In a few minutes Mr. Bertram was called out of the room to satisfy some doubts of the carpenter; and being accompanied by Mr. Yates, and followed soon afterwards by Mr. Rushworth, Edmund almost immediately took the opportunity of saying, "I cannot, before Mr. Yates, speak what I feel as to this play, without reflecting on his friends at Ecclesford; but I must now, my dear Maria, tell _you_, that I think it exceedingly unfit for private representation, and that I hope you will give it up.

Mr. Bertram was called out of the room by the carpenter, and was accompanied by Mr. Yates and Mr. Rushworth. Edmund then said, "My dear Maria, I must tell you that I think this play exceedingly unfit for private performance.


I cannot but suppose you _will_ when you have read it carefully over.


Read only the first act aloud to either your mother or aunt, and see how you can approve it.

Read the first act aloud to your mother, and see how you can approve it."


It will not be necessary to send you to your _father's_ judgment, I am convinced."


"We see things very differently," cried Maria.


"I am perfectly acquainted with the play, I assure you; and with a very few omissions, and so forth, which will be made, of course, I can see nothing objectionable in it; and _I_ am not the _only_ young woman you find who thinks it very fit for private representation."

"I am perfectly acquainted with the play;" cried Maria, "and with a very few omissions, I see nothing objectionable in it; and I am not the only young woman who thinks it fit for private performance."


"I am sorry for it," was his answer; "but in this matter it is _you_ who are to lead. _You_ must set the example.

"I am sorry for it," was his answer; "but in this matter you must set the example.


If others have blundered, it is your place to put them right, and shew them what true delicacy is.

If others have blundered, it is your place to put them right, and show them what true delicacy is."


In all points of decorum _your_ conduct must be law to the rest of the party."


This picture of her consequence had some effect, for no one loved better to lead than Maria; and with far more good-humour she answered, "I am much obliged to you, Edmund; you mean very well, I am sure: but I still think you see things too strongly; and I really cannot undertake to harangue all the rest upon a subject of this kind.

This picture of her consequence had some effect; and with far more good-humour she answered, "I am obliged to you, Edmund; you mean well, I am sure: but I still think you see things too strongly; and I cannot undertake to harangue all the rest upon the subject."


_There_ would be the greatest indecorum, I think."


"Do you imagine that I could have such an idea in my head?


No; let your conduct be the only harangue.


Say that, on examining the part, you feel yourself unequal to it; that you find it requiring more exertion and confidence than you can be supposed to have.

Say that, on examining the part, you feel yourself unequal to it.


Say this with firmness, and it will be quite enough.


All who can distinguish will understand your motive.


The play will be given up, and your delicacy honoured as it ought."


"Do not act anything improper, my dear," said Lady Bertram.


"Sir Thomas would not like it.-Fanny, ring the bell; I must have my dinner.-To be sure, Julia is dressed by this time."

"Sir Thomas would not like it.-Fanny, ring the bell; I must have my dinner."


"I am convinced, madam," said Edmund, preventing Fanny, "that Sir Thomas would not like it."


"There, my dear, do you hear what Edmund says?"


"If I were to decline the part," said Maria, with renewed zeal, "Julia would certainly take it."


cried Edmund, "if she knew your reasons!"


she might think the difference between us-the difference in our situations-that _she_ need not be so scrupulous as _I_ might feel necessary.

She might think that she need not be so scrupulous as me.


No; you must excuse me; I cannot retract my consent; it is too far settled, everybody would be so disappointed, Tom would be quite angry; and if we are so very nice, we shall never act anything."

I cannot retract my consent; it is too settled, everybody would be so disappointed; and if we are so fastidious, we shall never act anything."


"I was just going to say the very same thing," said Mrs. Norris.

"I was just going to say the same thing," said Mrs. Norris.


"If every play is to be objected to, you will act nothing, and the preparations will be all so much money thrown away, and I am sure _that_ would be a discredit to us all.

"The preparations will be so much money thrown away.


I do not know the play; but, as Maria says, if there is anything a little too warm (and it is so with most of them) it can be easily left out.

I do not know the play; but if there is anything a little too warm it can be easily left out.


As Mr. Rushworth is to act too, there can be no harm.


I only wish Tom had known his own mind when the carpenters began, for there was the loss of half a day's work about those side-doors.


The curtain will be a good job, however.


The maids do their work very well, and I think we shall be able to send back some dozens of the rings.


There is no occasion to put them so very close together.


I _am_ of some use, I hope, in preventing waste and making the most of things.

I am of some use, I hope, in preventing waste.


There should always be one steady head to superintend so many young ones.


I forgot to tell Tom of something that happened to me this very day.

I forgot to tell Tom of something that happened to me today.


I had been looking about me in the poultry-yard, and was just coming out, when who should I see but Dick Jackson making up to the servants' hall-door with two bits of deal board in his hand, bringing them to father, you may be sure; mother had chanced to send him of a message to father, and then father had bid him bring up them two bits of board, for he could not no how do without them.

Who should I see but Dick Jackson making off with two bits of deal board in his hand, pilfered you may be sure; I hate such encroaching people as the Jacksons, who get all they can.


I knew what all this meant, for the servants' dinner-bell was ringing at the very moment over our heads; and as I hate such encroaching people (the Jacksons are very encroaching, I have always said so: just the sort of people to get all they can), I said to the boy directly (a great lubberly fellow of ten years old, you know, who ought to be ashamed of himself), '_I'll_ take the boards to your father, Dick, so get you home again as fast as you can.'

I said to the boy directly, 'I'll take the boards, Dick, so get you home again.'


The boy looked very silly, and turned away without offering a word, for I believe I might speak pretty sharp; and I dare say it will cure him of coming marauding about the house for one while.

The boy looked very silly, and turned away without a word; and I dare say it will cure him of marauding about the house for a while.


I hate such greediness-so good as your father is to the family, employing the man all the year round!"


Nobody was at the trouble of an answer; the others soon returned; and Edmund found that to have endeavoured to set them right must be his only satisfaction.


Mrs. Norris related again her triumph over Dick Jackson, but neither play nor preparation were otherwise much talked of, for Edmund's disapprobation was felt even by his brother, though he would not have owned it.

Mrs. Norris related again her triumph over Dick Jackson, but neither play nor preparation were much talked of, for Edmund's disapprobation was felt even by his brother.


Maria, wanting Henry Crawford's animating support, thought the subject better avoided.

Maria thought the subject better avoided.


Mr. Yates, who was trying to make himself agreeable to Julia, found her gloom less impenetrable on any topic than that of his regret at her secession from their company; and Mr. Rushworth, having only his own part and his own dress in his head, had soon talked away all that could be said of either.

Mr. Yates, who was trying to make himself agreeable to Julia, found her gloom was less on other topics; and Mr. Rushworth, having only his own part and his own dress in his head, had soon talked away all that could be said of either.


But the concerns of the theatre were suspended only for an hour or two: there was still a great deal to be settled; and the spirits of evening giving fresh courage, Tom, Maria, and Mr. Yates, soon after their being reassembled in the drawing-room, seated themselves in committee at a separate table, with the play open before them, and were just getting deep in the subject when a most welcome interruption was given by the entrance of Mr. and Miss Crawford, who, late and dark and dirty as it was, could not help coming, and were received with the most grateful joy.

But after an hour or two, the spirits of the evening gave fresh courage. Tom, Maria, and Mr. Yates were seated at the table with the play open before them, when Mr. and Miss Crawford entered and were received with grateful joy.


we can do nothing without you," followed the first salutations; and Henry Crawford was soon seated with the other three at the table, while his sister made her way to Lady Bertram, and with pleasant attention was complimenting _her_.

Henry Crawford was soon seated with the other three at the table, while his sister made her way to Lady Bertram, by the fire.


"I must really congratulate your ladyship," said she, "on the play being chosen; for though you have borne it with exemplary patience, I am sure you must be sick of all our noise and difficulties.

"I congratulate your ladyship," said she, "on the play being chosen; for I am sure you must be sick of all our difficulties.


The actors may be glad, but the bystanders must be infinitely more thankful for a decision; and I do sincerely give you joy, madam, as well as Mrs. Norris, and everybody else who is in the same predicament," glancing half fearfully, half slyly, beyond Fanny to Edmund.

The bystanders must be infinitely thankful for a decision; and I give you joy, madam, as well as everybody else who is in the same predicament," glancing at Edmund.


She was very civilly answered by Lady Bertram, but Edmund said nothing.


His being only a bystander was not disclaimed.


After continuing in chat with the party round the fire a few minutes, Miss Crawford returned to the party round the table; and standing by them, seemed to interest herself in their arrangements till, as if struck by a sudden recollection, she exclaimed, "My good friends, you are most composedly at work upon these cottages and alehouses, inside and out; but pray let me know my fate in the meanwhile.

After chatting a few minutes, Miss Crawford returned to the party round the table; and seemed to interest herself in their arrangements till, as if struck by a sudden recollection, she exclaimed, "My good friends, pray let me know my fate.


What gentleman among you am I to have the pleasure of making love to?"


For a moment no one spoke; and then many spoke together to tell the same melancholy truth, that they had not yet got any Anhalt.

For a moment no one spoke; and then many spoke together to tell the melancholy truth, that they had not yet got any Anhalt.


"Mr. Rushworth was to be Count Cassel, but no one had yet undertaken Anhalt."


"I had my choice of the parts," said Mr. Rushworth; "but I thought I should like the Count best, though I do not much relish the finery I am to have."

"I thought I should like the Count best," said Mr Rushworth, "though I do not much relish the finery I am to have."


"You chose very wisely, I am sure," replied Miss Crawford, with a brightened look; "Anhalt is a heavy part."

"You chose wisely, I am sure," replied Miss Crawford, with a brightened look; "Anhalt is a heavy part."


"_The_ _Count_ has two-and-forty speeches," returned Mr. Rushworth, "which is no trifle."

"The Count has two-and-forty speeches," returned Mr. Rushworth, "which is no trifle."


"I am not at all surprised," said Miss Crawford, after a short pause, "at this want of an Anhalt.

"I am not surprised," said Miss Crawford, "at this want of an Anhalt.


Such a forward young lady may well frighten the men."


"I should be but too happy in taking the part, if it were possible," cried Tom; "but, unluckily, the Butler and Anhalt are in together.

"I should take the part, if it were possible," cried Tom; "but, unluckily, the Butler and Anhalt are in together.


I will not entirely give it up, however; I will try what can be done-I will look it over again."


"Your _brother_ should take the part," said Mr. Yates, in a low voice.

"Your brother should take the part," said Mr. Yates.


"_I_ shall not ask him," replied Tom, in a cold, determined manner.

"I shall not ask him," replied Tom coldly.


Miss Crawford talked of something else, and soon afterwards rejoined the party at the fire.


"They do not want me at all," said she, seating herself.


"I only puzzle them, and oblige them to make civil speeches.


Mr. Edmund Bertram, as you do not act yourself, you will be a disinterested adviser; and, therefore, I apply to _you_.

"Mr. Edmund Bertram, as you do not act yourself, you will be a disinterested adviser; and, therefore, I apply to you.


Is it practicable for any of the others to double it?


"My advice," said he calmly, "is that you change the play."


"_I_ should have no objection," she replied; "for though I should not particularly dislike the part of Amelia if well supported, that is, if everything went well, I shall be sorry to be an inconvenience; but as they do not chuse to hear your advice at _that_ _table_" (looking round), "it certainly will not be taken."

"I should have no objection," she replied; "though I should not particularly dislike the part of Amelia; but as they do not choose to hear your advice, it certainly will not be taken."


"If _any_ part could tempt _you_ to act, I suppose it would be Anhalt," observed the lady archly, after a short pause; "for he is a clergyman, you know."

"If any part could tempt you to act, I suppose it would be Anhalt," observed the lady archly, after a short pause; "for he is a clergyman, you know."


"_That_ circumstance would by no means tempt me," he replied, "for I should be sorry to make the character ridiculous by bad acting.

"That would not tempt me," he replied, "for I should be sorry to make the character ridiculous by bad acting."


It must be very difficult to keep Anhalt from appearing a formal, solemn lecturer; and the man who chuses the profession itself is, perhaps, one of the last who would wish to represent it on the stage."


Miss Crawford was silenced, and with some feelings of resentment and mortification, moved her chair considerably nearer the tea-table, and gave all her attention to Mrs. Norris, who was presiding there.

Miss Crawford was silenced. Moving her chair nearer the tea-table, she gave her attention to Mrs. Norris.


"Fanny," cried Tom Bertram, from the other table, where the conference was eagerly carrying on, and the conversation incessant, "we want your services."

"Fanny," cried Tom Bertram, "we want your services."


Fanny was up in a moment, expecting some errand; for the habit of employing her in that way was not yet overcome, in spite of all that Edmund could do.

Fanny was up in a moment, expecting some errand.


we do not want to disturb you from your seat.


cried Fanny, sitting down again with a most frightened look.

cried Fanny, sitting down again with a frightened look.


I could not act anything if you were to give me the world.


"Indeed, but you must, for we cannot excuse you.


It need not frighten you: it is a nothing of a part, a mere nothing, not above half a dozen speeches altogether, and it will not much signify if nobody hears a word you say; so you may be as creep-mouse as you like, but we must have you to look at."

It need not frighten you: it is a nothing of a part, not half a dozen speeches, and it will not signify if nobody hears a word you say; so you may be as creep-mouse as you like."


"If you are afraid of half a dozen speeches," cried Mr. Rushworth, "what would you do with such a part as mine? I have forty-two to learn."

"Why, I have forty-two speeches," cried Mr. Rushworth.


"It is not that I am afraid of learning by heart," said Fanny, shocked to find herself at that moment the only speaker in the room, and to feel that almost every eye was upon her; "but I really cannot act."

"It is not that I am afraid of learning by heart," said Fanny, shocked to find that every eye was upon her; "but I really cannot act."


"Yes, yes, you can act well enough for _us_.


Learn your part, and we will teach you all the rest.


You have only two scenes, and as I shall be Cottager, I'll put you in and push you about, and you will do it very well, I'll answer for it."


"No, indeed, Mr. Bertram, you must excuse me.


It would be absolutely impossible for me.


If I were to undertake it, I should only disappoint you."


You must get a brown gown, and a white apron, and a mob cap, and we must make you a few wrinkles, and a little of the crowsfoot at the corner of your eyes, and you will be a very proper, little old woman."

You must get a brown gown, and a white apron, and a mob cap, and we must make you a few wrinkles, and you will be a very proper little old woman."


"You must excuse me, indeed you must excuse me," cried Fanny, growing more and more red from excessive agitation, and looking distressfully at Edmund, who was kindly observing her; but unwilling to exasperate his brother by interference, gave her only an encouraging smile.

"Indeed you must excuse me," cried Fanny, in agitation, and looking distressfully at Edmund, who was kindly observing her; but unwilling to exasperate his brother, gave her only an encouraging smile.


Her entreaty had no effect on Tom: he only said again what he had said before; and it was not merely Tom, for the requisition was now backed by Maria, and Mr. Crawford, and Mr. Yates, with an urgency which differed from his but in being more gentle or more ceremonious, and which altogether was quite overpowering to Fanny; and before she could breathe after it, Mrs. Norris completed the whole by thus addressing her in a whisper at once angry and audible-"What a piece of work here is about nothing: I am quite ashamed of you, Fanny, to make such a difficulty of obliging your cousins in a trifle of this sort-so kind as they are to you!

Her entreaty had no effect on Tom: and it was not merely Tom. His request was now backed by Maria, and Mr. Crawford, and Mr. Yates, and Mrs. Norris addressed her in an angry whisper-"What a piece of work about nothing: I am quite ashamed of you, Fanny, to make such a difficulty of obliging your cousins in such a trifle-so kind as they are to you!"


Take the part with a good grace, and let us hear no more of the matter, I entreat."


"It is not fair to urge her in this manner.


Let her chuse for herself, as well as the rest of us.


Her judgment may be quite as safely trusted.


"I am not going to urge her," replied Mrs. Norris sharply; "but I shall think her a very obstinate, ungrateful girl, if she does not do what her aunt and cousins wish her-very ungrateful, indeed, considering who and what she is."

"I am not going to urge her," replied Mrs. Norris sharply; "but I shall think her a very obstinate, ungrateful girl, if she does not do what her aunt and cousins wish-very ungrateful, indeed, considering who and what she is."


Edmund was too angry to speak; but Miss Crawford, looking for a moment with astonished eyes at Mrs. Norris, and then at Fanny, whose tears were beginning to shew themselves, immediately said, with some keenness, "I do not like my situation: this _place_ is too hot for me," and moved away her chair to the opposite side of the table, close to Fanny, saying to her, in a kind, low whisper, as she placed herself, "Never mind, my dear Miss Price, this is a cross evening: everybody is cross and teasing, but do not let us mind them"; and with pointed attention continued to talk to her and endeavour to raise her spirits, in spite of being out of spirits herself.

Edmund was too angry to speak; but Miss Crawford, looking with astonished eyes at Mrs. Norris, and then at Fanny, whose tears were beginning to show, immediately said, "I do not like my situation: this place is too hot for me." She moved her chair close to Fanny, saying to her, in a kind, low whisper, "Never mind, my dear Miss Price, this is a cross evening: everybody is cross and teasing, but do not let us mind them"; and continued to talk to her and endeavour to raise her spirits, in spite of being out of spirits herself.


By a look at her brother she prevented any farther entreaty from the theatrical board, and the really good feelings by which she was almost purely governed were rapidly restoring her to all the little she had lost in Edmund's favour.

The really good feelings by which she was almost purely governed were rapidly restoring her in Edmund's favour.


Fanny did not love Miss Crawford; but she felt very much obliged to her for her present kindness; and when, from taking notice of her work, and wishing _she_ could work as well, and begging for the pattern, and supposing Fanny was now preparing for her _appearance_, as of course she would come out when her cousin was married, Miss Crawford proceeded to inquire if she had heard lately from her brother at sea, and said that she had quite a curiosity to see him, and imagined him a very fine young man, and advised Fanny to get his picture drawn before he went to sea again-she could not help admitting it to be very agreeable flattery, or help listening, and answering with more animation than she had intended.

Fanny did not love Miss Crawford; but she felt very grateful for her kindness; and when, after talking about her needlework, Miss Crawford proceeded to inquire if she had heard lately from her brother at sea, and said that she was curious to see him, and imagined him a very fine young man-she could not help admitting it to be very agreeable flattery, and answering with more animation than she had intended.


The consultation upon the play still went on, and Miss Crawford's attention was first called from Fanny by Tom Bertram's telling her, with infinite regret, that he found it absolutely impossible for him to undertake the part of Anhalt in addition to the Butler: he had been most anxiously trying to make it out to be feasible, but it would not do; he must give it up.

Miss Crawford's attention was called from Fanny by Tom Bertram's telling her, with regret, that he found it impossible to take the part of Anhalt in addition to the Butler.


"But there will not be the smallest difficulty in filling it," he added.

"But there will no difficulty in filling it," he added.


"We have but to speak the word; we may pick and chuse.


I could name, at this moment, at least six young men within six miles of us, who are wild to be admitted into our company, and there are one or two that would not disgrace us: I should not be afraid to trust either of the Olivers or Charles Maddox. Tom Oliver is a very clever fellow, and Charles Maddox is as gentlemanlike a man as you will see anywhere, so I will take my horse early to-morrow morning and ride over to Stoke, and settle with one of them."

I could name six young men who are wild to be admitted into our company, and there are one or two that would not disgrace us: Tom Oliver is a clever fellow, and Charles Maddox is a gentlemanlike man, so I will ride over tomorrow, and settle with one of them."


While he spoke, Maria was looking apprehensively round at Edmund in full expectation that he must oppose such an enlargement of the plan as this: so contrary to all their first protestations; but Edmund said nothing.

Maria looked apprehensively at Edmund, expecting that he must oppose this enlargement of the plan: but Edmund said nothing.


After a moment's thought, Miss Crawford calmly replied, "As far as I am concerned, I can have no objection to anything that you all think eligible.

After a moment's thought, Miss Crawford calmly replied, "I can have no objection to anything that you all think eligible.


Have I ever seen either of the gentlemen?


Yes, Mr. Charles Maddox dined at my sister's one day, did not he, Henry?

Yes, Mr. Charles Maddox dined at my sister's, did not he, Henry?


Let _him_ be applied to, if you please, for it will be less unpleasant to me than to have a perfect stranger."

Let him be applied to, if you please, for it will be less unpleasant to me than a perfect stranger."


Tom repeated his resolution of going to him early on the morrow; and though Julia, who had scarcely opened her lips before, observed, in a sarcastic manner, and with a glance first at Maria and then at Edmund, that "the Mansfield theatricals would enliven the whole neighbourhood exceedingly," Edmund still held his peace, and shewed his feelings only by a determined gravity.

Tom repeated his resolution of going to Charles Maddox on the morrow; and though Julia observed sarcastically that "the Mansfield theatricals would enliven the whole neighbourhood exceedingly," Edmund still held his peace, and showed his feelings only by a determined gravity.


"I am not very sanguine as to our play," said Miss Crawford, in an undervoice to Fanny, after some consideration; "and I can tell Mr. Maddox that I shall shorten some of _his_ speeches, and a great many of _my_ _own_, before we rehearse together.

Miss Crawford said quietly to Fanny, "I can tell Mr. Maddox that I shall shorten some of his speeches, and a great many of my own, before we rehearse together.


It will be very disagreeable, and by no means what I expected."


The first event of any importance in the family was the death of Mr. Norris, which happened when Fanny was about fifteen, and necessarily introduced alterations and novelties.

The death of Mr. Norris, when Fanny was about fifteen, brought changes.


Mrs. Norris, on quitting the Parsonage, removed first to the Park, and afterwards to a small house of Sir Thomas's in the village, and consoled herself for the loss of her husband by considering that she could do very well without him; and for her reduction of income by the evident necessity of stricter economy.

Mrs. Norris removed to a small house in the village, and consoled herself for the loss of her husband by considering that she could do very well without him; and for her reduction of income by the necessity of stricter economy.


The living was hereafter for Edmund; and, had his uncle died a few years sooner, it would have been duly given to some friend to hold till he were old enough for orders.

The parson's living was for Edmund; and would have been given to some friend to hold till he were old enough for orders.


But Tom's extravagance had, previous to that event, been so great as to render a different disposal of the next presentation necessary, and the younger brother must help to pay for the pleasures of the elder.

But Tom's extravagance had been so great as to make a different disposal necessary; the younger brother must help to pay for the pleasures of the elder.


There was another family living actually held for Edmund; but though this circumstance had made the arrangement somewhat easier to Sir Thomas's conscience, he could not but feel it to be an act of injustice, and he earnestly tried to impress his eldest son with the same conviction, in the hope of its producing a better effect than anything he had yet been able to say or do.

There was another family living actually held for Edmund; but even so, Sir Thomas could not but feel it to be an injustice, and he earnestly tried to impress his eldest son with the same conviction.


"I blush for you, Tom," said he, in his most dignified manner; "I blush for the expedient which I am driven on, and I trust I may pity your feelings as a brother on the occasion. You have robbed Edmund for ten, twenty, thirty years, perhaps for life, of more than half the income which ought to be his.

"I blush for you, Tom," said he, in his most dignified manner; "You have robbed Edmund for twenty, thirty years, perhaps for life, of more than half the income which ought to be his.


It may hereafter be in my power, or in yours (I hope it will), to procure him better preferment; but it must not be forgotten that no benefit of that sort would have been beyond his natural claims on us, and that nothing can, in fact, be an equivalent for the certain advantage which he is now obliged to forego through the urgency of your debts."

It may hereafter be in my power, or in yours, to find him a better position; but nothing can equal the advantage which he must now forego through the urgency of your debts."


Tom listened with some shame and some sorrow; but escaping as quickly as possible, could soon with cheerful selfishness reflect, firstly, that he had not been half so much in debt as some of his friends; secondly, that his father had made a most tiresome piece of work of it; and, thirdly, that the future incumbent, whoever he might be, would, in all probability, die very soon.

Tom listened with some shame and sorrow; but escaping as quickly as possible, could soon with cheerful selfishness reflect, firstly, that he had not been half so much in debt as some of his friends; secondly, that his father had made a tiresome piece of work of it; and, thirdly, that the future incumbent, whoever he might be, would probably die very soon.


On Mr. Norris's death the presentation became the right of a Dr. Grant, who came consequently to reside at Mansfield; and on proving to be a hearty man of forty-five, seemed likely to disappoint Mr. Bertram's calculations.

On Mr. Norris's death the living went to a Dr. Grant, who came to reside at Mansfield; and proving to be a hearty man of forty-five, seemed likely to disappoint Mr. Bertram's calculations.


But "no, he was a short-necked, apoplectic sort of fellow, and, plied well with good things, would soon pop off."

But "no, he was a short-necked, apoplectic sort of fellow, and would soon pop off."


He had a wife about fifteen years his junior, but no children; and they entered the neighbourhood with the usual fair report of being very respectable, agreeable people.


The time was now come when Sir Thomas expected his sister-in-law to claim her share in their niece, the change in Mrs. Norris's situation, and the improvement in Fanny's age, seeming not merely to do away any former objection to their living together, but even to give it the most decided eligibility; and as his own circumstances were rendered less fair than heretofore, by some recent losses on his West India estate, in addition to his eldest son's extravagance, it became not undesirable to himself to be relieved from the expense of her support, and the obligation of her future provision.

The time was now come when Sir Thomas expected his sister-in-law to claim her share in their niece. Now that Mrs. Norris was a widow, to have Fanny living with her would be very suitable; and as he had borne some losses on his West India estate, in addition to his eldest son's extravagance, he wished to be relieved from the expense of her support.


In the fullness of his belief that such a thing must be, he mentioned its probability to his wife; and the first time of the subject's occurring to her again happening to be when Fanny was present, she calmly observed to her, "So, Fanny, you are going to leave us, and live with my sister.

He mentioned this probability to his wife; and she later calmly observed to Fanny, "So, Fanny, you are going to leave us, and live with my sister.


Fanny was too much surprised to do more than repeat her aunt's words, "Going to leave you?"


"Yes, my dear; why should you be astonished?


You have been five years with us, and my sister always meant to take you when Mr. Norris died."


But you must come up and tack on my patterns all the same."


The news was as disagreeable to Fanny as it had been unexpected.

The news was as disagreeable to Fanny as it was unexpected.


She had never received kindness from her aunt Norris, and could not love her.


"I shall be very sorry to go away," said she, with a faltering voice.


"Yes, I dare say you will; _that's_ natural enough.


I suppose you have had as little to vex you since you came into this house as any creature in the world."

You have had as little to vex you in this house as any creature in the world."


"I hope I am not ungrateful, aunt," said Fanny modestly.

"I hope I am not ungrateful, aunt," said Fanny.


"No, my dear; I hope not. I have always found you a very good girl."

"No, my dear; I have always found you a very good girl."


"Never, my dear; but you are sure of a comfortable home."


It can make very little difference to you, whether you are in one house or the other."


Fanny left the room with a very sorrowful heart; she could not feel the difference to be so small, she could not think of living with her aunt with anything like satisfaction.

Fanny left the room with a very sorrowful heart; she could not think of living with her aunt with satisfaction.


As soon as she met with Edmund she told him her distress.


"Cousin," said she, "something is going to happen which I do not like at all; and though you have often persuaded me into being reconciled to things that I disliked at first, you will not be able to do it now.

"Cousin," said she, "something is going to happen which I do not like at all.


I am going to live entirely with my aunt Norris."


"Yes; my aunt Bertram has just told me so.


I am to leave Mansfield Park, and go to the White House, I suppose, as soon as she is removed there."

I am to leave Mansfield Park, and go to the White House."


"Well, Fanny, and if the plan were not unpleasant to you, I should call it an excellent one."

"Well, Fanny, if the plan were not unpleasant to you, I should call it an excellent one."


"My aunt is acting like a sensible woman in wishing for you.


She is choosing a friend and companion exactly where she ought, and I am glad her love of money does not interfere.

She is choosing a companion exactly where she ought, and I am glad her love of money does not interfere.


You will be what you ought to be to her.


I hope it does not distress you very much, Fanny?"


I love this house and everything in it: I shall love nothing there.


You know how uncomfortable I feel with her."


"I can say nothing for her manner to you as a child; but it was the same with us all, or nearly so.

"It was the same with us all when we were younger.


She never knew how to be pleasant to children.


But you are now of an age to be treated better; I think she is behaving better already; and when you are her only companion, you _must_ be important to her."

But you are now of an age to be treated better; and when you are her only companion, you must be important to her."


My situation, my foolishness and awkwardness."


"As to your foolishness and awkwardness, my dear Fanny, believe me, you never have a shadow of either, but in using the words so improperly.


There is no reason in the world why you should not be important where you are known.


You have good sense, and a sweet temper, and I am sure you have a grateful heart, that could never receive kindness without wishing to return it.

You have good sense, and a sweet temper, and I am sure you have a grateful heart.


I do not know any better qualifications for a friend and companion."


"You are too kind," said Fanny, colouring at such praise; "how shall I ever thank you as I ought, for thinking so well of me.


cousin, if I am to go away, I shall remember your goodness to the last moment of my life."


"Why, indeed, Fanny, I should hope to be remembered at such a distance as the White House.

"Why, Fanny, I should hope to be remembered at such a distance as the White House.


You speak as if you were going two hundred miles off instead of only across the park; but you will belong to us almost as much as ever.

You speak as if you were going two hundred miles off; but you will belong to us as much as ever.


The two families will be meeting every day in the year.

The two families will be meeting every day.


The only difference will be that, living with your aunt, you will necessarily be brought forward as you ought to be.

The only difference will be that, living with your aunt, you will be brought forward.


_Here_ there are too many whom you can hide behind; but with _her_ you will be forced to speak for yourself."

Here there are too many whom you can hide behind; but with her you will be forced to speak for yourself."


"I must say it, and say it with pleasure.


Mrs. Norris is much better fitted than my mother for having the charge of you now. She is of a temper to do a great deal for anybody she really interests herself about, and she will force you to do justice to your natural powers."

Mrs. Norris will do a great deal for anybody she interests herself about."


Fanny sighed, and said, "I cannot see things as you do; but I ought to believe you to be right rather than myself, and I am very much obliged to you for trying to reconcile me to what must be.

Fanny sighed. "I cannot see things as you do; but I ought to believe you to be right, and I am obliged to you for trying to reconcile me to it.


If I could suppose my aunt really to care for me, it would be delightful to feel myself of consequence to anybody.


_Here_, I know, I am of none, and yet I love the place so well."

Here, I know, I am of none, and yet I love the place so well."


"The place, Fanny, is what you will not quit, though you quit the house.


You will have as free a command of the park and gardens as ever.


Even _your_ constant little heart need not take fright at such a nominal change.


You will have the same walks to frequent, the same library to choose from, the same people to look at, the same horse to ride."

You will have the same walks to frequent, the same library to choose from, the same horse to ride."


cousin, when I remember how much I used to dread riding, what terrors it gave me to hear it talked of as likely to do me good (oh! how I have trembled at my uncle's opening his lips if horses were talked of), and then think of the kind pains you took to reason and persuade me out of my fears, and convince me that I should like it after a little while, and feel how right you proved to be, I am inclined to hope you may always prophesy as well."

cousin, I remember how much I used to dread riding, what terrors it gave me; and how kindly you persuaded me out of my fears, and convinced me that I should like it after a little while. When I feel how right you were, I hope you may always prophesy so well."


"And I am quite convinced that your being with Mrs. Norris will be as good for your mind as riding has been for your health, and as much for your ultimate happiness too."

"And I am quite convinced that your being with Mrs. Norris will be as good for your mind as riding has been for your health, and for your happiness too."


So ended their discourse, which, for any very appropriate service it could render Fanny, might as well have been spared, for Mrs. Norris had not the smallest intention of taking her.

So ended their discourse, which might as well have been spared, for Mrs. Norris had not the smallest intention of taking Fanny.


It had never occurred to her, on the present occasion, but as a thing to be carefully avoided.


To prevent its being expected, she had fixed on the smallest habitation which could rank as genteel among the buildings of Mansfield parish, the White House being only just large enough to receive herself and her servants, and allow a spare room for a friend, of which she made a very particular point.

To prevent its being expected, she had fixed on the smallest habitation which could rank as genteel, the White House being only just large enough to receive herself and her servants, and allow a spare room for a friend, of which she made a very particular point.


The spare rooms at the Parsonage had never been wanted, but the absolute necessity of a spare room for a friend was now never forgotten.


Not all her precautions, however, could save her from being suspected of something better; or, perhaps, her very display of the importance of a spare room might have misled Sir Thomas to suppose it really intended for Fanny.

Perhaps her very display of the importance of a spare room might have misled Sir Thomas to suppose it really intended for Fanny.


Lady Bertram soon brought the matter to a certainty by carelessly observing to Mrs. Norris-

Lady Bertram soon brought the matter to a head by carelessly observing to Mrs. Norris-


"I think, sister, we need not keep Miss Lee any longer, when Fanny goes to live with you."

"I think, sister, we need not keep Miss Lee, when Fanny goes to live with you."


I thought you had settled it with Sir Thomas."


I never spoke a syllable about it to Sir Thomas, nor he to me.


the last thing in the world for me to think of, or for anybody to wish that really knows us both.


a poor, helpless, forlorn widow, unfit for anything, my spirits quite broke down; what could I do with a girl at her time of life?

a poor, helpless, forlorn widow, my spirits quite broke down; what could I do with a girl of fifteen?


the very age of all others to need most attention and care, and put the cheerfullest spirits to the test!

the very age of all others to put the cheerfullest spirits to the test!


Sure Sir Thomas could not seriously expect such a thing!


Nobody that wishes me well, I am sure, would propose it.


How came Sir Thomas to speak to you about it?"


He could not say he _wished_ me to take Fanny.

"But he could not say he wished me to take Fanny."


I am sure in his heart he could not wish me to do it."


"No; he only said he thought it very likely; and I thought so too.

"No; he only said he thought it very likely.


We both thought it would be a comfort to you.


But if you do not like it, there is no more to be said. She is no encumbrance here."

But if you do not like it, she is no encumbrance here."


"Dear sister, if you consider my unhappy state, how can she be any comfort to me?

"Dear sister, how can she be any comfort to me?


Here am I, a poor desolate widow, deprived of the best of husbands, my health gone in attending and nursing him, my spirits still worse, all my peace in this world destroyed, with hardly enough to support me in the rank of a gentlewoman, and enable me to live so as not to disgrace the memory of the dear departed-what possible comfort could I have in taking such a charge upon me as Fanny?

Here am I, a poor desolate widow, my health and spirits gone, my peace destroyed, with hardly enough to support me-what possible comfort could I have in taking such a charge upon me as Fanny?


If I could wish it for my own sake, I would not do so unjust a thing by the poor girl.

I would not be so unjust to the poor girl.


She is in good hands, and sure of doing well.


I must struggle through my sorrows and difficulties as I can."

I must struggle through my sorrows as I can."


"Then you will not mind living by yourself quite alone?"

"Then you will not mind living quite alone?"


I know I cannot live as I have done, but I must retrench where I can, and learn to be a better manager.


I _have_ _been_ a liberal housekeeper enough, but I shall not be ashamed to practise economy now.

I have been a liberal housekeeper enough, but I shall practise economy now.


My situation is as much altered as my income.


A great many things were due from poor Mr. Norris, as clergyman of the parish, that cannot be expected from me.


It is unknown how much was consumed in our kitchen by odd comers and goers.


At the White House, matters must be better looked after. I _must_ live within my income, or I shall be miserable; and I own it would give me great satisfaction to be able to do rather more, to lay by a little at the end of the year."

At the White House, I must live within my income; and I own it would give me great satisfaction to lay by a little at the end of the year."


"My object, Lady Bertram, is to be of use to those that come after me.


It is for your children's good that I wish to be richer.


I have nobody else to care for, but I should be very glad to think I could leave a little trifle among them worth their having."

I should be glad to think I could leave them a little trifle."


"You are very good, but do not trouble yourself about them. They are sure of being well provided for.

"You are very good, but they are sure of being well provided for.


"Why, you know, Sir Thomas's means will be rather straitened if the Antigua estate is to make such poor returns."

"Why, you know, Sir Thomas's means will be straitened if the Antigua estate makes such poor returns."


Sir Thomas has been writing about it, I know."


"Well, Lady Bertram," said Mrs. Norris, moving to go, "I can only say that my sole desire is to be of use to your family: and so, if Sir Thomas should ever speak again about my taking Fanny, you will be able to say that my health and spirits put it quite out of the question; besides that, I really should not have a bed to give her, for I must keep a spare room for a friend."

"Well, Lady Bertram," said Mrs. Norris, "My sole desire is to be of use to your family: and so, if Sir Thomas should speak again about my taking Fanny, you will be able to say that my health and spirits put it quite out of the question; besides, I really have no bed to give her, for I must keep a spare room for a friend."


Lady Bertram repeated enough of this conversation to her husband to convince him how much he had mistaken his sister-in-law's views; and she was from that moment perfectly safe from all expectation, or the slightest allusion to it from him.

Lady Bertram repeated enough of this conversation to her husband to convince him that he had mistaken his sister-in-law's views; and she was from that moment safe from expectation.


He could not but wonder at her refusing to do anything for a niece whom she had been so forward to adopt; but, as she took early care to make him, as well as Lady Bertram, understand that whatever she possessed was designed for their family, he soon grew reconciled to a distinction which, at the same time that it was advantageous and complimentary to them, would enable him better to provide for Fanny himself.

He wondered at her refusing to do anything for a niece whom she had been so anxious to adopt; but soon accepted it.


Fanny soon learnt how unnecessary had been her fears of a removal; and her spontaneous, untaught felicity on the discovery, conveyed some consolation to Edmund for his disappointment in what he had expected to be so essentially serviceable to her.

Fanny learnt how unnecessary had been her fears.


Mrs. Norris took possession of the White House, the Grants arrived at the Parsonage, and these events over, everything at Mansfield went on for some time as usual.

Mrs. Norris moved to the White House, the Grants arrived at the Parsonage, and everything at Mansfield went on for some time as usual.


The Grants showing a disposition to be friendly and sociable, gave great satisfaction in the main among their new acquaintance.

The Grants, being friendly and sociable, gave great satisfaction among their new acquaintance.


They had their faults, and Mrs. Norris soon found them out.


The Doctor was very fond of eating, and would have a good dinner every day; and Mrs. Grant, instead of contriving to gratify him at little expense, gave her cook as high wages as they did at Mansfield Park, and was scarcely ever seen in her offices.

The Doctor was very fond of eating, and would have a good dinner every day; and Mrs. Grant gave her cook as high wages as they did at Mansfield Park.


Mrs. Norris could not speak with any temper of such grievances, nor of the quantity of butter and eggs that were regularly consumed in the house.

Mrs. Norris could not speak with any temper of such grievances, nor of the quantity of butter and eggs that were consumed in the house.


"Nobody loved plenty and hospitality more than herself; nobody more hated pitiful doings; the Parsonage, she believed, had never been wanting in comforts of any sort, had never borne a bad character in _her_ _time_, but this was a way of going on that she could not understand.

"Nobody loved plenty and hospitality more than herself; but this was a way of going on that she could not understand.


A fine lady in a country parsonage was quite out of place.


_Her_ store-room, she thought, might have been good enough for Mrs. Grant to go into.


Inquire where she would, she could not find out that Mrs. Grant had ever had more than five thousand pounds."


Lady Bertram listened without much interest to this sort of invective.

Lady Bertram listened without much interest.


She could not enter into the wrongs of an economist, but she felt all the injuries of beauty in Mrs. Grant's being so well settled in life without being handsome, and expressed her astonishment on that point almost as often, though not so diffusely, as Mrs. Norris discussed the other.

She could not enter into the wrongs of an economist, but she felt astonishment in Mrs. Grant's being so well settled in life without being handsome.


These opinions had been hardly canvassed a year before another event arose of such importance in the family, as might fairly claim some place in the thoughts and conversation of the ladies.

Hardly a year on, another event arose of importance in the family.


Sir Thomas found it expedient to go to Antigua himself, for the better arrangement of his affairs, and he took his eldest son with him, in the hope of detaching him from some bad connexions at home.

Sir Thomas needed to go to Antigua to sort out his affairs, and he took his eldest son, in the hope of detaching him from some bad connexions at home.


They left England with the probability of being nearly a twelvemonth absent.

They left England expecting to be a twelvemonth absent.


The necessity of the measure in a pecuniary light, and the hope of its utility to his son, reconciled Sir Thomas to the effort of quitting the rest of his family, and of leaving his daughters to the direction of others at their present most interesting time of life.

The necessity of the journey reconciled Sir Thomas to quitting the rest of his family, and leaving his daughters in the care of others.


He could not think Lady Bertram quite equal to supply his place with them, or rather, to perform what should have been her own; but, in Mrs. Norris's watchful attention, and in Edmund's judgment, he had sufficient confidence to make him go without fears for their conduct.

He could not think Lady Bertram quite equal to supply his place with them; but, in Mrs. Norris's watchful attention, and in Edmund's judgment, he had confidence.


Lady Bertram did not at all like to have her husband leave her; but she was not disturbed by any alarm for his safety, or solicitude for his comfort, being one of those persons who think nothing can be dangerous, or difficult, or fatiguing to anybody but themselves.

Lady Bertram did not like to have her husband leave her; but she was not disturbed by any alarm for his safety, being one of those persons who think nothing can be dangerous or difficult to anybody but themselves.


The Miss Bertrams were much to be pitied on the occasion: not for their sorrow, but for their want of it.

The Miss Bertrams were much to be pitied on the occasion: not for their sorrow, but for their lack of it.


Their father was no object of love to them; he had never seemed the friend of their pleasures, and his absence was unhappily most welcome.

Their father was no object of love to them; his absence was unhappily most welcome.


They were relieved by it from all restraint; and without aiming at one gratification that would probably have been forbidden by Sir Thomas, they felt themselves immediately at their own disposal, and to have every indulgence within their reach.

They were relieved by it from all restraint; they felt themselves at their own disposal, and to have every indulgence within their reach.


Fanny's relief, and her consciousness of it, were quite equal to her cousins'; but a more tender nature suggested that her feelings were ungrateful, and she really grieved because she could not grieve.

Fanny's relief was quite equal to her cousins'; but she really grieved because she could not grieve.


"Sir Thomas, who had done so much for her and her brothers, and who was gone perhaps never to return!

"Sir Thomas, who had done so much for her, gone perhaps never to return!


that she should see him go without a tear!


He had said to her, moreover, on the very last morning, that he hoped she might see William again in the course of the ensuing winter, and had charged her to write and invite him to Mansfield as soon as the squadron to which he belonged should be known to be in England.

He had said to her, on the last morning, that he hoped she might see William again, and had told her to invite him to Mansfield when his squadron was in England.


and would he only have smiled upon her, and called her "my dear Fanny," while he said it, every former frown or cold address might have been forgotten.

and if he had only smiled, and called her "my dear Fanny", every former cold address might have been forgotten.


But he had ended his speech in a way to sink her in sad mortification, by adding, "If William does come to Mansfield, I hope you may be able to convince him that the many years which have passed since you parted have not been spent on your side entirely without improvement; though, I fear, he must find his sister at sixteen in some respects too much like his sister at ten."

But he had ended his speech by adding, "If William does come to Mansfield, I hope you may convince him that your years here have not been spent entirely without improvement; though, I fear, he must find his sister at sixteen too much like his sister at ten."


She cried bitterly over this reflection when her uncle was gone; and her cousins, on seeing her with red eyes, set her down as a hypocrite.

She cried bitterly over this reflection when her uncle was gone; and her cousins, seeing her with red eyes, set her down as a hypocrite.


The ball was over, and the breakfast was soon over too; the last kiss was given, and William was gone.

The breakfast was soon over; the last kiss was given, and William was gone.


Mr. Crawford had, as he foretold, been very punctual, and short and pleasant had been the meal.

Mr. Crawford had been very punctual, and short and pleasant had been the meal.


After seeing William to the last moment, Fanny walked back to the breakfast-room with a very saddened heart to grieve over the melancholy change; and there her uncle kindly left her to cry in peace, conceiving, perhaps, that the deserted chair of each young man might exercise her tender enthusiasm, and that the remaining cold pork bones and mustard in William's plate might but divide her feelings with the broken egg-shells in Mr. Crawford's.

Fanny walked back to the breakfast-room with a very saddened heart; and there her uncle kindly left her to cry in peace, conceiving, perhaps, that the cold pork bones in William's plate might but divide her feelings with the broken egg-shells in Mr. Crawford's.


She sat and cried _con_ _amore_ as her uncle intended, but it was _con_ _amore_ fraternal and no other.

She sat and cried as her uncle intended, but for her brother only.


William was gone, and she now felt as if she had wasted half his visit in idle cares and selfish solicitudes unconnected with him.

William was gone, and she felt as if she had wasted half his visit in idle cares.


Fanny's disposition was such that she could never even think of her aunt Norris in the meagreness and cheerlessness of her own small house, without reproaching herself for some little want of attention to her when they had been last together; much less could her feelings acquit her of having done and said and thought everything by William that was due to him for a whole fortnight.


Soon after the second breakfast, Edmund bade them good-bye for a week, and mounted his horse for Peterborough, and then all were gone.


Nothing remained of last night but remembrances, which she had nobody to share in.


She talked to her aunt Bertram-she must talk to somebody of the ball; but her aunt had seen so little of what had passed, and had so little curiosity, that it was heavy work.

She talked to her aunt Bertram, but it was heavy work.


Lady Bertram was not certain of anybody's dress or anybody's place at supper but her own.


"She could not recollect what it was that she had heard about one of the Miss Maddoxes, or what it was that Lady Prescott had noticed in Fanny: she was not sure whether Colonel Harrison had been talking of Mr. Crawford or of William when he said he was the finest young man in the room-somebody had whispered something to her; she had forgot to ask Sir Thomas what it could be."


And these were her longest speeches and clearest communications: the rest was only a languid "Yes, yes; very well; did you?

Much of her conversation was a languid, "Yes, very well; did you?


I did not see _that_; I should not know one from the other."

I did not see that; I should not know one from the other."


It was only better than Mrs. Norris's sharp answers would have been; but she being gone home with all the supernumerary jellies to nurse a sick maid, there was peace and good-humour in their little party, though it could not boast much beside.

It was only better than Mrs. Norris's sharp answers would have been; but she was gone home with the leftover jellies to nurse a sick maid.


"I cannot think what is the matter with me," said Lady Bertram, when the tea-things were removed.

"I cannot think what is the matter with me," said Lady Bertram.


It must be sitting up so late last night.


Fanny, you must do something to keep me awake.


Fetch the cards; I feel so very stupid."


The cards were brought, and Fanny played at cribbage with her aunt till bedtime; and as Sir Thomas was reading to himself, no sounds were heard in the room for the next two hours beyond the reckonings of the game-"And _that_ makes thirty-one; four in hand and eight in crib.

The cards were brought, and Fanny played at cribbage with her aunt till bedtime; and as Sir Thomas was reading to himself, no sounds were heard in the room for the next two hours beyond the reckonings of the game-"And that makes thirty-one; four in hand and eight in crib.


You are to deal, ma'am; shall I deal for you?"


Fanny thought and thought again of the difference which twenty-four hours had made in that room, and all that part of the house.

Fanny thought of the difference which twenty-four hours had made.


Last night it had been hope and smiles, bustle and motion, noise and brilliancy, in the drawing-room, and out of the drawing-room, and everywhere.

Last night it had been bustle and motion, noise and brilliancy, everywhere.


Now it was languor, and all but solitude.


A good night's rest improved her spirits.


She could think of William the next day more cheerfully; and as the morning afforded her an opportunity of talking over Thursday night with Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford, in a very handsome style, with all the heightenings of imagination, and all the laughs of playfulness which are so essential to the shade of a departed ball, she could afterwards bring her mind without much effort into its everyday state, and easily conform to the tranquillity of the present quiet week.

She could think of William more cheerfully; and as she was able to talk over Thursday night with Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford, with all the playfulness so essential to the shade of a departed ball, she could afterwards bring her mind back to its everyday tranquillity.


They were indeed a smaller party than she had ever known there for a whole day together, and _he_ was gone on whom the comfort and cheerfulness of every family meeting and every meal chiefly depended.

They were a small party now, with Edmund gone.


He would soon be always gone; and she was thankful that she could now sit in the same room with her uncle, hear his voice, receive his questions, and even answer them, without such wretched feelings as she had formerly known.

He would soon be always gone; and she was thankful that she could now sit in the same room with her uncle and answer his questions without such wretched feelings as formerly.


"We miss our two young men," was Sir Thomas's observation on both the first and second day, as they formed their very reduced circle after dinner; and in consideration of Fanny's swimming eyes, nothing more was said on the first day than to drink their good health; but on the second it led to something farther. William was kindly commended and his promotion hoped for.

"We miss our two young men," observed Sir Thomas on the first day; and seeing Fanny's swimming eyes, said nothing more than to drink their good health; but on the second day, William was kindly commended and his promotion hoped for.


"And there is no reason to suppose," added Sir Thomas, "but that his visits to us may now be tolerably frequent.

"His visits to us may now be more frequent," said Sir Thomas.


"As to Edmund, we must learn to do without him.


This will be the last winter of his belonging to us, as he has done."

This will be the last winter of his belonging to us."


"Yes," said Lady Bertram, "but I wish he was not going away.


This wish was levelled principally at Julia, who had just applied for permission to go to town with Maria; and as Sir Thomas thought it best for each daughter that the permission should be granted, Lady Bertram, though in her own good-nature she would not have prevented it, was lamenting the change it made in the prospect of Julia's return, which would otherwise have taken place about this time.

This wish was levelled principally at Julia, who had just asked to go to town with Maria; and as Sir Thomas had granted permission, Lady Bertram was lamenting the change it made in the prospect of Julia's return.


A great deal of good sense followed on Sir Thomas's side, tending to reconcile his wife to the arrangement.

Sir Thomas used much good sense to reconcile his wife to the arrangement.


Everything that a considerate parent _ought_ to feel was advanced for her use; and everything that an affectionate mother _must_ feel in promoting her children's enjoyment was attributed to her nature.

Everything that an affectionate mother must feel in promoting her children's enjoyment was attributed to her nature.


Lady Bertram agreed to it all with a calm "Yes"; and at the end of a quarter of an hour's silent consideration spontaneously observed, "Sir Thomas, I have been thinking-and I am very glad we took Fanny as we did, for now the others are away we feel the good of it."

Lady Bertram agreed to it all, and then observed, "Sir Thomas, I am very glad we took Fanny as we did, for now the others are away we feel the good of it."


Sir Thomas immediately improved this compliment by adding, "Very true.

Sir Thomas immediately added, "Very true.


We shew Fanny what a good girl we think her by praising her to her face, she is now a very valuable companion.

We show Fanny what a good girl we think her by praising her to her face; she is now a very valuable companion."


If we have been kind to _her_, she is now quite as necessary to _us_."


"Yes," said Lady Bertram presently; "and it is a comfort to think that we shall always have _her_."

"Yes," said Lady Bertram; "and it is a comfort to think that we shall always have her."


Sir Thomas paused, half smiled, glanced at his niece, and then gravely replied, "She will never leave us, I hope, till invited to some other home that may reasonably promise her greater happiness than she knows here."

Sir Thomas half smiled, glanced at his niece, and gravely replied, "She will never leave us, I hope, till invited to some other home that may promise her greater happiness."


"And _that_ is not very likely to be, Sir Thomas.


Maria might be very glad to see her at Sotherton now and then, but she would not think of asking her to live there; and I am sure she is better off here; and besides, I cannot do without her."

Maria would not think of asking her to live at Sotherton; and besides, I cannot do without her."


The week which passed so quietly and peaceably at the great house in Mansfield had a very different character at the Parsonage.

The week which passed so quietly at the great house in Mansfield had a very different character at the Parsonage.


To the young lady, at least, in each family, it brought very different feelings.


What was tranquillity and comfort to Fanny was tediousness and vexation to Mary.


Something arose from difference of disposition and habit: one so easily satisfied, the other so unused to endure; but still more might be imputed to difference of circumstances.


In some points of interest they were exactly opposed to each other.


To Fanny's mind, Edmund's absence was really, in its cause and its tendency, a relief.


She felt the want of his society every day, almost every hour, and was too much in want of it to derive anything but irritation from considering the object for which he went.

She felt the want of his society almost every hour, and was irritated when she considered why he went.


He could not have devised anything more likely to raise his consequence than this week's absence, occurring as it did at the very time of her brother's going away, of William Price's going too, and completing the sort of general break-up of a party which had been so animated.


They were now a miserable trio, confined within doors by a series of rain and snow, with nothing to do and no variety to hope for.

They were now a miserable trio at the Parsonage, confined within doors by rain and snow, with nothing to do.


Angry as she was with Edmund for adhering to his own notions, and acting on them in defiance of her (and she had been so angry that they had hardly parted friends at the ball), she could not help thinking of him continually when absent, dwelling on his merit and affection, and longing again for the almost daily meetings they lately had.

Angry as she was with Edmund for adhering to his own notions, and acting on them in defiance of her (and she had been so angry that they had hardly parted friends at the ball), she could not help thinking of him continually when absent, dwelling on his merit and affection, and longing again for their almost daily meetings.


He should not have planned such an absence-he should not have left home for a week, when her own departure from Mansfield was so near.

He should not have planned such an absence, when her own departure from Mansfield was so near.


She wished she had not spoken so warmly in their last conversation.


She was afraid she had used some strong, some contemptuous expressions in speaking of the clergy, and that should not have been. It was ill-bred; it was wrong.

She was afraid she had used some strong, contemptuous expressions in speaking of the clergy, and that was ill-bred; it was wrong.


She wished such words unsaid with all her heart.


All this was bad, but she had still more to feel when Friday came round again and brought no Edmund; when Saturday came and still no Edmund; and when, through the slight communication with the other family which Sunday produced, she learned that he had actually written home to defer his return, having promised to remain some days longer with his friend.

All this was bad, but she had still more to feel when Friday came round again and brought no Edmund; Saturday, and still no Edmund; and when she learned that he had written home to defer his return, having promised to remain some days longer with his friend.


If she had felt impatience and regret before-if she had been sorry for what she said, and feared its too strong effect on him-she now felt and feared it all tenfold more.

If she had felt impatience and regret before, she now felt it tenfold more.


She had, moreover, to contend with one disagreeable emotion entirely new to her-jealousy.

She had, moreover, to contend with an entirely new emotion-jealousy.


His friend Mr. Owen had sisters; he might find them attractive.


But, at any rate, his staying away at a time when, according to all preceding plans, she was to remove to London, meant something that she could not bear.


Had Henry returned, as he talked of doing, at the end of three or four days, she should now have been leaving Mansfield.


It became absolutely necessary for her to get to Fanny and try to learn something more. She could not live any longer in such solitary wretchedness; and she made her way to the Park, through difficulties of walking which she had deemed unconquerable a week before, for the chance of hearing a little in addition, for the sake of at least hearing his name.

It became absolutely necessary for her to try to learn something more; and she made her way to the Park and Fanny, for the chance of hearing a little news, or at least hearing his name.


The first half-hour was lost, for Fanny and Lady Bertram were together, and unless she had Fanny to herself she could hope for nothing.


But at last Lady Bertram left the room, and then almost immediately Miss Crawford thus began, with a voice as well regulated as she could-"And how do _you_ like your cousin Edmund's staying away so long?

Miss Crawford thus began, with a voice as well regulated as she could-"And how do you like your cousin Edmund's staying away so long?


Being the only young person at home, I consider _you_ as the greatest sufferer.


"I do not know," said Fanny hesitatingly.


"Yes; I had not particularly expected it."


"Perhaps he will always stay longer than he talks of. It is the general way all young men do."

"Perhaps he will stay longer than he talks of, as young men do."


"He did not, the only time he went to see Mr. Owen before."


"He finds the house more agreeable _now_.


He is a very-a very pleasing young man himself, and I cannot help being rather concerned at not seeing him again before I go to London, as will now undoubtedly be the case.

He is a very-a very pleasing young man himself, and I cannot help being rather concerned at not seeing him again before I go to London.


I am looking for Henry every day, and as soon as he comes there will be nothing to detain me at Mansfield.

As soon as Henry comes there will be nothing to detain me at Mansfield.


I should like to have seen him once more, I confess.


But you must give my compliments to him.


Is not there a something wanted, Miss Price, in our language-a something between compliments and-and love-to suit the sort of friendly acquaintance we have had together?

Is not there a something needed, Miss Price, in our language-a something between compliments and-and love-to suit the sort of friendly acquaintance we have had together?


Does he give you much account of what he is doing?


Is it Christmas gaieties that he is staying for?"


"I only heard a part of the letter; it was to my uncle; but I believe it was very short; indeed I am sure it was but a few lines.

"I only heard a part of the letter; it was to my uncle; but I believe it was very short.


All that I heard was that his friend had pressed him to stay longer, and that he had agreed to do so. A _few_ days longer, or _some_ days longer; I am not quite sure which."

All that I heard was that his friend had pressed him to stay a few days longer, and that he had agreed to do so."


if he wrote to his father; but I thought it might have been to Lady Bertram or you.


But if he wrote to his father, no wonder he was concise.


If he had written to you, there would have been more particulars. You would have heard of balls and parties.

If he had written to you, there would have been particulars of balls and parties.


He would have sent you a description of everything and everybody.

He would have sent you a description of everybody.


"That is the first question, you know," said Miss Crawford, trying to appear gay and unconcerned, "which every woman who plays herself is sure to ask about another.


But it is very foolish to ask questions about any young ladies-about any three sisters just grown up; for one knows, without being told, exactly what they are: all very accomplished and pleasing, and one very pretty.

But one knows, without being told, exactly what any three sisters must be: all very accomplished and pleasing, and one very pretty.


There is a beauty in every family; it is a regular thing.


Two play on the pianoforte, and one on the harp; and all sing, or would sing if they were taught, or sing all the better for not being taught; or something like it."


"I know nothing of the Miss Owens," said Fanny calmly.


"You know nothing and you care less, as people say.


Never did tone express indifference plainer.


Indeed, how can one care for those one has never seen?


Well, when your cousin comes back, he will find Mansfield very quiet; all the noisy ones gone, your brother and mine and myself.

Well, when your cousin comes back, he will find Mansfield very quiet; all the noisy ones gone, myself included.


I do not like the idea of leaving Mrs. Grant now the time draws near. She does not like my going."


"You cannot doubt your being missed by many," said she.


Miss Crawford turned her eye on her, as if wanting to hear or see more, and then laughingly said, "Oh yes!


missed as every noisy evil is missed when it is taken away; that is, there is a great difference felt.

missed as every noisy evil is missed when it is taken away.


But I am not fishing; don't compliment me. If I _am_ missed, it will appear. I may be discovered by those who want to see me.

But I may be found by those who want to see me.


I shall not be in any doubtful, or distant, or unapproachable region."

I shall not be in any distant, or unapproachable region."


Now Fanny could not bring herself to speak, and Miss Crawford was disappointed; for she had hoped to hear some pleasant assurance of her power from one who she thought must know, and her spirits were clouded again.

Now Fanny could not bring herself to speak, and Miss Crawford was disappointed; for she had hoped to hear some pleasant assurance of her power from one who she thought must know.


"The Miss Owens," said she, soon afterwards; "suppose you were to have one of the Miss Owens settled at Thornton Lacey; how should you like it?

"The Miss Owens," said she, "suppose you were to have one of the Miss Owens settled at Thornton Lacey; how should you like it?


And they are quite in the right, for it would be a very pretty establishment for them.

It would be a very pretty establishment for them.


It is everybody's duty to do as well for themselves as they can.


Sir Thomas Bertram's son is somebody; and now he is in their own line.


Their father is a clergyman, and their brother is a clergyman, and they are all clergymen together.


He is their lawful property; he fairly belongs to them.


You don't speak, Fanny; Miss Price, you don't speak. But honestly now, do not you rather expect it than otherwise?"

You don't speak, Fanny; but honestly now, do not you rather expect it?"


"No," said Fanny stoutly, "I do not expect it at all."


But I dare say you know exactly-I always imagine you are-perhaps you do not think him likely to marry at all-or not at present."

"But I dare say you know-perhaps you do not think him likely to marry at all-or not at present."


"No, I do not," said Fanny softly, hoping she did not err either in the belief or the acknowledgment of it.

"No, I do not," said Fanny softly, hoping she did not err.


Her companion looked at her keenly; and gathering greater spirit from the blush soon produced from such a look, only said, "He is best off as he is," and turned the subject.

Her companion looked at her keenly; and gathering greater spirit from Fanny's blush, only said, "He is best off as he is," and turned the subject.


Henry Crawford was at Mansfield Park again the next morning, and at an earlier hour than common visiting warrants.

Henry Crawford was at Mansfield Park again early the next morning.


The two ladies were together in the breakfast-room, and, fortunately for him, Lady Bertram was on the very point of quitting it as he entered.

Lady Bertram was quitting the breakfast-room as he entered.


She was almost at the door, and not chusing by any means to take so much trouble in vain, she still went on, after a civil reception, a short sentence about being waited for, and a "Let Sir Thomas know" to the servant.


Henry, overjoyed to have her go, bowed and watched her off, and without losing another moment, turned instantly to Fanny, and, taking out some letters, said, with a most animated look, "I must acknowledge myself infinitely obliged to any creature who gives me such an opportunity of seeing you alone: I have been wishing it more than you can have any idea.

Henry, overjoyed to have her go, bowed and watched her off, and then turned instantly to Fanny, and, taking out some letters, said, "I have been wishing to see you alone.


Knowing as I do what your feelings as a sister are, I could hardly have borne that any one in the house should share with you in the first knowledge of the news I now bring.

Knowing what your feelings as a sister are, I could hardly have borne that any one should share with you in the first knowledge of the news I bring.


I have the infinite satisfaction of congratulating you on your brother's promotion.


Here are the letters which announce it, this moment come to hand.


Fanny could not speak, but he did not want her to speak. To see the expression of her eyes, the change of her complexion, the progress of her feelings, their doubt, confusion, and felicity, was enough.

Fanny could not speak; but for him to see the expression of her eyes, the change of her complexion, was enough.


The first was from the Admiral to inform his nephew, in a few words, of his having succeeded in the object he had undertaken, the promotion of young Price, and enclosing two more, one from the Secretary of the First Lord to a friend, whom the Admiral had set to work in the business, the other from that friend to himself, by which it appeared that his lordship had the very great happiness of attending to the recommendation of Sir Charles; that Sir Charles was much delighted in having such an opportunity of proving his regard for Admiral Crawford, and that the circumstance of Mr. William Price's commission as Second Lieutenant of H.M. Sloop Thrush being made out was spreading general joy through a wide circle of great people.

The first was from the Admiral to inform his nephew of his having succeeded in the promotion of young Price, and enclosing two more, one from the Secretary of the First Lord to a friend, whom the Admiral had set to work in the business, the other from that friend to himself; in which it appeared that Sir Charles was delighted to prove his regard for Admiral Crawford, by the commission of Mr. William Price as Second Lieutenant.


While her hand was trembling under these letters, her eye running from one to the other, and her heart swelling with emotion, Crawford thus continued, with unfeigned eagerness, to express his interest in the event-

While her hand was trembling under these letters, her heart swelling with emotion, Crawford thus continued eagerly-


"I will not talk of my own happiness," said he, "great as it is, for I think only of yours.

"I will not talk of my own happiness," said he, "for I think only of yours.


Compared with you, who has a right to be happy?


I have almost grudged myself my own prior knowledge of what you ought to have known before all the world. I have not lost a moment, however.

I have not lost a moment in bringing the news.


The post was late this morning, but there has not been since a moment's delay.


How impatient, how anxious, how wild I have been on the subject, I will not attempt to describe; how severely mortified, how cruelly disappointed, in not having it finished while I was in London!

How impatient, how anxious, how wild I have been; how cruelly disappointed, in not having the business finished while I was in London!


I was kept there from day to day in the hope of it, for nothing less dear to me than such an object would have detained me half the time from Mansfield.

I stayed there from day to day in the hope of it, for nothing less would have kept me from Mansfield.


But though my uncle entered into my wishes with all the warmth I could desire, and exerted himself immediately, there were difficulties from the absence of one friend, and the engagements of another, which at last I could no longer bear to stay the end of, and knowing in what good hands I left the cause, I came away on Monday, trusting that many posts would not pass before I should be followed by such very letters as these.

But there were difficulties and delays, and I came away on Monday, trusting that I should very soon be followed by such letters as these.


My uncle, who is the very best man in the world, has exerted himself, as I knew he would, after seeing your brother.


I would not allow myself yesterday to say how delighted, or to repeat half that the Admiral said in his praise.


I deferred it all till his praise should be proved the praise of a friend, as this day _does_ prove it.


_Now_ I may say that even I could not require William Price to excite a greater interest, or be followed by warmer wishes and higher commendation, than were most voluntarily bestowed by my uncle after the evening they had passed together."

He gave William the highest commendation after the evening they passed together."


Have you really-was it by _your_ desire?


Henry was most happy to make it more intelligible, by beginning at an earlier stage, and explaining very particularly what he had done.

Henry was happy to explain what he had done.


His last journey to London had been undertaken with no other view than that of introducing her brother in Hill Street, and prevailing on the Admiral to exert whatever interest he might have for getting him on.

His journey to London had been undertaken with no other view than that of introducing her brother to the Admiral and prevailing on him to exert his interest.


He had communicated it to no creature: he had not breathed a syllable of it even to Mary; while uncertain of the issue, he could not have borne any participation of his feelings, but this had been his business; and he spoke with such a glow of what his solicitude had been, and used such strong expressions, was so abounding in the _deepest_ _interest_, in _twofold_ _motives_, in _views_ _and_ _wishes_ _more_ _than_ _could_ _be_ _told_, that Fanny could not have remained insensible of his drift, had she been able to attend; but her heart was so full and her senses still so astonished, that she could listen but imperfectly even to what he told her of William, and saying only when he paused, "How kind! how very kind!

He spoke with such a glow, used such strong expressions, and was so abounding in twofold motives, that Fanny could not have remained unaware of his drift, had she been able to attend; but her heart was so full that she could only listen imperfectly, saying when he paused, "How very kind!


Oh, Mr. Crawford, we are infinitely obliged to you!


She jumped up and moved in haste towards the door, crying out, "I will go to my uncle. My uncle ought to know it as soon as possible."

She jumped up, crying out, "My uncle ought to know it as soon as possible."


The opportunity was too fair, and his feelings too impatient.


"She must not go, she must allow him five minutes longer," and he took her hand and led her back to her seat, and was in the middle of his farther explanation, before she had suspected for what she was detained.

"She must not go, she must allow him five minutes longer." He led her back to her seat, and was in the middle of his farther explanation, before she had suspected for what she was detained.


When she did understand it, however, and found herself expected to believe that she had created sensations which his heart had never known before, and that everything he had done for William was to be placed to the account of his excessive and unequalled attachment to her, she was exceedingly distressed, and for some moments unable to speak.

When she did understand it, however, and found herself expected to believe that she had created sensations which his heart had never known before, and that everything he had done for William was because of his attachment to her, she was exceedingly distressed, and for some moments unable to speak.


She considered it all as nonsense, as mere trifling and gallantry, which meant only to deceive for the hour; she could not but feel that it was treating her improperly and unworthily, and in such a way as she had not deserved; but it was like himself, and entirely of a piece with what she had seen before; and she would not allow herself to shew half the displeasure she felt, because he had been conferring an obligation, which no want of delicacy on his part could make a trifle to her.

She considered it all as nonsense, as mere trifling and gallantry; he was treating her improperly, and in a way that she had not deserved; but it was like himself, and entirely of a piece with what she had seen before; and she would not allow herself to show displeasure, after he had conferred such an obligation.


While her heart was still bounding with joy and gratitude on William's behalf, she could not be severely resentful of anything that injured only herself; and after having twice drawn back her hand, and twice attempted in vain to turn away from him, she got up, and said only, with much agitation, "Don't, Mr. Crawford, pray don't!

While her heart was still bounding with joy and gratitude on William's behalf, she could not be severe; and after having twice drawn back her hand, and attempted in vain to turn away, she got up, and said only, with much agitation, "Don't, Mr. Crawford, pray don't!


This is a sort of talking which is very unpleasant to me.

This sort of talking is very unpleasant to me.


But he was still talking on, describing his affection, soliciting a return, and, finally, in words so plain as to bear but one meaning even to her, offering himself, hand, fortune, everything, to her acceptance.

But he was still talking on, describing his affection, and finally offering himself, hand, fortune, everything, to her acceptance.


Her astonishment and confusion increased; and though still not knowing how to suppose him serious, she could hardly stand.

Her astonishment and confusion increased; and though still not supposing him serious, she could hardly stand.


Your kindness to William makes me more obliged to you than words can express; but I do not want, I cannot bear, I must not listen to such-No, no, don't think of me.


She had burst away from him, and at that moment Sir Thomas was heard speaking to a servant in his way towards the room they were in.

She burst away from him, and at that moment Sir Thomas was heard speaking to a servant just outside the room.


It was no time for farther assurances or entreaty, though to part with her at a moment when her modesty alone seemed, to his sanguine and preassured mind, to stand in the way of the happiness he sought, was a cruel necessity.


She rushed out at an opposite door from the one her uncle was approaching, and was walking up and down the East room in the utmost confusion of contrary feeling, before Sir Thomas's politeness or apologies were over, or he had reached the beginning of the joyful intelligence which his visitor came to communicate.

She rushed out at an opposite door from the one her uncle was approaching, and was walking up and down the East room in the utmost confusion of feeling, before Sir Thomas had reached the beginning of the joyful news which his visitor came to communicate.


She was feeling, thinking, trembling about everything; agitated, happy, miserable, infinitely obliged, absolutely angry.


But such were his habits that he could do nothing without a mixture of evil.


He had previously made her the happiest of human beings, and now he had insulted-she knew not what to say, how to class, or how to regard it.

He had previously made her the happiest of human beings, and now he had insulted-she knew not how to regard it.


She would not have him be serious, and yet what could excuse the use of such words and offers, if they meant but to trifle?

She did not want him to be serious, and yet what could excuse his words, if they meant but to trifle?


_That_ was a fact beyond a doubt, and without an alloy.


She would think of it for ever and forget all the rest.

She would think of it and forget all the rest.


Mr. Crawford would certainly never address her so again: he must have seen how unwelcome it was to her; and in that case, how gratefully she could esteem him for his friendship to William!


She would not stir farther from the East room than the head of the great staircase, till she had satisfied herself of Mr. Crawford's having left the house; but when convinced of his being gone, she was eager to go down and be with her uncle, and have all the happiness of his joy as well as her own, and all the benefit of his information or his conjectures as to what would now be William's destination.

She would not stir from the East room till she had satisfied herself of Mr. Crawford's having left the house; but when convinced of his being gone, she was eager to go down and share her joy with her uncle.


Sir Thomas was as joyful as she could desire, and very kind and communicative; and she had so comfortable a talk with him about William as to make her feel as if nothing had occurred to vex her, till she found, towards the close, that Mr. Crawford was engaged to return and dine there that very day.

Sir Thomas was as joyful as she could desire, and she had so comfortable a talk with him about William as to make her feel as if nothing had occurred to vex her, till she found that Mr. Crawford was engaged to return and dine there that very day.


This was a most unwelcome hearing, for though he might think nothing of what had passed, it would be quite distressing to her to see him again so soon.


She tried to get the better of it; tried very hard, as the dinner hour approached, to feel and appear as usual; but it was quite impossible for her not to look most shy and uncomfortable when their visitor entered the room.


She could not have supposed it in the power of any concurrence of circumstances to give her so many painful sensations on the first day of hearing of William's promotion.


Mr. Crawford was not only in the room-he was soon close to her. He had a note to deliver from his sister.

Mr. Crawford was soon close to her; he had a note to deliver from his sister.


Fanny could not look at him, but there was no consciousness of past folly in his voice.


She opened her note immediately, glad to have anything to do, and happy, as she read it, to feel that the fidgetings of her aunt Norris, who was also to dine there, screened her a little from view.

She opened her note immediately, glad to have anything to do, and happy, as she read it, to feel that the fidgetings of her aunt Norris screened her from view.


"MY DEAR FANNY,-for so I may now always call you, to the infinite relief of a tongue that has been stumbling at _Miss_ _Price_ for at least the last six weeks-I cannot let my brother go without sending you a few lines of general congratulation, and giving my most joyful consent and approval.

"My dear Fanny,-for so I may now always call you-I cannot let my brother go without sending you a few lines of congratulation, and giving my most joyful consent and approval.


Go on, my dear Fanny, and without fear; there can be no difficulties worth naming.


I chuse to suppose that the assurance of my consent will be something; so you may smile upon him with your sweetest smiles this afternoon, and send him back to me even happier than he goes.
Yours affectionately, M. C."

I choose to suppose that my consent will be something; so you may smile upon him with your sweetest smiles this afternoon, and send him back to me even happier than he goes.-Yours affectionately, M. C."


These were not expressions to do Fanny any good; for though she read in too much haste and confusion to form the clearest judgment of Miss Crawford's meaning, it was evident that she meant to compliment her on her brother's attachment, and even to _appear_ to believe it serious.

These were not expressions to do Fanny any good; for though she read in too much haste and confusion to form the clearest judgment of Miss Crawford's meaning, it was evident that she meant to compliment her on her brother's attachment, and believed it serious.


She did not know what to do, or what to think.


There was wretchedness in the idea of its being serious; there was perplexity and agitation every way.

There was wretchedness in the idea of its being serious; there was perplexity every way.


She was distressed whenever Mr. Crawford spoke to her, and he spoke to her much too often; and she was afraid there was a something in his voice and manner in addressing her very different from what they were when he talked to the others.

She was distressed whenever Mr. Crawford spoke to her, and he spoke to her much too often.


Her comfort in that day's dinner was quite destroyed: she could hardly eat anything; and when Sir Thomas good-humouredly observed that joy had taken away her appetite, she was ready to sink with shame, from the dread of Mr. Crawford's interpretation; for though nothing could have tempted her to turn her eyes to the right hand, where he sat, she felt that _his_ were immediately directed towards her.

She could hardly eat; and when Sir Thomas good-humouredly observed that joy had taken away her appetite, she was ready to sink with shame; for though nothing could have tempted her to turn her eyes to Mr. Crawford, she felt that his were immediately directed towards her.


She was more silent than ever. She would hardly join even when William was the subject, for his commission came all from the right hand too, and there was pain in the connexion.

She was more silent than ever, hardly joining even when William was the subject.


She thought Lady Bertram sat longer than ever, and began to be in despair of ever getting away; but at last they were in the drawing-room, and she was able to think as she would, while her aunts finished the subject of William's appointment in their own style.

She began to despair of ever getting away; but at last they were in the drawing-room, where her aunts finished the subject of William's appointment in their own style.


Mrs. Norris seemed as much delighted with the saving it would be to Sir Thomas as with any part of it.

Mrs. Norris seemed delighted with the saving it would be to Sir Thomas.


"_Now_ William would be able to keep himself, which would make a vast difference to his uncle, for it was unknown how much he had cost his uncle; and, indeed, it would make some difference in _her_ presents too.

"Now William would be able to keep himself, which would make a vast difference to his uncle; and, indeed, it would make some difference in her presents too.


She was very glad that she had given William what she did at parting, very glad, indeed, that it had been in her power, without material inconvenience, just at that time to give him something rather considerable; that is, for _her_, with _her_ limited means, for now it would all be useful in helping to fit up his cabin.

She was very glad that she had given William something considerable at parting, for now it would be useful in helping to fit up his cabin."


She knew he must be at some expense, that he would have many things to buy, though to be sure his father and mother would be able to put him in the way of getting everything very cheap; but she was very glad she had contributed her mite towards it."


"I am glad you gave him something considerable," said Lady Bertram, with most unsuspicious calmness, "for _I_ gave him only 10."

"I am glad you gave him something considerable," said Lady Bertram, with most unsuspicious calmness, "for I gave him only 10."


"Upon my word, he must have gone off with his pockets well lined, and at no expense for his journey to London either!"

"Upon my word, he must have gone off with his pockets well lined!"


"Sir Thomas told me 10 would be enough."


Mrs. Norris, being not at all inclined to question its sufficiency, began to take the matter in another point.

Mrs. Norris, being not at all inclined to question its sufficiency, began on another point.


"It is amazing," said she, "how much young people cost their friends, what with bringing them up and putting them out in the world!


They little think how much it comes to, or what their parents, or their uncles and aunts, pay for them in the course of the year.


Now, here are my sister Price's children; take them all together, I dare say nobody would believe what a sum they cost Sir Thomas every year, to say nothing of what _I_ do for them."

Now, take my sister Price's children; nobody would believe what they cost Sir Thomas every year, to say nothing of what I do for them."


they cannot help it; and you know it makes very little difference to Sir Thomas.


Fanny, William must not forget my shawl if he goes to the East Indies; and I shall give him a commission for anything else that is worth having.

Fanny, William must not forget my shawl if he goes to the East Indies.


I wish he may go to the East Indies, that I may have my shawl.

I wish he may go there, so that I may have my shawl.


Fanny, meanwhile, speaking only when she could not help it, was very earnestly trying to understand what Mr. and Miss Crawford were at.

Fanny, meanwhile, was very earnestly trying to understand what Mr. and Miss Crawford were at.


There was everything in the world _against_ their being serious but his words and manner.

Everything reasonable was against their being serious.


Everything natural, probable, reasonable, was against it; all their habits and ways of thinking, and all her own demerits.


How could _she_ have excited serious attachment in a man who had seen so many, and been admired by so many, and flirted with so many, infinitely her superiors; who seemed so little open to serious impressions, even where pains had been taken to please him; who thought so slightly, so carelessly, so unfeelingly on all such points; who was everything to everybody, and seemed to find no one essential to him?

How could she have attached a man who had been admired by so many, and flirted with so many, infinitely her superiors; who seemed so little open to serious impressions; who thought so carelessly, so unfeelingly on all such points, who was everything to everybody, and seemed to find no one essential to him?