Her uncle and her aunts were in the drawing-room when Fanny went down. The former saw with pleasure the elegance of her appearance. The neatness and propriety of her dress was all that he would commend in her presence, but upon her leaving the room, he spoke of her beauty with decided praise.
"Yes," said Lady Bertram, "she looks very well. I sent Chapman to her."
"Look well! Oh, yes!" cried Mrs. Norris, "she has good reason to look well with all her advantages: brought up in this family as she has been, with all the benefit of her cousins' manners before her. What would she have been if we had not taken her in hand?"
When they sat down to table the eyes of the two young men told Fanny that she was approved; and the consciousness of looking well made her look still better. Edmund said, "You must dance with me, Fanny; keep two dances for me; any two that you like, except the first." She had nothing more to wish for. She had hardly ever been in a state so close to high spirits in her life. She felt that a ball was indeed very charming, and was actually practising her steps about the drawing-room.
Soon afterwards began the sweet expectation of a carriage, while they all stood about and talked and laughed, and every moment had its pleasure and its hope. Fanny felt that there must be a struggle in Edmund's cheerfulness, but it was delightful to see the effort so successfully made.
When the guests began to assemble, her own gaiety was much subdued: the sight of so many strangers threw her back into herself; and as she was introduced here and there by her uncle, she found herself forced to be spoken to, and to curtsey, and speak again. This was a hard duty, and she was never summoned to it without looking longingly at William, who walked about at his ease.
With the entrance of the Grants and Crawfords, stiffness gave way before their popular manners: everybody grew comfortable. Fanny would have been again most happy, could she have kept her eyes from wandering between Edmund and Mary Crawford. She looked all loveliness—and what might not be the end of it?
Her musings were ended on seeing Mr. Crawford before her; he engaged her for the first two dances. Her happiness on this occasion was finely chequered. To be secure of a partner at first was a most essential good—for she so little understood her own claims as to think that if Mr. Crawford had not asked her, she must have been the last to be sought after; but at the same time there was a pointedness in his manner of asking her which she did not like, and she saw his eye glancing for a moment at her necklace, with a smile which made her blush and feel wretched. Embarrassed, she had no composure till he turned away to some one else. Then she could gradually rise up to the genuine satisfaction of having a partner secured before the dancing began.
When the company were moving into the ballroom, she found herself near Miss Crawford, and hastened to explain the second necklace. Miss Crawford listened; and all her intended insinuations to Fanny were forgotten: she felt only one thing; and she exclaimed with eager pleasure, "Did Edmund? That was like himself. No other man would have thought of it. I honour him beyond expression." And she looked around as if longing to tell him so.
Fanny's heart sunk, but there was no leisure for thinking long. They were in the ballroom, the violins were playing, and her mind was in a flutter.
Sir Thomas came to her, and asked if she were engaged to dance; and the "Yes, sir; to Mr. Crawford," was exactly what he had intended to hear. He then told Fanny that she was to lead the way and open the ball; an idea that had never occurred to her before. She had assumed that Edmund would begin with Miss Crawford; and she could not help an exclamation of surprise, an entreaty even to be excused. Such was her horror, that she could actually look Sir Thomas in the face and say that she hoped it might be settled otherwise.
In vain, however: Sir Thomas smiled, and said decidedly, "It must be so, my dear"; and she found herself the next moment conducted by Mr. Crawford to the top of the room, and standing there to be joined by the rest of the dancers, couple after couple, as they were formed.
She could hardly believe it. To be placed above so many elegant young women! It was treating her like her cousins! And her thoughts flew to those absent cousins with truly tender regret, that they were not at home to share in a pleasure which would have been so delightful to them. So often she had heard them wish for a ball at home! And for her to be opening the ball—and with Mr. Crawford too! She hoped they would not envy her that distinction now; but when she looked back to the autumn, the present arrangement was almost more than she could understand.
The ball began. It was rather honour than happiness to Fanny, for the first dance at least: her partner was in excellent spirits, but she was too frightened to have any enjoyment till she could suppose herself no longer looked at. Young, pretty, and gentle, however, there were few persons present that did not praise her. She was attractive, she was modest, she was Sir Thomas's niece, and she was soon said to be admired by Mr. Crawford. It was enough to give her general favour.
Sir Thomas himself was proud of her; and without attributing her beauty, as Mrs. Norris did, to her transplantation to Mansfield, he was pleased with himself for having supplied everything else: education and manners she owed to him.
Miss Crawford saw much of Sir Thomas's thoughts, and wishing to recommend herself to him, stepped aside to say something agreeable of Fanny. Her praise was warm, and he certainly received it better than his lady did, when Mary turned to compliment her on Miss Price's looks.
"Yes, she looks very well," was Lady Bertram's placid reply. "Chapman helped her to dress. I sent Chapman to her." She was really pleased to have Fanny admired; but she was so struck with her own kindness in sending Chapman to her, that she could not get it out of her head.
Miss Crawford knew Mrs. Norris too well to think of gratifying her by commendation of Fanny; instead—"Ah! ma'am, how much we want dear Mrs. Rushworth and Julia to-night!" Mrs. Norris paid her with as many courteous words as she had time for amid her occupation in making up card-tables, giving hints to Sir Thomas, and trying to move all the chaperons across the room.
Miss Crawford blundered most towards Fanny herself in her intentions to please. She meant to be giving her little heart a happy flutter; and, misinterpreting Fanny's blushes, thought she must be doing so when she said, with a significant look, "Perhaps you can tell me why my brother goes to town to-morrow? He says he has business there, but will not tell me what. Now, I must ask you. Pray, what is Henry going for?"
Fanny protested her ignorance.
"Well, then," replied Miss Crawford, laughing, "I must suppose it to be purely for the pleasure of taking your brother, and talking about you on the way."
Fanny was confused; while Miss Crawford wondered that she did not smile, and thought her over-anxious, or thought her odd, or thought her anything rather than insensible of pleasure in Henry's attentions. Fanny had a good deal of enjoyment in the course of the evening; but Henry's attentions had very little to do with it. She would rather not have been asked to dance by him again so soon. She could not say that it was unpleasantly done, and sometimes, when he talked of William, he was not unagreeable, and showed a warmth of heart which did him credit. But still his attentions made no part of her satisfaction. She was happy whenever she looked at William, and saw how he was enjoying himself; she was happy in knowing herself admired; and she was happy in having the two dances with Edmund to look forward to.
She was happy even when they did take place; but not from any expressions of tender gallantry on his side. Edmund’s mind was weary, and her happiness sprung from being the friend with whom it could find repose.
"I am worn out with civility," said he. "I have been talking incessantly all night, and with nothing to say. But with you, Fanny, there may be peace. You will not want to be talked to. Let us have the luxury of silence."
Fanny would hardly even speak her agreement. His weariness was to be respected, and they went down their two dances together with such sober tranquillity as might satisfy any looker-on that Sir Thomas had been bringing up no wife for his younger son.
> The evening had afforded Edmund little pleasure. Miss Crawford had been in gay spirits when they first danced together, but her gaiety rather sank than raised his comfort; and afterwards, she had absolutely pained him by her manner of speaking of the profession to which he was now on the point of belonging. He had reasoned, she had ridiculed; and they had parted at last with mutual vexation. Fanny had seen enough to be tolerably satisfied. It was barbarous to be happy when Edmund was suffering. Yet some happiness must arise from the very conviction that he did suffer.
When her two dances with him were over, her strength for more was pretty well at an end; and Sir Thomas, seeing her breathless, and with her hand at her side, gave his orders for her sitting down. Mr. Crawford sat down likewise.
"Poor Fanny!" cried William, coming to visit her, "how soon she is knocked up! Why, the sport is but just begun. How can you be tired so soon?"
"So soon! my good friend," said Sir Thomas, "it is three o'clock, and your sister is not used to these sort of hours."
"Well, then, Fanny, you shall not get up to-morrow before I go. Sleep as long as you can, and never mind me."
"What! Did she think of being up before you set off?"
"Oh! yes, sir," cried Fanny eagerly; "I must get up and breakfast with him. It will be the last time, you know."
"You had better not. He is to have gone by half-past nine. Mr. Crawford, I think you call for him at half-past nine?"
Fanny, however, had too many tears in her eyes for denial; and it ended in a gracious "Well, well!" which was permission. Sir Thomas then asked Crawford to join the early breakfast party: and the readiness with which his invitation was accepted convinced him that he was right: Mr. Crawford was in love with Fanny.
His niece, meanwhile, did not thank him for what he had just done. She had hoped to have William all to herself the last morning. But she was so totally unused to have her pleasure consulted, that she was more disposed to rejoice in having carried her point so far, than to repine.
Shortly afterward, Sir Thomas advised her to go to bed. It was the advice of absolute power, and she had only to rise, and pass quietly away; stopping at the entrance-door to take a last look at the five or six determined couples who were still hard at work; and then, creeping slowly up the staircase, feverish with hopes and fears, sore-footed and fatigued, restless and agitated, yet feeling, in spite of everything, that a ball was indeed delightful.
In thus sending her away, Sir Thomas perhaps might not be thinking merely of her health. It might occur to him that Mr. Crawford had been sitting by her long enough, or he might mean to recommend her as a wife by showing her persuadableness.
CHAPTER 29