknowledge it to be terrible 315:443,26@a | and grievous, or it was escaping her, in the midst of all 315:443,27@a | the agitating, pressing joyful cares attending this summons 315:443,28@a | to herself. 315:443,29[' ]| There is nothing like employment, active, indispensable 315:443,30[' ]| employment, for relieving sorrow. Employment, even 315:443,31[' ]| melancholy, may dispel melancholy, and her occupations 315:443,32[' ]| were hopeful. 315:443,32@a | She had so much to do, that not even the 315:443,33@a | horrible story of Mrs%*Rushworth (now fixed to the last 315:443,34@a | point of certainty), could affect her as it had done before. 315:443,35@a | She had not time to be miserable. Within twenty-four 315:443,36@a | hours she was hoping to be gone; her father and mother 315:443,37@a | must be spoken to, Susan prepared, every*thing got ready. 315:443,38[' ]| Business followed business; the day was hardly long 315:444,01[' ]| enough. The happiness she was imparting too, happiness 315:444,02[' ]| very little alloyed by the black communication which must 315:444,03[' ]| briefly precede it ~~ the joyful consent of her father and 315:444,04[' ]| mother to Susan's going with her ~~ the general satisfaction 315:444,05[' ]| with which the going of both seemed regarded ~~ and the 315:444,06[' ]| ecstacy of Susan herself, was all serving to support her 315:444,07[' ]| spirits. 315:444,08[' ]| The affliction of the Bertrams was little felt in the 315:444,09[' ]| family. Mrs%*Price talked of her poor sister for a few 315:444,10[' ]| minutes ~~ but 315:444,10@p | how to find any*thing to hold Susan's 315:444,11@p | clothes, because Rebecca took away all the boxes and 315:444,12@p | spoilt them, 315:444,12[' ]| was much more in her thoughts, and as for 315:444,13[' ]| Susan, now unexpectedly gratified in the first wish of her 315:444,14[' ]| heart, and knowing nothing personally of those who had 315:444,15[' ]| sinned, or of those who were sorrowing ~~ if she could help 315:444,16[' ]| rejoicing from beginning to end, it was as much as ought to 315:444,17[' ]| be expected from human virtue at fourteen. 315:444,18[' ]| As nothing was really left for the decision of Mrs%*Price, 315:444,19[' ]| or the good offices of Rebecca, every*thing was rationally 315:444,20[' ]| and duly accomplished, and the girls were ready for the 315:444,21[' ]| morrow. The advantage of much sleep to prepare them 315:444,22[' ]| for their journey, was impossible. The cousin who was 315:444,23[' ]| travelling towards them, could hardly have less than 315:444,24[' ]| visited their agitated spirits, one all happiness, the other all 315:444,25[' ]| varying and indescribable perturbation. 315:444,26[' ]| By eight in the morning, Edmund was in the house. 315:444,27[' ]| The girls heard his entrance from above, and Fanny went 315:444,28[' ]| down. 315:444,28@a | The idea of immediately seeing him, with the 315:444,29@a | knowledge of what he must be suffering, brought back all 315:444,30@a | her own first feelings. He so near her, and in misery. 315:444,30[' ]| She 315:444,31[' ]| was ready to sink, as she entered the parlour. He was 315:444,32[' ]| alone, and met her instantly; and she found herself pressed 315:444,33[' ]| to his heart with only these words, just articulate, 315:444,33[B ]| "My 315:444,34[B ]| Fanny ~~ my only sister ~~ my only comfort now." 315:444,34[' ]| She 315:444,35[' ]| could say nothing; nor for some minutes could he say 315:444,36[' ]| more. 315:444,37[' ]| He turned away to recover himself, and when he spoke 315:444,38[' ]| again, though his voice still faltered, his manner showed 315:445,01[' ]| the wish of self-command, and the resolution of avoiding 315:445,02[' ]| any farther allusion. 315:445,02[B ]| "Have you breakfasted? ~~ When 315:445,03[B ]| shall you be ready? ~~ Does Susan go?" 315:445,03[' ]| were questions 315:445,04[' ]| following each other rapidly. His great object was to be off 315:445,05[' ]| as soon as possible. When Mansfield was considered, time 315:445,06[' ]| was precious; and the state of his own mind made him 315:445,07[' ]| find relief only in motion. It was settled that he should 315:445,08[' ]| order the carriage to the door in half an hour; Fanny 315:445,09[' ]| answered for their having breakfasted, and being quite 315:445,10[' ]| ready in half an hour. 315:445,10@b | He had already ate, and declined 315:445,11@b | staying for their meal. He would walk round the ramparts, 315:445,12@b | and join them with the carriage. 315:445,12[' ]| He was gone again, glad 315:445,13[' ]| to get away even from Fanny. 315:445,14@a | He looked very ill; evidently suffering under violent 315:445,15@a | emotions, which he was determined to suppress. She knew 315:445,16@a | it must be so, but it was terrible to her. 315:445,17[' ]| The carriage came; and he entered the house again at 315:445,18[' ]| the same moment, just in time to spend a few minutes with 315:445,19[' ]| the family, and be a witness ~~ but that he saw nothing ~~ of 315:445,20[' ]| the tranquil manner in which the daughters were parted 315:445,21[' ]| with, and just in time to prevent their sitting down to the 315:445,22[' ]| breakfast*table, which by dint of much unusual activity, 315:445,23[' ]| was quite and completely ready as the carriage drove from 315:445,24[' ]| the door. Fanny's last meal in her father's house was in 315:445,25[' ]| character with her first; she was dismissed from it as 315:445,26[' ]| hospitably as she had been welcomed. 315:445,27[' ]| How her heart swelled with joy and gratitude, as she 315:445,28[' ]| passed the barriers of Portsmouth, and how Susan's face 315:445,29[' ]| wore its broadest smiles, may be easily conceived. Sitting 315:445,30[' ]| forwards, however, and screened by her bonnet, those 315:445,31[' ]| smiles were unseen. 315:445,32[' ]| The journey was likely to be a silent one. Edmund's 315:445,33[' ]| deep sighs often reached Fanny. Had he been alone with 315:445,34[' ]| her, his heart must have opened in spite of every resolution; 315:445,35[' ]| but Susan's presence drove him quite into himself, and his 315:445,36[' ]| attempts to talk on indifferent subjects could never be long 315:445,37[' ]| supported. 315:445,38[' ]| Fanny watched him with never-failing solicitude, and 315:446,01[' ]| sometimes catching his eye, received an affectionate smile, 315:446,02[' ]| which comforted her; but the first day's journey passed 315:446,03[' ]| without her hearing a word from him on the subjects that 315:446,04[' ]| were weighing him down. The next morning produced 315:446,05[' ]| a little more. Just before their setting out from Oxford, 315:446,06[' ]| while Susan was stationed at a window, in eager observation 315:446,07[' ]| of the departure of a large family from the inn, the 315:446,08[' ]| other two were standing by the fire; and Edmund, 315:446,09[' ]| particularly struck by the alteration in Fanny's looks, and 315:446,10[' ]| from his ignorance of the daily evils of her father's house, 315:446,11[' ]| attributing an undue share of the change, attributing \all\ to 315:446,12[' ]| the recent event, took her hand, and said in a low, but very 315:446,13[' ]| expressive tone, 315:446,13[B ]| "No wonder ~~ you must feel it ~~ you must 315:446,14[B ]| suffer. How a man who had once loved, could desert you! 315:446,15[B ]| But \your's\ ~~ your regard was new compared with ~~ 315:446,16[B ]| Fanny, think of \me\!" 315:446,17[' ]| The first division of their journey occupied a long day, 315:446,18[' ]| and brought them almost knocked up, to Oxford; but the 315:446,19[' ]| second was over at a much earlier hour. They were in the 315:446,20[' ]| environs of Mansfield long before the usual dinner-time, 315:446,21[' ]| and as they approached the beloved place, the hearts of 315:446,22[' ]| both sisters sank a little. Fanny began to dread the 315:446,23[' ]| meeting with her aunts and Tom, under so dreadful 315:446,24[' ]| a humiliation; and Susan to feel with some anxiety, that 315:446,25[' ]| all her best manners, all her lately acquired knowledge of 315:446,26[' ]| what was practised here, was on the point of being called 315:446,27[' ]| into action. Visions of good and ill*breeding, of old 315:446,28[' ]| vulgarisms and new gentilities were before her; and she 315:446,29[' ]| was meditating much upon silver forks, napkins, and 315:446,30[' ]| finger glasses. Fanny had been every*where awake to the 315:446,31[' ]| difference of the country since February; but, when they 315:446,32[' ]| entered the Park, her perceptions and her pleasures were of 315:446,33[' ]| the keenest sort. It was three months, full three months, 315:446,34[' ]| since her quitting it; and the change was from winter to 315:446,35[' ]| summer. Her eye fell every*where on lawns and plantations 315:446,36[' ]| of the freshest green; and the trees, though not fully 315:446,37[' ]| clothed, were in that delightful state, when farther beauty 315:446,38[' ]| is known to be at hand, and when, while much is actually 315:447,01[' ]| given to the sight, more yet remains for the imagination. 315:447,02[' ]| Her enjoyment, however, was for herself alone. Edmund 315:447,03[' ]| could not share it. She looked at him, but he was leaning 315:447,04[' ]| back, sunk in a deeper gloom than ever, and with eyes 315:447,05[' ]| closed as if the view of cheerfulness oppressed him, and the 315:447,06[' ]| lovely scenes of home must be shut out. 315:447,07[' ]| It made her melancholy again; and the knowledge of 315:447,08[' ]| what must be enduring there, invested even the house, 315:447,09[' ]| modern, airy, and well situated as it was, with a melancholy 315:447,10[' ]| aspect. 315:447,11[' ]| By one of the suffering party within, they were expected 315:447,12[' ]| with such impatience as she had never known before. 315:447,13[' ]| Fanny had scarcely passed the solemn-looking servants, 315:447,14[' ]| when Lady*Bertram came from the drawing-room to meet 315:447,15[' ]| her; came with no indolent step; and, falling on her neck, 315:447,16[' ]| said, 315:447,16[F ]| "Dear Fanny! now I shall be comfortable." 316:448,01[' ]| It had been a miserable party, each of the three 316:448,02[' ]| believing themselves most miserable. Mrs%*Norris, 316:448,03[' ]| however, as most attached to Maria, was really the 316:448,04[' ]| greatest sufferer. Maria was her first favourite, the 316:448,05[' ]| dearest of all; the match had been her own contriving, 316:448,06[' ]| as she had been wont with such pride of heart to feel and 316:448,07[' ]| say, and this conclusion of it almost overpowered her. 316:448,08[' ]| She was an altered creature, quieted, stupified, indifferent 316:448,09[' ]| to every*thing that passed. The being left with her 316:448,10[' ]| sister and nephew, and all the house under her care, had 316:448,11[' ]| been an advantage entirely thrown away; she had been 316:448,12[' ]| unable to direct or dictate, or even fancy herself useful. 316:448,13[' ]| When really touched by affliction, her active powers had 316:448,14[' ]| been all benumbed; and neither Lady*Bertram nor Tom 316:448,15[' ]| had received from her the smallest support or attempt at 316:448,16[' ]| support. She had done no more for them, than they had 316:448,17[' ]| done for each other. They had been all solitary, helpless, 316:448,18[' ]| and forlorn alike; and now the arrival of the others only 316:448,19[' ]| established her superiority in wretchedness. Her companions 316:448,20[' ]| were relieved, but there was no good for \her\. 316:448,21[' ]| Edmund was almost as welcome to his brother, as Fanny 316:448,22[' ]| to her aunt; but Mrs%*Norris, instead of having comfort 316:448,23[' ]| from either, was but the more irritated by the sight of the 316:448,24[' ]| person whom, in the blindness of her anger, she could have 316:448,25[' ]| charged as the da*emon of the piece. 316:448,25@j | Had Fanny accepted 316:448,26@j | Mr%*Crawford, this could not have happened. 316:448,27[' ]| Susan, too, was a grievance. She had not spirits to 316:448,28[' ]| notice her in more than a few repulsive looks, but she felt 316:448,29[' ]| her as a spy, and an intruder, and an indigent niece, and 316:448,30[' ]| every*thing most odious. By her other aunt, Susan was 316:448,31[' ]| received with quiet kindness. Lady*Bertram could not 316:448,32[' ]| give her much time, or many words, but she felt her, as 316:448,33[' ]| Fanny's sister, to have a claim at Mansfield, and was ready 316:448,34[' ]| to kiss and like her; and Susan was more than satisfied, 316:448,34[' ]| for 316:449,01[' ]| she came perfectly aware, that nothing but ill*humour was 316:449,02[' ]| to be expected from Aunt Norris; and was so provided 316:449,03[' ]| with happiness, so strong in that best of blessings, an 316:449,04[' ]| escape from many certain evils, that she could have stood 316:449,05[' ]| against a great deal more indifference than she met with 316:449,06[' ]| from the others. 316:449,07[' ]| She was now left a good deal to herself, to get acquainted 316:449,08[' ]| with the house and grounds as she could, and spent her 316:449,09[' ]| days very happily in so doing, while those who might 316:449,10[' ]| otherwise have attended to her, were shut up, or wholly 316:449,11[' ]| occupied each with the person quite dependant on them, at 316:449,12[' ]| this time, for every*thing like comfort; Edmund trying 316:449,13[' ]| to bury his own feelings in exertions for the relief of his 316:449,14[' ]| brother's, and Fanny devoted to her aunt Bertram, 316:449,15[' ]| returning to every former office, with more than former 316:449,16[' ]| zeal, and thinking she could never do enough for one who 316:449,17[' ]| seemed so much to want her. 316:449,18[' ]| To talk over the dreadful business with Fanny, talk 316:449,19[' ]| and lament, was all Lady*Bertram's consolation. To be 316:449,20[' ]| listened to and borne with, and hear the voice of kindness 316:449,21[' ]| and sympathy in return, was every*thing that could be 316:449,22[' ]| done for her. To be otherwise comforted was out of the 316:449,23[' ]| question. The case admitted of no comfort. Lady*Bertram 316:449,24[' ]| did not think deeply, but, guided by Sir*Thomas, 316:449,25[' ]| she thought justly on all important points; and she saw, 316:449,26[' ]| therefore, in all its enormity, what had happened, and 316:449,27[' ]| neither endeavoured herself, nor required Fanny to advise 316:449,28[' ]| her, to think little of guilt and infamy. 316:449,29[' ]| Her affections were not acute, nor was her mind 316:449,30[' ]| tenacious. After a time, Fanny found it not impossible to 316:449,31[' ]| direct her thoughts to other subjects, and revive some 316:449,32[' ]| interest in the usual occupations; but whenever Lady*Bertram 316:449,33[' ]| \was\ fixed on the event, she could see it only in 316:449,34[' ]| one light, as comprehending the loss of a daughter, and 316:449,35[' ]| a disgrace never to be wiped off. 316:449,36[' ]| Fanny learnt from her, all the particulars which had yet 316:449,37[' ]| transpired. Her aunt was no very methodical narrator; 316:449,38[' ]| but with the help of some letters to and from Sir*Thomas, 316:450,01[' ]| and what she already knew herself, and could reasonably 316:450,02[' ]| combine, she was soon able to understand quite as much as 316:450,03[' ]| she wished of the circumstances attending the story. 316:450,04[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth had gone, for the Easter holidays, to 316:450,05[' ]| Twickenham, with a family whom she had just grown 316:450,06[' ]| intimate with ~~ a family of lively, agreeable manners, and 316:450,07[' ]| probably of morals and discretion to suit ~~ for to \their\ 316:450,08[' ]| house Mr%*Crawford had constant access at all times. His 316:450,09[' ]| having been in the same neighbourhood, Fanny already 316:450,10[' ]| knew. Mr%*Rushworth had been gone, at this time, to 316:450,11[' ]| Bath, to pass a few days with his mother, and bring her 316:450,12[' ]| back to town, and Maria was with these friends without 316:450,13[' ]| any restraint, without even Julia; for Julia had removed 316:450,14[' ]| from Wimpole*Street two or three weeks before, on a visit 316:450,15[' ]| to some relations of Sir*Thomas; a removal which her 316:450,16[' ]| father and mother were now disposed to attribute to 316:450,17[' ]| some view of convenience on Mr%*Yates's account. Very 316:450,18[' ]| soon after the Rushworths' return to Wimpole*Street, 316:450,19[' ]| Sir*Thomas had received a letter from an old and most 316:450,20[' ]| particular friend in London, who hearing and witnessing 316:450,21[' ]| a good deal to alarm him in that quarter, wrote to recommend 316:450,22[' ]| Sir*Thomas's coming to London himself, and using 316:450,23[' ]| his influence with his daughter, to put an end to an 316:450,24[' ]| intimacy which was already exposing her to unpleasant 316:450,25[' ]| remarks, and evidently making Mr%*Rushworth uneasy. 316:450,26[' ]| Sir*Thomas was preparing to act upon this letter, 316:450,27[' ]| without communicating its contents to any creature at 316:450,28[' ]| Mansfield, when it was followed by another, sent express 316:450,29[' ]| from the same friend, to break to him the almost desperate 316:450,30[' ]| situation in which affairs then stood with the young people. 316:450,31[' ]| Mrs%*Rushworth had left her husband's house; Mr%*Rushworth 316:450,32[' ]| had been in great anger and distress to \him\ 316:450,33[' ]| (Mr%*Harding), for his advice; Mr%*Harding feared 316:450,34[' ]| there had been \at\ \least\, very flagrant indiscretion. The 316:450,35[' ]| maid-servant of Mrs%*Rushworth, senior, threatened 316:450,36[' ]| alarmingly. He was doing all in his power to quiet every*thing, 316:450,37[' ]| with the hope of Mrs%*Rushworth's return, but was 316:450,38[' ]| so much counteracted in Wimpole*Street by the influence 316:451,01[' ]| of Mr%*Rushworth's mother, that the worst consequences 316:451,02[' ]| might be apprehended. 316:451,03[' ]| This dreadful communication could not be kept from the 316:451,04[' ]| rest of the family. Sir*Thomas set off; Edmund would go 316:451,05[' ]| with him; and the others had been left in a state of 316:451,06[' ]| wretchedness, inferior only to what followed the receipt of 316:451,07[' ]| the next letters from London. Every*thing was by that 316:451,08[' ]| time public beyond a hope. The servant of Mrs%*Rushworth, 316:451,09[' ]| the mother, had exposure in her power, and, 316:451,10[' ]| supported by her mistress, was not to be silenced. The 316:451,11[' ]| two ladies, even in the short time they had been together, 316:451,12[' ]| had disagreed; and the bitterness of the elder against her 316:451,13[' ]| daughter-in-law might, perhaps, arise almost as much from 316:451,14[' ]| the personal disrespect with which she had herself been 316:451,15[' ]| treated, as from sensibility for her son. 316:451,16[' ]| However that might be, she was unmanageable. But 316:451,17[' ]| had she been less obstinate, or of less weight with her son, 316:451,18[' ]| who was always guided by the last speaker, by the person 316:451,19[' ]| who could get hold of and shut him up, the case would still 316:451,20[' ]| have been hopeless, for Mrs%*Rushworth did not appear 316:451,21[' ]| again, and there was every reason to conclude her to be 316:451,22[' ]| concealed somewhere with Mr%*Crawford, who had quitted 316:451,23[' ]| his uncle's house, as for a journey, on the very day of her 316:451,24[' ]| absenting herself. 316:451,25[' ]| Sir*Thomas, however, remained yet a little longer in 316:451,26[' ]| town, in the hope of discovering, and snatching her from 316:451,27[' ]| farther vice, though all was lost on the side of character. 316:451,28[' ]| \His\ present state, Fanny could hardly bear to think of. 316:451,29[' ]| There was but one of his children who was not at this time 316:451,30[' ]| a source of misery to him. Tom's complaints had been 316:451,31[' ]| greatly heightened by the shock of his sister's conduct, and 316:451,32[' ]| his recovery so much thrown back by it, that even Lady*Bertram 316:451,33[' ]| had been struck by the difference, and all her 316:451,34[' ]| alarms were regularly sent off to her husband; and Julia's 316:451,35[' ]| elopement, the additional blow which had met him on his 316:451,36[' ]| arrival in London, though its force had been deadened at 316:451,37[' ]| the moment, must, she knew, be sorely felt. She saw that 316:451,38[' ]| it was. His letters expressed 316:451,38@e | how much he deplored it. 316:452,01@e | Under any circumstances it would have been an unwelcome 316:452,02@e | alliance, but to have it so clandestinely formed, and such 316:452,03@e | a period chosen for its completion, placed Julia's feelings 316:452,04@e | in a most unfavourable light, and severely aggravated the 316:452,05@e | folly of her choice. He called it a bad thing, done in the 316:452,06@e | worst manner, and at the worst time; and though Julia 316:452,07@e | was yet as more pardonable than Maria as folly than vice, 316:452,08@e | he could not but regard the step she had taken, as opening 316:452,09@e | the worst probabilities of a conclusion hereafter, like her 316:452,10@e | sister's. Such was his opinion of the set into which she had 316:452,11@e | thrown herself. 316:452,12[' ]| Fanny felt for him most acutely. 316:452,12@a | He could have no 316:452,13@a | comfort but in Edmund. Every other child must be racking 316:452,14@a | his heart. His displeasure against herself she trusted, 316:452,15@a | reasoning differently from Mrs%*Norris, would now be 316:452,16@a | done away. \She\ should be justified. Mr%*Crawford would 316:452,17@a | have fully acquitted her conduct in refusing him, but this, 316:452,18@a | though most material to herself, would be poor consolation 316:452,19@a | to Sir*Thomas. Her uncle's displeasure was terrible to her; 316:452,20@a | but what could her justification, or her gratitude and 316:452,21@a | attachment do for him? His stay must be on Edmund 316:452,22@a | alone. 316:452,23[' ]| She was mistaken, however, in supposing that Edmund 316:452,24[' ]| gave his father no present pain. It was of a much less 316:452,25[' ]| poignant nature than what the others excited; but Sir*Thomas 316:452,26[' ]| was 316:452,26@e | considering his happiness as very deeply 316:452,27@e | involved in the offence of his sister and friend, cut off by 316:452,28@e | it as he must be from the woman, whom he had been 316:452,29@e | pursuing with undoubted attachment, and strong probability 316:452,30@e | of success; and who in every*thing but this 316:452,31@e | despicable brother, would have been so eligible a connection. 316:452,32@e | He was aware of what Edmund must be suffering on 316:452,33@e | his own behalf in addition to all the rest, when they were in 316:452,34@e | town; he had seen or conjectured his feelings, and having 316:452,35@e | reason to think that \one\ interview with Miss*Crawford had 316:452,36@e | taken place, from which Edmund derived only increased 316:452,37@e | distress, had been as anxious on that account as on others, 316:452,38@e | to get him out of town, and had engaged him in taking 316:453,01@e | Fanny home to her aunt, with a view to his relief and 316:453,02@e | benefit, no less than theirs. 316:453,02[' ]| Fanny was not in the secret 316:453,03[' ]| of her uncle's feelings, Sir*Thomas not in the secret of 316:453,04[' ]| Miss*Crawford's character. Had he been privy to her 316:453,05[' ]| conversation with his son, he would not have wished her to 316:453,06[' ]| belong to him, though her twenty thousand pounds had 316:453,07[' ]| been forty. 316:453,08[' ]| That Edmund must be for*ever divided from Miss*Crawford, 316:453,09[' ]| did not admit of a doubt with Fanny; and yet, till 316:453,10[' ]| she knew that he felt the same, her own conviction was 316:453,11[' ]| insufficient. 316:453,11@a | She thought he did, but she wanted to be 316:453,12@a | assured of it. If he would now speak to her with the 316:453,13@a | unreserve which had sometimes been too much for her 316:453,14@a | before, it would be most consoling; but \that\ she found was 316:453,15@a | not to be. She seldom saw him ~~ never alone ~~ he probably 316:453,16@a | avoided being alone with her. What was to be inferred? 316:453,17@a | That his judgment submitted to all his own peculiar and 316:453,18@a | bitter share of this family affliction, but that it was too 316:453,19@a | keenly felt to be a subject of the slightest communication. 316:453,20@a | This must be his state. He yielded, but it was with 316:453,21@a | agonies, which did not admit of speech. Long, long would 316:453,22@a | it be ere Miss*Crawford's name passed his lips again, or she 316:453,23@a | could hope for a renewal of such confidential intercourse as 316:453,24@a | had been. 316:453,25[' ]| It \was\ long. They reached Mansfield on Thursday, and 316:453,26[' ]| it was not till Sunday evening that Edmund began to talk 316:453,27[' ]| to her on the subject. Sitting with her on Sunday evening 316:453,28[' ]| ~~ a wet Sunday evening ~~ the very time of all others when 316:453,29[' ]| if a friend is at hand the heart must be opened, and every*thing 316:453,30[' ]| told ~~ no*one else in the room, except his mother, 316:453,31[' ]| who, after hearing an affecting sermon, had cried herself to 316:453,32[' ]| sleep ~~ it was impossible not to speak; and so, with the 316:453,33[' ]| usual beginnings, hardly to be traced as to what came first, 316:453,34[' ]| and the usual declaration that 316:453,34@b | if she would listen to him for 316:453,35@b | a few minutes, he should be very brief, and certainly never 316:453,36@b | tax her kindness in the same way again ~~ she need not fear 316:453,37@b | a repetition ~~ it would be a subject prohibited entirely ~~ 316:453,37[' ]| he 316:453,38[' ]| entered upon the luxury of relating circumstances and 316:454,01[' ]| sensations of the first interest to himself, to one of whose 316:454,02[' ]| affectionate sympathy he was quite convinced. 316:454,03[' ]| How Fanny listened, with what curiosity and concern, 316:454,04[' ]| what pain and what delight, how the agitation of his voice 316:454,05[' ]| was watched, and how carefully her own eyes were fixed on 316:454,06[' ]| any object but himself, may be imagined. 316:454,06@a | The opening 316:454,07@a | was alarming. 316:454,07@b | He had seen Miss*Crawford. He had been 316:454,08@b | invited to see her. He had received a note from Lady*Stornaway 316:454,09@b | to beg him to call; and regarding it as what 316:454,10@b | was meant to be the last, last interview of friendship, and 316:454,11@b | investing her with all the feelings of shame and wretchedness 316:454,12@b | which Crawford's sister ought to have known, he had 316:454,13@b | gone to her in such a state of mind, so softened, so devoted, 316:454,14[' ]| as made it for a few moments impossible to Fanny's fears, 316:454,15[' ]| that it should be the last. But as he proceeded in his story, 316:454,16[' ]| these fears were over. 316:454,16@b | She had met him, 316:454,16[' ]| he said, 316:454,16@b | with 316:454,17@b | a serious ~~ certainly a serious ~~ even an agitated air; but 316:454,18@b | before he had been able to speak one intelligible sentence, 316:454,19@b | she had introduced the subject in a manner which he 316:454,20@b | owned had shocked him. 316:454,20[C ]| "I heard you were in town," 316:454,21[B ]| said she ~~ 316:454,21[C ]| "I wanted to see you. Let us talk over this sad 316:454,22[C ]| business. What can equal the folly of our two relations?" 316:454,23[B ]| ~~ "I could not answer, but I believe my looks spoke. 316:454,24[B ]| She felt reproved. Sometimes how quick to feel! With 316:454,25[B ]| a graver look and voice she then added ~~ 316:454,25[C ]| "I do not mean 316:454,26[C ]| to defend Henry at your sister's expense." 316:454,26[B ]| So she began ~~ 316:454,27[B ]| but how she went on, Fanny, is not fit ~~ is hardly fit to 316:454,27[B ]| be 316:454,28[B ]| repeated to you. I cannot recall all her words. I would 316:454,29[B ]| not dwell upon them if I could. Their substance was 316:454,30[B ]| great anger at the \folly\ of each. She reprobated her 316:454,31[B ]| brother's folly in being drawn on by a woman whom he 316:454,32[B ]| had never cared for, to do what must lose him the woman 316:454,33[B ]| he adored; but still more the folly of ~~ poor Maria, in 316:454,34[B ]| sacrificing such a situation, plunging into such difficulties, 316:454,35[B ]| under the idea of being really loved by a man who had long 316:454,36[B ]| ago made his indifference clear. Guess what I must have 316:454,37[B ]| felt. To hear the woman whom ~~ no harsher name than 316:454,38[B ]| folly given! ~~ So voluntarily, so freely, so coolly to canvass 316:455,01[B ]| it! ~~ No reluctance, no horror, no feminine ~~ shall I say? 316:455,02[B ]| no modest loathings! ~~ This is what the world does. For 316:455,03[B ]| where, Fanny, shall we find a woman whom nature had so 316:455,04[B ]| richly endowed? ~~ Spoilt, spoilt! ~~" 316:455,05[' ]| After a little reflection, he went on with a sort of desperate 316:455,06[' ]| calmness ~~ 316:455,06[B ]| "I will tell you every*thing, and then 316:455,07[B ]| have done for*ever. She saw it only as folly, and that 316:455,08[B ]| folly stamped only by exposure. The want of common 316:455,09[B ]| discretion, of caution ~~ his going down to Richmond for 316:455,10[B ]| the whole time of her being at Twickenham ~~ her putting 316:455,11[B ]| herself in the power of a servant; ~~ it was the detection 316:455,12[B ]| in short ~~ Oh! Fanny, it was the detection, not the 316:455,13[B ]| offence which she reprobated. It was the imprudence 316:455,14[B ]| which had brought things to extremity, and obliged her 316:455,15[B ]| brother to give up every dearer plan, in order to fly with 316:455,16[B ]| her." 316:455,17[' ]| He stopt. ~~ 316:455,17[A ]| "And what," 316:455,17[' ]| said Fanny, (believing herself 316:455,18[' ]| required to speak), 316:455,18[A ]| "what could you say?" 316:455,19[B ]| "Nothing, nothing to be understood. I was like a man 316:455,20[B ]| stunned. She went on, began to talk of you; ~~ yes, then 316:455,21[B ]| she began to talk of you, regretting, as well she might, 316:455,22[B ]| the loss of such a ~~. There she spoke very rationally. 316:455,23[B ]| But she always has done justice to you. 316:455,23[C ]| ""He has thrown 316:455,24[C ]| away,"" 316:455,24[B ]| said she, 316:455,24[C ]| ""such a woman as he will never see again. 316:455,25[C ]| She would have fixed him, she would have made him happy 316:455,26[C ]| for*ever."" ~~ 316:455,26[B ]| My dearest Fanny, I am giving you I hope 316:455,27[B ]| more pleasure than pain by this retrospect of what might 316:455,28[B ]| have been ~~ but what never can be now. You do not 316:455,29[B ]| wish me to be silent? ~~ if you do, give me but a look, 316:455,30[B ]| a word, and I have done." 316:455,31[' ]| No look or word was given. 316:455,32[B ]| "Thank God!" 316:455,32[' ]| said he. 316:455,32[B ]| "We were all disposed to 316:455,33[B ]| wonder ~~ but it seems to have been the merciful appointment 316:455,34[B ]| of Providence that the heart which knew no guile, 316:455,35[B ]| should not suffer. She spoke of you with high praise and 316:455,36[B ]| warm affection; yet, even here, there was alloy, a dash 316:455,37[B ]| of evil ~~ for in the midst of it she could exclaim 316:455,37[C ]| ""Why, 316:455,38[C ]| would not she have him? It is all her fault. Simple 316:456,01[C ]| girl! ~~ I shall never forgive her. Had she accepted him 316:456,02[C ]| as she ought, they might now have been on the point of 316:456,03[C ]| marriage, and Henry would have been too happy and too 316:456,04[C ]| busy to want any other object. He would have taken 316:456,05[C ]| no pains to be on terms with Mrs%*Rushworth again. It 316:456,06[C ]| would have all ended in a regular standing flirtation, in 316:456,07[C ]| yearly meetings at Sotherton and Everingham."" 316:456,08[B ]| Could 316:456,09[B ]| you have believed it possible? ~~ But the charm is broken. 316:456,10[B ]| My eyes are opened." 316:456,10[A ]| "Cruel!" 316:456,10[' ]| said Fanny ~~ 316:456,10[A ]| "quite cruel! At such a 316:456,11[A ]| moment to give way to gaiety and to speak with lightness, 316:456,12[A ]| and to you! ~~ Absolute cruelty." 316:456,13[B ]| "Cruelty, do you call it? ~~ We differ there. No, her's 316:456,14[B ]| is not a cruel nature. I do not consider her as meaning 316:456,15[B ]| to wound my feelings. The evil lies yet deeper; in her 316:456,16[B ]| total ignorance, unsuspiciousness of there being such feelings, 316:456,17[B ]| in a perversion of mind which made it natural to her 316:456,18[B ]| to treat the subject as she did. She was speaking only, as 316:456,19[B ]| she had been used to hear others speak, as she imagined 316:456,20[B ]| every*body else would speak. Her's are not faults of 316:456,21[B ]| temper. She would not voluntarily give unnecessary pain 316:456,22[B ]| to any*one, and though I may deceive myself, I cannot but 316:456,23[B ]| think that for me, for my feelings, she would ~~ Her's are 316:456,24[B ]| faults of principle, Fanny, of blunted delicacy and a corrupted, 316:456,25[B ]| vitiated mind. Perhaps it is best for me ~~ since 316:456,26[B ]| it leaves me so little to regret. Not so, however. Gladly 316:456,27[B ]| would I submit to all the increased pain of losing her, 316:456,28[B ]| rather than have to think of her as I do. I told her so." 316:456,29[A ]| "Did you?" 316:456,30[B ]| "Yes, when I left her I told her so." 316:456,31[A ]| "How long were you together?" 316:456,32[B ]| "Five*and*twenty minutes. Well, she went on to say, 316:456,33[B ]| that what remained now to be done, was to bring about 316:456,34[B ]| a marriage between them. She spoke of it, Fanny, with 316:456,35[B ]| a steadier voice than I can." 316:456,35[' ]| He was obliged to pause 316:456,36[' ]| more than once as he continued. 316:456,36[C ]| "We must persuade 316:456,37[C ]| Henry to marry her," 316:456,37[B ]| said she, 316:456,37[C ]| "and what with honour, 316:456,38[C ]| and the certainty of having shut himself out for*ever from 316:457,01[C ]| Fanny, I do not despair of it. Fanny he must give up. 316:457,02[C ]| I do not think that even \he\ could now hope to succeed 316:457,03[C ]| with one of her stamp, and therefore I hope we may find 316:457,04[C ]| no insuperable difficulty. My influence, which is not 316:457,05[C ]| small, shall all go that way; and, when once married, 316:457,06[C ]| and properly supported by her own family, people of 316:457,07[C ]| respectability as they are, she may recover her footing in 316:457,08[C ]| society to a certain degree. In some circles, we know, she 316:457,09[C ]| would never be admitted, but with good dinners, and large 316:457,10[C ]| parties, there will always be those who will be glad of her 316:457,11[C ]| acquaintance; and there is, undoubtedly, more liberality 316:457,12[C ]| and candour on those points than formerly. What I 316:457,13[C ]| advise is, that your father be quiet. Do not let him 316:457,14[C ]| injure his own cause by interference. Persuade him to 316:457,15[C ]| let things take their course. If by any officious exertions 316:457,16[C ]| of his, she is induced to leave Henry's protection, there 316:457,17[C ]| will be much less chance of his marrying her, than if she 316:457,18[C ]| remain with him. I know how he is likely to be influenced. 316:457,19[C ]| Let Sir*Thomas trust to his honour and compassion, and 316:457,20[C ]| it may all end well; but if he get his daughter away, it will 316:457,21[C ]| be destroying the chief hold." 316:457,22[' ]| After repeating this, Edmund was so much affected, 316:457,23[' ]| that Fanny, watching him with silent, but most tender 316:457,24[' ]| concern, was almost sorry that the subject had been 316:457,25[' ]| entered on at all. It was long before he could speak again. 316:457,26[' ]| At last, 316:457,26[B ]| "Now, Fanny," 316:457,26[' ]| said he, 316:457,26[B ]| "I shall soon have done. 316:457,27[B ]| I have told you the substance of all that she said. As 316:457,28[B ]| soon as I could speak, I replied that I had not supposed 316:457,29[B ]| it possible, coming in such a state of mind into that house, 316:457,30[B ]| as I had done, that any*thing could occur to make me 316:457,31[B ]| suffer more, but that she had been inflicting deeper wounds 316:457,32[B ]| in almost every sentence. That, though I had, in the 316:457,33[B ]| course of our acquaintance, been often sensible of some 316:457,34[B ]| difference in our opinions, on points too, of some moment, 316:457,35[B ]| it had not entered my imagination to conceive the difference 316:457,36[B ]| could be such as she had now proved it. That the 316:457,37[B ]| manner in which she treated the dreadful crime committed 316:457,38[B ]| by her brother and my sister ~~ (with whom lay the greater 316:458,01[B ]| seduction I pretended not to say) ~~ but the manner in 316:458,02[B ]| which she spoke of the crime itself, giving it every reproach 316:458,03[B ]| but the right, considering its ill*consequences only as they 316:458,04[B ]| were to be braved or overborne by a defiance of decency 316:458,05[B ]| and impudence in wrong; and, last of all, and above all, 316:458,06[B ]| recommending to us a compliance, a compromise, an 316:458,07[B ]| acquiescence, in the continuance of the sin, on the chance 316:458,08[B ]| of a marriage which, thinking as I now thought of her 316:458,09[B ]| brother, should rather be prevented than sought ~~ all this 316:458,10[B ]| together most grievously convinced me that I had never 316:458,11[B ]| understood her before, and that, as far as related to mind, 316:458,12[B ]| it had been the creature of my own imagination, not 316:458,12[B ]| Miss*Crawford, 316:458,13[B ]| that I had been too apt to dwell on for many 316:458,14[B ]| months past. That, perhaps it was best for me; I had 316:458,15[B ]| less to regret in sacrificing a friendship ~~ feelings ~~ hopes 316:458,16[B ]| which must, at any rate, have been torn from me now. 316:458,17[B ]| And yet, that I must and would confess, that, could I have 316:458,18[B ]| restored her to what she had appeared to me before, I 316:458,19[B ]| would infinitely prefer any increase of the pain of parting, 316:458,20[B ]| for the sake of carrying with me the right of tenderness 316:458,21[B ]| and esteem. This is what I said ~~ the purport of it ~~ but, 316:458,22[B ]| as you may imagine, not spoken so collectedly or methodically 316:458,23[B ]| as I have repeated it to you. She was astonished, 316:458,24[B ]| exceedingly astonished ~~ more than astonished. I saw 316:458,25[B ]| her change countenance. She turned extremely red. I 316:458,26[B ]| imagined I saw a mixture of many feelings ~~ a great, 316:458,27[B ]| though short struggle ~~ half a wish of yielding to truths, 316:458,28[B ]| half a sense of shame ~~ but habit, habit carried it. She 316:458,29[B ]| would have laughed if she could. It was a sort of laugh, 316:458,30[B ]| as she answered, 316:458,30[C ]| ""A pretty good lecture upon my word. 316:458,31[C ]| Was it part of your last sermon? At this rate, you will 316:458,32[C ]| soon reform every*body at Mansfield and Thornton*Lacey; 316:458,33[C ]| and when I hear of you next, it may be as a celebrated 316:458,34[C ]| preacher in some great society of Methodists, or as a missionary 316:458,35[C ]| into foreign parts."" 316:458,35[B ]| She tried to speak carelessly; 316:458,36[B ]| but she was not so careless as she wanted to appear. I 316:458,37[B ]| only said in reply, that from my heart I wished her well, 316:458,38[B ]| and earnestly hoped that she might soon learn to think 316:459,01[B ]| more justly, and not owe the most valuable knowledge 316:459,02[B ]| we could any of us acquire ~~ the knowledge of ourselves 316:459,03[B ]| and of our duty, to the lessons of affliction ~~ and immediately 316:459,04[B ]| left the room. I had gone a few steps, Fanny, 316:459,05[B ]| when I heard the door open behind me. 316:459,05[C ]| ""Mr%*Bertram,"" 316:459,06[B ]| said she. I looked back. 316:459,06[C ]| ""Mr%*Bertram,"" 316:459,06[B ]| said she, with 316:459,07[B ]| a smile ~~ but it was a smile ill-suited to the conversation 316:459,08[B ]| that had passed, a saucy playful smile, seeming to invite, 316:459,09[B ]| in order to subdue me; at least, it appeared so to me. 316:459,10[B ]| I resisted; it was the impulse of the moment to resist, 316:459,11[B ]| and still walked on. I have since ~~ sometimes ~~ for a 316:459,12[B ]| moment ~~ regretted that I did not go back; but I know 316:459,13[B ]| I was right; and such has been the end of our acquaintance! 316:459,14[B ]| And what an acquaintance has it been! How 316:459,15[B ]| have I been deceived! Equally in brother and sister 316:459,16[B ]| deceived! I thank you for your patience, Fanny. This 316:459,17[B ]| has been the greatest relief, and now we will have done." 316:459,18[' ]| And such was Fanny's dependance on his words, that 316:459,19[' ]| for five minutes she thought they \had\ done. Then, however, 316:459,20[' ]| it all came on again, or something very like it, and 316:459,21[' ]| nothing less than Lady*Bertram's rousing thoroughly up, 316:459,22[' ]| could really close such a conversation. Till that happened, 316:459,23[' ]| they continued to talk of Miss*Crawford alone, and how 316:459,24[' ]| she had attached him, and how delightful nature had 316:459,25[' ]| made her, and how excellent she would have been, had 316:459,26[' ]| she fallen into good hands earlier. Fanny, now at liberty 316:459,27[' ]| to speak openly, 316:459,27@a | felt more than justified in adding to his 316:459,28@a | knowledge of her real character, by some hint of what 316:459,29@a | share his brother's state of health might be supposed to 316:459,30@a | have in her wish for a complete reconciliation. 316:459,30[' ]| This was 316:459,31[' ]| not an agreeable intimation. Nature resisted it for a 316:459,32[' ]| while. 316:459,32@b | It would have been a vast deal pleasanter to have 316:459,33@b | had her more disinterested in her attachment; 316:459,33[' ]| but his 316:459,34[' ]| vanity was not of a strength to fight long against reason. 316:459,35[' ]| He submitted to believe, that Tom's illness had influenced 316:459,36[' ]| her; only reserving for himself this consoling thought, 316:459,37@b | that considering the many counteractions of opposing 316:459,38@b | habits, she had certainly been \more\ attached to him than 316:460,01@b | could have been expected, and for his sake been more 316:460,02@b | near doing right. 316:460,02[' ]| Fanny thought exactly the same; and 316:460,03[' ]| they were also quite agreed in their opinion of 316:460,03@y | the lasting 316:460,04@y | effect, the indelible impression, which such a disappointment 316:460,05@y | must make on his mind. Time would undoubtedly 316:460,06@y | abate somewhat of his sufferings, but still it was a sort 316:460,07@y | of thing which he never could get entirely the better of; 316:460,08@y | and as to his ever meeting with any other woman who 316:460,09@y | could ~~ it was too impossible to be named but with indignation. 316:460,10@y | Fanny's friendship was all that he had to cling to. 317:461,01[' ]| Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such 317:461,02[' ]| odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore every*body, 317:461,03[' ]| not greatly in fault themselves, to tolerable comfort, 317:461,04[' ]| and to have done with all the rest. 317:461,05[' ]| My Fanny indeed at this very time, I have the satisfaction 317:461,06[' ]| of knowing, must have been happy in spite of 317:461,07[' ]| every*thing. She must have been a happy creature in 317:461,08[' ]| spite of all that she felt or thought she felt, for the 317:461,08[' ]| distress 317:461,09[' ]| of those around her. She had sources of delight that must 317:461,10[' ]| force their way. 317:461,10@a | She was returned to Mansfield*Park, 317:461,11@a | she was useful, she was beloved; she was safe from Mr%*Crawford, 317:461,12@a | and when Sir*Thomas came back she had every 317:461,13@a | proof that could be given in his then melancholy state 317:461,14@a | of spirits, of his perfect approbation and increased regard; 317:461,15@a | and happy as all this must make her, she would still have 317:461,16@a | been happy without any of it, for Edmund was no longer 317:461,17@a | the dupe of Miss*Crawford. 317:461,18[' ]| It is true, that Edmund was very far from happy himself. 317:461,19[' ]| He was suffering from disappointment and regret, 317:461,20[' ]| grieving over what was, and wishing for what could never 317:461,21[' ]| be. She knew it was so, and was sorry; but it was with 317:461,22[' ]| a sorrow so founded on satisfaction, so tending to ease, 317:461,23[' ]| and so much in harmony with every dearest sensation, 317:461,24[' ]| that there are few who might not have been glad to 317:461,25[' ]| exchange their greatest gaiety for it. 317:461,26[' ]| Sir*Thomas, poor Sir*Thomas, a parent, and conscious 317:461,27[' ]| of errors in his own conduct as a parent, was the longest 317:461,28[' ]| to suffer. 317:461,28@e | He felt that he ought not to have allowed the 317:461,29@e | marriage, that his daughter's sentiments had been sufficiently 317:461,30@e | known to him to render him culpable in authorising 317:461,31@e | it, that in so doing he had sacrificed the right to the 317:461,32@e | expedient, and been governed by motives of selfishness 317:461,33@e | and worldly wisdom. 317:461,33[' ]| These were reflections that required 317:462,01[' ]| some time to soften; but time will do almost every*thing, 317:462,02[' ]| and though little comfort arose on Mrs%*Rushworth's side 317:462,03[' ]| for the misery she had occasioned, comfort was to be 317:462,04[' ]| found greater than he had supposed, in his other children. 317:462,05[' ]| Julia's match became a less desperate business than he 317:462,06[' ]| had considered it at first. 317:462,06@e | She was humble and wishing 317:462,07@e | to be forgiven, and Mr%*Yates, desirous of being really 317:462,08@e | received into the family, was disposed to look up to him 317:462,09@e | and be guided. He was not very solid; but there was 317:462,10@e | a hope of his becoming less trifling ~~ of his being at least 317:462,11@e | tolerably domestic and quiet; and, at any rate, there was 317:462,12@e | comfort in finding his estate rather more, and his debts 317:462,13@e | much less, than he had feared, and in being consulted and 317:462,14@e | treated as the friend best worth attending to. 317:462,14[' ]| There was 317:462,15[' ]| comfort also in Tom, who gradually regained his health, 317:462,16[' ]| without regaining the thoughtlessness and selfishness of his 317:462,17[' ]| previous habits. He was the better for*ever for his illness. 317:462,18[' ]| He had suffered, and he had learnt to think, two advantages 317:462,19[' ]| that he had never known before; and the self-reproach 317:462,20[' ]| arising from the deplorable event in Wimpole*Street, 317:462,21[' ]| to which he felt himself accessary by all the dangerous 317:462,22[' ]| intimacy of his unjustifiable theatre, made an 317:462,23[' ]| impression on his mind which, at the age of six-and-twenty, 317:462,24[' ]| with no want of sense, or good companions, was durable 317:462,25[' ]| in its happy effects. He became what he ought to be, 317:462,26[' ]| useful to his father, steady and quiet, and not living merely 317:462,27[' ]| for himself. 317:462,28[' ]| Here was comfort indeed! and quite as soon as Sir*Thomas 317:462,29[' ]| could place dependence on such sources of good, 317:462,30[' ]| Edmund was contributing to his father's ease by improvement 317:462,31[' ]| in the only point in which \he\ had given him pain 317:462,32[' ]| before ~~ improvement in his spirits. After wandering 317:462,33[' ]| about and sitting under trees with Fanny all the summer 317:462,34[' ]| evenings, he had so well talked his mind into submission, 317:462,35[' ]| as to be very tolerably cheerful again. 317:462,36[' ]| These were the circumstances and the hopes which 317:462,37[' ]| gradually brought their alleviation to Sir*Thomas, deadening 317:462,38[' ]| his sense of what was lost, and in part reconciling him 317:463,01[' ]| to himself; though the anguish arising from the conviction 317:463,02[' ]| of his own errors in the education of his daughters, 317:463,03[' ]| was never to be entirely done away. 317:463,04@e | Too late he became aware how unfavourable to the 317:463,05@e | character of any young people, must be the totally opposite 317:463,06@e | treatment which Maria and Julia had been always 317:463,07@e | experiencing at home, where the excessive indulgence 317:463,08@e | and flattery of their aunt had been continually contrasted 317:463,09@e | with his own severity. He saw how ill he had judged, in 317:463,10@e | expecting to counteract what was wrong in Mrs%*Norris, 317:463,11@e | by its reverse in himself, clearly saw that he had but 317:463,12@e | increased the evil, by teaching them to repress their spirits 317:463,13@e | in his presence, as to make their real disposition unknown 317:463,14@e | to him, and sending them for all their indulgences to a 317:463,15@e | person who had been able to attach them only by the 317:463,16@e | blindness of her affection, and the excess of her praise. 317:463,17@e | Here had been grievous mismanagement; but, bad as 317:463,18@e | it was, he gradually grew to feel that it had not been the 317:463,19@e | most direful mistake in his plan of education. Something 317:463,20@e | must have been wanting \within\, or time would have worn 317:463,21@e | away much of its ill effect. He feared that principle, 317:463,22@e | active principle, had been wanting, that they had never 317:463,23@e | been properly taught to govern their inclinations and 317:463,24@e | tempers, by that sense of duty which can alone suffice. 317:463,25@e | They had been instructed theoretically in their religion, 317:463,26@e | but never required to bring it into daily practice. To be 317:463,27@e | distinguished for elegance and accomplishments ~~ the 317:463,28@e | authorised object of their youth ~~ could have had no useful 317:463,29@e | influence that way, no moral effect on the mind. He had 317:463,30@e | meant them to be good, but his cares had been directed 317:463,31@e | to the understanding and manners, not the disposition; 317:463,32@e | and of the necessity of self-denial and humility, he feared 317:463,33@e | they had never heard from any lips that could profit 317:463,34@e | them. 317:463,35@e | Bitterly did he deplore a deficiency which now he could 317:463,36@e | scarcely comprehend to have been possible. Wretchedly 317:463,37@e | did he feel, that with all the cost and care of an anxious 317:463,38@e | and expensive education, he had brought up his daughters, 317:464,01@e | without their understanding their first duties, or his being 317:464,02@e | acquainted with their character and temper. 317:464,03[' ]| The high spirit and strong passions of Mrs%*Rushworth 317:464,04[' ]| especially, were made known to him only in their sad 317:464,05[' ]| result. She was not to be prevailed on to leave Mr%*Crawford. 317:464,06[' ]| She hoped to marry him, and they continued 317:464,07[' ]| together till she was obliged to be convinced that such 317:464,08[' ]| hope was vain, and till the disappointment and wretchedness 317:464,09[' ]| arising from the conviction, rendered her temper so 317:464,10[' ]| bad, and her feelings for him so like hatred, as to make 317:464,11[' ]| them for a while each other's punishment, and then induce 317:464,12[' ]| a voluntary separation. 317:464,13[' ]| She had lived with him to be reproached as the ruin of 317:464,14[' ]| all his happiness in Fanny, and carried away no better 317:464,15[' ]| consolation in leaving him, than that she \had\ divided 317:464,16[' ]| them. What can exceed the misery of such a mind in 317:464,17[' ]| such a situation? 317:464,18[' ]| Mr%*Rushworth had no difficulty in procuring a divorce; 317:464,19[' ]| and so ended a marriage contracted under such circumstances 317:464,20[' ]| as to make any better end, the effect of good luck, 317:464,21[' ]| not to be reckoned on. She had despised him, and loved 317:464,22[' ]| another ~~ and he had been very much aware that it was 317:464,23[' ]| so. The indignities of stupidity, and the disappointments 317:464,24[' ]| of selfish passion, can excite little pity. His punishment 317:464,25[' ]| followed his conduct, as did a deeper punishment, the 317:464,26[' ]| deeper guilt of his wife. \He\ was released from the engagement 317:464,27[' ]| to be mortified and unhappy, till some other pretty 317:464,28[' ]| girl could attract him into matrimony again, and he might 317:464,29[' ]| set forward on a second, and it is to be hoped, more 317:464,29[' ]| prosperous 317:464,30[' ]| trial of the state ~~ if duped, to be duped at least 317:464,31[' ]| with good*humour and good luck; while \she\ must withdraw 317:464,32[' ]| with infinitely stronger feelings to a retirement and 317:464,33[' ]| reproach, which could allow no second spring of hope or 317:464,34[' ]| character. 317:464,35[' ]| Where she could be placed, became a subject of most 317:464,36[' ]| melancholy and momentous consultation. Mrs%*Norris, 317:464,37[' ]| whose attachment seemed to augment with the demerits 317:464,38[' ]| of her niece, would have had her received at home, and 317:465,01[' ]| countenanced by them all. Sir*Thomas would not hear 317:465,02[' ]| of it, and Mrs%*Norris's anger against Fanny was so much 317:465,03[' ]| the greater, from considering \her\ residence there as the 317:465,04[' ]| motive. She persisted in placing his scruples to \her\ 317:465,05[' ]| account, though Sir*Thomas very solemnly assured her, 317:465,06[' ]| that 317:465,06@e | had there been no young woman in question, had 317:465,07@e | there been no young person of either sex belonging to him, 317:465,08@e | to be endangered by the society, or hurt by the character 317:465,09@e | of Mrs%*Rushworth, he would never have offered so great 317:465,10@e | an insult to the neighbourhood, as to expect it to notice 317:465,11@e | her. As a daughter ~~ he hoped a penitent one ~~ she should 317:465,12@e | be protected by him, and secured in every comfort, and 317:465,13@e | supported by every encouragement to do right, which 317:465,14@e | their relative situations admitted; but farther than \that\, 317:465,15@e | he would not go. Maria had destroyed her own character, 317:465,16@e | and he would not by a vain attempt to restore what never 317:465,17@e | could be restored, be affording his sanction to vice, or in 317:465,18@e | seeking to lessen its disgrace, be anywise accessary to 317:465,19@e | introducing such misery in another man's family, as he 317:465,20@e | had known himself. 317:465,21[' ]| It ended in Mrs%*Norris's resolving to quit Mansfield, 317:465,22[' ]| and devote herself to her unfortunate Maria, and in an 317:465,23[' ]| establishment being formed for them in another country ~~ 317:465,24[' ]| remote and private, where, shut up together with little 317:465,25[' ]| society, on one side no affection, on the other, no judgment, 317:465,26[' ]| it may be reasonably supposed that their tempers became 317:465,27[' ]| their mutual punishment. 317:465,28[' ]| Mrs%*Norris's removal from Mansfield was the great 317:465,29[' ]| supplementary comfort of Sir*Thomas's life. 317:465,29@e | His opinion 317:465,30@e | of her had been sinking from the day of his return from 317:465,31@e | Antigua; in every transaction together from that period, 317:465,32@e | in their daily intercourse, in business, or in chat, she had 317:465,33@e | been regularly losing ground in his esteem, and convincing 317:465,34@e | him that either time had done her much disservice, or that 317:465,35@e | he had considerably over-rated her sense, and wonderfully 317:465,36@e | borne with her manners before. He had felt her as an 317:465,37@e | hourly evil, which was so much the worse, as there seemed 317:465,38@e | no chance of its ceasing but with life; she seemed a part of 317:466,01@e | himself, that must be borne for*ever. 317:466,01[' ]| To be relieved from 317:466,02[' ]| her, therefore, was so great a felicity, that had she not left 317:466,03[' ]| bitter remembrances behind her, there might have been 317:466,04[' ]| danger of his learning almost to approve the evil which 317:466,05[' ]| produced such a good. 317:466,06[' ]| She was regretted by no*one at Mansfield. She had 317:466,07[' ]| never been able to attach even those she loved best, and 317:466,08[' ]| since Mrs%*Rushworth's elopement, her temper had been in 317:466,09[' ]| a state of such irritation, as to make her every*where 317:466,10[' ]| tormenting. Not even Fanny had tears for aunt Norris ~~ 317:466,11[' ]| not even when she was gone for*ever. 317:466,12[' ]| That Julia escaped better than Maria was owing, in some 317:466,13[' ]| measure, to a favourable difference of disposition and 317:466,14[' ]| circumstance, but in a greater to her having been less the 317:466,15[' ]| darling of that very aunt, less flattered, and less spoilt. 317:466,16[' ]| Her beauty and acquirements had held but a second place. 317:466,17[' ]| She had been always used to think herself a little inferior to 317:466,18[' ]| Maria. Her temper was naturally the easiest of the two, 317:466,19[' ]| her feelings, though quick, were more controulable; and 317:466,20[' ]| education had not given her so very hurtful a degree of 317:466,21[' ]| self-consequence. 317:466,22[' ]| She had submitted the best to the disappointment in 317:466,23[' ]| Henry*Crawford. After the first bitterness of the conviction 317:466,24[' ]| of being slighted was over, she had been tolerably soon 317:466,25[' ]| in a fair way of not thinking of him again; and when the 317:466,26[' ]| acquaintance was renewed in town, and Mr%*Rushworth's 317:466,27[' ]| house became Crawford's object, she had had the merit of 317:466,28[' ]| withdrawing herself from it, and of chusing that time to 317:466,29[' ]| pay a visit to her other friends, in order to secure herself 317:466,30[' ]| from being again too much attracted. This had been her 317:466,31[' ]| motive in going to her cousins. Mr%*Yates's convenience 317:466,32[' ]| had had nothing to do with it. She had been allowing his 317:466,33[' ]| attentions some time, but with very little idea of ever 317:466,34[' ]| accepting him; and, had not her sister's conduct burst 317:466,35[' ]| forth as it did, and her increased dread of her father and of 317:466,36[' ]| home, on that event ~~ imagining its certain consequence 317:466,37[' ]| to herself would be greater severity and restraint ~~ made 317:466,38[' ]| her hastily resolve on avoiding such immediate horrors at 317:467,01[' ]| all risks, it is probable that Mr%*Yates would never have 317:467,02[' ]| succeeded. She had not eloped with any worse feelings 317:467,03[' ]| than those of selfish alarm. It had appeared to her the 317:467,04[' ]| only thing to be done. Maria's guilt had induced Julia's 317:467,05[' ]| folly. 317:467,06[' ]| Henry*Crawford, ruined by early independence and bad 317:467,07[' ]| domestic example, indulged in the freaks of a cold-blooded 317:467,08[' ]| vanity a little too long. Once it had, by an opening 317:467,09[' ]| undesigned and unmerited, led him into the way of 317:467,10[' ]| happiness. Could he have been satisfied with the conquest 317:467,11[' ]| of one amiable woman's affections, could he have found 317:467,12[' ]| sufficient exultation in overcoming the reluctance, in 317:467,13[' ]| working himself into the esteem and tenderness of Fanny*Price, 317:467,14[' ]| there would have been every probability of success 317:467,15[' ]| and felicity for him. His affection had already done 317:467,16[' ]| something. Her influence over him had already given him 317:467,17[' ]| some influence over her. Would he have deserved more, 317:467,18[' ]| there can be no doubt that more would have been obtained; 317:467,19[' ]| especially when that marriage had taken place, which 317:467,20[' ]| would have given him the assistance of her conscience in 317:467,21[' ]| subduing her first inclination, and brought them very 317:467,22[' ]| often together. Would he have persevered, and uprightly, 317:467,23[' ]| Fanny must have been his reward ~~ and a reward very 317:467,24[' ]| voluntarily bestowed ~~ within a reasonable period from 317:467,25[' ]| Edmund's marrying Mary. 317:467,26[' ]| Had he done as he intended, and as he knew he ought, by 317:467,27[' ]| going down to Everingham after his return from Portsmouth, 317:467,28[' ]| he might have been deciding his own happy destiny. 317:467,29[' ]| But he was pressed to stay for Mrs%*Fraser's party; his 317:467,30[' ]| staying was made of flattering consequence, and he was to 317:467,31[' ]| meet Mrs%*Rushworth there. Curiosity and vanity were 317:467,32[' ]| both engaged, and the temptation of immediate pleasure 317:467,33[' ]| was too strong for a mind unused to make any sacrifice to 317:467,34[' ]| right; he resolved to defer his Norfolk journey, resolved 317:467,35[' ]| that writing should answer the purpose of it, or that its 317:467,36[' ]| purpose was unimportant ~~ and staid. He saw Mrs%*Rushworth, 317:467,37[' ]| was received by her with a coldness which ought 317:467,38[' ]| to have been repulsive, and have established apparent 317:468,01[' ]| indifference between them for*ever; but he was mortified, 317:468,02[' ]| he could not bear to be thrown off by the woman whose 317:468,03[' ]| smiles had been so wholly at his command; 317:468,03@d | he must exert 317:468,04@d | himself to subdue so proud a display of resentment; it was 317:468,05@d | anger on Fanny's account; he must get the better of it, 317:468,06@d | and make Mrs%*Rushworth Maria*Bertram again in her 317:468,07@d | treatment of himself. 317:468,08[' ]| In this spirit he began the attack; and by animated 317:468,09[' ]| perseverance had soon re-established the sort of familiar 317:468,10[' ]| intercourse ~~ of gallantry ~~ of flirtation which bounded his 317:468,11[' ]| views, but in triumphing over the discretion, which, 317:468,12[' ]| though beginning in anger, might have saved them both, 317:468,13[' ]| he had put himself in the power of feelings on her side, 317:468,14[' ]| more strong than he had supposed. ~~ 317:468,14@d | She loved him; there 317:468,15@d | was no withdrawing attentions, avowedly dear to her. 317:468,15[' ]| He 317:468,16[' ]| was entangled by his own vanity, with as little excuse 317:468,17[' ]| of love as possible, and without the smallest inconstancy 317:468,18[' ]| of mind towards her cousin. ~~ To keep Fanny and the 317:468,19[' ]| Bertrams from a knowledge of what was passing became 317:468,20[' ]| his first object. Secrecy could not have been more 317:468,21[' ]| desirable for Mrs%*Rushworth's credit than he felt it for his 317:468,22[' ]| own. ~~ When he returned from Richmond, he would have 317:468,23[' ]| been glad to see Mrs%*Rushworth no more. ~~ All that 317:468,24[' ]| followed was the result of her imprudence; and he went 317:468,25[' ]| off with her at last, because he could not help it, regretting 317:468,26[' ]| Fanny, even at the moment, but regretting her infinitely 317:468,27[' ]| more, when all the bustle of the intrigue was over, and 317:468,28[' ]| a very few months had taught him, by the force of contrast, 317:468,29[' ]| to place a yet higher value on the sweetness of her temper, 317:468,30[' ]| the purity of her mind, and the excellence of her principles. 317:468,31[' ]| That punishment, the public punishment of disgrace, 317:468,32[' ]| should in a just measure attend \his\ share of the offence, is, 317:468,33[' ]| we know, not one of the barriers, which society gives to 317:468,34[' ]| virtue. In this world, the penalty is less equal than could 317:468,35[' ]| be wished; but without presuming to look forward to 317:468,36[' ]| a juster appointment hereafter, we may fairly consider 317:468,37[' ]| a man of sense like Henry*Crawford, to be providing for 317:468,38[' ]| himself no small portion of vexation and regret ~~ vexation 317:469,01[' ]| that must rise sometimes to self-reproach, and regret to 317:469,02[' ]| wretchedness ~~ in having so requited hospitality, so injured 317:469,03[' ]| family peace, so forfeited his best, most estimable and 317:469,04[' ]| endeared acquaintance, and so lost the woman whom he 317:469,05[' ]| had rationally, as well as passionately loved. 317:469,06[' ]| After what had passed to wound and alienate the two 317:469,07[' ]| families, the continuance of the Bertrams and Grants in 317:469,08[' ]| such close neighbourhood would have been most distressing; 317:469,09[' ]| but the absence of the latter, for some months purposely 317:469,10[' ]| lengthened, ended very fortunately in the necessity, or at 317:469,11[' ]| least the practicability of a permanent removal. Dr%*Grant, 317:469,12[' ]| through an interest on which he had almost ceased to form 317:469,13[' ]| hopes, succeeded to a stall in Westminster, which, as 317:469,14[' ]| affording an occasion for leaving Mansfield, an excuse for 317:469,15[' ]| residence in London, and an increase of income to answer 317:469,16[' ]| the expenses of the change, was highly acceptable to those 317:469,17[' ]| who went, and those who staid. 317:469,18[' ]| Mrs%*Grant, with a temper to love and be loved, must 317:469,19[' ]| have gone with some regret, from the scenes and people she 317:469,20[' ]| had been used to; but the same happiness of disposition 317:469,21[' ]| must in any place and any society, secure her a great deal 317:469,22[' ]| to enjoy, and she had again a home to offer Mary; and 317:469,23[' ]| Mary had had enough of her own friends, enough of vanity, 317:469,24[' ]| ambition, love, and disappointment in the course of the last 317:469,25[' ]| half year, to be in need of the true kindness of her sister's 317:469,26[' ]| heart, and the rational tranquillity of her ways. ~~ They 317:469,27[' ]| lived together; and when Dr%*Grant had brought on 317:469,28[' ]| apoplexy and death, by three great institutionary dinners 317:469,29[' ]| in one week, they still lived together; for Mary, though 317:469,30[' ]| perfectly resolved against ever attaching herself to 317:469,31[' ]| a younger brother again, was long in finding among the 317:469,32[' ]| dashing representatives, or idle heir*apparents, who were 317:469,33[' ]| at the command of her beauty, and her 20_000L% any*one 317:469,34[' ]| who could satisfy the better taste she had acquired at 317:469,35[' ]| Mansfield, whose character and manners could authorise 317:469,36[' ]| a hope of the domestic happiness she had there learnt to 317:469,37[' ]| estimate, or put Edmund*Bertram sufficiently out of her 317:469,38[' ]| head. 317:470,01[' ]| Edmund had greatly the advantage of her in this 317:470,02[' ]| respect. He had not to wait and wish with vacant 317:470,03[' ]| affections for an object worthy to succeed her in them. 317:470,04[' ]| Scarcely had he done regretting Mary*Crawford, and 317:470,05[' ]| observing to Fanny how impossible it was that he should 317:470,06[' ]| ever meet with such another woman, before it began to 317:470,07[' ]| strike him 317:470,07@b | whether a very different kind of woman might 317:470,08@b | not do just as well ~~ or a great deal better; whether Fanny 317:470,09@b | herself were not growing as dear, as important to him in all 317:470,10@b | her smiles, and all her ways, as Mary*Crawford had ever 317:470,11@b | been; and whether it might not be a possible, an hopeful 317:470,12@b | undertaking to persuade her that her warm and sisterly regard 317:470,13@b | for him would be foundation enough for wedded love. 317:470,14[' ]| I purposely abstain from dates on this occasion, that 317:470,15[' ]| every*one may be at liberty to fix their own, aware that 317:470,16[' ]| the cure of unconquerable passions, and the transfer of 317:470,17[' ]| unchanging attachments, must vary much as to time in 317:470,18[' ]| different people. ~~ I only intreat every*body to believe that 317:470,19[' ]| exactly at the time when it was quite natural that it should 317:470,20[' ]| be so, and not a week earlier, Edmund did cease to care 317:470,21[' ]| about Miss*Crawford, and became as anxious to marry 317:470,22[' ]| Fanny, as Fanny herself could desire. 317:470,23[' ]| With such a regard for her, indeed, as his had long been, 317:470,24[' ]| a regard founded on the most endearing claims of innocence 317:470,25[' ]| and helplessness, and completed by every recommendation 317:470,26[' ]| of growing worth, what could be more natural than the 317:470,27[' ]| change? Loving, guiding, protecting her, as he had been 317:470,28[' ]| doing ever since her being ten years old, her mind in so 317:470,29[' ]| great a degree formed by his care, and her comfort 317:470,30[' ]| depending on his kindness, an object to him of such close 317:470,31[' ]| and peculiar interest, dearer by all his own importance 317:470,32[' ]| with her than any*one else at Mansfield, what was there 317:470,33[' ]| now to add, but that he should learn to prefer soft light 317:470,34[' ]| eyes to sparkling dark ones. ~~ And being always with her, 317:470,35[' ]| and always talking confidentially, and his feelings exactly 317:470,36[' ]| in that favourable state which a recent disappointment 317:470,37[' ]| gives, those soft light eyes could not be very long in 317:470,38[' ]| obtaining the pre-eminence. 317:471,01[' ]| Having once set out, and felt that he had done so, on 317:471,02[' ]| this road to happiness, there was nothing on the side of 317:471,03[' ]| prudence to stop him or make his progress slow; no doubts 317:471,04[' ]| of her deserving, no fears from opposition of taste, no need 317:471,05[' ]| of drawing new hopes of happiness from dissimilarity of 317:471,06[' ]| temper. Her mind, disposition, opinions, and habits 317:471,07[' ]| wanted no half concealment, no self deception on the 317:471,08[' ]| present, no reliance on future improvement. Even in the 317:471,09[' ]| midst of his late infatuation, he had acknowledged Fanny's 317:471,10[' ]| mental superiority. What must be his sense of it now, 317:471,11[' ]| therefore? She was of course only too good for him; but 317:471,12[' ]| as nobody minds having what is too good for them, he was 317:471,13[' ]| very steadily earnest in the pursuit of the blessing, and it 317:471,14[' ]| was not possible that encouragement from her should be 317:471,15[' ]| long wanting. Timid, anxious, doubting as she was, it was 317:471,16[' ]| still impossible that such tenderness as hers should not, at 317:471,17[' ]| times, hold out the strongest hope of success, though it 317:471,18[' ]| remained for a later period to tell him the whole delightful 317:471,19[' ]| and astonishing truth. His happiness in knowing himself 317:471,20[' ]| to have been so long the beloved of such a heart, must have 317:471,21[' ]| been great enough to warrant any strength of language in 317:471,22[' ]| which he could cloathe it to her or to himself; it must 317:471,23[' ]| have been a delightful happiness! But there was happiness 317:471,24[' ]| elsewhere which no description can reach. Let no*one 317:471,25[' ]| presume to give the feelings of a young woman on 317:471,26[' ]| receiving the assurance of that affection of which she has 317:471,27[' ]| scarcely allowed herself to entertain a hope. 317:471,28[' ]| Their own inclinations ascertained, there were no 317:471,29[' ]| difficulties behind, no drawback of poverty or parent. It 317:471,30[' ]| was a match which Sir*Thomas's wishes had even forestalled. 317:471,31[' ]| Sick of ambitious and mercenary connections, 317:471,32[' ]| prizing more and more the sterling good of principle and 317:471,33[' ]| temper, and chiefly anxious to bind by the strongest 317:471,34[' ]| securities all that remained to him of domestic felicity, he 317:471,35[' ]| had pondered with genuine satisfaction on the more than 317:471,36[' ]| possibility of the two young friends finding their mutual 317:471,37[' ]| consolation in each other for all that had occurred of 317:471,37[' ]| disappointment 317:471,38[' ]| to either; and the joyful consent which met 317:472,01[' ]| Edmund's application, the high sense of having realised a 317:472,02[' ]| great acquisition in the promise of Fanny for a daughter, 317:472,03[' ]| formed just such a contrast with his early opinion on the 317:472,04[' ]| subject when the poor little girl's coming had been first 317:472,05[' ]| agitated, as time is for*ever producing between the plans 317:472,06[' ]| and decisions of mortals, for their own instruction, and 317:472,07[' ]| their neighbours' entertainment. 317:472,08[' ]| Fanny was indeed the daughter that he wanted. His 317:472,09[' ]| charitable kindness had been rearing a prime comfort for 317:472,10[' ]| himself. His liberality had a rich repayment, and the 317:472,11[' ]| general goodness of his intentions by her, deserved it. He 317:472,12[' ]| might have made her childhood happier; but it had 317:472,13[' ]| been an error of judgment only which had given him the 317:472,14[' ]| appearance of harshness, and deprived him of her early 317:472,15[' ]| love; and now, on really knowing each other, their mutual 317:472,16[' ]| attachment became very strong. After settling her at 317:472,17[' ]| Thornton*Lacey with every kind attention to her comfort, 317:472,18[' ]| the object of almost every day was to see her there, or to 317:472,19[' ]| get her away from it. 317:472,20[' ]| Selfishly dear as she had long been to Lady*Bertram, she 317:472,21[' ]| could not be parted with willingly by \her\. No happiness 317:472,22[' ]| of son or niece could make her wish the marriage. But it 317:472,23[' ]| was possible to part with her, because Susan remained to 317:472,24[' ]| supply her place. ~~ Susan became the stationary niece ~~ 317:472,25[' ]| delighted to be so! ~~ and equally well adapted for it by 317:472,26[' ]| a readiness of mind, and an inclination for usefulness, 317:472,27[' ]| as Fanny had been by sweetness of temper, and strong 317:472,28[' ]| feelings of gratitude. Susan could never be spared. First 317:472,29[' ]| as a comfort to Fanny, then as an auxiliary, and last as her 317:472,30[' ]| substitute, she was established at Mansfield, with every 317:472,31[' ]| appearance of equal permanency. Her more fearless 317:472,32[' ]| disposition and happier nerves made every*thing easy to 317:472,33[' ]| her there. ~~ With quickness in understanding the tempers 317:472,34[' ]| of those she had to deal with, and no natural timidity to 317:472,35[' ]| restrain any consequent wishes, she was soon welcome, 317:472,36[' ]| and useful to all; and after Fanny's removal, succeeded so 317:472,37[' ]| naturally to her influence over the hourly comfort of her 317:472,38[' ]| aunt, as gradually to become, perhaps, the most beloved 317:473,01[' ]| of the two. ~~ In \her\ usefulness, in Fanny's excellence, in 317:473,02[' ]| William's continued good conduct, and rising fame, and in 317:473,03[' ]| the general well-doing and success of the other members 317:473,04[' ]| of the family, all assisting to advance each other, and 317:473,05[' ]| doing credit to his countenance and aid, Sir*Thomas saw 317:473,06[' ]| repeated, and for*ever repeated reason to rejoice in what he 317:473,07[' ]| had done for them all, and acknowledge the advantages 317:473,08[' ]| of early hardship and discipline, and the consciousness of 317:473,09[' ]| being born to struggle and endure. 317:473,10[' ]| With so much true merit and true love, and no want of 317:473,11[' ]| fortune or friends, the happiness of the married cousins 317:473,12[' ]| must appear as secure as earthly happiness can be. ~~ 317:473,13[' ]| Equally formed for domestic life, and attached to country 317:473,14[' ]| pleasures, their home was the home of affection and 317:473,15[' ]| comfort; and to complete the picture of good, the 317:473,16[' ]| acquisition of Mansfield living by the death of Dr%*Grant, 317:473,17[' ]| occurred just after they had been married long enough to 317:473,18[' ]| begin to want an increase of income, and feel their distance 317:473,19[' ]| from the paternal abode an inconvenience. 317:473,20[' ]| On that event they removed to Mansfield, and the 317:473,21[' ]| parsonage there, which under each of its two former 317:473,22[' ]| owners, Fanny had never been able to approach but with 317:473,23[' ]| some painful sensation of restraint or alarm, soon grew as 317:473,24[' ]| dear to her heart, and as thoroughly perfect in her eyes, 317:473,25[' ]| as every*thing else, within the view and patronage of 317:473,26[' ]| Mansfield*Park, had long been.