But let no one suppose that she also contemplated a brilliant marriage as the direct end of her witching the world with her grace on horseback, or with any other accomplishment.

But let no one suppose that she also contemplated a brilliant marriage as the result of her bewitching grace on horseback.


That she was to be married some time or other she would have felt obliged to admit; and that her marriage would not be of a middling kind, such as most girls were contented with, she felt quietly, unargumentatively sure.

She assumed that she was to be married some time or other, and felt sure that her marriage would not be a mediocre one, such as most girls were contented with.


But her thoughts never dwelt on marriage as the fulfillment of her ambition; the dramas in which she imagined herself a heroine were not wrought up to that close.

But her thoughts never dwelt on marriage; the dramas in which she imagined herself a heroine did not end that way.


To be very much sued or hopelessly sighed for as a bride was indeed an indispensable and agreeable guarantee of womanly power; but to become a wife and wear all the domestic fetters of that condition, was on the whole a vexatious necessity.

To be hopelessly sighed for as a bride was indeed an agreeable sign of womanly power; but to become a wife and wear domestic fetters was an unpleasant necessity.


Her observation of matrimony had inclined her to think it rather a dreary state in which a woman could not do what she liked, had more children than were desirable, was consequently dull, and became irrevocably immersed in humdrum.

She thought of marriage as a dreary state in which a woman could not do what she liked, had more children than she wished, and was dull and humdrum.


Of course marriage was social promotion; she could not look forward to a single life; but promotions have sometimes to be taken with bitter herbs--a peerage will not quite do instead of leadership to the man who meant to lead; and this delicate-limbed sylph of twenty meant to lead.

Of course marriage was social promotion; she could not look forward to a single life; but Gwendolen meant to lead.


For such passions dwell in feminine breasts also.

For such passions dwell in feminine breasts as well as men's.


In Gwendolen's, however, they dwelt among strictly feminine furniture, and had no disturbing reference to the advancement of learning or the balance of the constitution; her knowledge being such as with no sort of standing-room or length of lever could have been expected to move the world.

In Gwendolen's, however, they dwelt among strictly feminine furniture, and had nothing to do with learning or politics.


She meant to do what was pleasant to herself in a striking manner; or rather, whatever she could do so as to strike others with admiration and get in that reflected way a more ardent sense of living, seemed pleasant to her fancy.

She meant to do what was pleasant to herself in a striking manner; or rather, to strike others with admiration and get in that reflected way a more ardent sense of living.


"Gwendolen will not rest without having the world at her feet," said Miss Merry, the meek governess: hyperbolical words which have long come to carry the most moderate meanings; for who has not heard of private persons having the world at their feet in the shape of some half-dozen items of flattering regard generally known in a genteel suburb?

"Gwendolen will not rest without having the world at her feet," said Miss Merry, the governess: words often used in exaggeration.


And words could hardly be too wide or vague to indicate the prospect that made a hazy largeness about poor Gwendolen on the heights of her young self-exultation.

And words could hardly be too vague to indicate the hazy prospects facing poor Gwendolen on the heights of her young self-exultation.


Other people allowed themselves to be made slaves of, and to have their lives blown hither and thither like empty ships in which no will was present.

Other people allowed themselves to be made slaves of, and to have their lives blown hither and thither like empty ships.


It was not to be so with her; she would no longer be sacrificed to creatures worth less than herself, but would make the very best of the chances that life offered her, and conquer circumstances by her exceptional cleverness.

It was not to be so with her; she would not be sacrificed to creatures worth less than herself, but would make the very best of the chances that life offered her, and conquer circumstances by her exceptional cleverness.


Certainly, to be settled at Offendene, with the notice of Lady Brackenshaw, the archery club, and invitations to dine with the Arrowpoints, as the highest lights in her scenery, was not a position that seemed to offer remarkable chances; but Gwendolen's confidence lay chiefly in herself.

Certainly, to be settled at Offendene, with the archery club and dinner invitations at the Arrowpoints' as the highest lights in her scenery, was not a position that seemed to offer remarkable chances; but Gwendolen had confidence in herself.


She felt well equipped for the mastery of life.


With regard to much in her lot hitherto, she held herself rather hardly dealt with, but as to her "education," she would have admitted that it had left her under no disadvantages.

Although she had suffered disadvantages, she felt that these did not include her education.


In the school-room her quick mind had taken readily that strong starch of unexplained rules and disconnected facts which saves ignorance from any painful sense of limpness; and what remained of all things knowable, she was conscious of being sufficiently acquainted with through novels, plays and poems.

In the school-room she had quickly picked up enough rules and facts to save her from feeling ignorant; and as for other knowledge, she thought herself sufficiently acquainted with it through novels, plays and poems.


About her French and music, the two justifying accomplishments of a young lady, she felt no ground for uneasiness; and when to all these qualifications, negative and positive, we add the spontaneous sense of capability some happy persons are born with, so that any subject they turn their attention to impresses them with their own power of forming a correct judgment on it, who can wonder if Gwendolen felt ready to manage her own destiny?

About her French and music, she felt no ground for uneasiness; and when to all these qualifications we add her sense of capability, which persuaded her that she could form a correct judgment on any subject, who can wonder if Gwendolen felt ready to manage her own destiny?


There were many subjects in the world--perhaps the majority--in which she felt no interest, because they were stupid; for subjects are apt to appear stupid to the young as light seems dull to the old; but she would not have felt at all helpless in relation to them if they had turned up in conversation.

There were many subjects in the world - perhaps most - in which she felt no interest, because they were stupid; for subjects are apt to appear stupid to the young as light seems dim to the old; but she would not have felt at all helpless if they had turned up in conversation.


It must be remembered that no one had disputed her power or her general superiority.

It must be remembered that no one had disputed her superiority.


As on the arrival at Offendene, so always, the first thought of those about her had been, what will Gwendolen think?--if the footman trod heavily in creaking boots, or if the laundress's work was unsatisfactory, the maid said, "This will never do for Miss Harleth"; if the wood smoked in the bedroom fireplace, Mrs. Davilow, whose own weak eyes suffered much from this inconvenience, spoke apologetically of it to Gwendolen.

The first thought of those at Offendene was always, what will Gwendolen think? If the wood smoked in the bedroom fireplace, Mrs. Davilow, whose own weak eyes suffered much from it, apologised to her daughter.


If, when they were under the stress of traveling, she did not appear at the breakfast table till every one else had finished, the only question was, how Gwendolen's coffee and toast should still be of the hottest and crispest; and when she appeared with her freshly-brushed light-brown hair streaming backward and awaiting her mamma's hand to coil it up, her large brown eyes glancing bright as a wave-washed onyx from under their long lashes, it was always she herself who had to be tolerant--to beg that Alice who sat waiting on her would not stick up her shoulders in that frightful manner, and that Isabel, instead of pushing up to her and asking questions, would go away to Miss Merry.

If Gwendolen did not appear at the breakfast table till everyone else had finished, the only question was how her coffee and toast should be kept hot and crisp; and when she appeared with her freshly-brushed hair streaming backward and awaiting her mamma's hand to coil it up, it was always she herself who had to be tolerant - to beg that Alice would not stick up her shoulders in that frightful manner, and that Isabel, instead of asking questions, would go away.


Always she was the princess in exile, who in time of famine was to have her breakfast-roll made of the finest-bolted flour from the seven thin ears of wheat, and in a general decampment was to have her silver fork kept out of the baggage.

Always she was the princess in exile, who was to have the best of everything.


The answer may seem to lie quite on the surface:--in her beauty, a certain unusualness about her, a decision of will which made itself felt in her graceful movements and clear unhesitating tones, so that if she came into the room on a rainy day when everybody else was flaccid and the use of things in general was not apparent to them, there seemed to be a sudden, sufficient reason for keeping up the forms of life; and even the waiters at hotels showed the more alacrity in doing away with crumbs and creases and dregs with struggling flies in them.

The answer may seem to lie in her beauty, in the decision of will which made itself felt in her graceful movements and clear unhesitating tones.


This potent charm, added to the fact that she was the eldest daughter, toward whom her mamma had always been in an apologetic state of mind for the evils brought on her by a step-father, may seem so full a reason for Gwendolen's domestic empire, that to look for any other would be to ask the reason of daylight when the sun is shining.

This potent charm, added to the fact that she was the eldest daughter, toward whom her mamma felt apologetic for the evils brought on her by a step-father, may seem sufficient reason for Gwendolen's domestic empire.


But beware of arriving at conclusions without comparison.


I remember having seen the same assiduous, apologetic attention awarded to persons who were not at all beautiful or unusual, whose firmness showed itself in no very graceful or euphonious way, and who were not eldest daughters with a tender, timid mother, compunctious at having subjected them to inconveniences.

I have seen the same attention given to persons who were not at all beautiful, whose firmness showed itself without grace, and who were not eldest daughters with a tender, timid mother.


Some of them were a very common sort of men.

Some of them were very common sort of men.


And the only point of resemblance among them all was a strong determination to have what was pleasant, with a total fearlessness in making themselves disagreeable or dangerous when they did not get it.

The only point of resemblance among them all was a strong determination to have what was pleasant, with a total fearlessness in making themselves disagreeable or dangerous when they did not get it.


Who is so much cajoled and served with trembling by the weak females of a household as the unscrupulous male--capable, if he has not free way at home, of going and doing worse elsewhere?


Hence I am forced to doubt whether even without her potent charm and peculiar filial position Gwendolen might not still have played the queen in exile, if only she had kept her inborn energy of egoistic desire, and her power of inspiring fear as to what she might say or do.

Even without her powerful charm, Gwendolen might still have played the queen in exile, with her energy of egoistic desire, and her power of inspiring fear as to what she might say or do.


However, she had the charm, and those who feared her were also fond of her; the fear and the fondness being perhaps both heightened by what may be called the iridescence of her character--the play of various, nay, contrary tendencies.

However, she had the charm, and those who feared her were also fond of her; the fear and the fondness being both heightened by what may be called the iridescence of her character, and its contrary nature.


For Macbeth's rhetoric about the impossibility of being many opposite things in the same moment, referred to the clumsy necessities of action and not to the subtler possibilities of feeling.


We cannot speak a loyal word and be meanly silent; we cannot kill and not kill in the same moment; but a moment is wide enough for the loyal and mean desire, for the outlash of a murderous thought and the sharp backward stroke of repentance.


He brings white asses laden with the freight Of Tyrian vessels, purple, gold and balm, To bribe my will: I'll bid them chase him forth, Nor let him breathe the taint of his surmise On my secure resolve.


Ay, 'tis secure: And therefore let him come to spread his freight.


For firmness hath its appetite and craves The stronger lure, more strongly to resist; Would know the touch of gold to fling it off; Scent wine to feel its lip the soberer; Behold soft byssus, ivory, and plumes To say, "They're fair, but I will none of them," And flout Enticement in the very face.


Mr. Gascoigne one day came to Offendene with what he felt to be the satisfactory news that Mrs. Mompert had fixed Tuesday in the following week for her interview with Gwendolen at Wanchester.

Mr. Gascoigne brought the news that Mrs. Mompert had fixed the following Tuesday for her interview with Gwendolen.


He said nothing of his having incidentally heard that Mr. Grandcourt had returned to Diplow; knowing no more than she did that Leubronn had been the goal of her admirer's journeying, and feeling that it would be unkind uselessly to revive the memory of a brilliant prospect under the present reverses.

He said nothing of his having heard that Mr. Grandcourt had returned to Diplow, feeling that it would be unkind under the present reverses.


In his secret soul he thought of his niece's unintelligible caprice with regret, but he vindicated her to himself by considering that Grandcourt had been the first to behave oddly, in suddenly walking away when there had the best opportunity for crowning his marked attentions.

He thought of his niece's caprice with regret, but considered that Grandcourt had been the first to behave oddly, in suddenly walking away.


The rector's practical judgment told him that his chief duty to his niece now was to encourage her resolutely to face the change in her lot, since there was no manifest promise of any event that would avert it.

The rector felt that he should now encourage his niece to accept her lot.


"You will find an interest in varied experience, my dear, and I have no doubt you will be a more valuable woman for having sustained such a part as you are called to."


"I cannot pretend to believe that I shall like it," said Gwendolen, for the first time showing her uncle some petulance.


"But I am quite aware that I am obliged to bear it."


She remembered having submitted to his admonition on a different occasion when she was expected to like a very different prospect.


"And your good sense will teach you to behave suitably under it," said Mr. Gascoigne, with a shade more gravity.


"I feel sure that Mrs. Mompert will be pleased with you.

"I feel sure that Mrs. Mompert will be pleased with you," he said.


You will know how to conduct yourself to a woman who holds in all senses the relation of a superior to you.

"You will know how to conduct yourself with a woman who holds in all senses the relation of a superior to you.


This trouble has come on you young, but that makes it in some respects easier, and there is a benefit in all chastisement if we adjust our minds to it."

This trouble has come on you young, but that makes it in some respects easier, and we will benefit from adjusting our minds to it."


This was precisely what Gwendolen was unable to do; and after her uncle was gone, the bitter tears, which had rarely come during the late trouble, rose and fell slowly as she sat alone.

This was precisely what Gwendolen was unable to do; and after her uncle was gone, the bitter tears fell slowly as she sat alone.


Her heart denied that the trouble was easier because she was young.


When was she to have any happiness, if it did not come while she was young?

When was she to have any happiness, if not while she was young?


Not that her visions of possible happiness for herself were as unmixed with necessary evil as they used to be--not that she could still imagine herself plucking the fruits of life without suspicion of their core.


But this general disenchantment with the world--nay, with herself, since it appeared that she was not made for easy pre-eminence--only intensified her sense of forlornness; it was a visibly sterile distance enclosing the dreary path at her feet, in which she had no courage to tread.

She saw a sterile, dreary path at her feet, which she had no courage to tread.


She was in that first crisis of passionate youthful rebellion against what is not fitly called pain, but rather the absence of joy--that first rage of disappointment in life's morning, which we whom the years have subdued are apt to remember but dimly as part of our own experience, and so to be intolerant of its self-enclosed unreasonableness and impiety.

She was in that first rage of disappointment in life's morning, which older people are apt to remember dimly, intolerant of its self-enclosed unreasonableness.


What passion seems more absurd, when we have got outside it and looked at calamity as a collective risk, than this amazed anguish that I and not Thou, He or She, should be just the smitten one?

What passion seems more absurd than this amazed anguish that I, and no other, should be the smitten one?


Yet perhaps some who have afterward made themselves a willing fence before the breast of another, and have carried their own heart-wound in heroic silence--some who have made their deeds great, nevertheless began with this angry amazement at their own smart, and on the mere denial of their fantastic desires raged as if under the sting of wasps which reduced the universe for them to an unjust infliction of pain.


This was nearly poor Gwendolen's condition.


What though such a reverse as hers had often happened to other girls?


The one point she had been all her life learning to care for was that it had happened to _her_: it was what _she_ felt under Klesmer's demonstration that she was not remarkable enough to command fortune by force of will and merit; it was what _she_ would feel under the rigors of Mrs. Mompert's constant expectation, under the dull demand that she should be cheerful with three Miss Momperts, under the necessity of showing herself entirely submissive, and keeping her thoughts to herself.


To be a queen disthroned is not so hard as some other down-stepping: imagine one who had been made to believe in his own divinity finding all homage withdrawn, and himself unable to perform a miracle that would recall the homage and restore his own confidence.


Something akin to this illusion and this helplessness had befallen the poor spoiled child, with the lovely lips and eyes and the majestic figure--which seemed now to have no magic in them.

Gwendolen, poor, spoiled child, had lost all her illusion of her own high destiny; the lovely eyes and the majestic figure seemed now to have no magic in them.


She rose from the low ottoman where she had been sitting purposeless, and walked up and down the drawing-room, resting her elbow on one palm while she leaned down her cheek on the other, and a slow tear fell.

She walked up and down the drawing-room, while a slow tear fell.


She thought, "I have always, ever since I was little, felt that mamma was not a happy woman; and now I dare say I shall be more unhappy than she has been."

She thought, "I have always felt that mamma was not a happy woman; I dare say I shall be more unhappy than she has been.


Her mind dwelt for a few moments on the picture of herself losing her youth and ceasing to enjoy--not minding whether she did this or that: but such picturing inevitably brought back the image of her mother.


I can get a little money for her--that is all I shall care about now."

I can get a little money for her - that is all I shall care about now."


And then with an entirely new movement of her imagination, she saw her mother getting quite old and white, and herself no longer young but faded, and their two faces meeting still with memory and love, and she knowing what was in her mother's mind--"Poor Gwen too is sad and faded now"--and then, for the first time, she sobbed, not in anger, but with a sort of tender misery.

And then with an entirely new movement of her imagination, she saw her mother getting old and white, and herself no longer young, and their two faces meeting still with memory and love, and her mother thinking- "Poor Gwen too is sad and faded now."
Then, for the first time, she sobbed, not in anger, but with a sort of tender misery.


Her face was toward the door, and she saw her mother enter.


She barely saw that; for her eyes were large with tears, and she pressed her handkerchief against them hurriedly.


Before she took it away she felt her mother's arms round her, and this sensation, which seemed a prolongation of her inward vision, overcame her will to be reticent; she sobbed anew in spite of herself, as they pressed their cheeks together.

arms around her, she sobbed anew in spite of herself.


Mrs. Davilow had brought something in her hand which had already caused her an agitating anxiety, and she dared not speak until her darling had become calmer.

Mrs. Davilow had something in her hand which was causing her anxiety, and she dared not speak until her darling had become calmer.


But Gwendolen, with whom weeping had always been a painful manifestation to be resisted, if possible, again pressed her handkerchief against her eyes, and, with a deep breath, drew her head backward and looked at her mother, who was pale and tremulous.

But Gwendolen, with a deep breath, drew back and looked at her tremulous mother.


"It was nothing, mamma," said Gwendolen, thinking that her mother had been moved in this way simply by finding her in distress.


But Mrs. Davilow had withdrawn her arms, and Gwendolen perceived a letter in her hand.

before she perceived a letter in her mother's hand.


"What is that letter?--worse news still?"


"I don't know what you will think it, dear," said Mrs. Davilow, keeping the letter in her hand.


"You will hardly guess where it comes from."

"You will hardly guess where it comes from, dear," said Mrs Davilow.


"Don't ask me to guess anything," said Gwendolen, rather impatiently, as if a bruise were being pressed.

"Don't ask me to guess anything," said Gwendolen, rather impatiently.


Gwendolen gave the slightest perceptible toss of the head.


"It comes from Diplow," said Mrs. Davilow, giving her the letter.


She knew Grandcourt's indistinct handwriting, and her mother was not surprised to see her blush deeply; but watching her as she read, and wondering much what was the purport of the letter, she saw the color die out.

Gwendolen knew Grandcourt's indistinct handwriting, and blushed deeply; but as she read, the colour died from her face.


Gwendolen's lips even were pale as she turned the open note toward her mother.

She turned the open note toward her mother.


Mr. Grandcourt presents his compliments to Miss Harleth, and begs to know whether he may be permitted to call at Offendene tomorrow after two and to see her alone.

'Mr. Grandcourt presents his compliments to Miss Harleth, and begs to know whether he may call at Offendene tomorrow after two and see her alone.


Mr. Grandcourt has just returned from Leubronn, where he had hoped to find Miss Harleth.'


Mrs. Davilow read, and then looked at her daughter inquiringly, leaving the note in her hand.

Mrs. Davilow read, and then looked inquiringly at


Gwendolen let it fall to the floor, and turned away.


"It must be answered, darling," said Mrs. Davilow, timidly.


Gwendolen sank on the settee, clasped her hands, and looked straight before her, not at her mother.

Gwendolen clasped her hands, gazing straight before her.


She had the expression of one who had been startled by a sound and was listening to know what would come of it.


The sudden change of the situation was bewildering.


A few minutes before she was looking along an inescapable path of repulsive monotony, with hopeless inward rebellion against the imperious lot which left her no choice: and lo, now, a moment of choice was come.

A few minutes earlier she was looking along an inescapable path of monotony; and lo, now, a moment of choice was come.


Yet--was it triumph she felt most or terror?


Impossible for Gwendolen not to feel some triumph in a tribute to her power at a time when she was first tasting the bitterness of insignificance: again she seemed to be getting a sort of empire over her own life.

Impossible not to feel some triumph in her power


Quick, quick, like pictures in a book beaten open with a sense of hurry, came back vividly, yet in fragments, all that she had gone through in relation to Grandcourt--the allurements, the vacillations, the resolve to accede, the final repulsion; the incisive face of that dark-eyed lady with the lovely boy: her own pledge (was it a pledge not to marry him?)

Quick, quick, like pictures in a book, all that she had gone through in relation to Grandcourt - the allurements, the vacillations, the resolve to accept, the final repulsion; the face of that dark-eyed lady with the lovely boy: her own pledge (was it a pledge not to marry him?)


--the new disbelief in the worth of men and things for which that scene of disclosure had become a symbol.

- the new disbelief in the worth of men.


That unalterable experience made a vision at which in the first agitated moment, before tempering reflections could suggest themselves, her native terror shrank.


Where was the good of choice coming again?


And yet in the dark seed-growths of consciousness a new wish was forming itself--"I wish I had never known it!"

And yet in the dark seed-growths of consciousness a new wish was forming itself - "I wish I had never known it!"


Something, anything she wished for that would have saved her from the dread to let Grandcourt come.

She wished for anything to save her from the dread of letting Grandcourt come.


It was no long while--yet it seemed long to Mrs. Davilow, before she thought it well to say, gently,


"It will be necessary for you to write, dear.


Or shall I write an answer for you--which you will dictate?"


"No, mamma," said Gwendolen, drawing a deep breath.


"But please lay me out the pen and paper."


Was she to decline Grandcourt's visit--close the shutters--not even look out on what would happen?--though with the assurance that she should remain just where she was?


The young activity within her made a warm current through her terror and stirred toward something that would be an event--toward an opportunity in which she could look and speak with the former effectiveness.

Like a warm current through her terror was the notion that this would be an event - an opportunity for her to look and speak with her former effectiveness.


The interest of the morrow was no longer at a deadlock.


"There is really no reason on earth why you should be so alarmed at the man's waiting a few minutes, mamma," said Gwendolen, remonstrantly, as Mrs. Davilow, having prepared the writing materials, looked toward her expectantly.

"There is really no reason why you should be so alarmed at the man's waiting a few minutes, mamma," she said.


"Servants expect nothing else than to wait.


It is not to be supposed that I must write on the instant."


"No, dear," said Mrs. Davilow, in the tone of one corrected, turning to sit down and take up a bit of work that lay at hand; "he can wait another quarter of an hour, if you like."

"No, dear," said Mrs. Davilow, in the tone of one corrected, "he can wait another quarter of an hour, if you like."


It was very simple speech and action on her part, but it was what might have been subtly calculated.


At once Gwendolen felt a contradictory desire to be hastened: hurry would save her from deliberate choice.


"I did not mean him to wait long enough for that needlework to be finished," she said, lifting her hands to stroke the backward curves of her hair, while she rose from her seat and stood still.


"I _must_ decide," said Gwendolen, walking to the writing-table and seating herself.

"I must decide," she said, walking to the writing-table.


All the while there was a busy undercurrent in her, like the thought of a man who keeps up a dialogue while he is considering how he can slip away.

There was a busy undercurrent of thought in her.


He had been to Leubronn after her: of course he meant a direct unmistakable renewal of the suit which before had been only implied.

He had followed her to Leubronn: he meant a renewal of his suit.


Why was she to deny herself the freedom of doing this--which she would like to do?

Why deny herself the freedom of doing this?


"If Mr. Grandcourt has only just returned from Leubronn," said Mrs. Davilow, observing that Gwendolen leaned back in her chair after taking the pen in her hand--"I wonder whether he has heard of our misfortunes?"

"I wonder whether Mr. Grandcourt has heard of our misfortunes?" said Mrs. Davilow.


"That could make no difference to a man in his position," said Gwendolen, rather contemptuously,


"It would to some men," said Mrs. Davilow.


"They would not like to take a wife from a family in a state of beggary almost, as we are.


Here we are at Offendene with a great shell over us, as usual.


But just imagine his finding us at Sawyer's Cottage.


Most men are afraid of being bored or taxed by a wife's family.


If Mr. Grandcourt did know, I think it a strong proof of his attachment to you."


Mrs. Davilow spoke with unusual emphasis: it was the first time she had ventured to say anything about Grandcourt which would necessarily seem intended as an argument in favor of him, her habitual impression being that such arguments would certainly be useless and might be worse.

Mrs. Davilow spoke with unusual emphasis: it was the first time she had ventured to say anything about Grandcourt which might seem to be in his favour.


The effect of her words now was stronger than she could imagine: they raised a new set of possibilities in Gwendolen's mind--a vision of what Grandcourt might do for her mother if she, Gwendolen, did--what she was not going to do.

The effect of her words was stronger than she could imagine. They raised a new vision in Gwendolen's mind - a vision of what Grandcourt might do for her mother if she, Gwendolen, did what she was not going to do.


She was so moved by a new rush of ideas that, like one conscious of being urgently called away, she felt that the immediate task must be hastened: the letter must be written, else it might be endlessly deferred.


After all, she acted in a hurry, as she had wished to do.


To act in a hurry was to have a reason for keeping away from an absolute decision, and to leave open as many issues as possible.

To act in a hurry was to keep away from an absolute decision, and to leave open as many issues as possible.


She wrote: "Miss Harleth presents her compliments to Mr. Grandcourt.

She wrote:
'Miss Harleth presents her compliments to Mr. Grandcourt.


She will be at home after two o'clock to-morrow."

She will be at home after two o'clock tomorrow.'


Before addressing the note she said, "Pray ring the bell, mamma, if there is any one to answer it."

Then she said, "Pray ring the bell, mamma, if there is anyone to answer it."


She really did not know who did the work of the house.


It was not till after the letter had been taken away and Gwendolen had risen again, stretching out one arm and then resting it on her head, with a low moan which had a sound of relief in it, that Mrs. Davilow ventured to ask,

It was not till after the letter had been taken away that Mrs. Davilow ventured to ask-


"I said that I should be at home," answered Gwendolen, rather loftily.


Then after a pause, "You must not expect, because Mr. Grandcourt is coming, that anything is going to happen, mamma."

"You must not expect anything to happen, mamma."


"I don't allow myself to expect anything, dear.


I desire you to follow your own feeling.


said Gwendolen, hearing a reproach in that true statement.


"When I have anything pleasant to tell, you may be sure I will tell you."


"But Mr. Grandcourt will consider that you have already accepted him, in allowing him to come.


His note tells you plainly enough that he is coming to make you an offer."

His note plainly means that he is coming to make you an offer."


"Very well; and I wish to have the pleasure of refusing him."


Mrs. Davilow looked up in wonderment, but Gwendolen implied her wish not to be questioned further by saying,

And Gwendolen implied her wish not to be questioned by saying


- "Put down that detestable needle-work, and let us walk in the avenue.


How trace the why and wherefore in a mind reduced to the barrenness of a fastidious egoism, in which all direct desires are dulled, and have dwindled from motives into a vacillating expectation of motives: a mind made up of moods, where a fitful impulse springs here and there conspicuously rank amid the general weediness?


'Tis a condition apt to befall a life too much at large, unmoulded by the pressure of obligation.


_Nam deteriores omnes sumus licentiae_, or, as a more familiar tongue might deliver it, _"As you like" is a bad finger-post._


Potentates make known their intentions and affect the funds at a small expense of words.


So when Grandcourt, after learning that Gwendolen had left Leubronn, incidentally pronounced that resort of fashion a beastly hole, worse than Baden, the remark was conclusive to Mr. Lush that his patron intended straightway to return to Diplow.

When Grandcourt learnt that Gwendolen had left Leubronn, he pronounced that resort a beastly hole: which Mr. Lush understood to mean that his patron intended straightway to return to Diplow.


The execution was sure to be slower than the intention, and, in fact, Grandcourt did loiter through the next day without giving any distinct orders about departure--perhaps because he discerned that Lush was expecting them: he lingered over his toilet, and certainly came down with a faded aspect of perfect distinction which made fresh complexions and hands with the blood in them, seem signs of raw vulgarity; he lingered on the terrace, in the gambling-rooms, in the reading-room, occupying himself in being indifferent to everybody and everything around him.

Still, Grandcourt loitered through the next day without giving any orders about leaving; he lingered on the terrace, in the gambling-rooms, in the reading-room, occupying himself in being indifferent to everybody and everything around him.


When he met Lady Mallinger, however, he took some trouble--raised his hat, paused, and proved that he listened to her recommendation of the waters by replying, "Yes; I heard somebody say how providential it was that there always happened to be springs at gambling places."

When he met Lady Mallinger, however, he took the trouble to raise his hat and make conversation.


"Oh, that was a joke," said innocent Lady Mallinger, misled by Grandcourt's languid seriousness, "in imitation of the old one about the towns and the rivers, you know."


"Ah, perhaps," said Grandcourt, without change of expression.


Lady Mallinger thought this worth telling to Sir Hugo, who said, "Oh, my dear, he is not a fool.


You must not suppose that he can't see a joke.


He can play his cards as well as most of us."


"He has never seemed to me a very sensible man," said Lady Mallinger, in excuse of herself.


She had a secret objection to meeting Grandcourt, who was little else to her than a large living sign of what she felt to be her failure as a wife--the not having presented Sir Hugo with a son.

Lady Mallinger had a secret objection to Grandcourt, who she felt was a large living sign of her failure as a wife in not having presented Sir Hugo with a son.


Her constant reflection was that her husband might fairly regret his choice, and if he had not been very good might have treated her with some roughness in consequence, gentlemen naturally disliking to be disappointed.


Deronda, too, had a recognition from Grandcourt, for which he was not grateful, though he took care to return it with perfect civility.

Deronda, too, had a greeting from Grandcourt, for which he was not grateful, though he took care to return it with perfect civility.


No reasoning as to the foundations of custom could do away with the early-rooted feeling that his birth had been attended with injury for which his father was to blame; and seeing that but for this injury Grandcourt's prospects might have been his, he was proudly resolute not to behave in any way that might be interpreted into irritation on that score.

Thinking that but for his father's fault, Grandcourt's prospects might have been his, he was proudly resolute not to behave in any way that might be interpreted as irritation on that score.


He saw a very easy descent into mean unreasoning rancor and triumph in others' frustration; and being determined not to go down that ugly pit, he turned his back on it, clinging to the kindlier affections within him as a possession.

He was determined not to descend into rancour, but to cling to kindlier affections.


Pride certainly helped him well--the pride of not recognizing a disadvantage for one's self which vulgar minds are disposed to exaggerate, such as the shabby equipage of poverty: he would not have a man like Grandcourt suppose himself envied by him.


But there is no guarding against interpretation.


Grandcourt did believe that Deronda, poor devil, who he had no doubt was his cousin by the father's side, inwardly winced under their mutual position; wherefore the presence of that less lucky person was more agreeable to him than it would otherwise have been.

Nonetheless Grandcourt did believe that Deronda, poor devil, who he had no doubt was his cousin, inwardly winced under their mutual position; which made Deronda's presence agreeable to him.


An imaginary envy, the idea that others feel their comparative deficiency, is the ordinary _cortge_ of egoism; and his pet dogs were not the only beings that Grandcourt liked to feel his power over in making them jealous.

His pet dogs were not the only beings that Grandcourt liked to feel his power over by making them jealous.


Hence he was civil enough to exchange several words with Deronda on the terrace about the hunting round Diplow, and even said, "You had better come over for a run or two when the season begins."

Hence he exchanged civil words with Deronda on the terrace about the hunting round Diplow, and even said, "You had better come over when the season begins."


Lush, not displeased with delay, amused himself very well, partly in gossiping with Sir Hugo and in answering his questions about Grandcourt's affairs so far as they might affect his willingness to part with his interest in Diplow.

Lush amused himself in gossiping with Sir Hugo and in answering his questions about Grandcourt's affairs,


Also about Grandcourt's personal entanglements, the baronet knew enough already for Lush to feel released from silence on a sunny autumn day, when there was nothing more agreeable to do in lounging promenades than to speak freely of a tyrannous patron behind his back.

enjoying speaking freely of a tyrannous patron behind his back.


Sir Hugo willingly inclined his ear to a little good-humored scandal, which he was fond of calling _traits de moeurs_; but he was strict in keeping such communications from hearers who might take them too seriously.

Sir Hugo willingly inclined his ear to a little good-humoured scandal, but kept any gossip to himself.


Whatever knowledge he had of his nephew's secrets, he had never spoken of it to Deronda, who considered Grandcourt a pale-blooded mortal, but was far from wishing to hear how the red corpuscles had been washed out of him.

Whatever knowledge he had of his nephew's secrets, he had never told Deronda.


It was Lush's policy and inclination to gratify everybody when he had no reason to the contrary; and the baronet always treated him well, as one of those easy-handled personages who, frequenting the society of gentlemen, without being exactly gentlemen themselves, can be the more serviceable, like the second-best articles of our wardrobe, which we use with a comfortable freedom from anxiety.


"Well, you will let me know the turn of events," said Sir Hugo, "if this marriage seems likely to come off after all, or if anything else happens to make the want of money pressing.

"Well, let me know the turn of events," said Sir Hugo to Lush, "if this marriage seems likely to come off after all, or if anything else happens to make him want money.


My plan would be much better for him than burdening Ryelands."

My plan for him to rent Diplow to me would be better than burdening Ryelands."


"That's true," said Lush, "only it must not be urged on him--just placed in his way that the scent may tickle him.

"That's true," said Lush, "only it must not be urged on him - just placed in his way that the scent may tickle him.


Grandcourt is not a man to be always led by what makes for his own interest; especially if you let him see that it makes for your interest too.

Grandcourt is not a man to be led by what makes for his own benefit; especially if you let him see that it benefits you too.


I've given up everything else for the sake of keeping by him, and it has lasted a good fifteen years now.

I've kept by him for a good fifteen years now.


He would not easily get any one else to fill my place.

He would not easily get anyone else to fill my place.


He's a peculiar character, is Henleigh Grandcourt, and it has been growing on him of late years.


However, I'm of a constant disposition, and I've been a sort of guardian to him since he was twenty; an uncommonly fascinating fellow he was then, to be sure--and could be now, if he liked.


I'm attached to him; and it would be a good deal worse for him if he missed me at his elbow."

I'm attached to him; and it would be a good deal worse for him without me."


Sir Hugo did not think it needful to express his sympathy or even assent, and perhaps Lush himself did not expect this sketch of his motives to be taken as exact.


But how can a man avoid himself as a subject in conversation?


And he must make some sort of decent toilet in words, as in cloth and linen.


Lush's listener was not severe: a member of Parliament could allow for the necessities of verbal toilet; and the dialogue went on without any change of mutual estimate.


However, Lush's easy prospect of indefinite procrastination was cut off the next morning by Grandcourt's saluting him with the question,

Grandcourt's procrastination ended the next morning with his question-


"Are you making all the arrangements for our starting by the Paris train?"

"Are you making the arrangements for our starting by the Paris train?"


"I didn't know you meant to start," said Lush, not exactly taken by surprise.

"I didn't know you meant to start," said Lush.


"You might have known," said Grandcourt, looking at the burned length of his cigar, and speaking in that lowered tone which was usual with him when he meant to express disgust and be peremptory.

"You might have known," said Grandcourt, looking at his cigar, and speaking in that lowered tone which he used to express disgust.


and mind no brute gets into the same carriage with us."


And leave my P. P. C. at the Mallingers'."


In consequence they were at Paris the next day; but here Lush was gratified by the proposal or command that he should go straight on to Diplow and see that everything was right, while Grandcourt and the valet remained behind; and it was not until several days later that Lush received the telegram ordering the carriage to the Wanchester station.

In consequence they were at Paris the next day; but here Lush was gratified by the command that he should go straight on to Diplow and see that everything was right, while Grandcourt remained behind for several days.


He had used the interim actively, not only in carrying out Grandcourt's orders about the stud and household, but in learning all he could of Gwendolen, and how things were going on at Offendene.

Lush used the interim actively, not only in carrying out Grandcourt's orders about the household, but in learning all he could of Gwendolen, and how things were going on at Offendene.


What was the probable effect that the news of the family misfortunes would have on Grandcourt's fitful obstinacy he felt to be quite incalculable.

He felt that the effect of the news of the family misfortunes on Grandcourt was quite incalculable.


So far as the girl's poverty might be an argument that she would accept an offer from him now in spite of any previous coyness, it might remove that bitter objection to risk a repulse which Lush divined to be one of Grandcourt's deterring motives; on the other hand, the certainty of acceptance was just "the sort of thing" to make him lapse hither and thither with no more apparent will than a moth.

The girl's poverty might make her more likely to accept him, and remove his objection to risking a repulse; on the other hand, the certainty of acceptance was just the sort of thing to make him lapse.


Lush had had his patron under close observation for many years, and knew him perhaps better than he knew any other subject; but to know Grandcourt was to doubt what he would do in any particular case.

Lush had observed his patron for many years, and knew him well; but he was unpredictable.


It might happen that he would behave with an apparent magnanimity, like the hero of a modern French drama, whose sudden start into moral splendor after much lying and meanness, leaves you little confidence as to any part of his career that may follow the fall of the curtain.

He might behave with apparent magnanimity,


Indeed, what attitude would have been more honorable for a final scene than that of declining to seek an heiress for her money, and determining to marry the attractive girl who had none?

in determining to marry the penniless girl


But Lush had some general certainties about Grandcourt, and one was that of all inward movements those of generosity were least likely to occur in him.

; but Lush had some general certainties about Grandcourt, and one was that generosity was most unlikely to occur in him.


Of what use, however, is a general certainty that an insect will not walk with his head hindmost, when what you need to know is the play of inward stimulus that sends him hither and thither in a network of possible paths?

Of what use, however, is a general certainty, when what you need to know is the particular path that a man will take?


Thus Lush was much at fault as to the probable issue between Grandcourt and Gwendolen, when what he desired was a perfect confidence that they would never be married.


He would have consented willingly that Grandcourt should marry an heiress, or that he should marry Mrs. Glasher: in the one match there would have been the immediate abundance that prospective heirship could not supply, in the other there would have been the security of the wife's gratitude, for Lush had always been Mrs. Glasher's friend; and that the future Mrs. Grandcourt should not be socially received could not affect his private comfort.

Lush would have been happy for Grandcourt to marry an heiress, or Mrs. Glasher: one match would have brought immediate abundance, and the other the wife's gratitude, for Lush had always been Mrs. Glasher's friend.


He would not have minded, either, that there should be no marriage in question at all; but he felt himself justified in doing his utmost to hinder a marriage with a girl who was likely to bring nothing but trouble to her husband--not to speak of annoyance if not ultimate injury to her husband's old companion, whose future Mr. Lush earnestly wished to make as easy as possible, considering that he had well deserved such compensation for leading a dog's life, though that of a dog who enjoyed many tastes undisturbed, and who profited by a large establishment.

He felt himself justified in doing his utmost to hinder a marriage with a girl who was likely to bring nothing but trouble to her husband, and annoyance to her husband's old companion, whose future Mr. Lush earnestly wished to make as easy as possible.


He wished for himself what he felt to be good, and was not conscious of wishing harm to any one else; unless perhaps it were just now a little harm to the inconvenient and impertinent Gwendolen.


But the easiest-humored of luxury and music, the toad-eater the least liable to nausea, must be expected to have his susceptibilities.


And Mr. Lush was accustomed to be treated by the world in general as an apt, agreeable fellow: he had not made up his mind to be insulted by more than one person.


With this imperfect preparation of a war policy, Lush was awaiting Grandcourt's arrival, doing little more than wondering how the campaign would begin.


The first day Grandcourt was much occupied with the stables, and amongst other things he ordered a groom to put a side-saddle on Criterion and let him review the horse's paces.

On his first day at Diplow, Grandcourt was occupied with the stables, and ordered a groom to put a side-saddle on Criterion.


This marked indication of purpose set Lush on considering over again whether he should incur the ticklish consequences of speaking first, while he was still sure that no compromising step had been taken; and he rose the next morning almost resolved that if Grandcourt seemed in as good a humor as yesterday and entered at all into talk, he would let drop the interesting facts about Gwendolen and her family, just to see how they would work, and to get some guidance.

This made Lush consider whether he should incur the ticklish consequences of speaking; and the next morning he had almost resolved to let drop the interesting facts about Gwendolen and her family, if Grandcourt was in a good mood, just to see how they would work.


But Grandcourt did not enter into talk, and in answer to a question even about his own convenience, no fish could have maintained a more unwinking silence.

But Grandcourt did not enter into talk: no fish could have maintained a more unwinking silence.


After he had read his letters he gave various orders to be executed or transmitted by Lush, and then thrust his shoulder toward that useful person, who accordingly rose to leave the room.

After reading his letters he gave various orders to be executed by Lush, who accordingly rose to leave the room.


But before he was out of the door Grandcourt turned his head slightly and gave a broken, languid "Oh."

Before he was out of the door Grandcourt turned his head slightly and gave a languid "Oh."


said Lush, who, it must have been observed, did not take his dusty puddings with a respectful air.

said Lush, who did not take his dusty puddings with a respectful air.


Lush closed the door, came forward, and chose to sit down.


After a little pause Grandcourt said, "Is Miss Harleth at Offendene?"


He was quite certain that Lush had made it his business to inquire about her, and he had some pleasure in thinking that Lush did not want _him_ to inquire.

He was quite certain that Lush would have inquired about her.


"Well, I hardly know," said Lush, carelessly.


They and the Gascoignes too have lost all their money.


It's owing to some rascally banking business.


The poor mother hasn't a _sou_, it seems.

The poor mother hasn't a penny, it seems.


She and the girls have to huddle themselves into a little cottage like a laborer's."

She and the girls have to huddle in a little cottage like a labourer's."


"Don't lie to me, if you please," said Grandcourt, in his lowest audible tone.


"It's not amusing, and it answers no other purpose."


said Lush, more nettled than was common with him--the prospect before him being more than commonly disturbing.


I have heard the story from several--Bazley, Brackenshaw's man, for one.


He is getting a new tenant for Offendene."


"Upon my soul, I can't tell," said Lush, rather sulkily.

"I can't tell," said Lush, rather sulkily.


I heard she had taken a situation as governess; she may be gone to it for what I know.

; I heard she had taken a situation as governess."


But if you wanted to see her no doubt the mother would send for her back."


This sneer slipped off his tongue without strict intention.


"Send Hutchins to inquire whether she will be there tomorrow."


Like many persons who have thought over beforehand what they shall say in given cases, he was impelled by an unexpected irritation to say some of those prearranged things before the cases were given.

Like many persons who have thought over beforehand what they shall say in given cases, he was impelled to say some of those prearranged things before the cases were given.


Grandcourt, in fact, was likely to get into a scrape so tremendous that it was impossible to let him take the first step toward it without remonstrance.

Grandcourt was likely to get into a scrape so tremendous that it was impossible not to remon


Lush retained enough caution to use a tone of rational friendliness, still he felt his own value to his patron, and was prepared to be daring.

strate; but Lush retained enough caution to use a tone of rational friendliness.


"It would be as well for you to remember, Grandcourt, that you are coming under closer fire now.

"It would be as well to remember, Grandcourt, that


There can be none of the ordinary flirting done, which may mean everything or nothing.

there can be none of the ordinary flirting now.


You must make up your mind whether you wish to be accepted; and more than that, how you would like being refused.


You can't be philandering after her again for six weeks."


Grandcourt said nothing, but pressed the newspaper down on his knees and began to light another cigar.

Grandcourt said nothing, but began to light another cigar.


Lush took this as a sign that he was willing to listen, and was the more bent on using the opportunity; he wanted, if possible, to find out which would be the more potent cause of hesitation--probable acceptance or probable refusal.

Lush took this as a good sign, and continued.


"Everything has a more serious look now than it had before.

"Everything has a more serious look now than before.


You could not let your wife's mother live in beggary.


It will be a confoundedly hampering affair.


Marriage will pin you down in a way you haven't been used to; and in point of money you have not too much elbow-room.

Marriage will pin you down; and in point of money you have not much elbow-room.


You are master over your estates, present or future, as far as choosing your heir goes; it's a pity to go on encumbering them for a mere whim, which you may repent of in a twelvemonth.


I should be sorry to see you making a mess of your life in that way.


If there were anything solid to be gained by the marriage, that would be a different affair."

If there were anything to be gained by the marriage, that would be different."


Lush's tone had gradually become more and more unctuous in its friendliness of remonstrance, and he was almost in danger of forgetting that he was merely gambling in argument.


When he left off, Grandcourt took his cigar out of his mouth, and looking steadily at the moist end while he adjusted the leaf with his delicate finger-tips, said,

Grandcourt took his cigar out of his mouth, and looking steadily at the end, said-


"I knew before that you had an objection to my marrying Miss Harleth."

"I knew that you objected to my marrying Miss Harleth.


Here he made a little pause before he continued.


"But I never considered that a reason against it."


"I never supposed you did," answered Lush, not unctuously but dryly.


I should have thought it might have been a reason against it, after all your experience, that you would be acting like the hero of a ballad, and making yourself absurd--and all for what?


You know you couldn't make up your mind before.

But you couldn't make up your mind before.


It's impossible you can care much about her.


And as for the tricks she is likely to play, you may judge of that from what you heard at Leubronn.


However, what I wished to point out to you was, that there can be no shilly-shally now."


"Perfectly," said Grandcourt, looking round at Lush and fixing him with narrow eyes; "I don't intend that there should be.

"I don't intend that there should be," said Grandcourt, fixing him with narrow eyes.


But if you suppose I care a damn for that you are most stupendously mistaken."


"Oh, well," said Lush, rising with his hands in his pockets, and feeling some latent venom still within him, "if you have made up your mind!--only there's another aspect of the affair.

"Oh, well," said Lush, rising with his hands in his pockets, "if you have made up your mind! only there's another aspect of the affair.


I have been speaking on the supposition that it was absolutely certain she would accept you, and that destitution would have no choice.


But I am not so sure that the young lady is to be counted on.

I'm not so sure the young lady can be counted on.


And she had her reasons for running away before."

She had her reasons for running away before."


Lush had moved a step or two till he stood nearly in front of Grandcourt, though at some distance from him.


He did not feel himself much restrained by consequences, being aware that the only strong hold he had on his present position was his serviceableness; and even after a quarrel the want of him was likely sooner or later to recur.


He foresaw that Gwendolen would cause him to be ousted for a time, and his temper at this moment urged him to risk a quarrel.

Lush's temper at this moment urged him to risk a quarrel.


"She had her reasons," he repeated more significantly.


"I had come to that conclusion before," said Grandcourt, with contemptuous irony.

"I had come to that conclusion," said Grandcourt with irony.


"Yes, but I hardly think you know what her reasons were."


"You do, apparently," said Grandcourt, not betraying by so much as an eyelash that he cared for the reasons.


"Yes, and you had better know too, that you may judge of the influence you have over her if she swallows her reasons and accepts you.


For my own part I would take odds against it.

I would lay odds against her accepting you.


She saw Lydia in Cardell Chase and heard the whole story."


Grandcourt made no immediate answer, and only went on smoking.


He was so long before he spoke that Lush moved about and looked out of the windows, unwilling to go away without seeing some effect of his daring move.


He had expected that Grandcourt would tax him with having contrived the affair, since Mrs. Glasher was then living at Gadsmere, a hundred miles off, and he was prepared to admit the fact: what he cared about was that Grandcourt should be staggered by the sense that his intended advances must be made to a girl who had that knowledge in her mind and had been scared by it.


At length Grandcourt, seeing Lush turn toward him, looked at him again and said, contemptuously, "What follows?"

At length he looked at Lush again and said contemptuously, "What follows?"


Here certainly was a "mate" in answer to Lush's "check"; and though his exasperation with Grandcourt was perhaps stronger than it had ever been before, it would have been idiocy to act as if any further move could be useful.

Here certainly was a "checkmate" in answer to Lush's "check."


He gave a slight shrug with one shoulder, and was going to walk away, when Grandcourt, turning on his seat toward the table, said, as quietly as if nothing had occurred, "Oblige me by pushing that pen and paper here, will you?"

He shrugged slightly and was going to walk away, when Grandcourt said, as quietly as if nothing had occurred, "Push that pen and paper over here, will you?"


No thunderous, bullying superior could have exercised the imperious spell that Grandcourt did.

No thunderous superior could have exercised the imperious spell that Grandcourt did.


Why, instead of being obeyed, he had never been told to go to a warmer place, was perhaps a mystery to those who found themselves obeying him.


The pen and paper were pushed to him, and as he took them he said, "Just wait for this letter."


He scrawled with ease, and the brief note was quickly addressed.


"Let Hutchins go with it at once, will you?"

"Let Hutchins take it at once, will you?"


said Grandcourt, pushing the letter away from him.


As Lush had expected, it was addressed to Miss Harleth, Offendene.

As Lush had expected, the letter was addressed to Miss Harleth, Offendene.


When his irritation had cooled down he was glad there had been no explosive quarrel; but he felt sure that there was a notch made against him, and that somehow or other he was intended to pay.

When his irritation had cooled, he was glad there had been no explosive quarrel; though he felt sure that somehow or other he was intended to pay.


It was also clear to him that the immediate effect of his revelation had been to harden Grandcourt's previous determination.

It was clear that he had only hardened Grandcourt's determination.


But as to the particular movements that made this process in his baffling mind, Lush could only toss up his chin in despair of a theory.

But as to the particular movements that made this process in his baffling mind, Lush despaired of a theory.


"Well, Fanny, and how do you like Miss Crawford _now_?"

"Well, Fanny, how do you like Miss Crawford?"


said Edmund the next day, after thinking some time on the subject himself.


She entertains me; and she is so extremely pretty, that I have great pleasure in looking at her."


"It is her countenance that is so attractive.


But was there nothing in her conversation that struck you, Fanny, as not quite right?"


she ought not to have spoken of her uncle as she did.


An uncle with whom she has been living so many years, and who, whatever his faults may be, is so very fond of her brother, treating him, they say, quite like a son.

An uncle with whom she has been living so many years, and who, whatever his faults, is so fond of her brother.


I do not know that her uncle has any claim to her _gratitude_; his wife certainly had; and it is the warmth of her respect for her aunt's memory which misleads her here.

I do not know that her uncle has any claim to her gratitude; it is respect for her aunt's memory which misleads her.


With such warm feelings and lively spirits it must be difficult to do justice to her affection for Mrs. Crawford, without throwing a shade on the Admiral.

It must be difficult to do justice to her affection for Mrs. Crawford, without accusing the Admiral.


I do not pretend to know which was most to blame in their disagreements, though the Admiral's present conduct might incline one to the side of his wife; but it is natural and amiable that Miss Crawford should acquit her aunt entirely.

I do not pretend to know which was most to blame in their disagreements, though the Admiral's present conduct might incline one to the side of his wife; but it is natural that Miss Crawford should acquit her aunt.


I do not censure her _opinions_; but there certainly _is_ impropriety in making them public."

However, there is certainly impropriety in making her opinions public.


"Do not you think," said Fanny, after a little consideration, "that this impropriety is a reflection itself upon Mrs. Crawford, as her niece has been entirely brought up by her?


She cannot have given her right notions of what was due to the Admiral."


Yes, we must suppose the faults of the niece to have been those of the aunt; and it makes one more sensible of the disadvantages she has been under.

It makes one aware of the disadvantages she has been under.


But I think her present home must do her good.


Mrs. Grant's manners are just what they ought to be.


She speaks of her brother with a very pleasing affection."

She speaks of her brother with very pleasing affection."


"Yes, except as to his writing her such short letters.

"Yes, except as to his writing such short letters.


She made me almost laugh; but I cannot rate so very highly the love or good-nature of a brother who will not give himself the trouble of writing anything worth reading to his sisters, when they are separated.


I am sure William would never have used _me_ so, under any circumstances.


And what right had she to suppose that _you_ would not write long letters when you were absent?"

what right had she to suppose that you would not write long letters?"


"The right of a lively mind, Fanny, seizing whatever may contribute to its own amusement or that of others; perfectly allowable, when untinctured by ill-humour or roughness; and there is not a shadow of either in the countenance or manner of Miss Crawford: nothing sharp, or loud, or coarse.

"The right of a lively mind, Fanny, seizing whatever may amuse it; perfectly allowable, when untinctured by ill-humour or roughness; and there is not a shadow of either in Miss Crawford's manner.


She is perfectly feminine, except in the instances we have been speaking of.


Having formed her mind and gained her affections, he had a good chance of her thinking like him; though at this period, and on this subject, there began now to be some danger of dissimilarity, for he was in a line of admiration of Miss Crawford, which might lead him where Fanny could not follow.

Having formed her mind, he had a good chance of her thinking like him; though on this subject, there began now to be some danger of dissimilarity, for he was in a line of admiration of Miss Crawford, where Fanny could not follow.


Miss Crawford's attractions did not lessen.


The harp arrived, and rather added to her beauty, wit, and good-humour; for she played with the greatest obligingness, with an expression and taste which were peculiarly becoming, and there was something clever to be said at the close of every air.

The harp arrived, and added to her beauty, wit, and good-humour; for she played with expression and taste, and there was something clever to be said at the close of every air.


Edmund was at the Parsonage every day, to be indulged with his favourite instrument: one morning secured an invitation for the next; for the lady could not be unwilling to have a listener, and every thing was soon in a fair train.

Edmund was daily at the Parsonage, to be indulged with his favourite instrument: each morning secured an invitation for the next.


A young woman, pretty, lively, with a harp as elegant as herself, and both placed near a window, cut down to the ground, and opening on a little lawn, surrounded by shrubs in the rich foliage of summer, was enough to catch any man's heart.

A young woman, pretty, lively, with a harp as elegant as herself, placed near a window that opened on a little lawn, surrounded by the rich foliage of summer, was enough to catch any man's heart.


The season, the scene, the air, were all favourable to tenderness and sentiment.


Mrs. Grant and her tambour frame were not without their use: it was all in harmony; and as everything will turn to account when love is once set going, even the sandwich tray, and Dr. Grant doing the honours of it, were worth looking at.


Without studying the business, however, or knowing what he was about, Edmund was beginning, at the end of a week of such intercourse, to be a good deal in love; and to the credit of the lady it may be added that, without his being a man of the world or an elder brother, without any of the arts of flattery or the gaieties of small talk, he began to be agreeable to her.

Edmund was beginning to be a good deal in love; and to the lady's credit it may be added that, without his being an elder brother, and without any of the arts of flattery, he began to be agreeable to her.


She felt it to be so, though she had not foreseen, and could hardly understand it; for he was not pleasant by any common rule: he talked no nonsense; he paid no compliments; his opinions were unbending, his attentions tranquil and simple.

She had not foreseen this, and could hardly understand it; for he was not pleasant by any common rule: he talked no nonsense; he paid no compliments; his opinions were unbending, his attentions tranquil.


There was a charm, perhaps, in his sincerity, his steadiness, his integrity, which Miss Crawford might be equal to feel, though not equal to discuss with herself.

There was a charm, perhaps, in his sincerity, his steadiness, his integrity.


She did not think very much about it, however: he pleased her for the present; she liked to have him near her; it was enough.

She did not think very much about it, however: he pleased her for the present; it was enough.


Fanny could not wonder that Edmund was at the Parsonage every morning; she would gladly have been there too, might she have gone in uninvited and unnoticed, to hear the harp; neither could she wonder that, when the evening stroll was over, and the two families parted again, he should think it right to attend Mrs. Grant and her sister to their home, while Mr. Crawford was devoted to the ladies of the Park; but she thought it a very bad exchange; and if Edmund were not there to mix the wine and water for her, would rather go without it than not.

Fanny could not wonder that Edmund was at the Parsonage every morning; she too would gladly have gone to hear the harp; neither could she wonder that after their evening stroll he should think it right to attend Mrs. Grant and her sister to their home, while Mr. Crawford was devoted to the ladies of the Park; but she thought it a very bad exchange.


She was a little surprised that he could spend so many hours with Miss Crawford, and not see more of the sort of fault which he had already observed, and of which _she_ was almost always reminded by a something of the same nature whenever she was in her company; but so it was.

She was surprised that he could spend so many hours with Miss Crawford, and not see more of the sort of fault which he had already observed; but so it was.


Edmund was fond of speaking to her of Miss Crawford, but he seemed to think it enough that the Admiral had since been spared; and she scrupled to point out her own remarks to him, lest it should appear like ill-nature.


The first actual pain which Miss Crawford occasioned her was the consequence of an inclination to learn to ride, which the former caught, soon after her being settled at Mansfield, from the example of the young ladies at the Park, and which, when Edmund's acquaintance with her increased, led to his encouraging the wish, and the offer of his own quiet mare for the purpose of her first attempts, as the best fitted for a beginner that either stable could furnish.

The first actual pain which Miss Crawford caused her was the consequence of a wish to learn to ride. Edward encouraged it, and offered his own quiet mare for her first attempts, as the best fitted for a beginner.


No pain, no injury, however, was designed by him to his cousin in this offer: _she_ was not to lose a day's exercise by it.

He meant no injury to Fanny in this offer: she was not to lose a day's exercise.


The mare was only to be taken down to the Parsonage half an hour before her ride were to begin; and Fanny, on its being first proposed, so far from feeling slighted, was almost over-powered with gratitude that he should be asking her leave for it.

The mare was only to be taken down to the Parsonage half an hour before her ride were to begin; and Fanny, so far from feeling slighted, was almost over-powered with gratitude that he should be asking her leave.


Miss Crawford made her first essay with great credit to herself, and no inconvenience to Fanny.

Miss Crawford made her first attempt with great credit to herself, and no inconvenience to Fanny.


Edmund, who had taken down the mare and presided at the whole, returned with it in excellent time, before either Fanny or the steady old coachman, who always attended her when she rode without her cousins, were ready to set forward.

Edmund returned with the mare in excellent time, before either Fanny or the steady old coachman who attended her were ready to set forward.


The second day's trial was not so guiltless.


Miss Crawford's enjoyment of riding was such that she did not know how to leave off.

Miss Crawford's enjoyment was such that she did not know how to leave off.


Active and fearless, and though rather small, strongly made, she seemed formed for a horsewoman; and to the pure genuine pleasure of the exercise, something was probably added in Edmund's attendance and instructions, and something more in the conviction of very much surpassing her sex in general by her early progress, to make her unwilling to dismount.

Active and fearless, and though small, strongly made, she seemed formed for a horsewoman; and to the pleasure of the exercise, something was probably added in Edmund's attendance, and the conviction of surpassing her sex by her early progress, to make her unwilling to dismount.


Fanny was ready and waiting, and Mrs. Norris was beginning to scold her for not being gone, and still no horse was announced, no Edmund appeared.

Fanny was waiting, and Mrs. Norris was beginning to scold her for not being gone, and still no horse was announced.


To avoid her aunt, and look for him, she went out.

To avoid her aunt, and look for Edward, she went out.


The houses, though scarcely half a mile apart, were not within sight of each other; but, by walking fifty yards from the hall door, she could look down the park, and command a view of the Parsonage and all its demesnes, gently rising beyond the village road; and in Dr. Grant's meadow she immediately saw the group-Edmund and Miss Crawford both on horse-back, riding side by side, Dr. and Mrs. Grant, and Mr. Crawford, with two or three grooms, standing about and looking on.

The houses, though scarcely half a mile apart, were not within sight of each other; but, by walking fifty yards from the hall door, she could command a view of the Parsonage and its surroundings; and she immediately saw the group-Edmund and Miss Crawford both on horse-back, riding side by side, Dr. and Mrs. Grant, and Mr. Crawford, with the grooms, looking on.


A happy party it appeared to her, all interested in one object: cheerful beyond a doubt, for the sound of merriment ascended even to her.

A happy party it appeared: for the sound of merriment ascended to her.


It was a sound which did not make _her_ cheerful; she wondered that Edmund should forget her, and felt a pang.

She wondered that Edmund should forget her, and felt a pang.


She could not turn her eyes from the meadow; she could not help watching all that passed.


At first Miss Crawford and her companion made the circuit of the field, which was not small, at a foot's pace; then, at _her_ apparent suggestion, they rose into a canter; and to Fanny's timid nature it was most astonishing to see how well she sat.

Miss Crawford and her companion made the circuit of the field; then, at her apparent suggestion, they rose into a canter; and to Fanny's timid nature it was astonishing to see how well she sat.


After a few minutes they stopped entirely.


Edmund was close to her; he was speaking to her; he was evidently directing her management of the bridle; he had hold of her hand; she saw it, or the imagination supplied what the eye could not reach.

Edmund was close to her; he was speaking to her, evidently directing her management of the bridle; he had hold of her hand; she saw it, or the imagination supplied what the eye could not reach.


She must not wonder at all this; what could be more natural than that Edmund should be making himself useful, and proving his good-nature by any one?

She must not wonder at all this; what could be more natural than that Edmund should make himself useful?


She could not but think, indeed, that Mr. Crawford might as well have saved him the trouble; that it would have been particularly proper and becoming in a brother to have done it himself; but Mr. Crawford, with all his boasted good-nature, and all his coachmanship, probably knew nothing of the matter, and had no active kindness in comparison of Edmund.

It would have been becoming in Miss Crawford's brother to assist her; but Mr. Crawford was not as kind as Edmund.


She began to think it rather hard upon the mare to have such double duty; if she were forgotten, the poor mare should be remembered.


Her feelings for one and the other were soon a little tranquillised by seeing the party in the meadow disperse, and Miss Crawford still on horseback, but attended by Edmund on foot, pass through a gate into the lane, and so into the park, and make towards the spot where she stood.

Her feelings were eased by seeing the party in the meadow disperse. Miss Crawford, still on horseback, with Edmund on foot, passed into the park, and came towards the spot where she stood.


She began then to be afraid of appearing rude and impatient; and walked to meet them with a great anxiety to avoid the suspicion.

Fanny began then to be afraid of appearing rude and impatient; and walked to meet them.


"My dear Miss Price," said Miss Crawford, as soon as she was at all within hearing, "I am come to make my own apologies for keeping you waiting; but I have nothing in the world to say for myself-I knew it was very late, and that I was behaving extremely ill; and therefore, if you please, you must forgive me.

"My dear Miss Price," said Miss Crawford, "I apologise for keeping you waiting-I knew it was late, and that I was behaving extremely ill; if you please, you must forgive me."


Selfishness must always be forgiven, you know, because there is no hope of a cure."


Fanny's answer was extremely civil, and Edmund added his conviction that she could be in no hurry.


"For there is more than time enough for my cousin to ride twice as far as she ever goes," said he, "and you have been promoting her comfort by preventing her from setting off half an hour sooner: clouds are now coming up, and she will not suffer from the heat as she would have done then.

"For there is time enough for my cousin to ride twice as far as she ever goes," said he, "and you have prevented her from setting off when it was too hot for comfort: clouds are now coming up, and she will not suffer from the heat.


I wish _you_ may not be fatigued by so much exercise.

I wish you may not be fatigued by so much exercise."


I wish you had saved yourself this walk home."


"No part of it fatigues me but getting off this horse, I assure you," said she, as she sprang down with his help; "I am very strong.


Nothing ever fatigues me but doing what I do not like.

"Nothing ever fatigues me but doing what I do not like


Miss Price, I give way to you with a very bad grace; but I sincerely hope you will have a pleasant ride, and that I may have nothing but good to hear of this dear, delightful, beautiful animal."

," said she, as she sprang down with his help; "Miss Price, I give way to you with a bad grace; but I hope you will have a pleasant ride on this beautiful animal."


The old coachman, who had been waiting about with his own horse, now joining them, Fanny was lifted on hers, and they set off across another part of the park; her feelings of discomfort not lightened by seeing, as she looked back, that the others were walking down the hill together to the village; nor did her attendant do her much good by his comments on Miss Crawford's great cleverness as a horse-woman, which he had been watching with an interest almost equal to her own.

The old coachman now joining them, Fanny was lifted on her horse, and they set off; her discomfort not lightened by seeing that the others were walking together to the village; nor did her attendant do her much good by his comments on Miss Crawford's great cleverness as a horse-woman.


"It is a pleasure to see a lady with such a good heart for riding!"


She did not seem to have a thought of fear.


Very different from you, miss, when you first began, six years ago come next Easter.

Very different from you, miss, when you first began.


how you did tremble when Sir Thomas first had you put on!"


In the drawing-room Miss Crawford was also celebrated.


Her merit in being gifted by Nature with strength and courage was fully appreciated by the Miss Bertrams; her delight in riding was like their own; her early excellence in it was like their own, and they had great pleasure in praising it.

praised by the Miss Bertrams; her delight in riding, and her early excellence, were like their own.


"I was sure she would ride well," said Julia; "she has the make for it.

"I was sure she would ride well," said Julia.


"Her figure is as neat as her brother's."


"Yes," added Maria, "and her spirits are as good, and she has the same energy of character.

"Yes," added Maria, "and her spirits are as good.


I cannot but think that good horsemanship has a great deal to do with the mind."

I think that good horsemanship has a great deal to do with the mind."


When they parted at night Edmund asked Fanny whether she meant to ride the next day.


"No, I do not know-not if you want the mare," was her answer.

"No, I do not know-not if you want the mare."


"I do not want her at all for myself," said he; "but whenever you are next inclined to stay at home, I think Miss Crawford would be glad to have her a longer time-for a whole morning, in short.

"I do not want her for myself," said he; "but whenever you are next inclined to stay at home, I think Miss Crawford would be glad to have her for a morning.


She has a great desire to get as far as Mansfield Common: Mrs. Grant has been telling her of its fine views, and I have no doubt of her being perfectly equal to it.

She has a desire to get as far as Mansfield Common, and I have no doubt of her being equal to it.


She would be extremely sorry to interfere with you.


_She_ rides only for pleasure; _you_ for health."

She rides only for pleasure; you for health."


"I shall not ride to-morrow, certainly," said Fanny; "I have been out very often lately, and would rather stay at home.

"I shall not ride to-morrow, certainly," said Fanny; "I have been out often lately, and would rather stay at home.


You know I am strong enough now to walk very well."


Edmund looked pleased, which must be Fanny's comfort, and the ride to Mansfield Common took place the next morning: the party included all the young people but herself, and was much enjoyed at the time, and doubly enjoyed again in the evening discussion.

Edmund looked pleased, which must be Fanny's comfort, and the ride to Mansfield Common took place the next morning: the party included all the young people but herself, and was much enjoyed.


A successful scheme of this sort generally brings on another; and the having been to Mansfield Common disposed them all for going somewhere else the day after.

A successful scheme of this sort generally brings on another; and they all wished to go somewhere else the day after.


There were many other views to be shewn; and though the weather was hot, there were shady lanes wherever they wanted to go.


A young party is always provided with a shady lane.


Four fine mornings successively were spent in this manner, in shewing the Crawfords the country, and doing the honours of its finest spots.

Four fine mornings successively were spent in this manner, in showing the Crawfords the country's finest spots.


Everything answered; it was all gaiety and good-humour, the heat only supplying inconvenience enough to be talked of with pleasure-till the fourth day, when the happiness of one of the party was exceedingly clouded.

It was all gaiety and good-humour-till the fourth day, when the happiness of one of the party was exceedingly clouded.


Edmund and Julia were invited to dine at the Parsonage, and _she_ was excluded.

Edmund and Julia were invited to dine at the Parsonage, and she was excluded.


It was meant and done by Mrs. Grant, with perfect good-humour, on Mr. Rushworth's account, who was partly expected at the Park that day; but it was felt as a very grievous injury, and her good manners were severely taxed to conceal her vexation and anger till she reached home.

It was done by Mrs. Grant, with perfect good-humour, on account of Mr. Rushworth, who was expected at the Park that day; but it was felt as a grievous injury, and Maria could barely conceal her anger till she reached home.


As Mr. Rushworth did _not_ come, the injury was increased, and she had not even the relief of shewing her power over him; she could only be sullen to her mother, aunt, and cousin, and throw as great a gloom as possible over their dinner and dessert.

As Mr. Rushworth did not come, the injury was increased; she could only be sullen, and throw as great a gloom as possible over dinner.


Between ten and eleven Edmund and Julia walked into the drawing-room, fresh with the evening air, glowing and cheerful, the very reverse of what they found in the three ladies sitting there, for Maria would scarcely raise her eyes from her book, and Lady Bertram was half-asleep; and even Mrs. Norris, discomposed by her niece's ill-humour, and having asked one or two questions about the dinner, which were not immediately attended to, seemed almost determined to say no more.

Between ten and eleven Edmund and Julia walked into the drawing-room, fresh with the evening air, glowing and cheerful, the very reverse of what they found in the three ladies sitting there, for Maria would scarcely raise her eyes from her book, and Lady Bertram was half-asleep; and even Mrs. Norris said little.


For a few minutes the brother and sister were too eager in their praise of the night and their remarks on the stars, to think beyond themselves; but when the first pause came, Edmund, looking around, said, "But where is Fanny?

Edmund, looking around, said, "Where is Fanny?


"No, not that I know of," replied Mrs. Norris; "she was here a moment ago."

"Not that I know of," replied Mrs. Norris; "she was here a moment ago."


Her own gentle voice speaking from the other end of the room, which was a very long one, told them that she was on the sofa.

Her own gentle voice speaking from the other end of the room told them that she was on the sofa.


"That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to be idling away all the evening upon a sofa.

"That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to be idling upon a sofa.


Why cannot you come and sit here, and employ yourself as _we_ do?

Why cannot you come and sit here, and employ yourself?


If you have no work of your own, I can supply you from the poor basket.

If you have no work, I can supply you from the poor basket.


There is all the new calico, that was bought last week, not touched yet.

There is the new calico, that was bought last week, not touched yet.


I am sure I almost broke my back by cutting it out.

I am sure I almost broke my back cutting it out.


You should learn to think of other people; and, take my word for it, it is a shocking trick for a young person to be always lolling upon a sofa."

You should learn to think of other people. It is a shocking trick for a young person to be always lolling upon a sofa."


Before half this was said, Fanny was returned to her seat at the table, and had taken up her work again; and Julia, who was in high good-humour, from the pleasures of the day, did her the justice of exclaiming, "I must say, ma'am, that Fanny is as little upon the sofa as anybody in the house."

Before half of this was said, Fanny had returned to the table and taken up her work; and Julia, who was in high good-humour, did her the justice of exclaiming, "I must say, ma'am, that Fanny is as little upon the sofa as anybody in the house."


"Fanny," said Edmund, after looking at her attentively, "I am sure you have the headache."

"Fanny," said Edmund, looking at her attentively, "I am sure you have the headache."


She could not deny it, but said it was not very bad.


"I can hardly believe you," he replied; "I know your looks too well.


to be sure she did," said Mrs. Norris: "would you have her stay within such a fine day as this?

"To be sure she did," said Mrs. Norris: "would you have her stay within on such a fine day?


Even your mother was out to-day for above an hour."


"Yes, indeed, Edmund," added her ladyship, who had been thoroughly awakened by Mrs. Norris's sharp reprimand to Fanny; "I was out above an hour.

"Yes, indeed, Edmund," added her ladyship.


I sat three-quarters of an hour in the flower-garden, while Fanny cut the roses; and very pleasant it was, I assure you, but very hot.

"I sat in the flower-garden, while Fanny cut the roses; and very pleasant it was, but very hot."


It was shady enough in the alcove, but I declare I quite dreaded the coming home again."


"Fanny has been cutting roses, has she?"


"Yes, and I am afraid they will be the last this year.


_She_ found it hot enough; but they were so full-blown that one could not wait."

She found it hot enough; but they were so full-blown that one could not wait."


"There was no help for it, certainly," rejoined Mrs. Norris, in a rather softened voice; "but I question whether her headache might not be caught _then_, sister.

"There was no help for it," rejoined Mrs. Norris, in a rather softened voice; "


There is nothing so likely to give it as standing and stooping in a hot sun; but I dare say it will be well to-morrow.

There is nothing so likely to give one a headache as standing in a hot sun; but I dare say it will be well to-morrow.


Suppose you let her have your aromatic vinegar; I always forget to have mine filled."

Suppose you let her have your aromatic vinegar."


"She has got it," said Lady Bertram; "she has had it ever since she came back from your house the second time."

"She has had it since she came back from your house the second time," said Lady Bertram.


cried Edmund; "has she been walking as well as cutting roses; walking across the hot park to your house, and doing it twice, ma'am?

cried Edmund; "has she been walking twice across the hot park, ma'am?


Mrs. Norris was talking to Julia, and did not hear.


"I was afraid it would be too much for her," said Lady Bertram; "but when the roses were gathered, your aunt wished to have them, and then you know they must be taken home."

"I was afraid it would be too much for her," said Lady Bertram; "but your aunt wished to have the roses."


"But were there roses enough to oblige her to go twice?"

"Were there roses enough to oblige her to go twice?"


"No; but they were to be put into the spare room to dry; and, unluckily, Fanny forgot to lock the door of the room and bring away the key, so she was obliged to go again."

"No; but they were to be put into the spare room to dry; and, unluckily, Fanny forgot to lock the room and bring away the key, so she was obliged to go again."


Edmund got up and walked about the room, saying, "And could nobody be employed on such an errand but Fanny?

Edmund got up and walked about, saying, "And could nobody be employed on such an errand but Fanny?


Upon my word, ma'am, it has been a very ill-managed business."

Upon my word, ma'am, it has been very ill-managed."


"I am sure I do not know how it was to have been done better," cried Mrs. Norris, unable to be longer deaf; "unless I had gone myself, indeed; but I cannot be in two places at once; and I was talking to Mr. Green at that very time about your mother's dairymaid, by _her_ desire, and had promised John Groom to write to Mrs. Jefferies about his son, and the poor fellow was waiting for me half an hour.

"I do not know how it was to have been done better," cried Mrs. Norris, "unless I had gone myself; but I cannot be in two places at once; and I was talking to Mr. Green at that very time about your mother's dairymaid.


I think nobody can justly accuse me of sparing myself upon any occasion, but really I cannot do everything at once.


And as for Fanny's just stepping down to my house for me-it is not much above a quarter of a mile-I cannot think I was unreasonable to ask it.

And as for Fanny's just stepping down to my house-it is not much above a quarter of a mile.


How often do I pace it three times a day, early and late, ay, and in all weathers too, and say nothing about it?"

How often do I pace it three times a day, and in all weathers too?"


"I wish Fanny had half your strength, ma'am."


"If Fanny would be more regular in her exercise, she would not be knocked up so soon.


She has not been out on horseback now this long while, and I am persuaded that, when she does not ride, she ought to walk.

She has not been out on horseback this long while, and I am persuaded that, when she does not ride, she ought to walk.


If she had been riding before, I should not have asked it of her.


But I thought it would rather do her good after being stooping among the roses; for there is nothing so refreshing as a walk after a fatigue of that kind; and though the sun was strong, it was not so very hot.

But I thought it would do her good after stooping among the roses;


Between ourselves, Edmund," nodding significantly at his mother, "it was cutting the roses, and dawdling about in the flower-garden, that did the mischief."

between ourselves, Edmund, it was cutting the roses that did the mischief."


"I am afraid it was, indeed," said the more candid Lady Bertram, who had overheard her; "I am very much afraid she caught the headache there, for the heat was enough to kill anybody.

"I am afraid it was, indeed," said the candid Lady Bertram; "The heat was enough to kill anybody.


Sitting and calling to Pug, and trying to keep him from the flower-beds, was almost too much for me."

Sitting and calling to Pug was almost too much for me."


Edmund said no more to either lady; but going quietly to another table, on which the supper-tray yet remained, brought a glass of Madeira to Fanny, and obliged her to drink the greater part.

Edmund said no more; but going quietly to the supper-tray, brought a glass of Madeira to Fanny, and obliged her to drink.


She wished to be able to decline it; but the tears, which a variety of feelings created, made it easier to swallow than to speak.

She wished to decline it; but her tears made it easier to swallow than to speak.


Vexed as Edmund was with his mother and aunt, he was still more angry with himself.


His own forgetfulness of her was worse than anything which they had done.


Nothing of this would have happened had she been properly considered; but she had been left four days together without any choice of companions or exercise, and without any excuse for avoiding whatever her unreasonable aunts might require.

Fanny had been left without any exercise, and without any excuse for avoiding whatever her unreasonable aunts might require.


He was ashamed to think that for four days together she had not had the power of riding, and very seriously resolved, however unwilling he must be to check a pleasure of Miss Crawford's, that it should never happen again.

He was ashamed to think that for four days she had not been able to ride, and resolved that it should never happen again.


Fanny went to bed with her heart as full as on the first evening of her arrival at the Park.


The state of her spirits had probably had its share in her indisposition; for she had been feeling neglected, and been struggling against discontent and envy for some days past.

She had been struggling against discontent and envy for some days.


As she leant on the sofa, to which she had retreated that she might not be seen, the pain of her mind had been much beyond that in her head; and the sudden change which Edmund's kindness had then occasioned, made her hardly know how to support herself.

As she leant on the sofa, the pain of her mind had been much beyond that in her head; and the sudden change which Edmund's kindness had then occasioned, made her hardly know how to support herself.


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.


"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."

"If you ask her," cried Edmund, "Fanny will immediately say No; but I am sure, my dear mother, she would like to go."


"I cannot imagine why Mrs. Grant should think of asking her?

"Why should Mrs. Grant think of asking her?


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."


"Suppose you take my father's opinion, ma'am."


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."

"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."


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."

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."