He passed, however, for an admirer of her dancing; and Sir Thomas, by no means displeased, prolonged the conversation on dancing in general, and was so well engaged in describing the balls of Antigua, and listening to what his nephew could relate of the different modes of dancing which had fallen within his observation, that he had not heard his carriage announced, and was first called to the knowledge of it by the bustle of Mrs. Norris.

He passed, however, for an admirer of her dancing; and Sir Thomas, pleased, prolonged the conversation, and was so well engaged in describing the balls of Antigua, that he did not hear his carriage announced, until Mrs. Norris began to bustle.


"Come, Fanny, Fanny, what are you about?


I cannot bear to keep good old Wilcox waiting.


You should always remember the coachman and horses.


My dear Sir Thomas, we have settled it that the carriage should come back for you, and Edmund and William."


Sir Thomas could not dissent, as it had been his own arrangement, previously communicated to his wife and sister; but _that_ seemed forgotten by Mrs. Norris, who must fancy that she settled it all herself.

Sir Thomas could not dissent, as it had been his own arrangement; but that seemed forgotten by Mrs. Norris, who must fancy that she had settled it all herself.


Fanny's last feeling in the visit was disappointment: for the shawl which Edmund was quietly taking from the servant to bring and put round her shoulders was seized by Mr. Crawford's quicker hand, and she was obliged to be indebted to his more prominent attention.

Fanny's last feeling was disappointment: for the shawl which Edmund was quietly taking from the servant to put round her shoulders was seized by Mr. Crawford, and she was obliged to be indebted to his more prominent attention.


Seven weeks of the two months were very nearly gone, when the one letter, the letter from Edmund, so long expected, was put into Fanny's hands.

Seven weeks of the two months were gone, when the letter, the letter from Edmund, so long expected, was put into Fanny's hands.


As she opened, and saw its length, she prepared herself for a minute detail of happiness and a profusion of love and praise towards the fortunate creature who was now mistress of his fate.

As she saw its length, she prepared herself for a minute detail of happiness and a profusion of praise towards his future wife.


"My Dear Fanny,-Excuse me that I have not written before.

"My Dear Fanny,-Excuse my not writing before.


Crawford told me that you were wishing to hear from me, but I found it impossible to write from London, and persuaded myself that you would understand my silence.

Crawford told me that you wished to hear from me, but I found it impossible to write from London, and persuaded myself that you would understand my silence.


Could I have sent a few happy lines, they should not have been wanting, but nothing of that nature was ever in my power.

Could I have sent a few happy lines, I should have done so, but nothing of that nature was ever in my power.


I am returned to Mansfield in a less assured state than when I left it.


You are probably aware of this already from your friend.


So very fond of you as Miss Crawford is, it is most natural that she should tell you enough of her own feelings to furnish a tolerable guess at mine.


I will not be prevented, however, from making my own communication.


There is something soothing in the idea that we have the same friend, and that whatever unhappy differences of opinion may exist between us, we are united in our love of you.


It will be a comfort to me to tell you how things now are, and what are my present plans, if plans I can be said to have.

It will be a comfort to me to tell you how things now are.


I was three weeks in London, and saw her (for London) very often.

"I was three weeks in London, and saw her very often.


I had every attention from the Frasers that could be reasonably expected.


I dare say I was not reasonable in carrying with me hopes of an intercourse at all like that of Mansfield.

I dare say I was not reasonable in bringing hopes of an intimacy like that of Mansfield.


It was her manner, however, rather than any unfrequency of meeting.


Had she been different when I did see her, I should have made no complaint, but from the very first she was altered: my first reception was so unlike what I had hoped, that I had almost resolved on leaving London again directly.

From the very first she was altered: my reception was so unlike what I had hoped, that I almost resolved on leaving London again directly.


You know the weak side of her character, and may imagine the sentiments and expressions which were torturing me.


She was in high spirits, and surrounded by those who were giving all the support of their own bad sense to her too lively mind.

She was in high spirits, and surrounded by those who were giving the support of their own bad sense to her too lively mind.


She is a cold-hearted, vain woman, who has married entirely from convenience, and though evidently unhappy in her marriage, places her disappointment not to faults of judgment, or temper, or disproportion of age, but to her being, after all, less affluent than many of her acquaintance, especially than her sister, Lady Stornaway, and is the determined supporter of everything mercenary and ambitious, provided it be only mercenary and ambitious enough.

She is a cold-hearted, vain woman, who has married entirely from convenience, and though evidently unhappy in her marriage, blames her disappointment not on faults of judgment or temper, but to her being less affluent than her sister, Lady Stornaway; she is mercenary and ambitious.


I look upon her intimacy with those two sisters as the greatest misfortune of her life and mine.

I look upon Miss Crawford's intimacy with those two sisters as the greatest misfortune of her life and mine.


They have been leading her astray for years.


Could she be detached from them!-and sometimes I do not despair of it, for the affection appears to me principally on their side.

If only she could be detached from them!-and sometimes I do not despair of it, for the affection appears to me principally on their side.


They are very fond of her; but I am sure she does not love them as she loves you.


When I think of her great attachment to you, indeed, and the whole of her judicious, upright conduct as a sister, she appears a very different creature, capable of everything noble, and I am ready to blame myself for a too harsh construction of a playful manner.

When I think of her great attachment to you, indeed, and her conduct as a sister, she appears a very different creature, capable of everything noble, and I am ready to blame myself for a too harsh construction of her playful manner.


She is the only woman in the world whom I could ever think of as a wife.


If I did not believe that she had some regard for me, of course I should not say this, but I do believe it.

If I did not believe that she had regard for me, of course I should not say this, but I do believe it.


I am convinced that she is not without a decided preference.


It is the influence of the fashionable world altogether that I am jealous of.

It is the influence of the fashionable world that I am jealous of.


Her ideas are not higher than her own fortune may warrant, but they are beyond what our incomes united could authorise.


I could better bear to lose her because not rich enough, than because of my profession.


That would only prove her affection not equal to sacrifices, which, in fact, I am scarcely justified in asking; and, if I am refused, that, I think, will be the honest motive.


Her prejudices, I trust, are not so strong as they were.


You have my thoughts exactly as they arise, my dear Fanny; perhaps they are sometimes contradictory, but it will not be a less faithful picture of my mind.


Having once begun, it is a pleasure to me to tell you all I feel.


Connected as we already are, and, I hope, are to be, to give up Mary Crawford would be to give up the society of some of those most dear to me; to banish myself from the very houses and friends whom, under any other distress, I should turn to for consolation.


The loss of Mary I must consider as comprehending the loss of Crawford and of Fanny.

The loss of Mary must include the loss of Crawford and of Fanny.


Were it a decided thing, an actual refusal, I hope I should know how to bear it, and how to endeavour to weaken her hold on my heart, and in the course of a few years-but I am writing nonsense.

Were it an actual refusal, I hope I should know how to bear it, and how to endeavour to weaken her hold on my heart, and in the course of a few years-but I am writing nonsense.


Were I refused, I must bear it; and till I am, I can never cease to try for her.


I have sometimes thought of going to London again after Easter, and sometimes resolved on doing nothing till she returns to Mansfield.


Even now, she speaks with pleasure of being in Mansfield in June; but June is at a great distance, and I believe I shall write to her.


I have nearly determined on explaining myself by letter.


To be at an early certainty is a material object.


Considering everything, I think a letter will be decidedly the best method of explanation.

Considering everything, I think a letter will be best.


I shall be able to write much that I could not say, and shall be giving her time for reflection before she resolves on her answer, and I am less afraid of the result of reflection than of an immediate hasty impulse; I think I am.

I shall be able to write much that I could not say, and shall be giving her time to reflect before she answers, and I am less afraid of the result of reflection than of an immediate hasty impulse; I think I am.


My greatest danger would lie in her consulting Mrs. Fraser, and I at a distance unable to help my own cause.

My greatest danger would lie in her consulting Mrs. Fraser.


A letter exposes to all the evil of consultation, and where the mind is anything short of perfect decision, an adviser may, in an unlucky moment, lead it to do what it may afterwards regret.

Where the mind is short of perfect decision, an adviser may, in an unlucky moment, lead it to do what it may afterwards regret.


This long letter, full of my own concerns alone, will be enough to tire even the friendship of a Fanny.

"This long letter, full of my own concerns, will be enough to tire even the friendship of a Fanny.


The last time I saw Crawford was at Mrs. Fraser's party.


I am more and more satisfied with all that I see and hear of him.


He thoroughly knows his own mind, and acts up to his resolutions: an inestimable quality.

He thoroughly knows his own mind, and acts up to his resolutions.


I could not see him and my eldest sister in the same room without recollecting what you once told me, and I acknowledge that they did not meet as friends.


I saw him draw back surprised, and I was sorry that Mrs. Rushworth should resent any former supposed slight to Miss Bertram.


You will wish to hear my opinion of Maria's degree of comfort as a wife.


I hope they get on pretty well together.


I dined twice in Wimpole Street, and might have been there oftener, but it is mortifying to be with Rushworth as a brother.


Julia seems to enjoy London exceedingly.


I had little enjoyment there, but have less here.


My mother desires her best love, and hopes to hear from you soon.


She talks of you almost every hour, and I am sorry to find how many weeks more she is likely to be without you.

She talks of you every hour, and I am sorry to find how many weeks more she is likely to be without you.


My father means to fetch you himself, but it will not be till after Easter, when he has business in town.

My father means to fetch you himself, but it will not be till after Easter.


You are happy at Portsmouth, I hope, but this must not be a yearly visit.


I want you at home, that I may have your opinion about Thornton Lacey.


I have little heart for extensive improvements till I know that it will ever have a mistress.


It is quite settled that the Grants go to Bath; they leave Mansfield on Monday.


I am not comfortable enough to be fit for anybody; but your aunt seems to feel out of luck that such an article of Mansfield news should fall to my pen instead of hers.-Yours ever, my dearest Fanny."


"I never will, no, I certainly never will wish for a letter again," was Fanny's secret declaration as she finished this.

"I never will, no, I certainly never will wish for a letter again," was Fanny's declaration as she finished this.


"What do they bring but disappointment and sorrow?


And my poor aunt talking of me every hour!"


Fanny checked the tendency of these thoughts as well as she could, but she was within half a minute of starting the idea that Sir Thomas was quite unkind, both to her aunt and to herself.

Fanny checked these thoughts as well as she could, but she almost considered that Sir Thomas was quite unkind, both to her aunt and to herself.


As for the main subject of the letter, there was nothing in that to soothe irritation.


She was almost vexed into displeasure and anger against Edmund.

she was almost vexed into anger against Edmund.


"There is no good in this delay," said she.


He is blinded, and nothing will open his eyes; nothing can, after having had truths before him so long in vain.

He is blinded, and nothing will open his eyes.


He will marry her, and be poor and miserable."


God grant that her influence do not make him cease to be respectable!"


She loves nobody but herself and her brother.


Her friends leading her astray for years!


She is quite as likely to have led _them_ astray.

She is quite as likely to have led them astray.


They have all, perhaps, been corrupting one another; but if they are so much fonder of her than she is of them, she is the less likely to have been hurt, except by their flattery.

They have all, perhaps, been corrupting one another.


'The only woman in the world whom he could ever think of as a wife.'


It is an attachment to govern his whole life.


Accepted or refused, his heart is wedded to her for ever.


'The loss of Mary I must consider as comprehending the loss of Crawford and Fanny.'

'The loss of Mary must include the loss of Crawford and of Fanny.'


The families would never be connected if you did not connect them!


Such sensations, however, were too near akin to resentment to be long guiding Fanny's soliloquies.

Such sensations, however, were too close to resentment to last long.


She was soon more softened and sorrowful.


His warm regard, his kind expressions, his confidential treatment, touched her strongly.

His warm regard, his confidential treatment, touched her strongly.


It was a letter, in short, which she would not but have had for the world, and which could never be valued enough.


Everybody at all addicted to letter-writing, without having much to say, which will include a large proportion of the female world at least, must feel with Lady Bertram that she was out of luck in having such a capital piece of Mansfield news as the certainty of the Grants going to Bath, occur at a time when she could make no advantage of it, and will admit that it must have been very mortifying to her to see it fall to the share of her thankless son, and treated as concisely as possible at the end of a long letter, instead of having it to spread over the largest part of a page of her own.


For though Lady Bertram rather shone in the epistolary line, having early in her marriage, from the want of other employment, and the circumstance of Sir Thomas's being in Parliament, got into the way of making and keeping correspondents, and formed for herself a very creditable, common-place, amplifying style, so that a very little matter was enough for her: she could not do entirely without any; she must have something to write about, even to her niece; and being so soon to lose all the benefit of Dr. Grant's gouty symptoms and Mrs. Grant's morning calls, it was very hard upon her to be deprived of one of the last epistolary uses she could put them to.


There was a rich amends, however, preparing for her.


Within a few days from the receipt of Edmund's letter, Fanny had one from her aunt, beginning thus-

A few days after receiving Edmund's letter, Fanny had one from her aunt, beginning thus-


"My Dear Fanny,-I take up my pen to communicate some very alarming intelligence, which I make no doubt will give you much concern".


This was a great deal better than to have to take up the pen to acquaint her with all the particulars of the Grants' intended journey, for the present intelligence was of a nature to promise occupation for the pen for many days to come, being no less than the dangerous illness of her eldest son, of which they had received notice by express a few hours before.

The intelligence was no less than the dangerous illness of her eldest son, of which they had received news a few hours before.


Tom had gone from London with a party of young men to Newmarket, where a neglected fall and a good deal of drinking had brought on a fever; and when the party broke up, being unable to move, had been left by himself at the house of one of these young men to the comforts of sickness and solitude, and the attendance only of servants.

Tom had gone from London with a party of young men to Newmarket, where a neglected fall and a good deal of drinking had brought on a fever; and when the party broke up, he had been left by himself at the house of one of these young men, with the attendance only of servants.


Instead of being soon well enough to follow his friends, as he had then hoped, his disorder increased considerably, and it was not long before he thought so ill of himself as to be as ready as his physician to have a letter despatched to Mansfield.

Instead of being soon well enough to follow his friends, as he had hoped, his disorder increased, and a letter was despatched to Mansfield.


"This distressing intelligence, as you may suppose," observed her ladyship, after giving the substance of it, "has agitated us exceedingly, and we cannot prevent ourselves from being greatly alarmed and apprehensive for the poor invalid, whose state Sir Thomas fears may be very critical; and Edmund kindly proposes attending his brother immediately, but I am happy to add that Sir Thomas will not leave me on this distressing occasion, as it would be too trying for me.

"This distressing intelligence, as you may suppose," observed her ladyship, "has agitated us exceedingly, and we cannot prevent ourselves from being greatly alarmed for the poor invalid, whose state Sir Thomas fears may be very critical; and Edmund kindly proposes attending his brother immediately, but I am happy to add that Sir Thomas will not leave me on this distressing occasion, as it would be too trying for me.


We shall greatly miss Edmund in our small circle, but I trust and hope he will find the poor invalid in a less alarming state than might be apprehended, and that he will be able to bring him to Mansfield shortly, which Sir Thomas proposes should be done, and thinks best on every account, and I flatter myself the poor sufferer will soon be able to bear the removal without material inconvenience or injury.

I trust and hope Edmund will find the poor invalid in a less alarming state than might be apprehended, and that he will be able to bring him to Mansfield shortly, which Sir Thomas thinks best on every account, and I flatter myself the poor sufferer will soon be able to bear the removal without material injury.


As I have little doubt of your feeling for us, my dear Fanny, under these distressing circumstances, I will write again very soon."

As I have little doubt of your feeling for us, my dear Fanny, I will write again very soon."


Fanny's feelings on the occasion were indeed considerably more warm and genuine than her aunt's style of writing.


Tom dangerously ill, Edmund gone to attend him, and the sadly small party remaining at Mansfield, were cares to shut out every other care, or almost every other.

Tom dangerously ill, Edmund gone to attend him, and the sad party remaining at Mansfield, were cares to shut out almost every other care.


She could just find selfishness enough to wonder whether Edmund _had_ written to Miss Crawford before this summons came, but no sentiment dwelt long with her that was not purely affectionate and disinterestedly anxious.

She could just find selfishness enough to wonder whether Edmund had written to Miss Crawford before this summons came, but that sentiment did not dwell long.


Her aunt did not neglect her: she wrote again and again; they were receiving frequent accounts from Edmund, and these accounts were as regularly transmitted to Fanny, in the same diffuse style, and the same medley of trusts, hopes, and fears, all following and producing each other at haphazard.

Her aunt wrote again and again; they were receiving frequent accounts from Edmund, and these accounts were as regularly transmitted to Fanny, in the same diffuse style, and the same medley of trusts and hopes and fears.


It was a sort of playing at being frightened.


The sufferings which Lady Bertram did not see had little power over her fancy; and she wrote very comfortably about agitation, and anxiety, and poor invalids, till Tom was actually conveyed to Mansfield, and her own eyes had beheld his altered appearance.

The sufferings which Lady Bertram did not see had little power over her fancy; and she wrote very comfortably about poor invalids, till Tom was actually conveyed to Mansfield, and her own eyes beheld his altered appearance.


Then a letter which she had been previously preparing for Fanny was finished in a different style, in the language of real feeling and alarm; then she wrote as she might have spoken.

Then a letter which she had started to Fanny was finished in a different style, in the language of real feeling and alarm; then she wrote as she might have spoken.


"He is just come, my dear Fanny, and is taken upstairs; and I am so shocked to see him, that I do not know what to do.


I am sure he has been very ill. Poor Tom!


I am quite grieved for him, and very much frightened, and so is Sir Thomas; and how glad I should be if you were here to comfort me.


But Sir Thomas hopes he will be better to-morrow, and says we must consider his journey."


The real solicitude now awakened in the maternal bosom was not soon over.


Tom's extreme impatience to be removed to Mansfield, and experience those comforts of home and family which had been little thought of in uninterrupted health, had probably induced his being conveyed thither too early, as a return of fever came on, and for a week he was in a more alarming state than ever.

Tom's impatience to be removed to Mansfield had probably led to his being brought there too early; a return of fever came on, and for a week he was in a more alarming state than ever.


They were all very seriously frightened.


Lady Bertram wrote her daily terrors to her niece, who might now be said to live upon letters, and pass all her time between suffering from that of to-day and looking forward to to-morrow's.

Lady Bertram wrote her daily terrors to her niece, who might now be said to live upon letters.


Without any particular affection for her eldest cousin, her tenderness of heart made her feel that she could not spare him, and the purity of her principles added yet a keener solicitude, when she considered how little useful, how little self-denying his life had (apparently) been.

Without any particular affection for her eldest cousin, her tenderness of heart made her feel that she could not spare him, and the purity of her principles added yet a keener solicitude, when she considered how little useful his life had (apparently) been.


Susan was her only companion and listener on this, as on more common occasions.

Susan was her only listener on this, as on other occasions.


Susan was always ready to hear and to sympathise.


Nobody else could be interested in so remote an evil as illness in a family above an hundred miles off; not even Mrs. Price, beyond a brief question or two, if she saw her daughter with a letter in her hand, and now and then the quiet observation of, "My poor sister Bertram must be in a great deal of trouble."

Nobody else could be interested in so remote an evil as illness an hundred miles off; not even Mrs. Price, beyond a brief question or two, and now and then the quiet observation of, "My poor sister Bertram must be in a great deal of trouble."


So long divided and so differently situated, the ties of blood were little more than nothing.


An attachment, originally as tranquil as their tempers, was now become a mere name.


Mrs. Price did quite as much for Lady Bertram as Lady Bertram would have done for Mrs. Price.


Three or four Prices might have been swept away, any or all except Fanny and William, and Lady Bertram would have thought little about it; or perhaps might have caught from Mrs. Norris's lips the cant of its being a very happy thing and a great blessing to their poor dear sister Price to have them so well provided for.


Mr. Bertram set off for----, and Miss Crawford was prepared to find a great chasm in their society, and to miss him decidedly in the meetings which were now becoming almost daily between the families; and on their all dining together at the Park soon after his going, she retook her chosen place near the bottom of the table, fully expecting to feel a most melancholy difference in the change of masters.

Mr. Bertram set off, and Miss Crawford was prepared to miss him decidedly in the meetings between the families; and on their dining together at the Park soon after his going, she fully expected to feel a melancholy difference.


It would be a very flat business, she was sure.

It would be a flat business, she was sure.


In comparison with his brother, Edmund would have nothing to say.


The soup would be sent round in a most spiritless manner, wine drank without any smiles or agreeable trifling, and the venison cut up without supplying one pleasant anecdote of any former haunch, or a single entertaining story, about "my friend such a one."

The soup would be sent round in a spiritless manner, wine drank without any agreeable trifling, and the venison cut up without one pleasant anecdote about "my friend such a one."


She must try to find amusement in what was passing at the upper end of the table, and in observing Mr. Rushworth, who was now making his appearance at Mansfield for the first time since the Crawfords' arrival.

She must try to find amusement in observing Mr. Rushworth, who was now at Mansfield.


He had been visiting a friend in the neighbouring county, and that friend having recently had his grounds laid out by an improver, Mr. Rushworth was returned with his head full of the subject, and very eager to be improving his own place in the same way; and though not saying much to the purpose, could talk of nothing else.

He had been visiting a friend in the neighbouring county, and that friend having recently had his grounds laid out, Mr. Rushworth returned with his head full of the subject. Eager to improve his own place in the same way, he could talk of nothing else.


The subject had been already handled in the drawing-room; it was revived in the dining-parlour.


Miss Bertram's attention and opinion was evidently his chief aim; and though her deportment showed rather conscious superiority than any solicitude to oblige him, the mention of Sotherton Court, and the ideas attached to it, gave her a feeling of complacency, which prevented her from being very ungracious.

Miss Bertram's attention was his chief aim; and though she showed more superiority than solicitude, the mention of Sotherton Court gave her a feeling of complacency, which made her gracious.


"I wish you could see Compton," said he; "it is the most complete thing!


I never saw a place so altered in my life.


I told Smith I did not know where I was.


The approach _now_, is one of the finest things in the country: you see the house in the most surprising manner.

The approach now, is one of the finest in the country: you see the house in the most surprising manner.


I declare, when I got back to Sotherton yesterday, it looked like a prison-quite a dismal old prison."

I declare, when I got back to Sotherton yesterday, it looked like a dismal old prison."


"Sotherton Court is the noblest old place in the world."


"It wants improvement, ma'am, beyond anything.


I never saw a place that wanted so much improvement in my life; and it is so forlorn that I do not know what can be done with it."

It is so forlorn that I do not know what can be done with it.


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


"I must try to do something with it," said Mr. Rushworth, "but I do not know what.


I hope I shall have some good friend to help me."


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

"Your best friend upon such an occasion," said Miss Bertram calmly, "would be Mr. Repton."


As he has done so well by Smith, I think I had better have him at once.

As he has done so well by Smith, I think I had better have him.


"Well, and if they were _ten_," cried Mrs. Norris, "I am sure _you_ need not regard it.

"Well, and if they were ten," cried Mrs. Norris, "I am sure you need not regard it.


If I were you, I should not think of the expense.


I would have everything done in the best style, and made as nice as possible.


Such a place as Sotherton Court deserves everything that taste and money can do.


You have space to work upon there, and grounds that will well reward you.


For my own part, if I had anything within the fiftieth part of the size of Sotherton, I should be always planting and improving, for naturally I am excessively fond of it.

If I had anything the fiftieth part of the size of Sotherton, I should be always improving.


It would be too ridiculous for me to attempt anything where I am now, with my little half acre.

It would be ridiculous for me to attempt anything where I am now, with my little half acre.


But if I had more room, I should take a prodigious delight in improving and planting.

But if I had more, I should take a prodigious delight in improving and planting.


We did a vast deal in that way at the Parsonage: we made it quite a different place from what it was when we first had it.


You young ones do not remember much about it, perhaps; but if dear Sir Thomas were here, he could tell you what improvements we made: and a great deal more would have been done, but for poor Mr. Norris's sad state of health.

and would have done more, but for poor Mr. Norris's sad state of health.


He could hardly ever get out, poor man, to enjoy anything, and _that_ disheartened me from doing several things that Sir Thomas and I used to talk of.


If it had not been for _that_, we should have carried on the garden wall, and made the plantation to shut out the churchyard, just as Dr. Grant has done.


We were always doing something as it was.


It was only the spring twelvemonth before Mr. Norris's death that we put in the apricot against the stable wall, which is now grown such a noble tree, and getting to such perfection, sir," addressing herself then to Dr. Grant.

We put in the apricot against the stable wall, which is now such a noble tree, sir," addressing herself to Dr. Grant.


"The tree thrives well, beyond a doubt, madam," replied Dr. Grant.

"The tree thrives well, madam," replied Dr. Grant.


"The soil is good; and I never pass it without regretting that the fruit should be so little worth the trouble of gathering."


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

"Sir, it is a Moor Park, and it cost us-that is, it was a present from Sir Thomas, but I saw the bill-and I know it cost seven shillings."


"You were imposed on, ma'am," replied Dr. Grant: "these potatoes have as much the flavour of a Moor Park apricot as the fruit from that tree.

"You were imposed on, ma'am," replied Dr. Grant: "The fruit from that tree


It is an insipid fruit at the best; but a good apricot is eatable, which none from my garden are."


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

"The truth is, ma'am," said Mrs. Grant, pretending to whisper across the table, "that Dr. Grant hardly knows what the natural taste of our apricot is: he is scarcely ever indulged with one, for it is so valuable a fruit, that what with tarts and preserves, my cook contrives to get them all."


Mrs. Norris, who had begun to redden, was appeased; and, for a little while, other subjects took place of the improvements of Sotherton.

Mrs. Norris, who had begun to redden, was appeased.


Dr. Grant and Mrs. Norris were seldom good friends; their acquaintance had begun in dilapidations, and their habits were totally dissimilar.


After a short interruption Mr. Rushworth began again.


"Smith's place is the admiration of all the country; and it was a mere nothing before Repton took it in hand.

"Smith's place is the admiration of all the country; and it was nothing before Repton took it in hand.


"Mr. Rushworth," said Lady Bertram, "if I were you, I would have a very pretty shrubbery.

"Mr. Rushworth," said Lady Bertram, "if I were you, I would have a pretty shrubbery."


One likes to get out into a shrubbery in fine weather."


Mr. Rushworth was eager to assure her ladyship of his acquiescence, and tried to make out something complimentary; but, between his submission to _her_ taste, and his having always intended the same himself, with the superadded objects of professing attention to the comfort of ladies in general, and of insinuating that there was one only whom he was anxious to please, he grew puzzled, and Edmund was glad to put an end to his speech by a proposal of wine.

Mr. Rushworth was eager to assure her ladyship of this, and tried to say something complimentary; but, between admiring her good taste, and his having always intended the same, and professing his attention to the ladies' comfort, but meaning one lady especially, he grew puzzled; and Edmund was glad to put an end to his speech by a proposal of wine.


Mr. Rushworth, however, though not usually a great talker, had still more to say on the subject next his heart.

Mr. Rushworth, however, had still more to say on the subject next his heart.


"Smith has not much above a hundred acres altogether in his grounds, which is little enough, and makes it more surprising that the place can have been so improved.

"Smith has not much above a hundred acres.


Now, at Sotherton we have a good seven hundred, without reckoning the water meadows; so that I think, if so much could be done at Compton, we need not despair.

Now, at Sotherton we have seven hundred; so that I think we need not despair.


There have been two or three fine old trees cut down, that grew too near the house, and it opens the prospect amazingly, which makes me think that Repton, or anybody of that sort, would certainly have the avenue at Sotherton down: the avenue that leads from the west front to the top of the hill, you know," turning to Miss Bertram particularly as he spoke.

There have been two or three fine old trees cut down, and it opens the prospect amazingly, which makes me think that Repton would certainly have the avenue at Sotherton down: the avenue from the west front to the hill, you know," turning to Miss Bertram.


But Miss Bertram thought it most becoming to reply-


I really know very little of Sotherton."


Fanny, who was sitting on the other side of Edmund, exactly opposite Miss Crawford, and who had been attentively listening, now looked at him, and said in a low voice-

Fanny, sitting beside Edmund, said to him in a low voice-


'Ye fallen avenues, once more I mourn your fate unmerited.'"


He smiled as he answered, "I am afraid the avenue stands a bad chance, Fanny."

He smiled. "I am afraid the avenue stands a bad chance, Fanny."


"I should like to see Sotherton before it is cut down, to see the place as it is now, in its old state; but I do not suppose I shall."

"I should like to see Sotherton before it is cut down; but I do not suppose I shall."


No, you never can; and, unluckily, it is out of distance for a ride.


Whenever I do see it, you will tell me how it has been altered."


"I collect," said Miss Crawford, "that Sotherton is an old place, and a place of some grandeur.

"I collect," said Miss Crawford, "that Sotherton is an old place of some grandeur.


"The house was built in Elizabeth's time, and is a large, regular, brick building; heavy, but respectable looking, and has many good rooms.

"The house was built in Elizabeth's time," said Edmund, "and is a large brick building; heavy, but respectable, with many good rooms.


It stands in one of the lowest spots of the park; in that respect, unfavourable for improvement.

, in one of the lowest spots of the park.


But the woods are fine, and there is a stream, which, I dare say, might be made a good deal of.

But the woods are fine, and there is a stream, which might be made a good deal of.


Mr. Rushworth is quite right, I think, in meaning to give it a modern dress, and I have no doubt that it will be all done extremely well."

Mr. Rushworth is quite right, I think, in meaning to give it a modern dress, and I have no doubt that it will be done extremely well."


Miss Crawford listened with submission, and said to herself, "He is a well-bred man; he makes the best of it."

Miss Crawford listened, and said to herself, "He is a well-bred man; he makes the best of it."


"I do not wish to influence Mr. Rushworth," he continued; "but, had I a place to new fashion, I should not put myself into the hands of an improver.

"I do not wish to influence Mr. Rushworth," he continued; "but, had I a place to fashion, I should not put myself into the hands of an improver.


I would rather have an inferior degree of beauty, of my own choice, and acquired progressively.

I would rather have an inferior degree of beauty, of my own choice."


I would rather abide by my own blunders than by his."


"_You_ would know what you were about, of course; but that would not suit _me_.


I have no eye or ingenuity for such matters, but as they are before me; and had I a place of my own in the country, I should be most thankful to any Mr. Repton who would undertake it, and give me as much beauty as he could for my money; and I should never look at it till it was complete."

I have no eye for such matters; and had I a place of my own, I should be most thankful to any Mr. Repton who would undertake it; and I should never look at it till it was complete."


"It would be delightful to _me_ to see the progress of it all," said Fanny.

"It would be delightful to me to see its progress," said Fanny.


It was no part of my education; and the only dose I ever had, being administered by not the first favourite in the world, has made me consider improvements _in_ _hand_ as the greatest of nuisances.

"I consider improvements as the greatest of nuisances.


Three years ago the Admiral, my honoured uncle, bought a cottage at Twickenham for us all to spend our summers in; and my aunt and I went down to it quite in raptures; but it being excessively pretty, it was soon found necessary to be improved, and for three months we were all dirt and confusion, without a gravel walk to step on, or a bench fit for use.

Three years ago the Admiral, my honoured uncle, bought a cottage at Twickenham for us to spend our summers in; and my aunt and I went down to it quite in raptures; but being excessively pretty, it had to be improved, and for three months we were all dirt and confusion.


I would have everything as complete as possible in the country, shrubberies and flower-gardens, and rustic seats innumerable: but it must all be done without my care.

I would have everything complete, shrubberies and flower-gardens, and rustic seats: but it must be done without my care.


Henry is different; he loves to be doing."


Edmund was sorry to hear Miss Crawford, whom he was much disposed to admire, speak so freely of her uncle.

Edmund was sorry to hear Miss Crawford, whom he was disposed to admire, speak so freely of her uncle.


It did not suit his sense of propriety, and he was silenced, till induced by further smiles and liveliness to put the matter by for the present.

It did not suit his sense of propriety, and he was silenced, till induced by further smiles to put the matter by.


"Mr. Bertram," said she, "I have tidings of my harp at last.


I am assured that it is safe at Northampton; and there it has probably been these ten days, in spite of the solemn assurances we have so often received to the contrary."

I am assured that it is safe at Northampton; and has probably been there these ten days, in spite of the solemn assurances we received to the contrary."


Edmund expressed his pleasure and surprise.


"The truth is, that our inquiries were too direct; we sent a servant, we went ourselves: this will not do seventy miles from London; but this morning we heard of it in the right way.

"The truth is, that our inquiries were too direct; but this morning we heard of it in the right way.


It was seen by some farmer, and he told the miller, and the miller told the butcher, and the butcher's son-in-law left word at the shop."


"I am very glad that you have heard of it, by whatever means, and hope there will be no further delay."

"I am very glad that you have heard of it, by whatever means."


"I am to have it to-morrow; but how do you think it is to be conveyed?


nothing of that kind could be hired in the village.


I might as well have asked for porters and a handbarrow."


"You would find it difficult, I dare say, just now, in the middle of a very late hay harvest, to hire a horse and cart?"

"You found it difficult, in the middle of hay harvest, to hire a horse and cart?"


"I was astonished to find what a piece of work was made of it!


To want a horse and cart in the country seemed impossible, so I told my maid to speak for one directly; and as I cannot look out of my dressing-closet without seeing one farmyard, nor walk in the shrubbery without passing another, I thought it would be only ask and have, and was rather grieved that I could not give the advantage to all.

I thought it would be only ask and have.


Guess my surprise, when I found that I had been asking the most unreasonable, most impossible thing in the world; had offended all the farmers, all the labourers, all the hay in the parish!

Guess my surprise, when I found that I had been asking the most unreasonable thing in the world; had offended all the farmers in the parish!"


As for Dr. Grant's bailiff, I believe I had better keep out of _his_ way; and my brother-in-law himself, who is all kindness in general, looked rather black upon me when he found what I had been at."


"You could not be expected to have thought on the subject before; but when you _do_ think of it, you must see the importance of getting in the grass.

"You could not be expected to have thought of it; but you must see the importance of getting in the grass.


The hire of a cart at any time might not be so easy as you suppose: our farmers are not in the habit of letting them out; but, in harvest, it must be quite out of their power to spare a horse."

In harvest, it must be quite out of our farmers' power to spare a horse."


"I shall understand all your ways in time; but, coming down with the true London maxim, that everything is to be got with money, I was a little embarrassed at first by the sturdy independence of your country customs.

"I shall understand all your ways in time; but, coming down with the London maxim, that everything is to be got with money, I was a little embarrassed by the sturdy independence of your country customs.


However, I am to have my harp fetched to-morrow.

However, I am to have my harp to-morrow.


Henry, who is good-nature itself, has offered to fetch it in his barouche."


Edmund spoke of the harp as his favourite instrument, and hoped to be soon allowed to hear her.

Edmund spoke of the harp as his favourite instrument, and hoped to be allowed to hear her.


Fanny had never heard the harp at all, and wished for it very much.


"I shall be most happy to play to you both," said Miss Crawford; "at least as long as you can like to listen: probably much longer, for I dearly love music myself, and where the natural taste is equal the player must always be best off, for she is gratified in more ways than one.

"I shall be most happy to play to you both," said Miss Crawford; "for as long as you like to listen: probably longer.


Now, Mr. Bertram, if you write to your brother, I entreat you to tell him that my harp is come: he heard so much of my misery about it.

Mr. Bertram, if you write to your brother, tell him that my harp is come:


And you may say, if you please, that I shall prepare my most plaintive airs against his return, in compassion to his feelings, as I know his horse will lose."

and that I shall prepare my most plaintive airs for his return, as I know his horse will lose."


"If I write, I will say whatever you wish me; but I do not, at present, foresee any occasion for writing."

"If I write, I will say whatever you wish; but I do not foresee any need to write."


"No, I dare say, nor if he were to be gone a twelvemonth, would you ever write to him, nor he to you, if it could be helped.


You would not write to each other but upon the most urgent necessity in the world; and when obliged to take up the pen to say that such a horse is ill, or such a relation dead, it is done in the fewest possible words.

You would not write to each other but upon the most urgent necessity, and in the fewest possible words.


Henry, who is in every other respect exactly what a brother should be, who loves me, consults me, confides in me, and will talk to me by the hour together, has never yet turned the page in a letter; and very often it is nothing more than-'Dear Mary, I am just arrived.

Henry, who is in every other respect exactly what a brother should be, who confides in me, and will talk to me by the hour together, has never yet used a second page in a letter; and often it is nothing more than-'Dear Mary, I am just arrived.


Bath seems full, and everything as usual.


That is the true manly style; that is a complete brother's letter."


"When they are at a distance from all their family," said Fanny, colouring for William's sake, "they can write long letters."

"When they are far from their family," said Fanny, colouring, "they can write long letters."


"Miss Price has a brother at sea," said Edmund, "whose excellence as a correspondent makes her think you too severe upon us."

"Miss Price has a brother at sea," said Edmund, "whose excellence as a correspondent makes her think you too severe."


Fanny would rather have had Edmund tell the story, but his determined silence obliged her to relate her brother's situation: her voice was animated in speaking of his profession, and the foreign stations he had been on; but she could not mention the number of years that he had been absent without tears in her eyes.

Fanny would rather have had Edmund tell the story, but his determined silence obliged her to relate her brother's situation: her voice was animated, but she could not mention the number of years that he had been absent without tears in her eyes.


Miss Crawford civilly wished him an early promotion.


"Do you know anything of my cousin's captain?"


You have a large acquaintance in the navy, I conclude?"


"Among admirals, large enough; but," with an air of grandeur, "we know very little of the inferior ranks.


Post-captains may be very good sort of men, but they do not belong to _us_.

Post-captains may be very good sort of men, but they do not belong to us.


Of various admirals I could tell you a great deal: of them and their flags, and the gradation of their pay, and their bickerings and jealousies.

Of various admirals I could tell you a great deal: of their flags, and their pay, and their bickerings and jealousies.


But, in general, I can assure you that they are all passed over, and all very ill used.


Certainly, my home at my uncle's brought me acquainted with a circle of admirals.


Now do not be suspecting me of a pun, I entreat."


Edmund again felt grave, and only replied, "It is a noble profession."


"Yes, the profession is well enough under two circumstances: if it make the fortune, and there be discretion in spending it; but, in short, it is not a favourite profession of mine.

"Yes, it is well enough; but it is not a favourite profession of mine."


It has never worn an amiable form to _me_."


Edmund reverted to the harp, and was again very happy in the prospect of hearing her play.


The subject of improving grounds, meanwhile, was still under consideration among the others; and Mrs. Grant could not help addressing her brother, though it was calling his attention from Miss Julia Bertram.

The subject of improving grounds, meanwhile, was still under consideration among the others; and Mrs. Grant addressed her brother.


"My dear Henry, have _you_ nothing to say?

"My dear Henry, have you nothing to say?


You have been an improver yourself, and from what I hear of Everingham, it may vie with any place in England.

You have been an improver yourself, and Everingham


Its natural beauties, I am sure, are great.


Everingham, as it _used_ to be, was perfect in my estimation: such a happy fall of ground, and such timber!

Such a happy fall of ground, and such timber!


"Nothing could be so gratifying to me as to hear your opinion of it," was his answer; "but I fear there would be some disappointment: you would not find it equal to your present ideas.

"I fear you would be disappointed;" was his answer; "


In extent, it is a mere nothing; you would be surprised at its insignificance; and, as for improvement, there was very little for me to do-too little: I should like to have been busy much longer."

you would be surprised at its insignificance; and, as for improvement, there was too little for me to do: I should like to have been busy much longer."


"Excessively; but what with the natural advantages of the ground, which pointed out, even to a very young eye, what little remained to be done, and my own consequent resolutions, I had not been of age three months before Everingham was all that it is now.

"Excessively; but I had not been of age three months before Everingham was completed.


My plan was laid at Westminster, a little altered, perhaps, at Cambridge, and at one-and-twenty executed.

My plan was laid at Westminster, a little altered at Cambridge, and at one-and-twenty executed.


I am inclined to envy Mr. Rushworth for having so much happiness yet before him.

I envy Mr. Rushworth for having so much happiness yet before him.


"Those who see quickly, will resolve quickly, and act quickly," said Julia.


Instead of envying Mr. Rushworth, you should assist him with your opinion."

"You should assist Mr Rushworth with your opinion."


Mrs. Grant, hearing the latter part of this speech, enforced it warmly, persuaded that no judgment could be equal to her brother's; and as Miss Bertram caught at the idea likewise, and gave it her full support, declaring that, in her opinion, it was infinitely better to consult with friends and disinterested advisers, than immediately to throw the business into the hands of a professional man, Mr. Rushworth was very ready to request the favour of Mr. Crawford's assistance; and Mr. Crawford, after properly depreciating his own abilities, was quite at his service in any way that could be useful.

Mrs. Grant agreed warmly; and as Miss Bertram gave the idea her full support, Mr. Rushworth requested the favour of Mr. Crawford's assistance; and Mr. Crawford was quite at his service.


Mr. Rushworth then began to propose Mr. Crawford's doing him the honour of coming over to Sotherton, and taking a bed there; when Mrs. Norris, as if reading in her two nieces' minds their little approbation of a plan which was to take Mr. Crawford away, interposed with an amendment.

Mr. Rushworth then began to propose Mr. Crawford's coming over to Sotherton, when Mrs. Norris interposed.


"There can be no doubt of Mr. Crawford's willingness; but why should not more of us go?


Here are many that would be interested in your improvements, my dear Mr. Rushworth, and that would like to hear Mr. Crawford's opinion on the spot, and that might be of some small use to you with _their_ opinions; and, for my own part, I have been long wishing to wait upon your good mother again; nothing but having no horses of my own could have made me so remiss; but now I could go and sit a few hours with Mrs. Rushworth, while the rest of you walked about and settled things, and then we could all return to a late dinner here, or dine at Sotherton, just as might be most agreeable to your mother, and have a pleasant drive home by moonlight.

Here are many that would be interested in your improvements, my dear Mr. Rushworth; and, for my own part, I have long wished to wait upon your good mother again; I could sit with Mrs. Rushworth, while the rest of you walked about and settled things, and then we could dine at Sotherton, and have a pleasant drive home by moonlight.


I dare say Mr. Crawford would take my two nieces and me in his barouche, and Edmund can go on horseback, you know, sister, and Fanny will stay at home with you."


Lady Bertram made no objection; and every one concerned in the going was forward in expressing their ready concurrence, excepting Edmund, who heard it all and said nothing.

Lady Bertram made no objection; and every one gave their concurrence, excepting Edmund, who said nothing.


On reaching home Fanny went immediately upstairs to deposit this unexpected acquisition, this doubtful good of a necklace, in some favourite box in the East room, which held all her smaller treasures; but on opening the door, what was her surprise to find her cousin Edmund there writing at the table!

On reaching home Fanny went upstairs to deposit this doubtful good of a necklace in a box in the East room, which held all her smaller treasures; but what was her surprise to find her cousin Edmund there, writing at the table!


Such a sight having never occurred before, was almost as wonderful as it was welcome.

Such a sight was almost as astonishing as it was welcome.


"Fanny," said he directly, leaving his seat and his pen, and meeting her with something in his hand, "I beg your pardon for being here.

"Fanny," said he, leaving his seat, and meeting her with something in his hand, "I beg your pardon.


I came to look for you, and after waiting a little while in hope of your coming in, was making use of your inkstand to explain my errand.

I came to look for you, and was writing to explain my errand.


You will find the beginning of a note to yourself; but I can now speak my business, which is merely to beg your acceptance of this little trifle-a chain for William's cross.

You will find the beginning of a note to yourself; but I can now speak my business, which is merely to beg your acceptance of this trifle-a chain for William's cross.


You ought to have had it a week ago, but there has been a delay from my brother's not being in town by several days so soon as I expected; and I have only just now received it at Northampton.


I hope you will like the chain itself, Fanny.


I endeavoured to consult the simplicity of your taste; but, at any rate, I know you will be kind to my intentions, and consider it, as it really is, a token of the love of one of your oldest friends."

I tried to consult the simplicity of your taste; but I know you will be kind, and consider it, as it really is, a token of the love of one of your oldest friends."


And so saying, he was hurrying away, before Fanny, overpowered by a thousand feelings of pain and pleasure, could attempt to speak; but quickened by one sovereign wish, she then called out, "Oh!

And so saying, he was hurrying away, before Fanny, overpowered by a thousand feelings of pain and pleasure, could speak; but, she then called out, "Oh!


"I cannot attempt to thank you," she continued, in a very agitated manner; "thanks are out of the question.

"I cannot attempt to thank you," she continued, very agitated; "


I feel much more than I can possibly express.


Your goodness in thinking of me in such a way is beyond-"


"If that is all you have to say, Fanny" smiling and turning away again.

"If that is all you have to say, Fanny," smiling and turning away again.


Almost unconsciously she had now undone the parcel he had just put into her hand, and seeing before her, in all the niceness of jewellers' packing, a plain gold chain, perfectly simple and neat, she could not help bursting forth again, "Oh, this is beautiful indeed!

She had now undone the parcel he had given her, and seeing a plain gold chain, perfectly simple and neat, she burst forth, "Oh, this is beautiful indeed!


This is the very thing, precisely what I wished for!


This is the only ornament I have ever had a desire to possess.


It comes, too, in such an acceptable moment.

It comes, too, at such an acceptable moment.


Oh, cousin, you do not know how acceptable it is."


"My dear Fanny, you feel these things a great deal too much.


I am most happy that you like the chain, and that it should be here in time for to-morrow; but your thanks are far beyond the occasion.

I am most happy that you like the chain; but your thanks are far beyond the occasion.


Believe me, I have no pleasure in the world superior to that of contributing to yours.

Believe me, I have no pleasure in the world greater than that of contributing to yours.


No, I can safely say, I have no pleasure so complete, so unalloyed.


Upon such expressions of affection Fanny could have lived an hour without saying another word; but Edmund, after waiting a moment, obliged her to bring down her mind from its heavenly flight by saying, "But what is it that you want to consult me about?"

Upon such expressions of affection Fanny could have lived an hour without saying another word; but Edmund obliged her to bring down her mind from its heavenly flight by saying, "But what is it that you want to consult me about?"


It was about the necklace, which she was now most earnestly longing to return, and hoped to obtain his approbation of her doing.

It was about the necklace, which she was now longing to return.


She gave the history of her recent visit, and now her raptures might well be over; for Edmund was so struck with the circumstance, so delighted with what Miss Crawford had done, so gratified by such a coincidence of conduct between them, that Fanny could not but admit the superior power of one pleasure over his own mind, though it might have its drawback.

She gave the history of her recent visit, and now her raptures might well be over; for Edmund was so delighted with what Miss Crawford had done, that


It was some time before she could get his attention to her plan, or any answer to her demand of his opinion: he was in a reverie of fond reflection, uttering only now and then a few half-sentences of praise; but when he did awake and understand, he was very decided in opposing what she wished.

it was some time before Fanny could get him to attend to her plan: he was in a reverie of fond reflection, but when he did understand, he was very decided in opposing what she wished.


There can hardly be a more unpleasant sensation than the having anything returned on our hands which we have given with a reasonable hope of its contributing to the comfort of a friend.


Why should she lose a pleasure which she has shewn herself so deserving of?"


"If it had been given to me in the first instance," said Fanny, "I should not have thought of returning it; but being her brother's present, is not it fair to suppose that she would rather not part with it, when it is not wanted?"

"But being her brother's present, is not it fair to suppose that she would rather not part with it?"


"She must not suppose it not wanted, not acceptable, at least: and its having been originally her brother's gift makes no difference; for as she was not prevented from offering, nor you from taking it on that account, it ought not to prevent you from keeping it.

"It makes no difference; for as she was not prevented from offering it on that account, it ought not to prevent you from keeping it.


No doubt it is handsomer than mine, and fitter for a ballroom."

No doubt it is handsomer than my chain, and fitter for a ballroom."


"No, it is not handsomer, not at all handsomer in its way, and, for my purpose, not half so fit.

"No, it is not handsomer at all, and not half so fit.


The chain will agree with William's cross beyond all comparison better than the necklace."


"For one night, Fanny, for only one night, if it _be_ a sacrifice; I am sure you will, upon consideration, make that sacrifice rather than give pain to one who has been so studious of your comfort.

"For one night only, Fanny, I am sure you will make the sacrifice rather than give pain to one who has been kind.


Miss Crawford's attentions to you have been-not more than you were justly entitled to-I am the last person to think that _could_ _be_, but they have been invariable; and to be returning them with what must have something the _air_ of ingratitude, though I know it could never have the _meaning_, is not in your nature, I am sure.


Wear the necklace, as you are engaged to do, to-morrow evening, and let the chain, which was not ordered with any reference to the ball, be kept for commoner occasions.

Wear the necklace to-morrow evening, and let the chain be kept for commoner occasions.


I would not have the shadow of a coolness between the two whose intimacy I have been observing with the greatest pleasure, and in whose characters there is so much general resemblance in true generosity and natural delicacy as to make the few slight differences, resulting principally from situation, no reasonable hindrance to a perfect friendship.

I would not have the shadow of a coolness between the two whose intimacy I have been observing with the greatest pleasure, and in whose characters there is so much resemblance in true generosity and natural delicacy.


I would not have the shadow of a coolness arise," he repeated, his voice sinking a little, "between the two dearest objects I have on earth."


He was gone as he spoke; and Fanny remained to tranquillise herself as she could.

He was gone as he spoke; and Fanny calmed herself as well as she could.


She was one of his two dearest-that must support her.


She had never heard him speak so openly before, and though it told her no more than what she had long perceived, it was a stab, for it told of his own convictions and views.

She had never heard him speak so openly before, and though it told her no more than what she had long perceived, it was a stab, for it told of his own views.


It was a stab, in spite of every long-standing expectation; and she was obliged to repeat again and again, that she was one of his two dearest, before the words gave her any sensation.


Could she believe Miss Crawford to deserve him, it would be-oh, how different would it be-how far more tolerable!

Could she believe Miss Crawford to deserve him, how different would it be-how far more tolerable!


But he was deceived in her: he gave her merits which she had not; her faults were what they had ever been, but he saw them no longer.

But he was deceived in her: he gave her merits which she had not; her faults were what they had always been, but he saw them no longer.


Till she had shed many tears over this deception, Fanny could not subdue her agitation; and the dejection which followed could only be relieved by the influence of fervent prayers for his happiness.

Fanny's dejection could only be relieved by fervent prayers for his happiness.


It was her intention, as she felt it to be her duty, to try to overcome all that was excessive, all that bordered on selfishness, in her affection for Edmund.

It was her duty, and her intention, to try to overcome all that was excessive in her affection for Edmund.


To call or to fancy it a loss, a disappointment, would be a presumption for which she had not words strong enough to satisfy her own humility.

To fancy it a loss, a disappointment, was a presumption for which she had not words strong enough.


To think of him as Miss Crawford might be justified in thinking, would in her be insanity.


To her he could be nothing under any circumstances; nothing dearer than a friend.

To her he could be nothing dearer than a friend.


Why did such an idea occur to her even enough to be reprobated and forbidden?


It ought not to have touched on the confines of her imagination.

It ought never to have entered her imagination.


She would endeavour to be rational, and to deserve the right of judging of Miss Crawford's character, and the privilege of true solicitude for him by a sound intellect and an honest heart.


She had all the heroism of principle, and was determined to do her duty; but having also many of the feelings of youth and nature, let her not be much wondered at, if, after making all these good resolutions on the side of self-government, she seized the scrap of paper on which Edmund had begun writing to her, as a treasure beyond all her hopes, and reading with the tenderest emotion these words, "My very dear Fanny, you must do me the favour to accept" locked it up with the chain, as the dearest part of the gift.

She was determined to do her duty; but having also the feelings of youth and nature, let her not be wondered at, if, after making all these good resolutions, she seized the scrap of paper on which Edmund had begun writing, as a treasure. Reading with the tenderest emotion these words, "My very dear Fanny, you must do me the favour to accept", she locked it up with the chain, as the dearest part of the gift.


It was the only thing approaching to a letter which she had ever received from him; she might never receive another; it was impossible that she ever should receive another so perfectly gratifying in the occasion and the style.

It was the only thing approaching to a letter which she had ever received from him; she might never receive another.


Two lines more prized had never fallen from the pen of the most distinguished author-never more completely blessed the researches of the fondest biographer.

Two lines more prized had never fallen from the pen of the most distinguished author.


The enthusiasm of a woman's love is even beyond the biographer's.


To her, the handwriting itself, independent of anything it may convey, is a blessedness.


Never were such characters cut by any other human being as Edmund's commonest handwriting gave!


This specimen, written in haste as it was, had not a fault; and there was a felicity in the flow of the first four words, in the arrangement of "My very dear Fanny," which she could have looked at for ever.

There was a felicity in the flow of the first four words, in the arrangement of "My very dear Fanny," which she could have looked at for ever.


Having regulated her thoughts and comforted her feelings by this happy mixture of reason and weakness, she was able in due time to go down and resume her usual employments near her aunt Bertram, and pay her the usual observances without any apparent want of spirits.

Having regulated her thoughts and comforted her feelings by this happy mixture of reason and weakness, she was able to go down to her aunt Bertram without any apparent want of spirits.


Thursday, predestined to hope and enjoyment, came; and opened with more kindness to Fanny than such self-willed, unmanageable days often volunteer, for soon after breakfast a very friendly note was brought from Mr. Crawford to William, stating that as he found himself obliged to go to London on the morrow for a few days, he could not help trying to procure a companion; and therefore hoped that if William could make up his mind to leave Mansfield half a day earlier than had been proposed, he would accept a place in his carriage.

Thursday, the day of enjoyment, came; and opened with more kindness to Fanny than such self-willed, unmanageable days often volunteer, for after breakfast a very friendly note was brought from Mr. Crawford to William, stating that as he found himself obliged to go to London for a few days, he hoped that William would accept a place in his carriage


Mr. Crawford meant to be in town by his uncle's accustomary late dinner-hour, and William was invited to dine with him at the Admiral's.


The proposal was a very pleasant one to William himself, who enjoyed the idea of travelling post with four horses, and such a good-humoured, agreeable friend; and, in likening it to going up with despatches, was saying at once everything in favour of its happiness and dignity which his imagination could suggest; and Fanny, from a different motive, was exceedingly pleased; for the original plan was that William should go up by the mail from Northampton the following night, which would not have allowed him an hour's rest before he must have got into a Portsmouth coach; and though this offer of Mr. Crawford's would rob her of many hours of his company, she was too happy in having William spared from the fatigue of such a journey, to think of anything else.

The proposal was a very pleasant one to William, who enjoyed the idea of travelling post with four horses, and with such an agreeable friend.
Fanny, from a different motive, was pleased; for the original plan was that William should go up by the mail, which would not have allowed him an hour's rest; and though Mr. Crawford's offer would rob her of hours of his company, she was happy to have William spared the fatigue of such a journey.


Sir Thomas approved of it for another reason.


His nephew's introduction to Admiral Crawford might be of service.


Upon the whole, it was a very joyous note.


Fanny's spirits lived on it half the morning, deriving some accession of pleasure from its writer being himself to go away.


As for the ball, so near at hand, she had too many agitations and fears to have half the enjoyment in anticipation which she ought to have had, or must have been supposed to have by the many young ladies looking forward to the same event in situations more at ease, but under circumstances of less novelty, less interest, less peculiar gratification, than would be attributed to her.

As for the ball, Fanny had too many fears to have half the enjoyment in anticipation which she ought to have had, or must have been supposed to have by the many young ladies looking forward to the same event.


Miss Price, known only by name to half the people invited, was now to make her first appearance, and must be regarded as the queen of the evening.

Miss Price was now to make her first appearance, and must be regarded as the queen of the evening.


But Miss Price had not been brought up to the trade of _coming_ _out_; and had she known in what light this ball was, in general, considered respecting her, it would very much have lessened her comfort by increasing the fears she already had of doing wrong and being looked at.

But Miss Price had not been brought up to the trade of coming out into society; and had she known in what light this ball was considered respecting her, it would very much have lessened her comfort by increasing her fears of doing wrong and being looked at.


To dance without much observation or any extraordinary fatigue, to have strength and partners for about half the evening, to dance a little with Edmund, and not a great deal with Mr. Crawford, to see William enjoy himself, and be able to keep away from her aunt Norris, was the height of her ambition, and seemed to comprehend her greatest possibility of happiness.

To dance without being observed, to have strength and partners for about half the evening, to dance a little with Edmund, and not a great deal with Mr. Crawford, to see William enjoy himself, and keep away from her aunt Norris, was the height of her ambition.


As these were the best of her hopes, they could not always prevail; and in the course of a long morning, spent principally with her two aunts, she was often under the influence of much less sanguine views.


William, determined to make this last day a day of thorough enjoyment, was out snipe-shooting; Edmund, she had too much reason to suppose, was at the Parsonage; and left alone to bear the worrying of Mrs. Norris, who was cross because the housekeeper would have her own way with the supper, and whom _she_ could not avoid though the housekeeper might, Fanny was worn down at last to think everything an evil belonging to the ball, and when sent off with a parting worry to dress, moved as languidly towards her own room, and felt as incapable of happiness as if she had been allowed no share in it.

William, determined to make this a day of thorough enjoyment, went out snipe-shooting; Edmund was at the Parsonage; and Fanny, left alone to bear the worrying of Mrs. Norris, was worn down at last to think everything an evil belonging to the ball. When sent off to dress, she moved languidly and felt incapable of happiness.


As she walked slowly upstairs she thought of yesterday; it had been about the same hour that she had returned from the Parsonage, and found Edmund in the East room.

As she walked slowly upstairs she thought of yesterday; at about the same hour she had returned from the Parsonage, and found Edmund in the East room.


"Suppose I were to find him there again to-day!"


said she to herself, in a fond indulgence of fancy.


"Fanny," said a voice at that moment near her.


Starting and looking up, she saw, across the lobby she had just reached, Edmund himself, standing at the head of a different staircase.

Starting and looking up, she saw, across the lobby, Edmund himself.


"Then you have had fatigues within doors, which are worse."


Fanny, not liking to complain, found it easiest to make no answer; and though he looked at her with his usual kindness, she believed he had soon ceased to think of her countenance.

Fanny, not liking to complain, made no answer; and though he looked at her with his usual kindness, she believed he had soon ceased to think of her.


He did not appear in spirits: something unconnected with her was probably amiss.


They proceeded upstairs together, their rooms being on the same floor above.


"I come from Dr. Grant's," said Edmund presently.


And he looked so conscious, that Fanny could think but of one errand, which turned her too sick for speech.


"I wished to engage Miss Crawford for the two first dances," was the explanation that followed, and brought Fanny to life again, enabling her, as she found she was expected to speak, to utter something like an inquiry as to the result.

"I wished to engage Miss Crawford for the two first dances," was the explanation that followed, and brought Fanny to life again, enabling her to utter something like an inquiry as to the result.


"Yes," he answered, "she is engaged to me; but" (with a smile that did not sit easy) "she says it is to be the last time that she ever will dance with me.

"Yes," he answered, "she is engaged to dance with me; but" (with a smile that did not sit easy) "she says it is the last time that she ever will.


I think, I hope, I am sure she is not serious; but I would rather not hear it.


She never has danced with a clergyman, she says, and she never _will_.

She never has danced with a clergyman, she says, and she never will.


For my own sake, I could wish there had been no ball just at-I mean not this very week, this very day; to-morrow I leave home."

For my own sake, I could wish there had been no ball just at-I mean not this very day; to-morrow I leave home."


Fanny struggled for speech, and said, "I am very sorry that anything has occurred to distress you.


In fact, it is not that I consider the ball as ill-timed; what does it signify?


But, Fanny," stopping her, by taking her hand, and speaking low and seriously, "you know what all this means.

But, Fanny," stopping her, taking her hand, and speaking low and seriously, "you know what all this means.


You see how it is; and could tell me, perhaps better than I could tell you, how and why I am vexed.

You could tell me, perhaps better than I could tell you, how and why I am vexed.


I have been pained by her manner this morning, and cannot get the better of it.

I have been pained by her manner this morning.


I know her disposition to be as sweet and faultless as your own, but the influence of her former companions makes her seem-gives to her conversation, to her professed opinions, sometimes a tinge of wrong.

I know her disposition to be as sweet and faultless as your own, but the influence of her former companions makes her seem-gives to her conversation sometimes a tinge of wrong.


She does not _think_ evil, but she speaks it, speaks it in playfulness; and though I know it to be playfulness, it grieves me to the soul."

She does not think evil, but she speaks it in playfulness; and though I know it to be playfulness, it grieves me to the soul."


"The effect of education," said Fanny gently.


They have injured the finest mind; for sometimes, Fanny, I own to you, it does appear more than manner: it appears as if the mind itself was tainted."

They have injured the finest mind; for sometimes, Fanny, I own to you, it appears as if the mind itself was tainted."


Fanny imagined this to be an appeal to her judgment, and therefore, after a moment's consideration, said, "If you only want me as a listener, cousin, I will be as useful as I can; but I am not qualified for an adviser.

Fanny, after a moment, said, "If you only want me as a listener, cousin, I will be as useful as I can; but I am not qualified for an adviser."


"You are right, Fanny, to protest against such an office, but you need not be afraid.


It is a subject on which I should never ask advice; it is the sort of subject on which it had better never be asked; and few, I imagine, do ask it, but when they want to be influenced against their conscience.

It is a subject on which I should never ask advice.


Excuse the liberty; but take care _how_ you talk to me.

Excuse the liberty; but take care how you talk to me.


Do not tell me anything now, which hereafter you may be sorry for.

Do not tell me anything now, which afterwards you may be sorry for.


The colour rushed into her cheeks as she spoke.


cried Edmund, pressing her hand to his lips with almost as much warmth as if it had been Miss Crawford's, "you are all considerate thought!


No such time as you allude to will ever come.


I begin to think it most improbable: the chances grow less and less; and even if it should, there will be nothing to be remembered by either you or me that we need be afraid of, for I can never be ashamed of my own scruples; and if they are removed, it must be by changes that will only raise her character the more by the recollection of the faults she once had.

I begin to think it most improbable: the chances grow less and less; and even if it should, there will be nothing to be remembered that we need be afraid of, for I can never be ashamed of my own scruples.


You are the only being upon earth to whom I should say what I have said; but you have always known my opinion of her; you can bear me witness, Fanny, that I have never been blinded.


How many a time have we talked over her little errors!


You need not fear me; I have almost given up every serious idea of her; but I must be a blockhead indeed, if, whatever befell me, I could think of your kindness and sympathy without the sincerest gratitude."

You need not fear me; I have almost given up every serious idea of her; but I must be a blockhead indeed, if I could think of your kindness and sympathy without the sincerest gratitude."


He had said enough to shake the experience of eighteen.


He had said enough to give Fanny some happier feelings than she had lately known, and with a brighter look, she answered, "Yes, cousin, I am convinced that _you_ would be incapable of anything else, though perhaps some might not.


I cannot be afraid of hearing anything you wish to say.


They were now on the second floor, and the appearance of a housemaid prevented any farther conversation.

The appearance of a housemaid prevented any farther conversation.


For Fanny's present comfort it was concluded, perhaps, at the happiest moment: had he been able to talk another five minutes, there is no saying that he might not have talked away all Miss Crawford's faults and his own despondence.

For Fanny's comfort it was concluded, perhaps, at the happiest moment: had he been able to talk another five minutes, he might have talked away all Miss Crawford's faults.


But as it was, they parted with looks on his side of grateful affection, and with some very precious sensations on hers.

But as it was, they parted on his side with grateful affection, and with some very precious sensations on hers.


Since the first joy from Mr. Crawford's note to William had worn away, she had been in a state absolutely the reverse; there had been no comfort around, no hope within her.


William's good fortune returned again upon her mind, and seemed of greater value than at first.

William's good fortune returned again to her mind.


The ball, too-such an evening of pleasure before her!


It was now a real animation; and she began to dress for it with much of the happy flutter which belongs to a ball.

It was now a real animation; and she began to dress for it with the happy flutter which belongs to a ball.


All went well: she did not dislike her own looks; and when she came to the necklaces again, her good fortune seemed complete, for upon trial the one given her by Miss Crawford would by no means go through the ring of the cross.

All went well: she did not dislike her own looks; and when she came to the necklaces again, her good fortune seemed complete, for the one given her by Miss Crawford would not go through the ring of the cross.


She had, to oblige Edmund, resolved to wear it; but it was too large for the purpose.


His, therefore, must be worn; and having, with delightful feelings, joined the chain and the cross-those memorials of the two most beloved of her heart, those dearest tokens so formed for each other by everything real and imaginary-and put them round her neck, and seen and felt how full of William and Edmund they were, she was able, without an effort, to resolve on wearing Miss Crawford's necklace too.

Edmund's therefore, must be worn; and having, with delightful feelings, joined the chain and the cross-those memorials of the two most beloved of her heart-and put them round her neck, she was able to resolve on wearing Miss Crawford's necklace too.


Miss Crawford had a claim; and when it was no longer to encroach on, to interfere with the stronger claims, the truer kindness of another, she could do her justice even with pleasure to herself.


The necklace really looked very well; and Fanny left her room at last, comfortably satisfied with herself and all about her.

The necklace really looked very well; and Fanny left her room at last, comfortably satisfied.


Her aunt Bertram had recollected her on this occasion with an unusual degree of wakefulness.


It had really occurred to her, unprompted, that Fanny, preparing for a ball, might be glad of better help than the upper housemaid's, and when dressed herself, she actually sent her own maid to assist her; too late, of course, to be of any use.

It had occurred to her, unprompted, that Fanny might be glad of better help than the upper housemaid's, and she actually sent her own maid to assist her; too late, of course, to be of any use.


Mrs. Chapman had just reached the attic floor, when Miss Price came out of her room completely dressed, and only civilities were necessary; but Fanny felt her aunt's attention almost as much as Lady Bertram or Mrs. Chapman could do themselves.

Mrs. Chapman had just reached the attic floor, when Miss Price came out of her room completely dressed; but Fanny felt her aunt's attention almost as much as Lady Bertram or Mrs. Chapman could do themselves.


Mr. Crawford gone, Sir Thomas's next object was that he should be missed; and he entertained great hope that his niece would find a blank in the loss of those attentions which at the time she had felt, or fancied, an evil.

Mr. Crawford gone, Sir Thomas's next object was that he should be missed; and he hoped that his niece would find a blank in the loss of his attentions,


She had tasted of consequence in its most flattering form; and he did hope that the loss of it, the sinking again into nothing, would awaken very wholesome regrets in her mind.

and that her sinking again into nothing would awaken wholesome regrets in her mind.


He watched her with this idea; but he could hardly tell with what success.


He hardly knew whether there were any difference in her spirits or not.


She was always so gentle and retiring that her emotions were beyond his discrimination.

She was always so gentle and retiring that her emotions were beyond him.


He did not understand her: he felt that he did not; and therefore applied to Edmund to tell him how she stood affected on the present occasion, and whether she were more or less happy than she had been.

He did not understand her: and therefore applied to Edmund to tell him whether she were more or less happy than she had been.


Edmund did not discern any symptoms of regret, and thought his father a little unreasonable in supposing the first three or four days could produce any.

Edmund did not see any symptoms of regret.


What chiefly surprised Edmund was, that Crawford's sister, the friend and companion who had been so much to her, should not be more visibly regretted.

What chiefly surprised him was that Crawford's sister, the friend who had been so much to her, should not be missed more.


He wondered that Fanny spoke so seldom of _her_, and had so little voluntarily to say of her concern at this separation.

He wondered that Fanny spoke so seldom of her.


it was this sister, this friend and companion, who was now the chief bane of Fanny's comfort.

it was this sister, this friend, who was now the chief bane of Fanny's comfort.


If she could have believed Mary's future fate as unconnected with Mansfield as she was determined the brother's should be, if she could have hoped her return thither to be as distant as she was much inclined to think his, she would have been light of heart indeed; but the more she recollected and observed, the more deeply was she convinced that everything was now in a fairer train for Miss Crawford's marrying Edmund than it had ever been before.

If she could have believed Mary's future fate unconnected with Mansfield, she would have been light of heart indeed; but the more she observed, the more deeply was she convinced that everything was now in a fair train for Miss Crawford's marrying Edmund.


On his side the inclination was stronger, on hers less equivocal.


His objections, the scruples of his integrity, seemed all done away, nobody could tell how; and the doubts and hesitations of her ambition were equally got over-and equally without apparent reason.

His objections, his scruples, seemed all done away, nobody could tell how; and his doubts about her ambition were equally got over-and equally without apparent reason.


It could only be imputed to increasing attachment.

It could only be through increasing attachment.


His good and her bad feelings yielded to love, and such love must unite them.


He was to go to town as soon as some business relative to Thornton Lacey were completed-perhaps within a fortnight; he talked of going, he loved to talk of it; and when once with her again, Fanny could not doubt the rest.

He was to go to town within a fortnight; he loved to talk of going; and when once with her again, Fanny could not doubt the rest.


Her acceptance must be as certain as his offer; and yet there were bad feelings still remaining which made the prospect of it most sorrowful to her, independently, she believed, independently of self.

Her acceptance must be as certain as his offer; and yet the prospect of it was most sorrowful to her, independently of self.


In their very last conversation, Miss Crawford, in spite of some amiable sensations, and much personal kindness, had still been Miss Crawford; still shewn a mind led astray and bewildered, and without any suspicion of being so; darkened, yet fancying itself light.

In their last conversation, Miss Crawford, in spite of much personal kindness, had still been Miss Crawford; still shown a mind led astray and bewildered, and without any suspicion of being so; darkened, yet fancying itself light.


She might love, but she did not deserve Edmund by any other sentiment.


Fanny believed there was scarcely a second feeling in common between them; and she may be forgiven by older sages for looking on the chance of Miss Crawford's future improvement as nearly desperate, for thinking that if Edmund's influence in this season of love had already done so little in clearing her judgment, and regulating her notions, his worth would be finally wasted on her even in years of matrimony.

Fanny believed there was scarcely a second feeling in common between them; and felt that if Edmund's influence had already done so little in regulating her notions, his worth would be finally wasted on her even in years of matrimony.


Experience might have hoped more for any young people so circumstanced, and impartiality would not have denied to Miss Crawford's nature that participation of the general nature of women which would lead her to adopt the opinions of the man she loved and respected as her own.


But as such were Fanny's persuasions, she suffered very much from them, and could never speak of Miss Crawford without pain.

As Fanny was convinced of this, she suffered very much, and could never speak of Miss Crawford without pain.


Sir Thomas, meanwhile, went on with his own hopes and his own observations, still feeling a right, by all his knowledge of human nature, to expect to see the effect of the loss of power and consequence on his niece's spirits, and the past attentions of the lover producing a craving for their return; and he was soon afterwards able to account for his not yet completely and indubitably seeing all this, by the prospect of another visitor, whose approach he could allow to be quite enough to support the spirits he was watching.

Sir Thomas, meanwhile, still expected to see the effect of the loss of consequence on his niece's spirits. He was soon able to account for his not yet observing this, by the approach of another visitor to lift Fanny's spirits.


William had obtained a ten days' leave of absence, to be given to Northamptonshire, and was coming, the happiest of lieutenants, because the latest made, to shew his happiness and describe his uniform.

William had obtained a ten days' leave of absence, and was coming, the happiest of lieutenants, to show his happiness and describe his uniform.


He came; and he would have been delighted to shew his uniform there too, had not cruel custom prohibited its appearance except on duty.

He came; and he would have been delighted to show his uniform too, had not cruel custom prohibited its appearance except on duty.


So the uniform remained at Portsmouth, and Edmund conjectured that before Fanny had any chance of seeing it, all its own freshness and all the freshness of its wearer's feelings must be worn away.

So the uniform remained at Portsmouth, and Edmund thought that Fanny would not have any chance of viewing it, before its freshness was worn away


It would be sunk into a badge of disgrace; for what can be more unbecoming, or more worthless, than the uniform of a lieutenant, who has been a lieutenant a year or two, and sees others made commanders before him?


So reasoned Edmund, till his father made him the confidant of a scheme which placed Fanny's chance of seeing the second lieutenant of H.M.S.

until Sir Thomas formed a scheme which meant Fanny could see the second lieutenant of H


Thrush in all his glory in another light.


This scheme was that she should accompany her brother back to Portsmouth, and spend a little time with her own family.

This scheme was that she should accompany her brother back to Portsmouth, and spend some time with her own family.


It had occurred to Sir Thomas, in one of his dignified musings, as a right and desirable measure; but before he absolutely made up his mind, he consulted his son.

Sir Thomas consulted his son, who thought it


Edmund considered it every way, and saw nothing but what was right.


The thing was good in itself, and could not be done at a better time; and he had no doubt of it being highly agreeable to Fanny.


This was enough to determine Sir Thomas; and a decisive "then so it shall be" closed that stage of the business; Sir Thomas retiring from it with some feelings of satisfaction, and views of good over and above what he had communicated to his son; for his prime motive in sending her away had very little to do with the propriety of her seeing her parents again, and nothing at all with any idea of making her happy.

; but Sir Thomas had another motive in sending her away, which had nothing at all to do with any idea of making her happy.


He certainly wished her to go willingly, but he as certainly wished her to be heartily sick of home before her visit ended; and that a little abstinence from the elegancies and luxuries of Mansfield Park would bring her mind into a sober state, and incline her to a juster estimate of the value of that home of greater permanence, and equal comfort, of which she had the offer.

He certainly wished her to go willingly, but he as certainly wished her to be heartily sick of home before her visit ended; and hoped a little abstinence from the luxuries of Mansfield Park would sober her mind, and help her to better appreciate Henry Crawford's offer.


It was a medicinal project upon his niece's understanding, which he must consider as at present diseased.

It was a medicinal project, for he considered that his niece's understanding must at present be diseased.


A residence of eight or nine years in the abode of wealth and plenty had a little disordered her powers of comparing and judging.

A residence of eight or nine years amidst wealth and plenty had disordered her powers of judging.


Her father's house would, in all probability, teach her the value of a good income; and he trusted that she would be the wiser and happier woman, all her life, for the experiment he had devised.

Her father's house would teach her the value of a good income; and he trusted that she would be the wiser and happier woman all her life, for the experiment he had devised.


Had Fanny been at all addicted to raptures, she must have had a strong attack of them when she first understood what was intended, when her uncle first made her the offer of visiting the parents, and brothers, and sisters, from whom she had been divided almost half her life; of returning for a couple of months to the scenes of her infancy, with William for the protector and companion of her journey, and the certainty of continuing to see William to the last hour of his remaining on land.

Had Fanny been at all addicted to raptures, she must have had a strong attack of them when her uncle first made her the offer of visiting the parents, brothers, and sisters, from whom she had been divided almost half her life; of returning to them with William as companion, and continuing to see William while he remained on land.


Had she ever given way to bursts of delight, it must have been then, for she was delighted, but her happiness was of a quiet, deep, heart-swelling sort; and though never a great talker, she was always more inclined to silence when feeling most strongly.

She was indeed delighted, but her happiness was of a quiet, deep, heart-swelling sort.


At the moment she could only thank and accept.


Afterwards, when familiarised with the visions of enjoyment so suddenly opened, she could speak more largely to William and Edmund of what she felt; but still there were emotions of tenderness that could not be clothed in words.

Afterwards, she could speak to William and Edmund of what she felt; but still there were tender emotions that could not be clothed in words.


The remembrance of all her earliest pleasures, and of what she had suffered in being torn from them, came over her with renewed strength, and it seemed as if to be at home again would heal every pain that had since grown out of the separation.

The remembrance of all her earliest pleasures, and of what she had suffered in being torn from them, came over her with renewed strength, and it seemed as if to be at home again would heal every pain that had grown out of the separation.


To be in the centre of such a circle, loved by so many, and more loved by all than she had ever been before; to feel affection without fear or restraint; to feel herself the equal of those who surrounded her; to be at peace from all mention of the Crawfords, safe from every look which could be fancied a reproach on their account.

To be in the centre of such a circle, loved by so many; to feel affection without restraint; to feel herself the equal of those who surrounded her; to be at peace from all mention of the Crawfords.


This was a prospect to be dwelt on with a fondness that could be but half acknowledged.

This was a prospect to be dwelt on with fondness.


Edmund, too-to be two months from _him_ (and perhaps she might be allowed to make her absence three) must do her good.

Edmund, too-to be two months from him must do her good.


At a distance, unassailed by his looks or his kindness, and safe from the perpetual irritation of knowing his heart, and striving to avoid his confidence, she should be able to reason herself into a properer state; she should be able to think of him as in London, and arranging everything there, without wretchedness.

At a distance, unassailed by his looks or his kindness, she should be able to reason herself into a more proper state; she should be able to think of him as in London, and arranging everything there, without wretchedness.


What might have been hard to bear at Mansfield was to become a slight evil at Portsmouth.


The only drawback was the doubt of her aunt Bertram's being comfortable without her.