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


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


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

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


Have you really-was it by _your_ desire?


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

Henry was happy to explain what he had done.


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

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


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

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


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


She jumped up and moved in haste towards the door, crying out, "I will go to my uncle.


My uncle ought to know it as soon as possible."


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


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

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


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

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


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

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


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

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


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

This sort of talking is very unpleasant to me.


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

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


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

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


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


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

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


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


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

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


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


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


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

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


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

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


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


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

She would think of it and forget all the rest.


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


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

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


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

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


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


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


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


Mr. Crawford was not only in the room-he was soon close to her.


He had a note to deliver from his sister.

; he had a note to deliver from his sister.


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


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

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


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

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


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


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

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


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

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


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


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

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


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

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


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

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


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

, hardly joining even when William was the subject.


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

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


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

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


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

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


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

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


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


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

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


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

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


"Sir Thomas told me 10 would be enough."


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

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


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


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


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

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


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


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

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


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

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


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

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


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

Everything reasonable was against their being serious.


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


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

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


And farther, how could it be supposed that his sister, with all her high and worldly notions of matrimony, would be forwarding anything of a serious nature in such a quarter?

And could his sister, with all her worldly notions of matrimony, be forwarding anything serious in such a quarter?


Nothing could be more unnatural in either.


Everything might be possible rather than serious attachment, or serious approbation of it toward her.


She had quite convinced herself of this before Sir Thomas and Mr. Crawford joined them.


The difficulty was in maintaining the conviction quite so absolutely after Mr. Crawford was in the room; for once or twice a look seemed forced on her which she did not know how to class among the common meaning; in any other man, at least, she would have said that it meant something very earnest, very pointed.

The difficulty was in maintaining the conviction after Mr. Crawford was in the room.


But she still tried to believe it no more than what he might often have expressed towards her cousins and fifty other women.


She thought he was wishing to speak to her unheard by the rest.


She fancied he was trying for it the whole evening at intervals, whenever Sir Thomas was out of the room, or at all engaged with Mrs. Norris, and she carefully refused him every opportunity.

She fancied he was trying for it the whole evening, whenever Sir Thomas was engaged with Mrs. Norris, and she carefully refused him every opportunity.


At last-it seemed an at last to Fanny's nervousness, though not remarkably late-he began to talk of going away; but the comfort of the sound was impaired by his turning to her the next moment, and saying, "Have you nothing to send to Mary?

At last he began to talk of going away; but turning to her the next moment, he said, "Have you nothing to send to Mary?


She will be disappointed if she receives nothing from you.


Pray write to her, if it be only a line."


certainly," cried Fanny, rising in haste, the haste of embarrassment and of wanting to get away-"I will write directly."

certainly," cried Fanny, rising in embarrassed haste and wanting to get away-"I will write directly."


She went accordingly to the table, where she was in the habit of writing for her aunt, and prepared her materials without knowing what in the world to say.

She went to the table, and prepared her writing materials without knowing what in the world to say.


She had read Miss Crawford's note only once, and how to reply to anything so imperfectly understood was most distressing.


Quite unpractised in such sort of note-writing, had there been time for scruples and fears as to style she would have felt them in abundance: but something must be instantly written; and with only one decided feeling, that of wishing not to appear to think anything really intended, she wrote thus, in great trembling both of spirits and hand-

Yet something must be written; and wishing not to appear to think anything really intended, she wrote thus, in great trembling both of spirits and hand-


"I am very much obliged to you, my dear Miss Crawford, for your kind congratulations, as far as they relate to my dearest William.


The rest of your note I know means nothing; but I am so unequal to anything of the sort, that I hope you will excuse my begging you to take no farther notice.


I have seen too much of Mr. Crawford not to understand his manners; if he understood me as well, he would, I dare say, behave differently.


I do not know what I write, but it would be a great favour of you never to mention the subject again.


With thanks for the honour of your note,


I remain, dear Miss Crawford, etc., etc."


The conclusion was scarcely intelligible from increasing fright, for she found that Mr. Crawford, under pretence of receiving the note, was coming towards her.

The conclusion was scarcely intelligible from increasing fright, for she found that Mr. Crawford was coming towards her.


"You cannot think I mean to hurry you," said he, in an undervoice, perceiving the amazing trepidation with which she made up the note, "you cannot think I have any such object.

"I do not mean to hurry you," said he, in an undervoice.


I thank you; I have quite done, just done; it will be ready in a moment; I am very much obliged to you; if you will be so good as to give _that_ to Miss Crawford."

I thank you; it will be ready in a moment; I am very much obliged; if you will be so good as to give that to Miss Crawford."


The note was held out, and must be taken; and as she instantly and with averted eyes walked towards the fireplace, where sat the others, he had nothing to do but to go in good earnest.

The note was held out, and must be taken; and as she instantly and with averted eyes walked towards the fireplace, he had nothing to do but to go.


Fanny thought she had never known a day of greater agitation, both of pain and pleasure; but happily the pleasure was not of a sort to die with the day; for every day would restore the knowledge of William's advancement, whereas the pain, she hoped, would return no more.

Fanny thought she had never known a day of greater agitation, both of pain and pleasure; but happily the pleasure was not of a sort to die with the day; whereas the pain, she hoped, would return no more.


She had no doubt that her note must appear excessively ill-written, that the language would disgrace a child, for her distress had allowed no arrangement; but at least it would assure them both of her being neither imposed on nor gratified by Mr. Crawford's attentions.

She had no doubt that her note must appear excessively ill-written, that the language would disgrace a child; but at least it would assure them both of her being neither imposed on nor gratified by Mr. Crawford's attentions.


Everything was now in a regular train: theatre, actors, actresses, and dresses, were all getting forward; but though no other great impediments arose, Fanny found, before many days were past, that it was not all uninterrupted enjoyment to the party themselves, and that she had not to witness the continuance of such unanimity and delight as had been almost too much for her at first.

Everything was now in train: theatre, actors, actresses, and dresses, were all getting forward; but Fanny found that it was not all uninterrupted enjoyment to the party.


Entirely against _his_ judgment, a scene-painter arrived from town, and was at work, much to the increase of the expenses, and, what was worse, of the eclat of their proceedings; and his brother, instead of being really guided by him as to the privacy of the representation, was giving an invitation to every family who came in his way.

Against his judgment, a scene-painter arrived from town, and was at work, increasing the expenses; and his brother was giving an invitation to every family who came in his way.


Tom himself began to fret over the scene-painter's slow progress, and to feel the miseries of waiting.

Tom himself began to fret, and to feel the miseries of waiting.


He had learned his part-all his parts, for he took every trifling one that could be united with the Butler, and began to be impatient to be acting; and every day thus unemployed was tending to increase his sense of the insignificance of all his parts together, and make him more ready to regret that some other play had not been chosen.

He had learned his part-all his parts, for he took every trifling one that could be united with the Butler, and was impatient to be acting.


Fanny, being always a very courteous listener, and often the only listener at hand, came in for the complaints and the distresses of most of them.

Fanny, being a very courteous listener, came in for the complaints of most of them.


_She_ knew that Mr. Yates was in general thought to rant dreadfully; that Mr. Yates was disappointed in Henry Crawford; that Tom Bertram spoke so quick he would be unintelligible; that Mrs. Grant spoiled everything by laughing; that Edmund was behindhand with his part, and that it was misery to have anything to do with Mr. Rushworth, who was wanting a prompter through every speech.

She knew that Mr. Yates was in general thought to rant dreadfully; that Mr. Yates was disappointed in Henry Crawford; that Tom Bertram spoke too quick; that Mrs. Grant spoiled everything by laughing; that Edmund was behindhand with his part, and that it was misery to have anything to do with Mr. Rushworth, who needed a prompter through every speech.


She knew, also, that poor Mr. Rushworth could seldom get anybody to rehearse with him: _his_ complaint came before her as well as the rest; and so decided to her eye was her cousin Maria's avoidance of him, and so needlessly often the rehearsal of the first scene between her and Mr. Crawford, that she had soon all the terror of other complaints from _him_.

She knew, also, that poor Mr. Rushworth could seldom get anybody to rehearse with him: and so decidedly did her cousin Maria avoid him, and so needlessly often did she rehearse the first scene with Mr. Crawford, that Fanny was soon terrified of other complaints from him.


So far from being all satisfied and all enjoying, she found everybody requiring something they had not, and giving occasion of discontent to the others.

So far from being all satisfied, everybody required something they had not.


Everybody had a part either too long or too short; nobody would attend as they ought; nobody would remember on which side they were to come in; nobody but the complainer would observe any directions.


Fanny believed herself to derive as much innocent enjoyment from the play as any of them; Henry Crawford acted well, and it was a pleasure to _her_ to creep into the theatre, and attend the rehearsal of the first act, in spite of the feelings it excited in some speeches for Maria.

Fanny derived much innocent enjoyment from the play. Henry Crawford acted well, and it was a pleasure to her to creep into the theatre, and attend the rehearsal of the first act, in spite of the feelings it excited in some speeches for Maria.


Maria, she also thought, acted well, too well; and after the first rehearsal or two, Fanny began to be their only audience; and sometimes as prompter, sometimes as spectator, was often very useful.

Maria also acted well, too well. Fanny began to be their only audience, sometimes as prompter, sometimes as spectator.


As far as she could judge, Mr. Crawford was considerably the best actor of all: he had more confidence than Edmund, more judgment than Tom, more talent and taste than Mr. Yates.

As far as she could judge, Mr. Crawford was the best actor of all: he had more confidence than Edmund, more judgment than Tom, more talent and taste than Mr. Yates.


She did not like him as a man, but she must admit him to be the best actor, and on this point there were not many who differed from her.

She did not like him, but she must admit him to be the best actor.


Mr. Yates, indeed, exclaimed against his tameness and insipidity; and the day came at last, when Mr. Rushworth turned to her with a black look, and said, "Do you think there is anything so very fine in all this?

The day came at last, when Mr. Rushworth turned to her with a black look, and said, "Do you think there is anything so very fine in all this?


For the life and soul of me, I cannot admire him; and, between ourselves, to see such an undersized, little, mean-looking man, set up for a fine actor, is very ridiculous in my opinion."

For the life and soul of me, I cannot admire him. To see such an undersized man set up for a fine actor, is ridiculous in my opinion."


From this moment there was a return of his former jealousy, which Maria, from increasing hopes of Crawford, was at little pains to remove; and the chances of Mr. Rushworth's ever attaining to the knowledge of his two-and-forty speeches became much less.

From this moment there was a return of his jealousy, which Maria, from increasing hopes of Crawford, was at little pains to remove; and the chances of Mr. Rushworth's ever learning his two-and-forty speeches became much less.


As to his ever making anything _tolerable_ of them, nobody had the smallest idea of that except his mother; _she_, indeed, regretted that his part was not more considerable, and deferred coming over to Mansfield till they were forward enough in their rehearsal to comprehend all his scenes; but the others aspired at nothing beyond his remembering the catchword, and the first line of his speech, and being able to follow the prompter through the rest.

As to his ever making anything tolerable of them, nobody had the smallest idea of that; they aspired at nothing beyond his remembering the first line of his speech, and being able to follow the prompter through the rest.


Fanny, in her pity and kindheartedness, was at great pains to teach him how to learn, giving him all the helps and directions in her power, trying to make an artificial memory for him, and learning every word of his part herself, but without his being much the forwarder.

Fanny, in her pity and kindheartedness, was at great pains to teach him how to learn, trying to make an artificial memory for him, and learning every word of his part herself, but without his being much the forwarder.


Many uncomfortable, anxious, apprehensive feelings she certainly had; but with all these, and other claims on her time and attention, she was as far from finding herself without employment or utility amongst them, as without a companion in uneasiness; quite as far from having no demand on her leisure as on her compassion.

Many apprehensive feelings she certainly had; but with these claims on her attention, she was far from finding herself without employment.


The gloom of her first anticipations was proved to have been unfounded.


She was occasionally useful to all; she was perhaps as much at peace as any.


There was a great deal of needlework to be done, moreover, in which her help was wanted; and that Mrs. Norris thought her quite as well off as the rest, was evident by the manner in which she claimed it-"Come, Fanny," she cried, "these are fine times for you, but you must not be always walking from one room to the other, and doing the lookings-on at your ease, in this way; I want you here.

There was a great deal of needlework to be done, moreover, in which her help was wanted; and Mrs. Norris thought her quite as well off as the rest-"Come, Fanny," she cried, "these are fine times for you, but you must not be always looking on at your ease; I want you here.


I have been slaving myself till I can hardly stand, to contrive Mr. Rushworth's cloak without sending for any more satin; and now I think you may give me your help in putting it together.

I have been slaving till I can hardly stand, to contrive Mr. Rushworth's cloak without sending for more satin; now you may help me in putting it together.


There are but three seams; you may do them in a trice.


It would be lucky for me if I had nothing but the executive part to do.


_You_ are best off, I can tell you: but if nobody did more than _you_, we should not get on very fast."

If nobody did more than you, we should not get on very fast."


Fanny took the work very quietly, without attempting any defence; but her kinder aunt Bertram observed on her behalf-

Fanny took the work very quietly, but her kinder aunt Bertram observed-


"One cannot wonder, sister, that Fanny _should_ be delighted: it is all new to her, you know; you and I used to be very fond of a play ourselves, and so am I still; and as soon as I am a little more at leisure, _I_ mean to look in at their rehearsals too.

"One cannot wonder, sister, that Fanny should be delighted: it is all new to her, you know; I used to be very fond of a play, and when I am a little more at leisure, I mean to look in at their rehearsals.


sister, pray do not ask her now; for Fanny is not one of those who can talk and work at the same time.

sister, pray do not ask her now; for Fanny cannot talk and work at the same time.


"I believe," said Fanny to her aunt Bertram, "there will be three acts rehearsed to-morrow evening, and that will give you an opportunity of seeing all the actors at once."

"I believe," said Fanny to her aunt Bertram, "there will be three acts rehearsed to-morrow evening, when you may see all the actors."


"You had better stay till the curtain is hung," interposed Mrs. Norris; "the curtain will be hung in a day or two-there is very little sense in a play without a curtain-and I am much mistaken if you do not find it draw up into very handsome festoons."

"You had better stay till the curtain is hung," interposed Mrs. Norris; "the curtain will be hung in a day or two, and you will find it draws up into very handsome festoons."


Lady Bertram seemed quite resigned to waiting.


Fanny did not share her aunt's composure: she thought of the morrow a great deal, for if the three acts were rehearsed, Edmund and Miss Crawford would then be acting together for the first time; the third act would bring a scene between them which interested her most particularly, and which she was longing and dreading to see how they would perform.

Fanny did not share her aunt's composure: she thought of the morrow a great deal, for if the three acts were rehearsed, Edmund and Miss Crawford would then be acting together for the first time. The third act would bring a scene between them which interested her particularly, and which she was longing and dreading to see how they would perform.


The whole subject of it was love-a marriage of love was to be described by the gentleman, and very little short of a declaration of love be made by the lady.

The whole subject of it was love-a marriage of love was to be described by the gentleman, and little short of a declaration of love made by the lady.


She had read and read the scene again with many painful, many wondering emotions, and looked forward to their representation of it as a circumstance almost too interesting.

She had read and read the scene again with many painful, wondering emotions.


She did not _believe_ they had yet rehearsed it, even in private.

She did not believe they had yet rehearsed it, even in private.


The morrow came, the plan for the evening continued, and Fanny's consideration of it did not become less agitated.


She worked very diligently under her aunt's directions, but her diligence and her silence concealed a very absent, anxious mind; and about noon she made her escape with her work to the East room, that she might have no concern in another, and, as she deemed it, most unnecessary rehearsal of the first act, which Henry Crawford was just proposing, desirous at once of having her time to herself, and of avoiding the sight of Mr. Rushworth.

worked diligently under her aunt's directions, but her diligence concealed a very absent, anxious mind. About noon she made her escape with her work to the East room, to avoid another unnecessary rehearsal of the first act, which Henry Crawford was proposing.


A glimpse, as she passed through the hall, of the two ladies walking up from the Parsonage made no change in her wish of retreat, and she worked and meditated in the East room, undisturbed, for a quarter of an hour, when a gentle tap at the door was followed by the entrance of Miss Crawford.

She worked and meditated in the East room, undisturbed, for a quarter of an hour, when a gentle tap at the door was followed by the entrance of Miss Crawford.


My dear Miss Price, I beg your pardon, but I have made my way to you on purpose to entreat your help."

My dear Miss Price, I beg your pardon, but I have come to entreat your help."


Fanny, quite surprised, endeavoured to shew herself mistress of the room by her civilities, and looked at the bright bars of her empty grate with concern.

Fanny, surprised, answered civilly, and looked at the bars of her empty grate with concern.


Allow me to stay here a little while, and do have the goodness to hear me my third act.

Allow me to stay a little while, and have the goodness to hear me my third act.


I have brought my book, and if you would but rehearse it with me, I should be _so_ obliged!

I have brought my book, and if you would but rehearse it with me, I should be so obliged!


I came here to-day intending to rehearse it with Edmund-by ourselves-against the evening, but he is not in the way; and if he _were_, I do not think I could go through it with _him_, till I have hardened myself a little; for really there is a speech or two.

I came to-day intending to rehearse it with Edmund, but he is not here; and if he were, I do not think I could go through it with him, till I have hardened myself a little; for really there is a speech or two.


Fanny was most civil in her assurances, though she could not give them in a very steady voice.


"Have you ever happened to look at the part I mean?"


continued Miss Crawford, opening her book.


"I did not think much of it at first-but, upon my word.


There, look at _that_ speech, and _that_, and _that_.


How am I ever to look him in the face and say such things?

How am I to look him in the face and say such things?


But then he is your cousin, which makes all the difference.

But he is your cousin, which makes all the difference.


You must rehearse it with me, that I may fancy _you_ him, and get on by degrees.

You must rehearse it with me, that I may fancy you him, and get on by degrees.


I will do my best with the greatest readiness; but I must _read_ the part, for I can say very little of it."

I will do my best; but I must read the part, for I can say very little of it."


We must have two chairs at hand for you to bring forward to the front of the stage.

We must have two chairs for the front of the stage.


There-very good school-room chairs, not made for a theatre, I dare say; much more fitted for little girls to sit and kick their feet against when they are learning a lesson.

There-very good school-room chairs, fitted for little girls to sit and kick their feet against.


What would your governess and your uncle say to see them used for such a purpose?


Could Sir Thomas look in upon us just now, he would bless himself, for we are rehearsing all over the house.

If Sir Thomas could see us now, he would bless himself, for we are rehearsing all over the house.


Yates is storming away in the dining-room.


I heard him as I came upstairs, and the theatre is engaged of course by those indefatigable rehearsers, Agatha and Frederick.

, and the theatre is engaged of course by Agatha and Frederick.


If _they_ are not perfect, I _shall_ be surprised.


By the bye, I looked in upon them five minutes ago, and it happened to be exactly at one of the times when they were trying _not_ to embrace, and Mr. Rushworth was with me.

By the bye, I looked in upon them five minutes ago, at exactly one of the times when they were trying not to embrace, and Mr. Rushworth was with me.


I thought he began to look a little queer, so I turned it off as well as I could, by whispering to him, 'We shall have an excellent Agatha; there is something so _maternal_ in her manner, so completely _maternal_ in her voice and countenance.'

I thought he began to look a little queer, so I whispered to him, 'We shall have an excellent Agatha; there is something so completely maternal in her manner.'


She began, and Fanny joined in with all the modest feeling which the idea of representing Edmund was so strongly calculated to inspire; but with looks and voice so truly feminine as to be no very good picture of a man.

She began, and Fanny joined in, but with looks and voice so feminine as to be no very good picture of a man.


With such an Anhalt, however, Miss Crawford had courage enough; and they had got through half the scene, when a tap at the door brought a pause, and the entrance of Edmund, the next moment, suspended it all.

With such an Anhalt, however, Miss Crawford had courage enough; and they had got through half the scene, when a tap at the door, and the entrance of Edmund, suspended it.


Surprise, consciousness, and pleasure appeared in each of the three on this unexpected meeting; and as Edmund was come on the very same business that had brought Miss Crawford, consciousness and pleasure were likely to be more than momentary in _them_.

Surprise, consciousness, and pleasure appeared in each on this unexpected meeting. Edmund was come on the very same business that had brought Miss Crawford.


He too had his book, and was seeking Fanny, to ask her to rehearse with him, and help him to prepare for the evening, without knowing Miss Crawford to be in the house; and great was the joy and animation of being thus thrown together, of comparing schemes, and sympathising in praise of Fanny's kind offices.

He too had his book, and was seeking Fanny to ask her to rehearse with him, without knowing Miss Crawford was in the house. Great was the joy of being thus thrown together, and sympathising in praise of Fanny's kind offices.


_She_ could not equal them in their warmth.

She could not equal them in their warmth.


_Her_ spirits sank under the glow of theirs, and she felt herself becoming too nearly nothing to both to have any comfort in having been sought by either.

Her spirits sank under the glow of theirs, and she felt herself becoming too nearly nothing to both to have any comfort in having been sought by either.


Edmund proposed, urged, entreated it, till the lady, not very unwilling at first, could refuse no longer, and Fanny was wanted only to prompt and observe them.

Edmund entreated it, till the lady, not very unwilling, could refuse no longer, and Fanny was wanted only to prompt and observe them.


She was invested, indeed, with the office of judge and critic, and earnestly desired to exercise it and tell them all their faults; but from doing so every feeling within her shrank-she could not, would not, dared not attempt it: had she been otherwise qualified for criticism, her conscience must have restrained her from venturing at disapprobation.

She was earnestly desired to tell them all their faults; but shrank from the task.


She believed herself to feel too much of it in the aggregate for honesty or safety in particulars.


To prompt them must be enough for her; and it was sometimes _more_ than enough; for she could not always pay attention to the book.

To prompt them must be enough; and it was sometimes more than enough; for


In watching them she forgot herself; and, agitated by the increasing spirit of Edmund's manner, had once closed the page and turned away exactly as he wanted help.

in watching them she forgot herself; and, agitated by the increasing spirit of Edmund's manner, closed the page and turned away exactly as he wanted help.


It was imputed to very reasonable weariness, and she was thanked and pitied; but she deserved their pity more than she hoped they would ever surmise.

It was imputed to very reasonable weariness, and she was thanked and pitied; but she deserved their pity more than she hoped they would ever guess.


At last the scene was over, and Fanny forced herself to add her praise to the compliments each was giving the other; and when again alone and able to recall the whole, she was inclined to believe their performance would, indeed, have such nature and feeling in it as must ensure their credit, and make it a very suffering exhibition to herself.

At last the scene was over, and Fanny forced herself to add her praise to the compliments each was giving the other. When again alone, she was inclined to believe their performance would, indeed, have such feeling in it as must ensure their credit, and make it very painful to herself.


Whatever might be its effect, however, she must stand the brunt of it again that very day.

However, she must bear the brunt of it again that very day.


The first regular rehearsal of the three first acts was certainly to take place in the evening: Mrs. Grant and the Crawfords were engaged to return for that purpose as soon as they could after dinner; and every one concerned was looking forward with eagerness.

The rehearsal of the three first acts was to take place in the evening; and everyone concerned was looking forward with eagerness.


There seemed a general diffusion of cheerfulness on the occasion.


Tom was enjoying such an advance towards the end; Edmund was in spirits from the morning's rehearsal, and little vexations seemed everywhere smoothed away.


All were alert and impatient; the ladies moved soon, the gentlemen soon followed them, and with the exception of Lady Bertram, Mrs. Norris, and Julia, everybody was in the theatre at an early hour; and having lighted it up as well as its unfinished state admitted, were waiting only the arrival of Mrs. Grant and the Crawfords to begin.

With the exception of Lady Bertram, Mrs. Norris, and Julia, everybody was in the theatre early, waiting only the arrival of Mrs. Grant and the Crawfords to begin.


They did not wait long for the Crawfords, but there was no Mrs. Grant.


Dr. Grant, professing an indisposition, for which he had little credit with his fair sister-in-law, could not spare his wife.

Dr. Grant, who was ill, could not spare his wife.


"Dr. Grant is ill," said she, with mock solemnity.


"He has been ill ever since he did not eat any of the pheasant today.


He fancied it tough, sent away his plate, and has been suffering ever since".


Mrs. Grant's non-attendance was sad indeed.


Her pleasant manners and cheerful conformity made her always valuable amongst them; but _now_ she was absolutely necessary.


They could not act, they could not rehearse with any satisfaction without her.


The comfort of the whole evening was destroyed.


After a pause of perplexity, some eyes began to be turned towards Fanny, and a voice or two to say, "If Miss Price would be so good as to _read_ the part."

After a pause, some eyes were turned towards Fanny, and a voice said, "If Miss Price would be so good as to read the part."


She was immediately surrounded by supplications; everybody asked it; even Edmund said, "Do, Fanny, if it is not _very_ disagreeable to you."

She was immediately surrounded by supplications; even Edmund said, "Do, Fanny, if it is not very disagreeable to you."


Why was not Miss Crawford to be applied to as well?


Or why had not she rather gone to her own room, as she had felt to be safest, instead of attending the rehearsal at all?

Why had not she gone safely to her room, instead of attending the rehearsal?


She had known it would irritate and distress her; she had known it her duty to keep away.


"You have only to _read_ the part," said Henry Crawford, with renewed entreaty.

"You have only to read the part," said Henry Crawford.


"And I do believe she can say every word of it," added Maria, "for she could put Mrs. Grant right the other day in twenty places.

"I do believe she can say every word of it," added Maria.


Fanny could not say she did _not_; and as they all persevered, as Edmund repeated his wish, and with a look of even fond dependence on her good-nature, she must yield.

As they all persevered, as Edmund repeated his wish, she must yield.


Everybody was satisfied; and she was left to the tremors of a most palpitating heart, while the others prepared to begin.

Everybody was satisfied; and she was left to the tremors of a palpitating heart, while the others prepared to begin.


They _did_ begin; and being too much engaged in their own noise to be struck by an unusual noise in the other part of the house, had proceeded some way when the door of the room was thrown open, and Julia, appearing at it, with a face all aghast, exclaimed, "My father is come!

They did begin; and being too much engaged in their own noise to notice an unusual noise in the other part of the house, had proceeded some way when the door of the room was thrown open. Julia, appearing at it, her face aghast, exclaimed, "My father is come!


Edmund had great things to hear on his return.


The first that occurred was not least in interest: the appearance of Henry Crawford and his sister walking together through the village as he rode into it.


He had concluded-he had meant them to be far distant.


His absence had been extended beyond a fortnight purposely to avoid Miss Crawford.


He was returning to Mansfield with spirits ready to feed on melancholy remembrances, and tender associations, when her own fair self was before him, leaning on her brother's arm, and he found himself receiving a welcome, unquestionably friendly, from the woman whom, two moments before, he had been thinking of as seventy miles off, and as farther, much farther, from him in inclination than any distance could express.

He was returning to Mansfield ready to feed on melancholy remembrances, when her own fair self was before him, leaning on her brother's arm, and he found himself receiving a friendly welcome from the woman whom, two moments before, he had been thinking of as seventy miles off.


Her reception of him was of a sort which he could not have hoped for, had he expected to see her.

Her reception of him was of a sort which he could not have hoped for.


Coming as he did from such a purport fulfilled as had taken him away, he would have expected anything rather than a look of satisfaction, and words of simple, pleasant meaning.

Coming as he did from his ordainment, he would have expected anything rather than a look of satisfaction, and words of simple, pleasant meaning.


It was enough to set his heart in a glow, and to bring him home in the properest state for feeling the full value of the other joyful surprises at hand.

It was enough to set his heart in a glow, and to bring him home in the right state for feeling the full value of the other joyful surprises at hand.


William's promotion, with all its particulars, he was soon master of; and with such a secret provision of comfort within his own breast to help the joy, he found in it a source of most gratifying sensation and unvarying cheerfulness all dinner-time.

In William's promotion he found a source of cheerfulness all dinner-time.


After dinner, when he and his father were alone, he had Fanny's history; and then all the great events of the last fortnight, and the present situation of matters at Mansfield were known to him.

After dinner, when he and his father were alone, he had Fanny's history; and then all the great events of the last fortnight were known to him.


They sat so much longer than usual in the dining-parlour, that she was sure they must be talking of her; and when tea at last brought them away, and she was to be seen by Edmund again, she felt dreadfully guilty.

They sat so much longer than usual in the dining-parlour, that she was sure they must be talking of her; and when she saw Edmund again, she felt dreadfully guilty.


He came to her, sat down by her, took her hand, and pressed it kindly; and at that moment she thought that, but for the occupation and the scene which the tea-things afforded, she must have betrayed her emotion in some unpardonable excess.

He sat down by her, took her hand, and pressed it kindly; and she thought that, but for the occupation which the tea-things afforded, she must have betrayed her emotion.


He was not intending, however, by such action, to be conveying to her that unqualified approbation and encouragement which her hopes drew from it.

He was not intending, however, to convey to her his unqualified encouragement.


It was designed only to express his participation in all that interested her, and to tell her that he had been hearing what quickened every feeling of affection.

He wished only to express his interest and affection.


He was, in fact, entirely on his father's side of the question.


His surprise was not so great as his father's at her refusing Crawford, because, so far from supposing her to consider him with anything like a preference, he had always believed it to be rather the reverse, and could imagine her to be taken perfectly unprepared, but Sir Thomas could not regard the connexion as more desirable than he did.

He was not so surprised as his father at her refusing Crawford, because he had never believed her to have a preference for him-rather the reverse; and he believed she had been completely unprepared; but the connexion had every recommendation to him.


It had every recommendation to him; and while honouring her for what she had done under the influence of her present indifference, honouring her in rather stronger terms than Sir Thomas could quite echo, he was most earnest in hoping, and sanguine in believing, that it would be a match at last, and that, united by mutual affection, it would appear that their dispositions were as exactly fitted to make them blessed in each other, as he was now beginning seriously to consider them.

He earnestly hoped and believed that it would be a match at last, and that their dispositions were exactly fitted to make them blessed in each other.


He had not given her time to attach herself.


With such powers as his, however, and such a disposition as hers, Edmund trusted that everything would work out a happy conclusion.


Meanwhile, he saw enough of Fanny's embarrassment to make him scrupulously guard against exciting it a second time, by any word, or look, or movement.

Meanwhile, he scrupulously guarded against saying anything to give Fanny further embarrassment.


Crawford called the next day, and on the score of Edmund's return, Sir Thomas felt himself more than licensed to ask him to stay dinner; it was really a necessary compliment.

Crawford called the next day, and Sir Thomas asked him to stay to dinner.


He staid of course, and Edmund had then ample opportunity for observing how he sped with Fanny, and what degree of immediate encouragement for him might be extracted from her manners; and it was so little, so very, very little-every chance, every possibility of it, resting upon her embarrassment only; if there was not hope in her confusion, there was hope in nothing else-that he was almost ready to wonder at his friend's perseverance.

Edmund had then ample opportunity for observing how much encouragement he received from Fanny's manner; and it was so little, so very, very little, that he was almost ready to wonder at his friend's perseverance.


Fanny was worth it all; he held her to be worth every effort of patience, every exertion of mind, but he did not think he could have gone on himself with any woman breathing, without something more to warm his courage than his eyes could discern in hers.

Fanny was worth it all; he held her to be worth every effort of patience, but he did not think he could have gone on himself with any woman breathing, without something more to warm his courage.


He was very willing to hope that Crawford saw clearer, and this was the most comfortable conclusion for his friend that he could come to from all that he observed to pass before, and at, and after dinner.


In the evening a few circumstances occurred which he thought more promising.

In the evening, circumstances occurred which he thought more promising.


When he and Crawford walked into the drawing-room, his mother and Fanny were sitting as intently and silently at work as if there were nothing else to care for.

When he and Crawford walked into the drawing-room, his mother and Fanny were sitting silently at work


Edmund could not help noticing their apparently deep tranquillity.


"We have not been so silent all the time," replied his mother.


"Fanny has been reading to me, and only put the book down upon hearing you coming."

"Fanny has been reading to me," said his mother.


And sure enough there was a book on the table which had the air of being very recently closed: a volume of Shakespeare.

There was a volume of Shakespeare on the table.


"She often reads to me out of those books; and she was in the middle of a very fine speech of that man's-what's his name, Fanny?-when we heard your footsteps."

"She often reads to me; and she was in the middle of a very fine speech when we heard your footsteps."


"Let me have the pleasure of finishing that speech to your ladyship," said he.


And by carefully giving way to the inclination of the leaves, he did find it, or within a page or two, quite near enough to satisfy Lady Bertram, who assured him, as soon as he mentioned the name of Cardinal Wolsey, that he had got the very speech.

And he did find it, quite near enough to satisfy Lady Bertram, who assured him, as soon as he mentioned the name of Cardinal Wolsey, that he had got the very speech.


Not a look or an offer of help had Fanny given; not a syllable for or against.

Not a look or an offer of help had Fanny given.


She seemed determined to be interested by nothing else.


She could not abstract her mind five minutes: she was forced to listen; his reading was capital, and her pleasure in good reading extreme.

She was forced to listen; his reading was capital, and her pleasure in good reading extreme.


To _good_ reading, however, she had been long used: her uncle read well, her cousins all, Edmund very well, but in Mr. Crawford's reading there was a variety of excellence beyond what she had ever met with.

Her uncle read well, Edmund very well, but in Mr. Crawford's reading there was excellence beyond what she had ever met with.


The King, the Queen, Buckingham, Wolsey, Cromwell, all were given in turn; for with the happiest knack, the happiest power of jumping and guessing, he could always alight at will on the best scene, or the best speeches of each; and whether it were dignity, or pride, or tenderness, or remorse, or whatever were to be expressed, he could do it with equal beauty.

The King, the Queen, Buckingham, Wolsey, Cromwell, all were given in turn; for with the happiest knack, he could alight at will on the best scene, or the best speeches; and whether it were dignity, or tenderness, or remorse to be expressed, he could do it with equal beauty.


His acting had first taught Fanny what pleasure a play might give, and his reading brought all his acting before her again; nay, perhaps with greater enjoyment, for it came unexpectedly, and with no such drawback as she had been used to suffer in seeing him on the stage with Miss Bertram.

His acting had first taught Fanny what pleasure a play might give, and his reading brought all his acting before her again; nay, perhaps with greater enjoyment, for it came with no such drawback as she had suffered in seeing him on the stage with Miss Bertram.


Edmund watched the progress of her attention, and was amused and gratified by seeing how she gradually slackened in the needlework, which at the beginning seemed to occupy her totally: how it fell from her hand while she sat motionless over it, and at last, how the eyes which had appeared so studiously to avoid him throughout the day were turned and fixed on Crawford-fixed on him for minutes, fixed on him, in short, till the attraction drew Crawford's upon her, and the book was closed, and the charm was broken.

Edmund watched, and was amused by seeing how she gradually slackened in the needlework: how it fell from her hand while she sat motionless, and at last, how her eyes were turned and fixed on Crawford-fixed on him, in short, till the attraction drew Crawford's eyes upon her, and the book was closed, and the charm was broken.


Then she was shrinking again into herself, and blushing and working as hard as ever; but it had been enough to give Edmund encouragement for his friend, and as he cordially thanked him, he hoped to be expressing Fanny's secret feelings too.

Then she was shrinking again into herself, blushing and working as hard as ever; but it had been enough to give Edmund encouragement for his friend.


"That play must be a favourite with you," said he; "you read as if you knew it well."

"That play must be a favourite with you," said he.


"It will be a favourite, I believe, from this hour," replied Crawford; "but I do not think I have had a volume of Shakespeare in my hand before since I was fifteen.

"It will be a favourite, I believe, from this hour," replied Crawford; "but I do not think I have had a volume of Shakespeare in my hand since I was fifteen.


I once saw Henry the Eighth acted, or I have heard of it from somebody who did, I am not certain which.

I once saw Henry the Eighth acted, or I heard of it from somebody who did, I am not certain which.


But Shakespeare one gets acquainted with without knowing how.


It is a part of an Englishman's constitution.


His thoughts and beauties are so spread abroad that one touches them everywhere; one is intimate with him by instinct.

; one is intimate with him by instinct."


No man of any brain can open at a good part of one of his plays without falling into the flow of his meaning immediately."


"No doubt one is familiar with Shakespeare in a degree," said Edmund, "from one's earliest years.


His celebrated passages are quoted by everybody; they are in half the books we open, and we all talk Shakespeare, use his similes, and describe with his descriptions; but this is totally distinct from giving his sense as you gave it.

His celebrated passages are quoted by everybody; and we all talk Shakespeare, use his similes, and describe with his descriptions.


To know him in bits and scraps is common enough; to know him pretty thoroughly is, perhaps, not uncommon; but to read him well aloud is no everyday talent."

To know him in bits and scraps is common enough; but to read him well aloud is no everyday talent."


"Sir, you do me honour," was Crawford's answer, with a bow of mock gravity.


Both gentlemen had a glance at Fanny, to see if a word of accordant praise could be extorted from her; yet both feeling that it could not be.

Both gentlemen glanced at Fanny, to see if a word of praise could be extorted from her; yet both feeling that it could not be.


Her praise had been given in her attention; _that_ must content them.

Her praise had been given in her attention; that must content them.


Lady Bertram's admiration was expressed, and strongly too.


"It was really like being at a play," said she.

"It was really like being at a play," said Lady Bertram.


If Lady Bertram, with all her incompetency and languor, could feel this, the inference of what her niece, alive and enlightened as she was, must feel, was elevating.

If Lady Bertram, with all her languor, could feel this, her niece must feel much more.


"You have a great turn for acting, I am sure, Mr. Crawford," said her ladyship soon afterwards; "and I will tell you what, I think you will have a theatre, some time or other, at your house in Norfolk.

"I will tell you what, Mr Crawford," said her ladyship, "I think you will have a theatre at your house in Norfolk,


I think you will fit up a theatre at your house in Norfolk."


And he looked at Fanny with an expressive smile, which evidently meant, "That lady will never allow a theatre at Everingham."


Edmund saw it all, and saw Fanny so determined _not_ to see it, as to make it clear that the voice was enough to convey the full meaning of the protestation; and such a quick consciousness of compliment, such a ready comprehension of a hint, he thought, was rather favourable than not.

Edmund saw it, and saw Fanny determined not to see it. Such a ready comprehension of a hint, he thought, was rather favourable than not.


The subject of reading aloud was farther discussed.


The two young men were the only talkers, but they, standing by the fire, talked over the too common neglect of the qualification, the total inattention to it, in the ordinary school-system for boys, the consequently natural, yet in some instances almost unnatural, degree of ignorance and uncouthness of men, of sensible and well-informed men, when suddenly called to the necessity of reading aloud, which had fallen within their notice, giving instances of blunders, and failures with their secondary causes, the want of management of the voice, of proper modulation and emphasis, of foresight and judgment, all proceeding from the first cause: want of early attention and habit; and Fanny was listening again with great entertainment.

The two young men, standing by the fire, talked over the too common neglect of reading aloud in the school-system, and the consequent ignorance of men when suddenly called to the necessity of reading aloud; giving instances of blunders and failures, the lack of management of the voice, of proper emphasis, all proceeding from the want of early attention and habit. Fanny was listening again with great entertainment.


"Even in my profession," said Edmund, with a smile, "how little the art of reading has been studied!


how little a clear manner, and good delivery, have been attended to!


I speak rather of the past, however, than the present.


There is now a spirit of improvement abroad; but among those who were ordained twenty, thirty, forty years ago, the larger number, to judge by their performance, must have thought reading was reading, and preaching was preaching.

There is now a spirit of improvement abroad.


It is felt that distinctness and energy may have weight in recommending the most solid truths; and besides, there is more general observation and taste, a more critical knowledge diffused than formerly; in every congregation there is a larger proportion who know a little of the matter, and who can judge and criticise."

It is felt that distinctness and energy may help to convey the most solid truths; and besides, knowledge of good reading is more widespread than formerly; in every congregation there are more who know a little of the matter, and who can judge and criticise."


Edmund had already gone through the service once since his ordination; and upon this being understood, he had a variety of questions from Crawford as to his feelings and success; questions, which being made, though with the vivacity of friendly interest and quick taste, without any touch of that spirit of banter or air of levity which Edmund knew to be most offensive to Fanny, he had true pleasure in satisfying; and when Crawford proceeded to ask his opinion and give his own as to the properest manner in which particular passages in the service should be delivered, shewing it to be a subject on which he had thought before, and thought with judgment, Edmund was still more and more pleased.

Edmund had already gone through the service once since his ordination; and upon this being understood, Crawford asked him many questions with the vivacity of friendly interest, and none of that levity which Edmund knew to be most offensive to Fanny. When Crawford asked his opinion as to the befitting manner in which particular passages in the service should be delivered, showing it to be a subject on which he had thought, Edmund was still more pleased.


She was not to be won by all that gallantry and wit and good-nature together could do; or, at least, she would not be won by them nearly so soon, without the assistance of sentiment and feeling, and seriousness on serious subjects.

She was not to be won by gallantry and wit; or, at least, she would not be won by them so soon, without the assistance of seriousness on serious subjects.


"Our liturgy," observed Crawford, "has beauties, which not even a careless, slovenly style of reading can destroy; but it has also redundancies and repetitions which require good reading not to be felt.

"Our liturgy," observed Crawford, "has beauties which not even a careless style of reading can destroy; but it has also redundancies which require good reading not to be felt.


For myself, at least, I must confess being not always so attentive as I ought to be" (here was a glance at Fanny); "that nineteen times out of twenty I am thinking how such a prayer ought to be read, and longing to have it to read myself.

I must confess to being not always so attentive as I ought to be" (here was a glance at Fanny); "nineteen times out of twenty I am thinking how such a prayer ought to be read, and longing to read it myself.


stepping eagerly to Fanny, and addressing her in a softened voice; and upon her saying "No," he added, "Are you sure you did not speak?


I fancied you might be going to tell me I ought to be more attentive, and not _allow_ my thoughts to wander.

I fancied you might be going to tell me I ought to be more attentive, and not allow my thoughts to wander.


"No, indeed, you know your duty too well for me to-even supposing-"


She stopt, felt herself getting into a puzzle, and could not be prevailed on to add another word, not by dint of several minutes of supplication and waiting.

She stopped, felt herself getting into a puzzle, and could not be prevailed on to add another word.


He then returned to his former station, and went on as if there had been no such tender interruption.

He returned to his former place, and went on.


"A sermon, well delivered, is more uncommon even than prayers well read.


A sermon, good in itself, is no rare thing.


It is more difficult to speak well than to compose well; that is, the rules and trick of composition are oftener an object of study.


A thoroughly good sermon, thoroughly well delivered, is a capital gratification.

A thoroughly good sermon, thoroughly well delivered, is a capital pleasure.


I can never hear such a one without the greatest admiration and respect, and more than half a mind to take orders and preach myself.

I can never hear such a one without the greatest admiration, and more than half a mind to take orders and preach myself.


There is something in the eloquence of the pulpit, when it is really eloquence, which is entitled to the highest praise and honour.

There is something in the eloquence of the pulpit which is entitled to the highest praise and honour.


The preacher who can touch and affect such an heterogeneous mass of hearers, on subjects limited, and long worn threadbare in all common hands; who can say anything new or striking, anything that rouses the attention without offending the taste, or wearing out the feelings of his hearers, is a man whom one could not, in his public capacity, honour enough.

The preacher who can touch such a mass of hearers, on subjects limited, and long worn threadbare in all common hands; who can say anything new or striking, anything that rouses the attention without wearing out the feelings of his hearers, is a man whom one could not honour enough.


I never listened to a distinguished preacher in my life without a sort of envy.

"I never listened to a distinguished preacher in my life without envy.


But then, I must have a London audience.


I could not preach but to the educated; to those who were capable of estimating my composition.


And I do not know that I should be fond of preaching often; now and then, perhaps once or twice in the spring, after being anxiously expected for half a dozen Sundays together; but not for a constancy; it would not do for a constancy."

And I should not be fond of preaching often; now and then, perhaps once or twice in the spring; but not for a constancy; it would not do for a constancy."


Here Fanny, who could not but listen, involuntarily shook her head, and Crawford was instantly by her side again, entreating to know her meaning; and as Edmund perceived, by his drawing in a chair, and sitting down close by her, that it was to be a very thorough attack, that looks and undertones were to be well tried, he sank as quietly as possible into a corner, turned his back, and took up a newspaper, very sincerely wishing that dear little Fanny might be persuaded into explaining away that shake of the head to the satisfaction of her ardent lover; and as earnestly trying to bury every sound of the business from himself in murmurs of his own, over the various advertisements of "A most desirable Estate in South Wales"; "To Parents and Guardians"; and a "Capital season'd Hunter."

Here Fanny involuntarily shook her head, and Crawford was instantly by her side again, entreating to know her meaning; and as Edmund perceived that it was to be a very thorough attack, he sank as quietly as possible into a corner and took up a newspaper, sincerely wishing that dear little Fanny might be persuaded into explaining away that shake of the head to the satisfaction of her ardent lover; and he tried to bury every sound of the business in murmurs of his own, over the advertisements of "A most desirable Estate in South Wales" and a "Capital season'd Hunter."


Fanny, meanwhile, vexed with herself for not having been as motionless as she was speechless, and grieved to the heart to see Edmund's arrangements, was trying by everything in the power of her modest, gentle nature, to repulse Mr. Crawford, and avoid both his looks and inquiries; and he, unrepulsable, was persisting in both.

Fanny, meanwhile, vexed with herself, and grieved to see Edmund's arrangements, was trying by everything in the power of her modest, gentle nature, to repulse Mr. Crawford, and avoid both his looks and inquiries; and he, unrepulsable, was persisting in both.


What had I been saying to displease you?


Did you think me speaking improperly, lightly, irreverently on the subject?

Did you think me speaking improperly, lightly on the subject?


Nay, nay, I entreat you; for one moment put down your work.


In vain was her "Pray, sir, don't; pray, Mr. Crawford," repeated twice over; and in vain did she try to move away.

In vain was her "Pray, sir, don't; pray, Mr. Crawford," repeated; and in vain did she try to move away.


In the same low, eager voice, and the same close neighbourhood, he went on, reurging the same questions as before.

In the same low, eager voice, he went on, reurging the same questions.


You quite astonish me; I wonder how you can-"


Is there anything in my present entreaty that you do not understand?


I will explain to you instantly all that makes me urge you in this manner, all that gives me an interest in what you look and do, and excites my present curiosity.

I will explain to you instantly all that makes me urge you in this manner, all that gives me an interest in what you look and do.


In spite of herself, she could not help half a smile, but she said nothing.


"You shook your head at my acknowledging that I should not like to engage in the duties of a clergyman always for a constancy.

"You shook your head at my saying that I should not like the duties of a clergyman for a constancy.


I would spell it, read it, write it with anybody.


"Perhaps, sir," said Fanny, wearied at last into speaking-"perhaps, sir, I thought it was a pity you did not always know yourself as well as you seemed to do at that moment."


Crawford, delighted to get her to speak at any rate, was determined to keep it up; and poor Fanny, who had hoped to silence him by such an extremity of reproof, found herself sadly mistaken, and that it was only a change from one object of curiosity and one set of words to another.

Crawford, delighted to get her to speak at any rate, was determined to keep it up; and poor Fanny, who had hoped to silence him by such extreme reproof, found herself sadly mistaken, and that it was only a change from one set of words to another.


He had always something to entreat the explanation of.


None such had occurred since his seeing her in her uncle's room, none such might occur again before his leaving Mansfield.

None such might occur again before his leaving Mansfield.


Lady Bertram's being just on the other side of the table was a trifle, for she might always be considered as only half-awake, and Edmund's advertisements were still of the first utility.

Lady Bertram's being just on the other side of the table was a trifle, for she was only half-awake, and Edmund's advertisements were still proving most useful.


"Well," said Crawford, after a course of rapid questions and reluctant answers; "I am happier than I was, because I now understand more clearly your opinion of me.


You think me unsteady: easily swayed by the whim of the moment, easily tempted, easily put aside.

You think me unsteady: easily swayed by the whim of the moment.


With such an opinion, no wonder that-But we shall see.-It is not by protestations that I shall endeavour to convince you I am wronged; it is not by telling you that my affections are steady.


My conduct shall speak for me; absence, distance, time shall speak for me.


_They_ shall prove that, as far as you can be deserved by anybody, I do deserve you.


You are infinitely my superior in merit; all _that_ I know.

You are infinitely my superior in merit, I know.


You have qualities which I had not before supposed to exist in such a degree in any human creature.


You have some touches of the angel in you beyond what-not merely beyond what one sees, because one never sees anything like it-but beyond what one fancies might be.

You have some touches of the angel in you.


It is not by equality of merit that you can be won.


It is he who sees and worships your merit the strongest, who loves you most devotedly, that has the best right to a return.

It is he who worships your merit the strongest, who loves you most devotedly, that has the best right to a return.


By that right I do and will deserve you; and when once convinced that my attachment is what I declare it, I know you too well not to entertain the warmest hopes.

By that right I do and will deserve you.


Nay" (seeing her draw back displeased), "forgive me.


Perhaps I have as yet no right; but by what other name can I call you?


Do you suppose you are ever present to my imagination under any other?


No, it is 'Fanny' that I think of all day, and dream of all night.

It is 'Fanny' that I think of all day, and dream of all night.


You have given the name such reality of sweetness, that nothing else can now be descriptive of you."

You have given the name such sweetness, that nothing else can be descriptive of you."


Fanny could hardly have kept her seat any longer, or have refrained from at least trying to get away in spite of all the too public opposition she foresaw to it, had it not been for the sound of approaching relief, the very sound which she had been long watching for, and long thinking strangely delayed.

Fanny could hardly have kept her seat any longer, had it not been for the sound of approaching relief, the sound which she had been long waiting for, and thinking strangely delayed.


The solemn procession, headed by Baddeley, of tea-board, urn, and cake-bearers, made its appearance, and delivered her from a grievous imprisonment of body and mind.

The solemn procession, headed by Baddeley, of tea-board, urn, and cake-bearers, made its appearance, and delivered her.


She was at liberty, she was busy, she was protected.


Edmund was not sorry to be admitted again among the number of those who might speak and hear.

Edmund was not sorry to be again able to speak and hear.


But though the conference had seemed full long to him, and though on looking at Fanny he saw rather a flush of vexation, he inclined to hope that so much could not have been said and listened to without some profit to the speaker.

On looking at Fanny he saw a flush of vexation; yet he hoped that so much could not have been said without some profit to the speaker.


The Honourable John Yates, this new friend, had not much to recommend him beyond habits of fashion and expense, and being the younger son of a lord with a tolerable independence; and Sir Thomas would probably have thought his introduction at Mansfield by no means desirable.

The Honourable John Yates, this new friend of Tom's, had not much to recommend him beyond being the younger son of a lord; and Sir Thomas would probably have thought his introduction at Mansfield undesirable.


Mr. Bertram's acquaintance with him had begun at Weymouth, where they had spent ten days together in the same society, and the friendship, if friendship it might be called, had been proved and perfected by Mr. Yates's being invited to take Mansfield in his way, whenever he could, and by his promising to come; and he did come rather earlier than had been expected, in consequence of the sudden breaking-up of a large party assembled for gaiety at the house of another friend, which he had left Weymouth to join.

Mr. Bertram's acquaintance with him had begun at Weymouth, where they had spent ten days in the same society. Mr. Yates was invited to visit Mansfield, and came rather earlier than expected, in consequence of the sudden breaking-up of a large party at the house of another friend.


He came on the wings of disappointment, and with his head full of acting, for it had been a theatrical party; and the play in which he had borne a part was within two days of representation, when the sudden death of one of the nearest connexions of the family had destroyed the scheme and dispersed the performers.

He came on the wings of disappointment, and with his head full of acting, for it had been a theatrical party; the sudden death of a connexion of the family had dispersed the performers two days before the performance.


To be so near happiness, so near fame, so near the long paragraph in praise of the private theatricals at Ecclesford, the seat of the Right Hon. Lord Ravenshaw, in Cornwall, which would of course have immortalised the whole party for at least a twelvemonth!

To be so near happiness, so near fame, so near the long paragraph in praise of the private theatricals at Ecclesford, the seat of Lord Ravenshaw, which would have immortalised the whole party for a twelvemonth!


and being so near, to lose it all, was an injury to be keenly felt, and Mr. Yates could talk of nothing else.

to lose it all, was an injury keenly felt, and Mr. Yates could talk of nothing else.


Ecclesford and its theatre, with its arrangements and dresses, rehearsals and jokes, was his never-failing subject, and to boast of the past his only consolation.

Ecclesford and its theatre, its dresses, rehearsals and jokes, was his never-failing subject.


Happily for him, a love of the theatre is so general, an itch for acting so strong among young people, that he could hardly out-talk the interest of his hearers.


From the first casting of the parts to the epilogue it was all bewitching, and there were few who did not wish to have been a party concerned, or would have hesitated to try their skill.


The play had been Lovers' Vows, and Mr. Yates was to have been Count Cassel.


"A trifling part," said he, "and not at all to my taste, and such a one as I certainly would not accept again; but I was determined to make no difficulties.

"A trifling part," said he, "and not to my taste; but I was determined to make no difficulties.


Lord Ravenshaw and the duke had appropriated the only two characters worth playing before I reached Ecclesford; and though Lord Ravenshaw offered to resign his to me, it was impossible to take it, you know.

Lord Ravenshaw and the duke had taken the only two characters worth playing.


I was sorry for _him_ that he should have so mistaken his powers, for he was no more equal to the Baron-a little man with a weak voice, always hoarse after the first ten minutes.

I was sorry that Lord Ravenshaw should have so mistaken his powers, for he was not equal to the Baron-a little man with a weak voice, always hoarse after ten minutes.


It must have injured the piece materially; but _I_ was resolved to make no difficulties.


Sir Henry thought the duke not equal to Frederick, but that was because Sir Henry wanted the part himself; whereas it was certainly in the best hands of the two.

Sir Henry thought the duke not equal to Frederick, but that was because Sir Henry wanted the part himself.


I was surprised to see Sir Henry such a stick.


Luckily the strength of the piece did not depend upon him.


Our Agatha was inimitable, and the duke was thought very great by many.


And upon the whole, it would certainly have gone off wonderfully."

It would certainly have gone off wonderfully."


"It was a hard case, upon my word"; and, "I do think you were very much to be pitied," were the kind responses of listening sympathy.

"I do think you were very much to be pitied," was the kind response.


"It is not worth complaining about; but to be sure the poor old dowager could not have died at a worse time; and it is impossible to help wishing that the news could have been suppressed for just the three days we wanted.

"To be sure, the poor old dowager could not have died at a worse time; and I wish the news could have been suppressed for just three days.


It was but three days; and being only a grandmother, and all happening two hundred miles off, I think there would have been no great harm, and it was suggested, I know; but Lord Ravenshaw, who I suppose is one of the most correct men in England, would not hear of it."

I think there would have been no great harm, and it was suggested, I know; but Lord Ravenshaw would not hear of it."


"An afterpiece instead of a comedy," said Mr. Bertram.


"Lovers' Vows were at an end, and Lord and Lady Ravenshaw left to act My Grandmother by themselves.


Well, the jointure may comfort _him_; and perhaps, between friends, he began to tremble for his credit and his lungs in the Baron, and was not sorry to withdraw; and to make _you_ amends, Yates, I think we must raise a little theatre at Mansfield, and ask you to be our manager."

To make you amends, Yates," said Mr Bertram, "I think we must raise a little theatre at Mansfield, and ask you to be our manager."


This, though the thought of the moment, did not end with the moment; for the inclination to act was awakened, and in no one more strongly than in him who was now master of the house; and who, having so much leisure as to make almost any novelty a certain good, had likewise such a degree of lively talents and comic taste, as were exactly adapted to the novelty of acting.

The desire to act was awakened in Tom, who was now master of the house; and who had such lively talents and comic taste as were exactly adapted to the novelty of acting.


"Oh for the Ecclesford theatre and scenery to try something with."


Each sister could echo the wish; and Henry Crawford, to whom, in all the riot of his gratifications it was yet an untasted pleasure, was quite alive at the idea.

Each sister echoed the wish; and Henry Crawford, to whom, in all the riot of his gratifications it was an untasted pleasure, was quite alive at the idea.


"I really believe," said he, "I could be fool enough at this moment to undertake any character that ever was written, from Shylock or Richard III down to the singing hero of a farce in his scarlet coat and cocked hat.

"I really believe," said he, "I could at this moment undertake any character that ever was written.


I feel as if I could be anything or everything; as if I could rant and storm, or sigh or cut capers, in any tragedy or comedy in the English language.

I feel as if I could rant and storm, or sigh or cut capers, in any play in the English language.


Be it only half a play, an act, a scene; what should prevent us?


Not these countenances, I am sure," looking towards the Miss Bertrams; "and for a theatre, what signifies a theatre?


"We must have a curtain," said Tom Bertram; "a few yards of green baize for a curtain, and perhaps that may be enough."

"We must have a curtain," said Tom Bertram; "a few yards of green baize for a curtain may be enough."


"Oh, quite enough," cried Mr. Yates, "with only just a side wing or two run up, doors in flat, and three or four scenes to be let down; nothing more would be necessary on such a plan as this.

"Oh, quite enough," cried Mr. Yates, "with only just a side wing or two run up, doors in flat, and three or four scenes to be let down.


For mere amusement among ourselves we should want nothing more."


"I believe we must be satisfied with _less_," said Maria.

"I believe we must be satisfied with less," said Maria.


"There would not be time, and other difficulties would arise.


We must rather adopt Mr. Crawford's views, and make the _performance_, not the _theatre_, our object.

"We must make the performance, not the theatre, our object."


Many parts of our best plays are independent of scenery."


"Nay," said Edmund, who began to listen with alarm.

"Nay," said Edmund, listening with alarm.


If we are to act, let it be in a theatre completely fitted up with pit, boxes, and gallery, and let us have a play entire from beginning to end; so as it be a German play, no matter what, with a good tricking, shifting afterpiece, and a figure-dance, and a hornpipe, and a song between the acts.

If we are to act, let it be in a theatre completely fitted up with pit, boxes, and gallery, and let us have a play entire, with a good tricking, and a figure-dance, and a hornpipe, and a song between the acts.


If we do not outdo Ecclesford, we do nothing."


"Now, Edmund, do not be disagreeable," said Julia.


"Nobody loves a play better than you do, or can have gone much farther to see one."

"Nobody loves a play better than you do, or can have gone farther to see one."


"True, to see real acting, good hardened real acting; but I would hardly walk from this room to the next to look at the raw efforts of those who have not been bred to the trade: a set of gentlemen and ladies, who have all the disadvantages of education and decorum to struggle through."

"True, to see real acting; but I would hardly walk from this room to the next to look at the raw efforts of those who have not been bred to the trade."


After a short pause, however, the subject still continued, and was discussed with unabated eagerness, every one's inclination increasing by the discussion, and a knowledge of the inclination of the rest; and though nothing was settled but that Tom Bertram would prefer a comedy, and his sisters and Henry Crawford a tragedy, and that nothing in the world could be easier than to find a piece which would please them all, the resolution to act something or other seemed so decided as to make Edmund quite uncomfortable.

However, the subject continued to be discussed with eagerness; and though nothing was settled but that Tom Bertram would prefer a comedy, and his sisters and Henry Crawford a tragedy, and that nothing could be easier than to find a piece which would please them all, their resolution to act seemed so decided as to make Edmund quite uncomfortable.


He was determined to prevent it, if possible, though his mother, who equally heard the conversation which passed at table, did not evince the least disapprobation.

He was determined to prevent it, if possible, though his mother did not show the least disapprobation.


The same evening afforded him an opportunity of trying his strength.

The same evening gave him an opportunity of trying his strength.


Maria, Julia, Henry Crawford, and Mr. Yates were in the billiard-room.


Tom, returning from them into the drawing-room, where Edmund was standing thoughtfully by the fire, while Lady Bertram was on the sofa at a little distance, and Fanny close beside her arranging her work, thus began as he entered-"Such a horribly vile billiard-table as ours is not to be met with, I believe, above ground.

Tom, returning from them into the drawing-room, found Edmund standing thoughtfully by the fire, while Lady Bertram and Fanny were on the sofa. Tom began as he entered-"Such a horribly vile billiard-table as ours is not to be met with.


I can stand it no longer, and I think, I may say, that nothing shall ever tempt me to it again; but one good thing I have just ascertained: it is the very room for a theatre, precisely the shape and length for it; and the doors at the farther end, communicating with each other, as they may be made to do in five minutes, by merely moving the bookcase in my father's room, is the very thing we could have desired, if we had sat down to wish for it; and my father's room will be an excellent greenroom.

I can stand it no longer, but I have just ascertained one good thing: the room is precisely the shape for a theatre; and with the doors at the end communicating with each other, as they may be made to do by merely moving the bookcase in my father's room, is the very thing we could have desired."


It seems to join the billiard-room on purpose."


"You are not serious, Tom, in meaning to act?"


said Edmund, in a low voice, as his brother approached the fire.


In a _general_ light, private theatricals are open to some objections, but as _we_ are circumstanced, I must think it would be highly injudicious, and more than injudicious to attempt anything of the kind.


It would shew great want of feeling on my father's account, absent as he is, and in some degree of constant danger; and it would be imprudent, I think, with regard to Maria, whose situation is a very delicate one, considering everything, extremely delicate."

It would show great lack of feeling on my father's account, absent as he is, and in constant danger; and it would be imprudent with regard to Maria, whose situation is a very delicate one."


as if we were going to act three times a week till my father's return, and invite all the country.

as if we were going to act three times a week, and invite all the country.


But it is not to be a display of that sort.


We mean nothing but a little amusement among ourselves, just to vary the scene, and exercise our powers in something new.

But we mean nothing but a little amusement among ourselves.


We may be trusted, I think, in chusing some play most perfectly unexceptionable; and I can conceive no greater harm or danger to any of us in conversing in the elegant written language of some respectable author than in chattering in words of our own.


And as to my father's being absent, it is so far from an objection, that I consider it rather as a motive; for the expectation of his return must be a very anxious period to my mother; and if we can be the means of amusing that anxiety, and keeping up her spirits for the next few weeks, I shall think our time very well spent, and so, I am sure, will he.

As to my father's absence, I consider it a motive; for this must be a very anxious period to my mother; and if we can keep up her spirits for the next few weeks, I shall think our time well spent."


As he said this, each looked towards their mother.


Lady Bertram, sunk back in one corner of the sofa, the picture of health, wealth, ease, and tranquillity, was just falling into a gentle doze, while Fanny was getting through the few difficulties of her work for her.

Lady Bertram, sunk in one corner of the sofa, the picture of ease and tranquillity, was just falling into a gentle doze.


this won't do," cried Tom, throwing himself into a chair with a hearty laugh.

this won't do," cried Tom, with a laugh.


"To be sure, my dear mother, your anxiety-I was unlucky there."

"To be sure, my dear mother-I was unlucky there."


asked her ladyship, in the heavy tone of one half-roused; "I was not asleep."

asked her ladyship, half-roused; "I was not asleep."


"Oh dear, no, ma'am, nobody suspected you!


Well, Edmund," he continued, returning to the former subject, posture, and voice, as soon as Lady Bertram began to nod again, "but _this_ I _will_ maintain, that we shall be doing no harm."

Well, Edmund," he continued, as Lady Bertram began to nod again, "I maintain that we shall be doing no harm."


"I cannot agree with you; I am convinced that my father would totally disapprove it."

"I cannot agree; I am convinced that my father would totally disapprove it."


Nobody is fonder of the exercise of talent in young people, or promotes it more, than my father, and for anything of the acting, spouting, reciting kind, I think he has always a decided taste.

Nobody is fonder of the exercise of talent in young people than my father, and I think he has a decided taste for acting.


I am sure he encouraged it in us as boys.


How many a time have we mourned over the dead body of Julius Caesar, and to _be'd_ and not _to_ _be'd_, in this very room, for his amusement?

How many a time have we mourned over the dead body of Caesar, and to be'd and not to be'd, for his amusement?"


And I am sure, _my_ _name_ _was_ _Norval_, every evening of my life through one Christmas holidays."


My father wished us, as schoolboys, to speak well, but he would never wish his grown-up daughters to be acting plays.


"I know all that," said Tom, displeased.


"I know my father as well as you do; and I'll take care that his daughters do nothing to distress him.


Manage your own concerns, Edmund, and I'll take care of the rest of the family."


"If you are resolved on acting," replied the persevering Edmund, "I must hope it will be in a very small and quiet way; and I think a theatre ought not to be attempted.

"If you are resolved on acting," replied the persevering Edmund, "I hope it will be in a very quiet way; and I think a theatre ought not to be attempted.


It would be taking liberties with my father's house in his absence which could not be justified."

It would be taking liberties with my father's house."


"For everything of that nature I will be answerable," said Tom, in a decided tone.