"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. Miss Crawford was too much vexed by what had passed to be in a humour for anything but music. With that she soothed herself and amused her friend.
The assurance of Edmund's being so soon to take orders, coming upon her like a blow that had been suspended, and still hoped uncertain and at a distance, was felt with resentment and mortification. She was very angry with him. She had thought her influence more. She _had_ begun to think of him; she felt that she had, with great regard, with almost decided intentions; but she would now meet him with his own cool feelings. It was plain that he could have no serious views, no true attachment, by fixing himself in a situation which he must know she would never stoop to. She would learn to match him in his indifference. She would henceforth admit his attentions without any idea beyond immediate amusement. If _he_ could so command his affections, _hers_ should do her no harm.

"But why should Mrs. Grant ask Fanny?" said Lady Bertram. "Fanny never dines there. 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 ask her," cried Edmund, "Fanny will immediately say No; but I am sure, my dear mother, she would like to go."
"Why should Mrs. Grant think of asking her? She never did before."
"If you cannot do without me, ma'am-" said Fanny, in a self-denying tone.
"Suppose you take my father's opinion, ma'am."
"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; but I meant my father's opinion as to the propriety of the invitation's being accepted; and I think he will consider that it should be."
"I do not know. But he will be very much surprised that Mrs. Grant should ask Fanny at all."
Half an hour afterwards, on Sir Thomas's looking in for a minute, Lady Bertram called him back. "Sir Thomas, stop a moment-I have something to say."
Her tone of calm languor was always 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 more anxious perhaps than she ought to be-for what was it after all whether she went or stayed? but if her uncle were to be a great while considering with grave looks, and at last decide against her, she might not be able to appear properly submissive.
Her cause, meanwhile, went on well. Lady Bertram began, "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?"
"What is your difficulty?"
Edmund found himself obliged to speak. He told the whole; and she added, "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. "Mrs. Grant's showing civility to Lady Bertram's niece could never want explanation. The only surprise is, that this should be the first time of its being paid. Fanny was perfectly right in giving a conditional answer. 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."
"But can I do without her, Sir Thomas? She always makes tea, you know, when my sister is not here."
"Your sister, perhaps, may be prevailed on to stay with us, and I shall be at home."
"Very well, then, Fanny may go."
The good news soon followed her. Edmund knocked at her door.
"Well, Fanny, it is all happily settled. You are to go."
"Thank you, I am so glad," was Fanny's instinctive reply; though when she had shut the door, she could not help feeling, "Yet why should I be glad? for am I not certain of hearing something there to pain me?"
In spite of this, however, she was glad. Simple as the engagement might appear in other eyes, it had novelty and importance in hers, for she had scarcely ever dined out before; and though going only half a mile, and only to three people, still it was dining out, and all the little preparations were enjoyments in themselves. She had no assistance from those who ought to have directed her taste; for Lady Bertram never thought of being useful to anybody, and Mrs. Norris, when she came on the morrow, was in a very ill humour, intent only on lessening her niece's pleasure.
"Upon my word, Fanny, you are in high luck! You ought to be very much obliged to Mrs. Grant for thinking of you, and to your aunt for letting you go; for there is no occasion for your going into company in this way, or ever dining out at all. Do not fancy that the invitation is meant as any compliment to you; the compliment is intended to your uncle and aunt and me. Mrs. Grant thinks it a civility due to us, 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 could only say that she was very much obliged to her aunt Bertram for sparing her.
"Oh! 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. And I hope you will 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 am surprised at Mrs. Grant! And round their enormous great wide table, too, which fills up the room so dreadfully! Had the doctor been content to take my dining-table when I came away, instead of having that absurd new one of his own, how infinitely better it would have been! 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.
"I must give you a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company; do not be putting yourself forward, and talking as if you were one of your cousins-as if you were dear Mrs. Rushworth or Julia. That will never do. Remember, wherever you are, you must be the lowest and last. And you are to stay just as long as Edmund chooses. Leave him to settle that."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And if it should rain, which I think exceedingly likely, you must manage as well as you can, and not be expecting the carriage to be sent for you."
Her niece thought it perfectly reasonable. She rated her own claims to comfort as low as Mrs. Norris could; and when Sir Thomas, just opening the door, said, "Fanny, at what time would you have the carriage come round?" she felt astonished.
"My dear Sir Thomas!" cried Mrs. Norris, red with anger, "Fanny can walk."
"Walk!" repeated Sir Thomas, in a tone of most unanswerable dignity. "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 of a criminal towards Mrs. Norris; and as she followed her uncle out of the room, she heard these words spoken in angry agitation-
"Quite unnecessary! a great deal too kind! But Edmund goes; it is upon Edmund's account."
Fanny, however, felt that the carriage was for herself: and her uncle's consideration cost her some tears of gratitude when she was alone.
The coachman drove round promptly; and Sir Thomas saw Fanny and Edmund off in good time.
"Now I must look at you, Fanny," said Edmund, with the kind smile of a 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 kindly gave me on my cousin's marriage. I thought I ought to wear it, as I might not have another opportunity all winter. I hope you do not think me too fine."
"A woman can never be too fine while she is all in white. 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.
"Heyday!" said Edmund, "here's a carriage! who have they got to meet us? 'Tis Crawford's barouche! There are his men. This is quite a surprise, Fanny. I shall be very glad to see him."
There was no occasion for Fanny to say how differently she felt; but the idea of having such another to observe her caused a great increase of the trepidation with which she performed the awful ceremony of walking into the drawing-room.
In the drawing-room Mr. Crawford certainly was; and the smiles of the three others standing round him, showed 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.
His presence at least meant that she could sit silent and unattended to. Though she must submit to being the principal lady in company, she found, while they were at table, a happy flow of conversation in which she was not required to take any part. There was so much to be said about Bath, and hunting, and politics, and everything else, as to leave her the fairest prospect of having only to listen in quiet, and of passing a very agreeable day.
She could not, however, show any eager interest in the gentleman's scheme for extending his stay at Mansfield, and sending for his hunters from Norfolk, which, urged by all the others, was in possession of his mind, and in which he seemed to want encouragement even from Fanny. Her answers to him were as short and indifferent as civility allowed. She would much rather not have him speak to her.
Her two absent cousins, especially Maria, were much in her thoughts; but no embarrassing remembrance affected his spirits. He was apparently as willing to stay and be happy without the Miss Bertrams, as if he had never known Mansfield in any other state. He spoke of them only in a general way, till they were all re-assembled in the drawing-room, when he began talking of them to Miss Crawford. 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 a fortnight. Julia is with them."
"And Mr. Yates, I presume, is not far off."
"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 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. 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." Then changing again to gentle gallantry, and addressing Fanny, he said, "You were Mr. Rushworth's best friend. Your kindness and patience to him can never be forgotten. He might not have sense enough himself to value your kindness, but 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, after a few minutes' musing. "I shall always look back on our theatricals with exquisite pleasure. There was such an interest, such an animation. We were all alive. There was employment, hope, bustle, for every hour of the day. I never was happier."
With silent indignation Fanny repeated to herself, "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, not at all aware of her feelings. "Another week would have been enough for us. If Mansfield Park had had the government of the winds just for a week or two, there would have been a difference. Not that we would have endangered his safety by any tremendous weather-but I think, Miss Price, we would have indulged ourselves with a week's calm in the Atlantic."
Fanny, averting her face, said, with a firmer tone than usual, "I would not have delayed his return for a day, sir. 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 before, and never so angrily to any one; and she trembled at her own daring. He was surprised; but after a few moments' silent consideration of her, replied in a calmer, graver tone, "I believe you are right. It was more pleasant than prudent. We were getting too noisy." 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. Dr. Grant is giving Bertram instructions about the living he is to step into soon. He takes orders in a few weeks. He will have a very pretty income, earned without much trouble: seven hundred a year. That is a fine thing for a younger brother; and as of course he will still live at home, it will be all for small luxuries; 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 small luxuries were to be limited to seven hundred a year."
"Perhaps; but Bertram is certainly well off for a cadet of a baronet's family. By the time he is 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 for it, which she could not think lightly of; but she let it pass; and tried to look unconcerned when the two gentlemen joined them.
"Bertram," said Henry Crawford, "I shall make a point of coming to Mansfield to hear you preach your first sermon. When is it to be? Miss Price, will not you join me? Will not you fix your eyes steadily on him the whole time-as I shall do-only looking down to note any sentence pre-eminently beautiful? We will provide ourselves with tablets and a pencil. When will it be?"
"I shall keep clear of you, Crawford, as long as I can," said Edmund; "for you would 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 united, and the chief talkers attracting each other, she remained in tranquillity; and as a whist-table was formed after tea for the amusement of Dr. Grant, and Miss Crawford took her harp, she had nothing to do but to listen. Her tranquillity remained undisturbed the rest of the evening, except when Mr. Crawford now and then addressed to her a question, which she could not avoid answering.
Miss Crawford was too much vexed to be in a humour for anything but music. Edmund's being so soon to take orders had come upon her like a blow; she had hoped it still uncertain, and felt resentment and mortification. She was very angry with him. She had thought her influence more. She had begun to think of him with great regard, with almost decided intentions; but she would now meet him with his own cool feelings. It was plain that he could have no true attachment, by fixing himself in a situation which he must know she would never stoop to. She would learn to match him in his indifference, and would henceforth admit his attentions without any idea beyond her immediate amusement.


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 _tte--tte_ 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."

Lady Bertram was soon astonished to find how well they did without Sir Thomas, how well Edmund could supply his place in carving, settling with the servants, and saving her from all possible exertion.
News of the travellers' safe arrival at Antigua was received; though not before Mrs. Norris had been indulging in very dreadful fears; and as she depended on being the first person to learn of any catastrophe, she had already arranged the manner of breaking it to all the others, when Sir Thomas's assurances of their being alive and well made it necessary to lay by preparatory speeches for a while.
The winter passed without their being called for; the accounts continued perfectly good; and Mrs. Norris, in promoting gaieties for her nieces, displaying their accomplishments, and looking about for their future husbands, had very little time to fear for the absent.
The Miss Bertrams were now fully established among the neighbourhood's belles; and as they joined to beauty and brilliant acquirements a manner naturally easy and civil, they gained favour as well as 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 secured and brought round by their aunt strengthened them in believing they had no faults.
Lady Bertram was too indolent to go into public with her daughters. The charge was made over to her sister, who thoroughly relished the means it afforded her of mixing in society without having horses to hire.
Fanny had no share in the season's festivities; but she enjoyed being useful as her aunt's companion; and, as Miss Lee had left Mansfield, she naturally became everything to Lady Bertram during the night of a party. She talked to her, listened to her, read to her; and the tranquillity of such evenings was unspeakably welcome to her mind. As to her cousins' gaieties, she loved to hear an account of them, especially of the balls, and whom Edmund had danced with; but never imagined she should ever be admitted to the same. 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 spring deprived her of her friend, the old grey pony; and she was in danger of feeling the loss in her health as well as in her affections; for despite the acknowledged importance of her riding, no measures were taken for mounting her again, "because," as her aunts observed, "she might ride her cousins' horses at any time when they did not want them." As the Miss Bertrams wanted their horses every fine day, and had no idea of sacrificing any real pleasure, that time never came. They took their cheerful rides in the fine mornings of April and May; and Fanny either sat at home all day with one aunt, or walked beyond her strength at the instigation of the other: Lady Bertram holding exercise to be unnecessary; and Mrs. Norris thinking everybody ought to walk all day, as she did.
Edmund was absent; but when he returned and saw how Fanny was affected, "Fanny must have a horse" was his resolute declaration. Mrs. Norris thought some steady old thing might be found at the Park that would do. She considered it as unnecessary, and even improper, that Fanny should have a lady's horse of her own, in the style of her cousins. She was sure Sir Thomas had never intended it: and to be adding to the great expenses of his stable, at a time when his income was unsettled, seemed to her unjustifiable.
"Fanny must have a horse," was Edmund's only reply. Mrs. Norris could not see it in the same light. Lady Bertram agreed with her son; she only wanted him to wait till Sir Thomas's return, and then Sir Thomas might settle it himself. He would be at home in September, and where would be the harm of waiting till then?
Edmund determined on a method of proceeding which would not cost too much. 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 exchanged for one that his cousin might ride. The whole business was soon completed. The new mare proved a treasure; and Fanny was put in possession of her. She had not supposed that anything could suit her like the old grey pony; but her delight in Edmund's mare was far beyond her former pleasure; and her appreciation of his kindness was beyond words. She regarded her cousin as an example of everything good and great, entitled to more gratitude than she could ever pay him. Her feelings towards him were all that was respectful, grateful, confiding, and tender.
As the horse continued to be Edmund's property, Mrs. Norris could tolerate its being for Fanny's use; and had Lady Bertram ever thought about the matter, she might have excused Edmund for not waiting till Sir Thomas's return, for when September came Sir Thomas was still abroad.
Unfavourable circumstances had suddenly arisen; and the great uncertainty of his affairs determined him on sending home his son, and staying on by himself. Tom arrived safely, bringing an excellent account of his father's health; but Mrs. Norris could not help feeling dreadful presentiments; and as the long autumn evenings 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 effect; her mind became pleasantly occupied in superintending the fortunes of her eldest niece. "If poor Sir Thomas were never to return, it would be consoling to see dear Maria well married," she often thought; always when they were in the company of men of fortune, particularly one young man who had recently succeeded to one of the largest estates in the country.
Mr. Rushworth was 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 address, the young lady was well pleased with her conquest. Being now in her twenty-first year, Maria Bertram was beginning to think that she ought to marry; and as marriage with Mr. Rushworth would give her the enjoyment of a larger income than her father's, as well as a house in town, it became her evident duty to marry Mr. Rushworth if she could.
Mrs. Norris was zealous in promoting the match by every contrivance, and by seeking an intimacy with the gentleman's mother. It was not long before a good understanding took place between this lady and herself. Mrs. Rushworth desired that her son should marry, and declared that of all the young ladies she had seen, Miss Bertram seemed the best adapted to make him happy. Mrs. Norris accepted the compliment. Maria was indeed the pride and delight of them all-perfectly faultless-an angel; and, of course, surrounded by admirers: yet Mr. Rushworth appeared precisely the young man to attach her.
After dancing with each other at a proper number of balls, the young people entered into an engagement, much to the satisfaction of their families, and of the general lookers-on of the neighbourhood.
It was some months before Sir Thomas's consent could be received; but as no one doubted his pleasure, the two families met without restraint, and with 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 who could see a fault in the business; he could not find Mr. Rushworth a desirable companion. He allowed 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, when he was 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 advantageous. His hearty concurrence was conveyed as soon as possible. He only asked that the marriage should not take place before his return. He wrote in April, and had strong hopes of settling everything to his satisfaction, and leaving Antigua before the end of the summer.
Such was the state of affairs in July; and Fanny had just reached her eighteenth year, when 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 Mrs Grant's own marriage had been soon followed by the death of their common parent, 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. The Admiral delighted in the boy, Mrs. Crawford doted on the girl; and it was the lady's death which now obliged her protge to find another home. Admiral Crawford was a man of vicious conduct, who chose to bring his mistress under his own roof; and Mrs. Grant's sister proposed to come to her, a measure welcome on both sides; for Mrs. Grant was in want of some variety at home. The arrival, therefore, of a beloved sister was highly agreeable; and her chief anxiety was lest Mansfield should not satisfy a young woman who was used to London.
Miss Crawford was not entirely free from similar apprehensions; 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 resolved to try her other relations. Henry Crawford had a great dislike of settling in one place; but he kindly escorted his sister into Northamptonshire, and as readily engaged to fetch her away again, at half an hour's notice, whenever she might be weary of it.
The meeting was very satisfactory. Miss Crawford found a sister with refinement, a sister's husband who looked the gentleman, and a house commodious and well fitted up; and Mrs. Grant received 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 being proud of her sister's. She had already looked 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 elegance and accomplishments; and since she was 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 consequence so near them, and not at all displeased at her sister's choice. Matrimony was her object, provided she could marry well: and having seen Mr. Bertram in town, she knew that no objection could be made to his person. While she treated it as a joke, she did not forget to think of it seriously. The scheme was 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 here; and therefore, Henry, you shall marry the youngest Miss Bertram, a nice, handsome, good-humoured 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, I shall be delighted. I have three friends who have been all dying for him in their turn; and the pains which they, their mothers, 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."
"No, I am sure you will be kinder than Mary. You will allow for the doubts of youth. I am cautious, and unwilling to risk my happiness in a hurry. Nobody can think more highly of matrimony than myself. I consider the blessing of a wife as most justly described by 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 detestable; the Admiral's lessons have quite spoiled him."
"I pay very little regard," said Mrs. Grant, "to what any young person says about marriage. If they profess a disinclination for it, I know 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 ashamed of it. I would have everybody marry if they can do it to advantage."