No More Learning

it was a
shameful insensibility. ” He had said to her, moreover, on the very last
morning, that he hoped she might see William again in the course of the
ensuing winter, and had charged her to write and invite him to Mansfield
as soon as the squadron to which he belonged should be known to be
in England. “This was so thoughtful and kind! ” and would he only have
smiled upon her, and called her “my dear Fanny,” while he said it, every
former frown or cold address might have been forgotten. But he had ended
his speech in a way to sink her in sad mortification, by adding, “If
William does come to Mansfield, I hope you may be able to convince him
that the many years which have passed since you parted have not been
spent on your side entirely without improvement; though, I fear, he must
find his sister at sixteen in some respects too much like his sister at
ten. ” She cried bitterly over this reflection when her uncle was
gone; and her cousins, on seeing her with red eyes, set her down as a
hypocrite.



CHAPTER IV

Tom Bertram had of late spent so little of his time at home that he
could be only nominally missed; and Lady Bertram was soon astonished
to find how very well they did even without his father, how well Edmund
could supply his place in carving, talking to the steward, writing to
the attorney, settling with the servants, and equally saving her
from all possible fatigue or exertion in every particular but that of
directing her letters.

The earliest intelligence of the travellers’ safe arrival at Antigua,
after a favourable voyage, was received; though not before Mrs. Norris
had been indulging in very dreadful fears, and trying to make Edmund
participate them whenever she could get him alone; and as she depended
on being the first person made acquainted with any fatal catastrophe,
she had already arranged the manner of breaking it to all the others,
when Sir Thomas’s assurances of their both being alive and well made it
necessary to lay by her agitation and affectionate preparatory speeches
for a while.

The winter came and passed without their being called for; the accounts
continued perfectly good; and Mrs. Norris, in promoting gaieties for her
nieces, assisting their toilets, displaying their accomplishments,
and looking about for their future husbands, had so much to do as, in
addition to all her own household cares, some interference in those of
her sister, and Mrs. Grant’s wasteful doings to overlook, left her very
little occasion to be occupied in fears for the absent.

The Miss Bertrams were now fully established among the belles of the
neighbourhood; and as they joined to beauty and brilliant acquirements
a manner naturally easy, and carefully formed to general civility and
obligingness, they possessed its favour as well as its admiration. Their
vanity was in such good order that they seemed to be quite free from it,
and gave themselves no airs; while the praises attending such behaviour,
secured and brought round by their aunt, served to strengthen them in
believing they had no faults.

Lady Bertram did not go into public with her daughters. She was too
indolent even to accept a mother’s gratification in witnessing their
success and enjoyment at the expense of any personal trouble, and the
charge was made over to her sister, who desired nothing better than a
post of such honourable representation, and very thoroughly relished
the means it afforded her of mixing in society without having horses to
hire.

Fanny had no share in the festivities of the season; but she enjoyed
being avowedly useful as her aunt’s companion when they called away the
rest of the family; and, as Miss Lee had left Mansfield, she naturally
became everything to Lady Bertram during the night of a ball or a party.
She talked to her, listened to her, read to her; and the tranquillity
of such evenings, her perfect security in such a _tete-a-tete_ from any
sound of unkindness, was unspeakably welcome to a mind which had seldom
known a pause in its alarms or embarrassments. As to her cousins’
gaieties, she loved to hear an account of them, especially of the
balls, and whom Edmund had danced with; but thought too lowly of her
own situation to imagine she should ever be admitted to the same, and
listened, therefore, without an idea of any nearer concern in them. Upon
the whole, it was a comfortable winter to her; for though it brought
no William to England, the never-failing hope of his arrival was worth
much.

The ensuing spring deprived her of her valued friend, the old grey pony;
and for some time she was in danger of feeling the loss in her health as
well as in her affections; for in spite of the acknowledged importance
of her riding on horse-back, no measures were taken for mounting her
again, “because,” as it was observed by her aunts, “she might ride one
of her cousin’s horses at any time when they did not want them,” and as
the Miss Bertrams regularly wanted their horses every fine day, and had
no idea of carrying their obliging manners to the sacrifice of any real
pleasure, that time, of course, never came. They took their cheerful
rides in the fine mornings of April and May; and Fanny either sat at
home the whole day with one aunt, or walked beyond her strength at
the instigation of the other: Lady Bertram holding exercise to be as
unnecessary for everybody as it was unpleasant to herself; and Mrs.
Norris, who was walking all day, thinking everybody ought to walk
as much. Edmund was absent at this time, or the evil would have
been earlier remedied. When he returned, to understand how Fanny was
situated, and perceived its ill effects, there seemed with him but one
thing to be done; and that “Fanny must have a horse” was the resolute
declaration with which he opposed whatever could be urged by the
supineness of his mother, or the economy of his aunt, to make it appear
unimportant. Mrs. Norris could not help thinking that some steady old
thing might be found among the numbers belonging to the Park that would
do vastly well; or that one might be borrowed of the steward; or that
perhaps Dr. Grant might now and then lend them the pony he sent to the
post. She could not but consider it as absolutely unnecessary, and even
improper, that Fanny should have a regular lady’s horse of her own, in
the style of her cousins. She was sure Sir Thomas had never intended it:
and she must say that, to be making such a purchase in his absence, and
adding to the great expenses of his stable, at a time when a large part
of his income was unsettled, seemed to her very unjustifiable. “Fanny
must have a horse,” was Edmund’s only reply. Mrs. Norris could not see
it in the same light. Lady Bertram did: she entirely agreed with her son
as to the necessity of it, and as to its being considered necessary by
his father; she only pleaded against there being any hurry; she only
wanted him to wait till Sir Thomas’s return, and then Sir Thomas might
settle it all himself. He would be at home in September, and where would
be the harm of only waiting till September?

Though Edmund was much more displeased with his aunt than with his
mother, as evincing least regard for her niece, he could not help paying
more attention to what she said; and at length determined on a method of
proceeding which would obviate the risk of his father’s thinking he
had done too much, and at the same time procure for Fanny the immediate
means of exercise, which he could not bear she should be without. He had
three horses of his own, but not one that would carry a woman. Two
of them were hunters; the third, a useful road-horse: this third he
resolved to exchange for one that his cousin might ride; he knew where
such a one was to be met with; and having once made up his mind, the
whole business was soon completed. The new mare proved a treasure; with
a very little trouble she became exactly calculated for the purpose,
and Fanny was then put in almost full possession of her. She had not
supposed before that anything could ever suit her like the old grey
pony; but her delight in Edmund’s mare was far beyond any former
pleasure of the sort; and the addition it was ever receiving in the
consideration of that kindness from which her pleasure sprung, was
beyond all her words to express. She regarded her cousin as an example
of everything good and great, as possessing worth which no one but
herself could ever appreciate, and as entitled to such gratitude from
her as no feelings could be strong enough to pay. Her sentiments towards
him were compounded of all that was respectful, grateful, confiding, and
tender.

As the horse continued in name, as well as fact, the property of Edmund,
Mrs. Norris could tolerate its being for Fanny’s use; and had Lady
Bertram ever thought about her own objection again, he might have
been excused in her eyes for not waiting till Sir Thomas’s return in
September, for when September came Sir Thomas was still abroad, and
without any near prospect of finishing his business. Unfavourable
circumstances had suddenly arisen at a moment when he was beginning to
turn all his thoughts towards England; and the very great uncertainty
in which everything was then involved determined him on sending home his
son, and waiting the final arrangement by himself. Tom arrived safely,
bringing an excellent account of his father’s health; but to very little
purpose, as far as Mrs. Norris was concerned. Sir Thomas’s sending away
his son seemed to her so like a parent’s care, under the influence of a
foreboding of evil to himself, that she could not help feeling dreadful
presentiments; and as the long evenings of autumn came on, was so
terribly haunted by these ideas, in the sad solitariness of her cottage,
as to be obliged to take daily refuge in the dining-room of the Park.
The return of winter engagements, however, was not without its effect;
and in the course of their progress, her mind became so pleasantly
occupied in superintending the fortunes of her eldest niece, as
tolerably to quiet her nerves. “If poor Sir Thomas were fated never to
return, it would be peculiarly consoling to see their dear Maria well
married,” she very often thought; always when they were in the company
of men of fortune, and particularly on the introduction of a young man
who had recently succeeded to one of the largest estates and finest
places in the country.

Mr. Rushworth was from the first struck with the beauty of Miss Bertram,
and, being inclined to marry, soon fancied himself in love. He was
a heavy young man, with not more than common sense; but as there was
nothing disagreeable in his figure or address, the young lady was well
pleased with her conquest. Being now in her twenty-first year, Maria
Bertram was beginning to think matrimony a duty; and as a marriage with
Mr. Rushworth would give her the enjoyment of a larger income than her
father’s, as well as ensure her the house in town, which was now a prime
object, it became, by the same rule of moral obligation, her evident
duty to marry Mr. Rushworth if she could. Mrs. Norris was most zealous
in promoting the match, by every suggestion and contrivance likely to
enhance its desirableness to either party; and, among other means, by
seeking an intimacy with the gentleman’s mother, who at present lived
with him, and to whom she even forced Lady Bertram to go through ten
miles of indifferent road to pay a morning visit. It was not long before
a good understanding took place between this lady and herself. Mrs.
Rushworth acknowledged herself very desirous that her son should marry,
and declared that of all the young ladies she had ever seen, Miss
Bertram seemed, by her amiable qualities and accomplishments, the best
adapted to make him happy. Mrs. Norris accepted the compliment,
and admired the nice discernment of character which could so well
distinguish merit. Maria was indeed the pride and delight of them
all--perfectly faultless--an angel; and, of course, so surrounded by
admirers, must be difficult in her choice: but yet, as far as Mrs.
Norris could allow herself to decide on so short an acquaintance, Mr.
Rushworth appeared precisely the young man to deserve and attach her.

After dancing with each other at a proper number of balls, the young
people justified these opinions, and an engagement, with a due reference
to the absent Sir Thomas, was entered into, much to the satisfaction
of their respective families, and of the general lookers-on of the
neighbourhood, who had, for many weeks past, felt the expediency of Mr.
Rushworth’s marrying Miss Bertram.

It was some months before Sir Thomas’s consent could be received; but,
in the meanwhile, as no one felt a doubt of his most cordial pleasure
in the connexion, the intercourse of the two families was carried
on without restraint, and no other attempt made at secrecy than Mrs.
Norris’s talking of it everywhere as a matter not to be talked of at
present.

Edmund was the only one of the family who could see a fault in the
business; but no representation of his aunt’s could induce him to find
Mr. Rushworth a desirable companion. He could allow his sister to be
the best judge of her own happiness, but he was not pleased that her
happiness should centre in a large income; nor could he refrain from
often saying to himself, in Mr. Rushworth’s company--“If this man had
not twelve thousand a year, he would be a very stupid fellow. ”

Sir Thomas, however, was truly happy in the prospect of an alliance
so unquestionably advantageous, and of which he heard nothing but the
perfectly good and agreeable. It was a connexion exactly of the right
sort--in the same county, and the same interest--and his most hearty
concurrence was conveyed as soon as possible. He only conditioned that
the marriage should not take place before his return, which he was again
looking eagerly forward to. He wrote in April, and had strong hopes
of settling everything to his entire satisfaction, and leaving Antigua
before the end of the summer.

Such was the state of affairs in the month of July; and Fanny had just
reached her eighteenth year, when the society of the village received
an addition in the brother and sister of Mrs. Grant, a Mr. and Miss
Crawford, the children of her mother by a second marriage. They were
young people of fortune. The son had a good estate in Norfolk, the
daughter twenty thousand pounds. As children, their sister had been
always very fond of them; but, as her own marriage had been soon
followed by the death of their common parent, which left them to the
care of a brother of their father, of whom Mrs. Grant knew nothing, she
had scarcely seen them since. In their uncle’s house they had found a
kind home. Admiral and Mrs. Crawford, though agreeing in nothing else,
were united in affection for these children, or, at least, were no
farther adverse in their feelings than that each had their favourite, to
whom they showed the greatest fondness of the two. The Admiral delighted
in the boy, Mrs. Crawford doted on the girl; and it was the lady’s death
which now obliged her _protegee_, after some months’ further trial at
her uncle’s house, to find another home. Admiral Crawford was a man of
vicious conduct, who chose, instead of retaining his niece, to bring his
mistress under his own roof; and to this Mrs. Grant was indebted for her
sister’s proposal of coming to her, a measure quite as welcome on one
side as it could be expedient on the other; for Mrs. Grant, having by
this time run through the usual resources of ladies residing in the
country without a family of children--having more than filled her
favourite sitting-room with pretty furniture, and made a choice
collection of plants and poultry--was very much in want of some variety
at home. The arrival, therefore, of a sister whom she had always loved,
and now hoped to retain with her as long as she remained single, was
highly agreeable; and her chief anxiety was lest Mansfield should not
satisfy the habits of a young woman who had been mostly used to London.

Miss Crawford was not entirely free from similar apprehensions, though
they arose principally from doubts of her sister’s style of living and
tone of society; and it was not till after she had tried in vain to
persuade her brother to settle with her at his own country house,
that she could resolve to hazard herself among her other relations. To
anything like a permanence of abode, or limitation of society, Henry
Crawford had, unluckily, a great dislike: he could not accommodate his
sister in an article of such importance; but he escorted her, with the
utmost kindness, into Northamptonshire, and as readily engaged to fetch
her away again, at half an hour’s notice, whenever she were weary of the
place.

The meeting was very satisfactory on each side. Miss Crawford found a
sister without preciseness or rusticity, a sister’s husband who looked
the gentleman, and a house commodious and well fitted up; and Mrs. Grant
received in those whom she hoped to love better than ever a young man
and woman of very prepossessing appearance. Mary Crawford was remarkably
pretty; Henry, though not handsome, had air and countenance; the manners
of both were lively and pleasant, and Mrs. Grant immediately gave them
credit for everything else. She was delighted with each, but Mary was
her dearest object; and having never been able to glory in beauty of her
own, she thoroughly enjoyed the power of being proud of her sister’s.
She had not waited her arrival to look out for a suitable match for her:
she had fixed on Tom Bertram; the eldest son of a baronet was not too
good for a girl of twenty thousand pounds, with all the elegance
and accomplishments which Mrs. Grant foresaw in her; and being a
warm-hearted, unreserved woman, Mary had not been three hours in the
house before she told her what she had planned.

Miss Crawford was glad to find a family of such consequence so very near
them, and not at all displeased either at her sister’s early care, or
the choice it had fallen on. Matrimony was her object, provided she
could marry well: and having seen Mr. Bertram in town, she knew that
objection could no more be made to his person than to his situation in
life. While she treated it as a joke, therefore, she did not forget to
think of it seriously. The scheme was soon repeated to Henry.

“And now,” added Mrs. Grant, “I have thought of something to make it
complete. I should dearly love to settle you both in this country; and
therefore, Henry, you shall marry the youngest Miss Bertram, a nice,
handsome, good-humoured, accomplished girl, who will make you very
happy. ”

Henry bowed and thanked her.

“My dear sister,” said Mary, “if you can persuade him into anything
of the sort, it will be a fresh matter of delight to me to find myself
allied to anybody so clever, and I shall only regret that you have
not half a dozen daughters to dispose of. If you can persuade Henry
to marry, you must have the address of a Frenchwoman. All that English
abilities can do has been tried already. I have three very particular
friends who have been all dying for him in their turn; and the pains
which they, their mothers (very clever women), as well as my dear aunt
and myself, have taken to reason, coax, or trick him into marrying, is
inconceivable! He is the most horrible flirt that can be imagined. If
your Miss Bertrams do not like to have their hearts broke, let them
avoid Henry. ”

“My dear brother, I will not believe this of you. ”

“No, I am sure you are too good. You will be kinder than Mary. You
will allow for the doubts of youth and inexperience. I am of a cautious
temper, and unwilling to risk my happiness in a hurry. Nobody can
think more highly of the matrimonial state than myself. I consider the
blessing of a wife as most justly described in those discreet lines of
the poet--‘Heaven’s _last_ best gift. ’”

“There, Mrs. Grant, you see how he dwells on one word, and only look
at his smile. I assure you he is very detestable; the Admiral’s lessons
have quite spoiled him. ”

“I pay very little regard,” said Mrs. Grant, “to what any young person
says on the subject of marriage. If they profess a disinclination for
it, I only set it down that they have not yet seen the right person. ”

Dr. Grant laughingly congratulated Miss Crawford on feeling no
disinclination to the state herself.

“Oh yes! I am not at all ashamed of it. I would have everybody marry if
they can do it properly: I do not like to have people throw themselves
away; but everybody should marry as soon as they can do it to
advantage. ”



CHAPTER V

The young people were pleased with each other from the first. On each
side there was much to attract, and their acquaintance soon promised as
early an intimacy as good manners would warrant. Miss Crawford’s beauty
did her no disservice with the Miss Bertrams. They were too handsome
themselves to dislike any woman for being so too, and were almost as
much charmed as their brothers with her lively dark eye, clear brown
complexion, and general prettiness. Had she been tall, full formed, and
fair, it might have been more of a trial: but as it was, there could be
no comparison; and she was most allowably a sweet, pretty girl, while
they were the finest young women in the country.

Her brother was not handsome: no, when they first saw him he was
absolutely plain, black and plain; but still he was the gentleman, with
a pleasing address. The second meeting proved him not so very plain:
he was plain, to be sure, but then he had so much countenance, and his
teeth were so good, and he was so well made, that one soon forgot he was
plain; and after a third interview, after dining in company with him at
the Parsonage, he was no longer allowed to be called so by anybody. He
was, in fact, the most agreeable young man the sisters had ever known,
and they were equally delighted with him. Miss Bertram’s engagement made
him in equity the property of Julia, of which Julia was fully aware; and
before he had been at Mansfield a week, she was quite ready to be fallen
in love with.

Maria’s notions on the subject were more confused and indistinct. She
did not want to see or understand. “There could be no harm in her liking
an agreeable man--everybody knew her situation--Mr. Crawford must take
care of himself. ” Mr. Crawford did not mean to be in any danger! the
Miss Bertrams were worth pleasing, and were ready to be pleased; and he
began with no object but of making them like him. He did not want them
to die of love; but with sense and temper which ought to have made him
judge and feel better, he allowed himself great latitude on such points.

“I like your Miss Bertrams exceedingly, sister,” said he, as he returned
from attending them to their carriage after the said dinner visit; “they
are very elegant, agreeable girls. ”

“So they are indeed, and I am delighted to hear you say it. But you like
Julia best. ”

“Oh yes! I like Julia best. ”

“But do you really? for Miss Bertram is in general thought the
handsomest. ”

“So I should suppose. She has the advantage in every feature, and I
prefer her countenance; but I like Julia best; Miss Bertram is certainly
the handsomest, and I have found her the most agreeable, but I shall
always like Julia best, because you order me. ”

“I shall not talk to you, Henry, but I know you _will_ like her best at
last. ”

“Do not I tell you that I like her best _at_ _first_? ”

“And besides, Miss Bertram is engaged. Remember that, my dear brother.
Her choice is made. ”

“Yes, and I like her the better for it. An engaged woman is always more
agreeable than a disengaged. She is satisfied with herself. Her cares
are over, and she feels that she may exert all her powers of pleasing
without suspicion. All is safe with a lady engaged: no harm can be
done. ”

“Why, as to that, Mr. Rushworth is a very good sort of young man, and it
is a great match for her. ”

“But Miss Bertram does not care three straws for him; _that_ is your
opinion of your intimate friend. _I_ do not subscribe to it. I am sure
Miss Bertram is very much attached to Mr. Rushworth. I could see it in
her eyes, when he was mentioned. I think too well of Miss Bertram to
suppose she would ever give her hand without her heart. ”

“Mary, how shall we manage him? ”

“We must leave him to himself, I believe. Talking does no good. He will
be taken in at last. ”

“But I would not have him _taken_ _in_; I would not have him duped; I
would have it all fair and honourable. ”

“Oh dear! let him stand his chance and be taken in. It will do just as
well. Everybody is taken in at some period or other. ”

“Not always in marriage, dear Mary. ”

“In marriage especially. With all due respect to such of the present
company as chance to be married, my dear Mrs. Grant, there is not one in
a hundred of either sex who is not taken in when they marry. Look where
I will, I see that it _is_ so; and I feel that it _must_ be so, when I
consider that it is, of all transactions, the one in which people expect
most from others, and are least honest themselves. ”

“Ah! You have been in a bad school for matrimony, in Hill Street. ”

“My poor aunt had certainly little cause to love the state; but,
however, speaking from my own observation, it is a manoeuvring business.
I know so many who have married in the full expectation and confidence
of some one particular advantage in the connexion, or accomplishment, or
good quality in the person, who have found themselves entirely deceived,
and been obliged to put up with exactly the reverse. What is this but a
take in?
”

“My dear child, there must be a little imagination here. I beg your
pardon, but I cannot quite believe you. Depend upon it, you see but
half. You see the evil, but you do not see the consolation. There will
be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and we are all apt to
expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human
nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make
a second better: we find comfort somewhere--and those evil-minded
observers, dearest Mary, who make much of a little, are more taken in
and deceived than the parties themselves. ”

“Well done, sister! I honour your _esprit_ _du_ _corps_. When I am a
wife, I mean to be just as staunch myself; and I wish my friends in
general would be so too. It would save me many a heartache. ”

“You are as bad as your brother, Mary; but we will cure you both.
Mansfield shall cure you both, and without any taking in. Stay with us,
and we will cure you. ”

The Crawfords, without wanting to be cured, were very willing to stay.
Mary was satisfied with the Parsonage as a present home, and Henry
equally ready to lengthen his visit. He had come, intending to spend
only a few days with them; but Mansfield promised well, and there was
nothing to call him elsewhere. It delighted Mrs. Grant to keep them both
with her, and Dr. Grant was exceedingly well contented to have it so: a
talking pretty young woman like Miss Crawford is always pleasant society
to an indolent, stay-at-home man; and Mr. Crawford’s being his guest was
an excuse for drinking claret every day.

The Miss Bertrams’ admiration of Mr. Crawford was more rapturous than
anything which Miss Crawford’s habits made her likely to feel. She
acknowledged, however, that the Mr. Bertrams were very fine young men,
that two such young men were not often seen together even in London, and
that their manners, particularly those of the eldest, were very good.
_He_ had been much in London, and had more liveliness and gallantry than
Edmund, and must, therefore, be preferred; and, indeed, his being the
eldest was another strong claim. She had felt an early presentiment that
she _should_ like the eldest best. She knew it was her way.

Tom Bertram must have been thought pleasant, indeed, at any rate; he was
the sort of young man to be generally liked, his agreeableness was of
the kind to be oftener found agreeable than some endowments of a higher
stamp, for he had easy manners, excellent spirits, a large acquaintance,
and a great deal to say; and the reversion of Mansfield Park, and a
baronetcy, did no harm to all this. Miss Crawford soon felt that he and
his situation might do. She looked about her with due consideration, and
found almost everything in his favour: a park, a real park, five miles
round, a spacious modern-built house, so well placed and well screened
as to deserve to be in any collection of engravings of gentlemen’s
seats in the kingdom, and wanting only to be completely new
furnished--pleasant sisters, a quiet mother, and an agreeable man
himself--with the advantage of being tied up from much gaming at present
by a promise to his father, and of being Sir Thomas hereafter. It
might do very well; she believed she should accept him; and she began
accordingly to interest herself a little about the horse which he had to
run at the B---- races.

These races were to call him away not long after their acquaintance
began; and as it appeared that the family did not, from his usual goings
on, expect him back again for many weeks, it would bring his passion to
an early proof. Much was said on his side to induce her to attend the
races, and schemes were made for a large party to them, with all the
eagerness of inclination, but it would only do to be talked of.

And Fanny, what was _she_ doing and thinking all this while? and what
was _her_ opinion of the newcomers? Few young ladies of eighteen could
be less called on to speak their opinion than Fanny. In a quiet way,
very little attended to, she paid her tribute of admiration to Miss
Crawford’s beauty; but as she still continued to think Mr. Crawford
very plain, in spite of her two cousins having repeatedly proved the
contrary, she never mentioned _him_. The notice, which she excited
herself, was to this effect. “I begin now to understand you all,
except Miss Price,” said Miss Crawford, as she was walking with the Mr.
Bertrams. “Pray, is she out, or is she not? I am puzzled. She dined at
the Parsonage, with the rest of you, which seemed like being _out_; and
yet she says so little, that I can hardly suppose she _is_. ”

Edmund, to whom this was chiefly addressed, replied, “I believe I know
what you mean, but I will not undertake to answer the question. My
cousin is grown up. She has the age and sense of a woman, but the outs
and not outs are beyond me. ”

“And yet, in general, nothing can be more easily ascertained. The
distinction is so broad. Manners as well as appearance are, generally
speaking, so totally different. Till now, I could not have supposed it
possible to be mistaken as to a girl’s being out or not. A girl not out
has always the same sort of dress: a close bonnet, for instance; looks
very demure, and never says a word. You may smile, but it is so, I
assure you; and except that it is sometimes carried a little too far,
it is all very proper. Girls should be quiet and modest. The most
objectionable part is, that the alteration of manners on being
introduced into company is frequently too sudden. They sometimes pass in
such very little time from reserve to quite the opposite--to confidence!
_That_ is the faulty part of the present system. One does not like to
see a girl of eighteen or nineteen so immediately up to every thing--and
perhaps when one has seen her hardly able to speak the year before. Mr.
Bertram, I dare say _you_ have sometimes met with such changes. ”

“I believe I have, but this is hardly fair; I see what you are at. You
are quizzing me and Miss Anderson. ”

“No, indeed. Miss Anderson! I do not know who or what you mean. I am
quite in the dark. But I _will_ quiz you with a great deal of pleasure,
if you will tell me what about. ”

“Ah! you carry it off very well, but I cannot be quite so far imposed
on. You must have had Miss Anderson in your eye, in describing an
altered young lady. You paint too accurately for mistake. It was exactly
so. The Andersons of Baker Street. We were speaking of them the other
day, you know. Edmund, you have heard me mention Charles Anderson.
The circumstance was precisely as this lady has represented it. When
Anderson first introduced me to his family, about two years ago, his
sister was not _out_, and I could not get her to speak to me. I sat
there an hour one morning waiting for Anderson, with only her and a
little girl or two in the room, the governess being sick or run away,
and the mother in and out every moment with letters of business, and I
could hardly get a word or a look from the young lady--nothing like a
civil answer--she screwed up her mouth, and turned from me with such an
air! I did not see her again for a twelvemonth. She was then _out_. I
met her at Mrs. Holford’s, and did not recollect her. She came up to me,
claimed me as an acquaintance, stared me out of countenance; and talked
and laughed till I did not know which way to look. I felt that I must
be the jest of the room at the time, and Miss Crawford, it is plain, has
heard the story. ”

“And a very pretty story it is, and with more truth in it, I dare say,
than does credit to Miss Anderson. It is too common a fault. Mothers
certainly have not yet got quite the right way of managing their
daughters. I do not know where the error lies. I do not pretend to set
people right, but I do see that they are often wrong. ”

“Those who are showing the world what female manners _should_ be,” said
Mr. Bertram gallantly, “are doing a great deal to set them right. ”

“The error is plain enough,” said the less courteous Edmund; “such girls
are ill brought up. They are given wrong notions from the beginning.
They are always acting upon motives of vanity, and there is no more
real modesty in their behaviour _before_ they appear in public than
afterwards. ”

“I do not know,” replied Miss Crawford hesitatingly. “Yes, I cannot
agree with you there. It is certainly the modestest part of the
business. It is much worse to have girls not out give themselves the
same airs and take the same liberties as if they were, which I have seen
done. That is worse than anything--quite disgusting! ”

“Yes, _that_ is very inconvenient indeed,” said Mr. Bertram. “It leads
one astray; one does not know what to do. The close bonnet and demure
air you describe so well (and nothing was ever juster), tell one what
is expected; but I got into a dreadful scrape last year from the want of
them. I went down to Ramsgate for a week with a friend last September,
just after my return from the West Indies. My friend Sneyd--you have
heard me speak of Sneyd, Edmund--his father, and mother, and sisters,
were there, all new to me. When we reached Albion Place they were out;
we went after them, and found them on the pier: Mrs. and the two Miss
Sneyds, with others of their acquaintance. I made my bow in form; and
as Mrs. Sneyd was surrounded by men, attached myself to one of her
daughters, walked by her side all the way home, and made myself as
agreeable as I could; the young lady perfectly easy in her manners, and
as ready to talk as to listen. I had not a suspicion that I could be
doing anything wrong. They looked just the same: both well-dressed, with
veils and parasols like other girls; but I afterwards found that I had
been giving all my attention to the youngest, who was not _out_, and
had most excessively offended the eldest. Miss Augusta ought not to have
been noticed for the next six months; and Miss Sneyd, I believe, has
never forgiven me. ”

“That was bad indeed. Poor Miss Sneyd. Though I have no younger
sister, I feel for her. To be neglected before one’s time must be very
vexatious; but it was entirely the mother’s fault. Miss Augusta should
have been with her governess. Such half-and-half doings never prosper.
But now I must be satisfied about Miss Price. Does she go to balls? Does
she dine out every where, as well as at my sister’s? ”

“No,” replied Edmund; “I do not think she has ever been to a ball. My
mother seldom goes into company herself, and dines nowhere but with Mrs.
Grant, and Fanny stays at home with _her_. ”

“Oh! then the point is clear. Miss Price is not out. ”



CHAPTER VI

Mr. Bertram set off for--------, and Miss Crawford was prepared to
find a great chasm in their society, and to miss him decidedly in the
meetings which were now becoming almost daily between the families;
and on their all dining together at the Park soon after his going, she
retook her chosen place near the bottom of the table, fully expecting to
feel a most melancholy difference in the change of masters. It would
be a very flat business, she was sure. In comparison with his brother,
Edmund would have nothing to say. The soup would be sent round in a most
spiritless manner, wine drank without any smiles or agreeable trifling,
and the venison cut up without supplying one pleasant anecdote of any
former haunch, or a single entertaining story, about “my friend such a
one. ” She must try to find amusement in what was passing at the upper
end of the table, and in observing Mr. Rushworth, who was now making his
appearance at Mansfield for the first time since the Crawfords’ arrival.
He had been visiting a friend in the neighbouring county, and that
friend having recently had his grounds laid out by an improver, Mr.
Rushworth was returned with his head full of the subject, and very eager
to be improving his own place in the same way; and though not saying
much to the purpose, could talk of nothing else. The subject had
been already handled in the drawing-room; it was revived in the
dining-parlour. Miss Bertram’s attention and opinion was evidently his
chief aim; and though her deportment showed rather conscious superiority
than any solicitude to oblige him, the mention of Sotherton Court,
and the ideas attached to it, gave her a feeling of complacency, which
prevented her from being very ungracious.

“I wish you could see Compton,” said he; “it is the most complete thing!
I never saw a place so altered in my life. I told Smith I did not know
where I was. The approach _now_, is one of the finest things in the
country: you see the house in the most surprising manner. I declare,
when I got back to Sotherton yesterday, it looked like a prison--quite a
dismal old prison. ”

“Oh, for shame! ” cried Mrs. Norris. “A prison indeed? Sotherton Court is
the noblest old place in the world. ”

“It wants improvement, ma’am, beyond anything. I never saw a place that
wanted so much improvement in my life; and it is so forlorn that I do
not know what can be done with it. ”

“No wonder that Mr. Rushworth should think so at present,” said Mrs.
Grant to Mrs. Norris, with a smile; “but depend upon it, Sotherton will
have _every_ improvement in time which his heart can desire. ”

“I must try to do something with it,” said Mr. Rushworth, “but I do not
know what. I hope I shall have some good friend to help me. ”

“Your best friend upon such an occasion,” said Miss Bertram calmly,
“would be Mr. Repton, I imagine. ”

“That is what I was thinking of. As he has done so well by Smith, I
think I had better have him at once. His terms are five guineas a day. ”

“Well, and if they were _ten_,” cried Mrs. Norris, “I am sure _you_ need
not regard it. The expense need not be any impediment. If I were you,
I should not think of the expense. I would have everything done in the
best style, and made as nice as possible. Such a place as Sotherton
Court deserves everything that taste and money can do. You have space to
work upon there, and grounds that will well reward you. For my own part,
if I had anything within the fiftieth part of the size of Sotherton, I
should be always planting and improving, for naturally I am excessively
fond of it. It would be too ridiculous for me to attempt anything where
I am now, with my little half acre. It would be quite a burlesque. But
if I had more room, I should take a prodigious delight in improving and
planting. We did a vast deal in that way at the Parsonage: we made it
quite a different place from what it was when we first had it. You young
ones do not remember much about it, perhaps; but if dear Sir Thomas were
here, he could tell you what improvements we made: and a great deal more
would have been done, but for poor Mr. Norris’s sad state of health.
He could hardly ever get out, poor man, to enjoy anything, and _that_
disheartened me from doing several things that Sir Thomas and I used to
talk of. If it had not been for _that_, we should have carried on the
garden wall, and made the plantation to shut out the churchyard, just
as Dr. Grant has done. We were always doing something as it was. It was
only the spring twelvemonth before Mr. Norris’s death that we put in the
apricot against the stable wall, which is now grown such a noble tree,
and getting to such perfection, sir,” addressing herself then to Dr.
Grant.

“The tree thrives well, beyond a doubt, madam,” replied Dr. Grant. “The
soil is good; and I never pass it without regretting that the fruit
should be so little worth the trouble of gathering. ”

“Sir, it is a Moor Park, we bought it as a Moor Park, and it cost
us--that is, it was a present from Sir Thomas, but I saw the bill--and I
know it cost seven shillings, and was charged as a Moor Park. ”

“You were imposed on, ma’am,” replied Dr. Grant: “these potatoes have as
much the flavour of a Moor Park apricot as the fruit from that tree. It
is an insipid fruit at the best; but a good apricot is eatable, which
none from my garden are. ”

“The truth is, ma’am,” said Mrs. Grant, pretending to whisper across
the table to Mrs. Norris, “that Dr. Grant hardly knows what the natural
taste of our apricot is: he is scarcely ever indulged with one, for it
is so valuable a fruit; with a little assistance, and ours is such a
remarkably large, fair sort, that what with early tarts and preserves,
my cook contrives to get them all. ”

Mrs. Norris, who had begun to redden, was appeased; and, for a little
while, other subjects took place of the improvements of Sotherton. Dr.
Grant and Mrs. Norris were seldom good friends; their acquaintance had
begun in dilapidations, and their habits were totally dissimilar.

After a short interruption Mr. Rushworth began again. “Smith’s place
is the admiration of all the country; and it was a mere nothing before
Repton took it in hand.