No More Learning

Fanny went to her
every two or three days: it seemed a kind of fascination: she could not
be easy without going, and yet it was without loving her, without ever
thinking like her, without any sense of obligation for being sought
after now when nobody else was to be had; and deriving no higher
pleasure from her conversation than occasional amusement, and _that_
often at the expense of her judgment, when it was raised by pleasantry
on people or subjects which she wished to be respected. She went,
however, and they sauntered about together many an half-hour in Mrs.
Grant’s shrubbery, the weather being unusually mild for the time of
year, and venturing sometimes even to sit down on one of the benches now
comparatively unsheltered, remaining there perhaps till, in the midst
of some tender ejaculation of Fanny’s on the sweets of so protracted
an autumn, they were forced, by the sudden swell of a cold gust shaking
down the last few yellow leaves about them, to jump up and walk for
warmth.

“This is pretty, very pretty,” said Fanny, looking around her as
they were thus sitting together one day; “every time I come into this
shrubbery I am more struck with its growth and beauty. Three years ago,
this was nothing but a rough hedgerow along the upper side of the field,
never thought of as anything, or capable of becoming anything; and now
it is converted into a walk, and it would be difficult to say whether
most valuable as a convenience or an ornament; and perhaps, in another
three years, we may be forgetting--almost forgetting what it was before.
How wonderful, how very wonderful the operations of time, and the
changes of the human mind! ” And following the latter train of thought,
she soon afterwards added: “If any one faculty of our nature may be
called _more_ wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory. There
seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers,
the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our
intelligences. The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so
obedient; at others, so bewildered and so weak; and at others again, so
tyrannic, so beyond control! We are, to be sure, a miracle every way;
but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly past
finding out. ”

Miss Crawford, untouched and inattentive, had nothing to say; and
Fanny, perceiving it, brought back her own mind to what she thought must
interest.

“It may seem impertinent in _me_ to praise, but I must admire the taste
Mrs. Grant has shewn in all this. There is such a quiet simplicity in
the plan of the walk! Not too much attempted! ”

“Yes,” replied Miss Crawford carelessly, “it does very well for a
place of this sort. One does not think of extent _here_; and between
ourselves, till I came to Mansfield, I had not imagined a country parson
ever aspired to a shrubbery, or anything of the kind. ”

“I am so glad to see the evergreens thrive! ” said Fanny, in reply. “My
uncle’s gardener always says the soil here is better than his own, and
so it appears from the growth of the laurels and evergreens in general.
The evergreen! How beautiful, how welcome, how wonderful the evergreen!
When one thinks of it, how astonishing a variety of nature! In some
countries we know the tree that sheds its leaf is the variety, but that
does not make it less amazing that the same soil and the same sun should
nurture plants differing in the first rule and law of their existence.
You will think me rhapsodising; but when I am out of doors, especially
when I am sitting out of doors, I am very apt to get into this sort of
wondering strain. One cannot fix one’s eyes on the commonest natural
production without finding food for a rambling fancy. ”

“To say the truth,” replied Miss Crawford, “I am something like the
famous Doge at the court of Lewis XIV. ; and may declare that I see no
wonder in this shrubbery equal to seeing myself in it. If anybody had
told me a year ago that this place would be my home, that I should be
spending month after month here, as I have done, I certainly should
not have believed them. I have now been here nearly five months; and,
moreover, the quietest five months I ever passed. ”

“_Too_ quiet for you, I believe. ”

“I should have thought so _theoretically_ myself, but,” and her eyes
brightened as she spoke, “take it all and all, I never spent so happy a
summer. But then,” with a more thoughtful air and lowered voice, “there
is no saying what it may lead to. ”

Fanny’s heart beat quick, and she felt quite unequal to surmising
or soliciting anything more. Miss Crawford, however, with renewed
animation, soon went on--

“I am conscious of being far better reconciled to a country residence
than I had ever expected to be. I can even suppose it pleasant to
spend _half_ the year in the country, under certain circumstances,
very pleasant. An elegant, moderate-sized house in the centre of family
connexions; continual engagements among them; commanding the first
society in the neighbourhood; looked up to, perhaps, as leading it even
more than those of larger fortune, and turning from the cheerful round
of such amusements to nothing worse than a _tete-a-tete_ with the person
one feels most agreeable in the world. There is nothing frightful in
such a picture, is there, Miss Price? One need not envy the new Mrs.
Rushworth with such a home as _that_. ”

“Envy Mrs. Rushworth! ” was all that Fanny attempted to say. “Come, come,
it would be very un-handsome in us to be severe on Mrs. Rushworth, for I
look forward to our owing her a great many gay, brilliant, happy hours.
I expect we shall be all very much at Sotherton another year. Such
a match as Miss Bertram has made is a public blessing; for the first
pleasures of Mr. Rushworth’s wife must be to fill her house, and give
the best balls in the country. ”

Fanny was silent, and Miss Crawford relapsed into thoughtfulness, till
suddenly looking up at the end of a few minutes, she exclaimed, “Ah!
here he is. ” It was not Mr. Rushworth, however, but Edmund, who then
appeared walking towards them with Mrs. Grant. “My sister and Mr.
Bertram. I am so glad your eldest cousin is gone, that he may be Mr.
Bertram again. There is something in the sound of Mr. _Edmund_ Bertram
so formal, so pitiful, so younger-brother-like, that I detest it. ”

“How differently we feel! ” cried Fanny. “To me, the sound of _Mr. _
Bertram is so cold and nothing-meaning, so entirely without warmth or
character! It just stands for a gentleman, and that’s all. But there is
nobleness in the name of Edmund. It is a name of heroism and renown; of
kings, princes, and knights; and seems to breathe the spirit of chivalry
and warm affections. ”

“I grant you the name is good in itself, and _Lord_ Edmund or _Sir_
Edmund sound delightfully; but sink it under the chill, the annihilation
of a Mr. , and Mr. Edmund is no more than Mr. John or Mr. Thomas. Well,
shall we join and disappoint them of half their lecture upon sitting
down out of doors at this time of year, by being up before they can
begin? ”

Edmund met them with particular pleasure. It was the first time of his
seeing them together since the beginning of that better acquaintance
which he had been hearing of with great satisfaction. A friendship
between two so very dear to him was exactly what he could have wished:
and to the credit of the lover’s understanding, be it stated, that he
did not by any means consider Fanny as the only, or even as the greater
gainer by such a friendship.

“Well,” said Miss Crawford, “and do you not scold us for our imprudence?
What do you think we have been sitting down for but to be talked to
about it, and entreated and supplicated never to do so again? ”

“Perhaps I might have scolded,” said Edmund, “if either of you had been
sitting down alone; but while you do wrong together, I can overlook a
great deal. ”

“They cannot have been sitting long,” cried Mrs. Grant, “for when I went
up for my shawl I saw them from the staircase window, and then they were
walking. ”

“And really,” added Edmund, “the day is so mild, that your sitting down
for a few minutes can be hardly thought imprudent. Our weather must
not always be judged by the calendar. We may sometimes take greater
liberties in November than in May. ”

“Upon my word,” cried Miss Crawford, “you are two of the most
disappointing and unfeeling kind friends I ever met with! There is no
giving you a moment’s uneasiness. You do not know how much we have been
suffering, nor what chills we have felt! But I have long thought Mr.
Bertram one of the worst subjects to work on, in any little manoeuvre
against common sense, that a woman could be plagued with. I had very
little hope of _him_ from the first; but you, Mrs. Grant, my sister, my
own sister, I think I had a right to alarm you a little. ”

“Do not flatter yourself, my dearest Mary. You have not the smallest
chance of moving me. I have my alarms, but they are quite in a different
quarter; and if I could have altered the weather, you would have had a
good sharp east wind blowing on you the whole time--for here are some of
my plants which Robert _will_ leave out because the nights are so mild,
and I know the end of it will be, that we shall have a sudden change of
weather, a hard frost setting in all at once, taking everybody (at least
Robert) by surprise, and I shall lose every one; and what is worse, cook
has just been telling me that the turkey, which I particularly wished
not to be dressed till Sunday, because I know how much more Dr. Grant
would enjoy it on Sunday after the fatigues of the day, will not keep
beyond to-morrow. These are something like grievances, and make me think
the weather most unseasonably close. ”

“The sweets of housekeeping in a country village! ” said Miss Crawford
archly. “Commend me to the nurseryman and the poulterer. ”

“My dear child, commend Dr. Grant to the deanery of Westminster or St.
Paul’s, and I should be as glad of your nurseryman and poulterer as you
could be. But we have no such people in Mansfield. What would you have
me do? ”

“Oh! you can do nothing but what you do already: be plagued very often,
and never lose your temper. ”

“Thank you; but there is no escaping these little vexations, Mary, live
where we may; and when you are settled in town and I come to see you, I
dare say I shall find you with yours, in spite of the nurseryman and
the poulterer, perhaps on their very account. Their remoteness and
unpunctuality, or their exorbitant charges and frauds, will be drawing
forth bitter lamentations. ”

“I mean to be too rich to lament or to feel anything of the sort.
A large income is the best recipe for happiness I ever heard of. It
certainly may secure all the myrtle and turkey part of it. ”

“You intend to be very rich? ” said Edmund, with a look which, to Fanny’s
eye, had a great deal of serious meaning.

“To be sure. Do not you? Do not we all? ”

“I cannot intend anything which it must be so completely beyond my power
to command. Miss Crawford may chuse her degree of wealth. She has only
to fix on her number of thousands a year, and there can be no doubt of
their coming. My intentions are only not to be poor. ”

“By moderation and economy, and bringing down your wants to your income,
and all that. I understand you--and a very proper plan it is for a
person at your time of life, with such limited means and indifferent
connexions. What can _you_ want but a decent maintenance? You have
not much time before you; and your relations are in no situation to do
anything for you, or to mortify you by the contrast of their own wealth
and consequence. Be honest and poor, by all means--but I shall not envy
you; I do not much think I shall even respect you. I have a much greater
respect for those that are honest and rich. ”

“Your degree of respect for honesty, rich or poor, is precisely what
I have no manner of concern with. I do not mean to be poor. Poverty
is exactly what I have determined against. Honesty, in the something
between, in the middle state of worldly circumstances, is all that I am
anxious for your not looking down on. ”

“But I do look down upon it, if it might have been higher. I must
look down upon anything contented with obscurity when it might rise to
distinction. ”

“But how may it rise? How may my honesty at least rise to any
distinction? ”

This was not so very easy a question to answer, and occasioned an “Oh! ”
of some length from the fair lady before she could add, “You ought to be
in parliament, or you should have gone into the army ten years ago. ”

“_That_ is not much to the purpose now; and as to my being in
parliament, I believe I must wait till there is an especial assembly for
the representation of younger sons who have little to live on. No, Miss
Crawford,” he added, in a more serious tone, “there _are_ distinctions
which I should be miserable if I thought myself without any
chance--absolutely without chance or possibility of obtaining--but they
are of a different character. ”

A look of consciousness as he spoke, and what seemed a consciousness
of manner on Miss Crawford’s side as she made some laughing answer,
was sorrowfull food for Fanny’s observation; and finding herself quite
unable to attend as she ought to Mrs. Grant, by whose side she was now
following the others, she had nearly resolved on going home immediately,
and only waited for courage to say so, when the sound of the great clock
at Mansfield Park, striking three, made her feel that she had
really been much longer absent than usual, and brought the previous
self-inquiry of whether she should take leave or not just then, and how,
to a very speedy issue. With undoubting decision she directly began her
adieus; and Edmund began at the same time to recollect that his mother
had been inquiring for her, and that he had walked down to the Parsonage
on purpose to bring her back.

Fanny’s hurry increased; and without in the least expecting Edmund’s
attendance, she would have hastened away alone; but the general pace was
quickened, and they all accompanied her into the house, through which it
was necessary to pass. Dr. Grant was in the vestibule, and as they stopt
to speak to him she found, from Edmund’s manner, that he _did_ mean to
go with her. He too was taking leave. She could not but be thankful. In
the moment of parting, Edmund was invited by Dr. Grant to eat his mutton
with him the next day; and Fanny had barely time for an unpleasant
feeling on the occasion, when Mrs. Grant, with sudden recollection,
turned to her and asked for the pleasure of her company too. This was
so new an attention, so perfectly new a circumstance in the events of
Fanny’s life, that she was all surprise and embarrassment; and while
stammering out her great obligation, and her “but she did not suppose it
would be in her power,” was looking at Edmund for his opinion and help.
But Edmund, delighted with her having such an happiness offered, and
ascertaining with half a look, and half a sentence, that she had no
objection but on her aunt’s account, could not imagine that his mother
would make any difficulty of sparing her, and therefore gave his decided
open advice that the invitation should be accepted; and though Fanny
would not venture, even on his encouragement, to such a flight of
audacious independence, it was soon settled, that if nothing were heard
to the contrary, Mrs. Grant might expect her.

“And you know what your dinner will be,” said Mrs. Grant, smiling--“the
turkey, and I assure you a very fine one; for, my dear,” turning to her
husband, “cook insists upon the turkey’s being dressed to-morrow. ”

“Very well, very well,” cried Dr. Grant, “all the better; I am glad
to hear you have anything so good in the house. But Miss Price and Mr.
Edmund Bertram, I dare say, would take their chance. We none of us want
to hear the bill of fare. A friendly meeting, and not a fine dinner,
is all we have in view. A turkey, or a goose, or a leg of mutton, or
whatever you and your cook chuse to give us. ”

The two cousins walked home together; and, except in the immediate
discussion of this engagement, which Edmund spoke of with the warmest
satisfaction, as so particularly desirable for her in the intimacy which
he saw with so much pleasure established, it was a silent walk; for
having finished that subject, he grew thoughtful and indisposed for any
other.



CHAPTER XXIII

“But why should Mrs. Grant ask Fanny? ” said Lady Bertram. “How came she
to think of asking Fanny? Fanny never dines there, you know, in this
sort of way. I cannot spare her, and I am sure she does not want to go.
Fanny, you do not want to go, do you? ”

“If you put such a question to her,” cried Edmund, preventing his
cousin’s speaking, “Fanny will immediately say No; but I am sure, my
dear mother, she would like to go; and I can see no reason why she
should not. ”

“I cannot imagine why Mrs. Grant should think of asking her? She never
did before. She used to ask your sisters now and then, but she never
asked Fanny. ”

“If you cannot do without me, ma’am--” said Fanny, in a self-denying
tone.

“But my mother will have my father with her all the evening. ”

“To be sure, so I shall. ”

“Suppose you take my father’s opinion, ma’am. ”

“That’s well thought of. So I will, Edmund. I will ask Sir Thomas, as
soon as he comes in, whether I can do without her. ”

“As you please, ma’am, on that head; but I meant my father’s opinion
as to the _propriety_ of the invitation’s being accepted or not; and
I think he will consider it a right thing by Mrs. Grant, as well as by
Fanny, that being the _first_ invitation it should be accepted. ”

“I do not know. We will ask him. But he will be very much surprised that
Mrs. Grant should ask Fanny at all. ”

There was nothing more to be said, or that could be said to any purpose,
till Sir Thomas were present; but the subject involving, as it did,
her own evening’s comfort for the morrow, was so much uppermost in Lady
Bertram’s mind, that half an hour afterwards, on his looking in for a
minute in his way from his plantation to his dressing-room, she called
him back again, when he had almost closed the door, with “Sir Thomas,
stop a moment--I have something to say to you. ”

Her tone of calm languor, for she never took the trouble of raising her
voice, was always heard and attended to; and Sir Thomas came back. Her
story began; and Fanny immediately slipped out of the room; for to hear
herself the subject of any discussion with her uncle was more than her
nerves could bear. She was anxious, she knew--more anxious perhaps than
she ought to be--for what was it after all whether she went or staid?
but if her uncle were to be a great while considering and deciding, and
with very grave looks, and those grave looks directed to her, and
at last decide against her, she might not be able to appear properly
submissive and indifferent. Her cause, meanwhile, went on well. It
began, on Lady Bertram’s part, with--“I have something to tell you that
will surprise you. Mrs. Grant has asked Fanny to dinner. ”

“Well,” said Sir Thomas, as if waiting more to accomplish the surprise.

“Edmund wants her to go. But how can I spare her? ”

“She will be late,” said Sir Thomas, taking out his watch; “but what is
your difficulty? ”

Edmund found himself obliged to speak and fill up the blanks in his
mother’s story.
He told the whole; and she had only to add, “So strange!
for Mrs. Grant never used to ask her. ”

“But is it not very natural,” observed Edmund, “that Mrs. Grant should
wish to procure so agreeable a visitor for her sister? ”

“Nothing can be more natural,” said Sir Thomas, after a short
deliberation; “nor, were there no sister in the case, could anything,
in my opinion, be more natural. Mrs. Grant’s shewing civility to Miss
Price, to Lady Bertram’s niece, could never want explanation. The only
surprise I can feel is, that this should be the _first_ time of its
being paid. Fanny was perfectly right in giving only a conditional
answer. She appears to feel as she ought. But as I conclude that she
must wish to go, since all young people like to be together, I can see
no reason why she should be denied the indulgence. ”

“But can I do without her, Sir Thomas? ”

“Indeed I think you may. ”

“She always makes tea, you know, when my sister is not here. ”

“Your sister, perhaps, may be prevailed on to spend the day with us, and
I shall certainly be at home. ”

“Very well, then, Fanny may go, Edmund. ”

The good news soon followed her. Edmund knocked at her door in his way
to his own.

“Well, Fanny, it is all happily settled, and without the smallest
hesitation on your uncle’s side. He had but one opinion. You are to go. ”

“Thank you, I am _so_ glad,” was Fanny’s instinctive reply; though when
she had turned from him and shut the door, she could not help feeling,
“And yet why should I be glad? for am I not certain of seeing or hearing
something there to pain me? ”

In spite of this conviction, however, she was glad. Simple as such an
engagement might appear in other eyes, it had novelty and importance in
hers, for excepting the day at Sotherton, she had scarcely ever dined
out before; and though now going only half a mile, and only to three
people, still it was dining out, and all the little interests of
preparation were enjoyments in themselves. She had neither sympathy nor
assistance from those who ought to have entered into her feelings and
directed her taste; for Lady Bertram never thought of being useful to
anybody, and Mrs. Norris, when she came on the morrow, in consequence of
an early call and invitation from Sir Thomas, was in a very ill humour,
and seemed intent only on lessening her niece’s pleasure, both present
and future, as much as possible.

“Upon my word, Fanny, you are in high luck to meet with such attention
and indulgence! You ought to be very much obliged to Mrs. Grant for
thinking of you, and to your aunt for letting you go, and you ought to
look upon it as something extraordinary; for I hope you are aware that
there is no real occasion for your going into company in this sort of
way, or ever dining out at all; and it is what you must not depend upon
ever being repeated. Nor must you be fancying that the invitation is
meant as any particular compliment to _you_; the compliment is intended
to your uncle and aunt and me. Mrs. Grant thinks it a civility due to
_us_ to take a little notice of you, or else it would never have come
into her head, and you may be very certain that, if your cousin Julia
had been at home, you would not have been asked at all. ”

Mrs. Norris had now so ingeniously done away all Mrs. Grant’s part of
the favour, that Fanny, who found herself expected to speak, could only
say that she was very much obliged to her aunt Bertram for sparing her,
and that she was endeavouring to put her aunt’s evening work in such a
state as to prevent her being missed.

“Oh! depend upon it, your aunt can do very well without you, or you
would not be allowed to go. _I_ shall be here, so you may be quite easy
about your aunt. And I hope you will have a very _agreeable_ day, and
find it all mighty _delightful_. But I must observe that five is the
very awkwardest of all possible numbers to sit down to table; and I
cannot but be surprised that such an _elegant_ lady as Mrs. Grant should
not contrive better! And round their enormous great wide table, too,
which fills up the room so dreadfully! Had the doctor been contented to
take my dining-table when I came away, as anybody in their senses would
have done, instead of having that absurd new one of his own, which is
wider, literally wider than the dinner-table here, how infinitely better
it would have been! and how much more he would have been respected! for
people are never respected when they step out of their proper sphere.
Remember that, Fanny. Five--only five to be sitting round that table.
However, you will have dinner enough on it for ten, I dare say. ”

Mrs. Norris fetched breath, and went on again.

“The nonsense and folly of people’s stepping out of their rank and
trying to appear above themselves, makes me think it right to give _you_
a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company without any of us;
and I do beseech and entreat you not to be putting yourself forward, and
talking and giving your opinion as if you were one of your cousins--as
if you were dear Mrs. Rushworth or Julia. _That_ will never do, believe
me. Remember, wherever you are, you must be the lowest and last; and
though Miss Crawford is in a manner at home at the Parsonage, you are
not to be taking place of her. And as to coming away at night, you are
to stay just as long as Edmund chuses. Leave him to settle _that_. ”

“Yes, ma’am, I should not think of anything else. ”

“And if it should rain, which I think exceedingly likely, for I never
saw it more threatening for a wet evening in my life, you must manage as
well as you can, and not be expecting the carriage to be sent for you. I
certainly do not go home to-night, and, therefore, the carriage will not
be out on my account; so you must make up your mind to what may happen,
and take your things accordingly. ”

Her niece thought it perfectly reasonable. She rated her own claims
to comfort as low even as Mrs. Norris could; and when Sir Thomas soon
afterwards, just opening the door, said, “Fanny, at what time would you
have the carriage come round? ” she felt a degree of astonishment which
made it impossible for her to speak.

“My dear Sir Thomas! ” cried Mrs. Norris, red with anger, “Fanny can
walk. ”

“Walk! ” repeated Sir Thomas, in a tone of most unanswerable dignity, and
coming farther into the room. “My niece walk to a dinner engagement at
this time of the year! Will twenty minutes after four suit you? ”

“Yes, sir,” was Fanny’s humble answer, given with the feelings almost
of a criminal towards Mrs. Norris; and not bearing to remain with her
in what might seem a state of triumph, she followed her uncle out of
the room, having staid behind him only long enough to hear these words
spoken in angry agitation--

“Quite unnecessary! a great deal too kind! But Edmund goes; true, it is
upon Edmund’s account. I observed he was hoarse on Thursday night. ”

But this could not impose on Fanny. She felt that the carriage was for
herself, and herself alone: and her uncle’s consideration of her, coming
immediately after such representations from her aunt, cost her some
tears of gratitude when she was alone.

The coachman drove round to a minute; another minute brought down the
gentleman; and as the lady had, with a most scrupulous fear of being
late, been many minutes seated in the drawing-room, Sir Thomas saw them
off in as good time as his own correctly punctual habits required.

“Now I must look at you, Fanny,” said Edmund, with the kind smile of an
affectionate brother, “and tell you how I like you; and as well as I can
judge by this light, you look very nicely indeed. What have you got on? ”

“The new dress that my uncle was so good as to give me on my cousin’s
marriage. I hope it is not too fine; but I thought I ought to wear it as
soon as I could, and that I might not have such another opportunity all
the winter. I hope you do not think me too fine. ”

“A woman can never be too fine while she is all in white. No, I see no
finery about you; nothing but what is perfectly proper. Your gown seems
very pretty. I like these glossy spots. Has not Miss Crawford a gown
something the same? ”

In approaching the Parsonage they passed close by the stable-yard and
coach-house.

“Heyday! ” said Edmund, “here’s company, here’s a carriage! who have they
got to meet us? ” And letting down the side-glass to distinguish, “‘Tis
Crawford’s, Crawford’s barouche, I protest! There are his own two men
pushing it back into its old quarters. He is here, of course. This is
quite a surprise, Fanny. I shall be very glad to see him. ”

There was no occasion, there was no time for Fanny to say how very
differently she felt; but the idea of having such another to observe
her was a great increase of the trepidation with which she performed the
very awful ceremony of walking into the drawing-room.

In the drawing-room Mr. Crawford certainly was, having been just long
enough arrived to be ready for dinner; and the smiles and pleased looks
of the three others standing round him, shewed how welcome was his
sudden resolution of coming to them for a few days on leaving Bath.
A very cordial meeting passed between him and Edmund; and with the
exception of Fanny, the pleasure was general; and even to _her_ there
might be some advantage in his presence, since every addition to the
party must rather forward her favourite indulgence of being suffered to
sit silent and unattended to. She was soon aware of this herself; for
though she must submit, as her own propriety of mind directed, in spite
of her aunt Norris’s opinion, to being the principal lady in company,
and to all the little distinctions consequent thereon, she found, while
they were at table, such a happy flow of conversation prevailing, in
which she was not required to take any part--there was so much to be
said between the brother and sister about Bath, so much between the two
young men about hunting, so much of politics between Mr. Crawford and
Dr. Grant, and of everything and all together between Mr. Crawford
and Mrs. Grant, as to leave her the fairest prospect of having only
to listen in quiet, and of passing a very agreeable day. She could not
compliment the newly arrived gentleman, however, with any appearance of
interest, in a scheme for extending his stay at Mansfield, and sending
for his hunters from Norfolk, which, suggested by Dr. Grant, advised by
Edmund, and warmly urged by the two sisters, was soon in possession of
his mind, and which he seemed to want to be encouraged even by her to
resolve on. Her opinion was sought as to the probable continuance of the
open weather, but her answers were as short and indifferent as civility
allowed. She could not wish him to stay, and would much rather not have
him speak to her.

Her two absent cousins, especially Maria, were much in her thoughts on
seeing him; but no embarrassing remembrance affected _his_ spirits.
Here he was again on the same ground where all had passed before, and
apparently as willing to stay and be happy without the Miss Bertrams,
as if he had never known Mansfield in any other state. She heard them
spoken of by him only in a general way, till they were all re-assembled
in the drawing-room, when Edmund, being engaged apart in some matter of
business with Dr. Grant, which seemed entirely to engross them, and
Mrs. Grant occupied at the tea-table, he began talking of them with more
particularity to his other sister. With a significant smile, which made
Fanny quite hate him, he said, “So! Rushworth and his fair bride are at
Brighton, I understand; happy man! ”

“Yes, they have been there about a fortnight, Miss Price, have they not?
And Julia is with them. ”

“And Mr. Yates, I presume, is not far off. ”

“Mr. Yates! Oh! we hear nothing of Mr. Yates. I do not imagine he
figures much in the letters to Mansfield Park; do you, Miss Price? I
think my friend Julia knows better than to entertain her father with Mr.
Yates. ”

“Poor Rushworth and his two-and-forty speeches! ” continued Crawford.
“Nobody can ever forget them. Poor fellow! I see him now--his toil and
his despair. Well, I am much mistaken if his lovely Maria will ever want
him to make two-and-forty speeches to her”; adding, with a momentary
seriousness, “She is too good for him--much too good. ” And then changing
his tone again to one of gentle gallantry, and addressing Fanny, he
said, “You were Mr. Rushworth’s best friend. Your kindness and patience
can never be forgotten, your indefatigable patience in trying to make it
possible for him to learn his part--in trying to give him a brain
which nature had denied--to mix up an understanding for him out of the
superfluity of your own! _He_ might not have sense enough himself to
estimate your kindness, but I may venture to say that it had honour from
all the rest of the party. ”

Fanny coloured, and said nothing.

“It is as a dream, a pleasant dream! ” he exclaimed, breaking forth
again, after a few minutes’ musing. “I shall always look back on our
theatricals with exquisite pleasure. There was such an interest, such an
animation, such a spirit diffused. Everybody felt it. We were all alive.
There was employment, hope, solicitude, bustle, for every hour of
the day. Always some little objection, some little doubt, some little
anxiety to be got over. I never was happier. ”

With silent indignation Fanny repeated to herself, “Never
happier! --never happier than when doing what you must know was not
justifiable! --never happier than when behaving so dishonourably and
unfeelingly! Oh! what a corrupted mind! ”

“We were unlucky, Miss Price,” he continued, in a lower tone, to avoid
the possibility of being heard by Edmund, and not at all aware of her
feelings, “we certainly were very unlucky. Another week, only one other
week, would have been enough for us. I think if we had had the disposal
of events--if Mansfield Park had had the government of the winds
just for a week or two, about the equinox, there would have been
a difference. Not that we would have endangered his safety by any
tremendous weather--but only by a steady contrary wind, or a calm. I
think, Miss Price, we would have indulged ourselves with a week’s calm
in the Atlantic at that season. ”

He seemed determined to be answered; and Fanny, averting her face, said,
with a firmer tone than usual, “As far as _I_ am concerned, sir, I would
not have delayed his return for a day. My uncle disapproved it all so
entirely when he did arrive, that in my opinion everything had gone
quite far enough. ”

She had never spoken so much at once to him in her life before, and
never so angrily to any one; and when her speech was over, she trembled
and blushed at her own daring. He was surprised; but after a few
moments’ silent consideration of her, replied in a calmer, graver tone,
and as if the candid result of conviction, “I believe you are right.
It was more pleasant than prudent. We were getting too noisy. ” And
then turning the conversation, he would have engaged her on some other
subject, but her answers were so shy and reluctant that he could not
advance in any.

Miss Crawford, who had been repeatedly eyeing Dr. Grant and Edmund,
now observed, “Those gentlemen must have some very interesting point to
discuss. ”

“The most interesting in the world,” replied her brother--“how to make
money; how to turn a good income into a better. Dr. Grant is giving
Bertram instructions about the living he is to step into so soon. I find
he takes orders in a few weeks. They were at it in the dining-parlour. I
am glad to hear Bertram will be so well off. He will have a very pretty
income to make ducks and drakes with, and earned without much trouble. I
apprehend he will not have less than seven hundred a year. Seven hundred
a year is a fine thing for a younger brother; and as of course he will
still live at home, it will be all for his _menus_ _plaisirs_; and a
sermon at Christmas and Easter, I suppose, will be the sum total of
sacrifice. ”

His sister tried to laugh off her feelings by saying, “Nothing amuses me
more than the easy manner with which everybody settles the abundance of
those who have a great deal less than themselves. You would look rather
blank, Henry, if your _menus_ _plaisirs_ were to be limited to seven
hundred a year. ”

“Perhaps I might; but all _that_ you know is entirely comparative.
Birthright and habit must settle the business. Bertram is certainly well
off for a cadet of even a baronet’s family. By the time he is four or
five and twenty he will have seven hundred a year, and nothing to do for
it. ”

Miss Crawford _could_ have said that there would be a something to do
and to suffer for it, which she could not think lightly of; but she
checked herself and let it pass; and tried to look calm and unconcerned
when the two gentlemen shortly afterwards joined them.

“Bertram,” said Henry Crawford, “I shall make a point of coming to
Mansfield to hear you preach your first sermon. I shall come on purpose
to encourage a young beginner. When is it to be? Miss Price, will not
you join me in encouraging your cousin? Will not you engage to attend
with your eyes steadily fixed on him the whole time--as I shall do--not
to lose a word; or only looking off just to note down any sentence
preeminently beautiful? We will provide ourselves with tablets and a
pencil. When will it be? You must preach at Mansfield, you know, that
Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram may hear you. ”

“I shall keep clear of you, Crawford, as long as I can,” said Edmund;
“for you would be more likely to disconcert me, and I should be more
sorry to see you trying at it than almost any other man. ”

“Will he not feel this? ” thought Fanny. “No, he can feel nothing as he
ought. ”

The party being now all united, and the chief talkers attracting each
other, she remained in tranquillity; and as a whist-table was formed
after tea--formed really for the amusement of Dr. Grant, by his
attentive wife, though it was not to be supposed so--and Miss Crawford
took her harp, she had nothing to do but to listen; and her tranquillity
remained undisturbed the rest of the evening, except when Mr. Crawford
now and then addressed to her a question or observation, which she could
not avoid answering.