Chapter XXVI

by Jane Austen

　　William's desire of seeing Fanny dance made more than amomentary impression on his uncle. The hope of an opportunity,which Sir Thomas had then given, was not given to be thoughtof no more. He remained steadily inclined to gratifyso amiable a feeling; to gratify anybody else who mightwish to see Fanny dance, and to give pleasure to the youngpeople in general; and having thought the matter over,and taken his resolution in quiet independence,the result of it appeared the next morning at breakfast,when, after recalling and commending what his nephewhad said, he added, "I do not like, William, that youshould leave Northamptonshire without this indulgence.It would give me pleasure to see you both dance.You spoke of the balls at Northampton. Your cousins haveoccasionally attended them; but they would not altogethersuit us now. The fatigue would be too much for your aunt.I believe we must not think of a Northampton ball.A dance at home would be more eligible; and if--""Ah, my dear Sir Thomas!" interrupted Mrs. Norris, "I knewwhat was coming. I knew what you were going to say. If dearJulia were at home, or dearest Mrs. Rushworth at Sotherton,to afford a reason, an occasion for such a thing, you wouldbe tempted to give the young people a dance at Mansfield.I know you would. If _they_ were at home to gracethe ball, a ball you would have this very Christmas.Thank your uncle, William, thank your uncle!""My daughters," replied Sir Thomas, gravely interposing,"have their pleasures at Brighton, and I hope are very happy;but the dance which I think of giving at Mansfieldwill be for their cousins. Could we be all assembled,our satisfaction would undoubtedly be more complete,but the absence of some is not to debar the othersof amusement."Mrs. Norris had not another word to say. She saw decisionin his looks, and her surprise and vexation requiredsome minutes' silence to be settled into composure.A ball at such a time! His daughters absent and herselfnot consulted! There was comfort, however, soon at hand._She_ must be the doer of everything: Lady Bertramwould of course be spared all thought and exertion,and it would all fall upon _her_. She should have to dothe honours of the evening; and this reflection quicklyrestored so much of her good-humour as enabled her to joinin with the others, before their happiness and thanks wereall expressed.Edmund, William, and Fanny did, in their different ways,look and speak as much grateful pleasure in the promisedball as Sir Thomas could desire. Edmund's feelingswere for the other two. His father had never conferreda favour or shewn a kindness more to his satisfaction.Lady Bertram was perfectly quiescent and contented,and had no objections to make. Sir Thomas engagedfor its giving her very little trouble; and she assuredhim "that she was not at all afraid of the trouble;indeed, she could not imagine there would be any."Mrs. Norris was ready with her suggestions as to the rooms hewould think fittest to be used, but found it all prearranged;and when she would have conjectured and hinted aboutthe day, it appeared that the day was settled too.Sir Thomas had been amusing himself with shaping a verycomplete outline of the business; and as soon as shewould listen quietly, could read his list of the familiesto be invited, from whom he calculated, with all necessaryallowance for the shortness of the notice, to collectyoung people enough to form twelve or fourteen couple:and could detail the considerations which had inducedhim to fix on the 22nd as the most eligible day.William was required to be at Portsmouth on the 24th;the 22nd would therefore be the last day of his visit;but where the days were so few it would be unwise to fixon any earlier. Mrs. Norris was obliged to be satisfiedwith thinking just the same, and with having been on thepoint of proposing the 22nd herself, as by far the best dayfor the purpose.The ball was now a settled thing, and before the eveninga proclaimed thing to all whom it concerned. Invitations weresent with despatch, and many a young lady went to bed thatnight with her head full of happy cares as well as Fanny.To her the cares were sometimes almost beyond the happiness;for young and inexperienced, with small means of choiceand no confidence in her own taste, the "how sheshould be dressed" was a point of painful solicitude;and the almost solitary ornament in her possession,a very pretty amber cross which William had broughther from Sicily, was the greatest distress of all,for she had nothing but a bit of ribbon to fasten it to;and though she had worn it in that manner once, would itbe allowable at such a time in the midst of all the richornaments which she supposed all the other young ladieswould appear in? And yet not to wear it! William hadwanted to buy her a gold chain too, but the purchase hadbeen beyond his means, and therefore not to wear the crossmight be mortifying him. These were anxious considerations;enough to sober her spirits even under the prospectof a ball given principally for her gratification.The preparations meanwhile went on, and Lady Bertram continuedto sit on her sofa without any inconvenience from them.She had some extra visits from the housekeeper, and hermaid was rather hurried in making up a new dress for her:Sir Thomas gave orders, and Mrs. Norris ran about;but all this gave _her_ no trouble, and as she had foreseen,"there was, in fact, no trouble in the business."Edmund was at this time particularly full of cares:his mind being deeply occupied in the consideration of twoimportant events now at hand, which were to fix his fatein life--ordination and matrimony--events of such a seriouscharacter as to make the ball, which would be very quicklyfollowed by one of them, appear of less moment in hiseyes than in those of any other person in the house.On the 23rd he was going to a friend near Peterborough,in the same situation as himself, and they were toreceive ordination in the course of the Christmas week.Half his destiny would then be determined, but the otherhalf might not be so very smoothly wooed. His duties wouldbe established, but the wife who was to share, and animate,and reward those duties, might yet be unattainable.He knew his own mind, but he was not always perfectly assuredof knowing Miss Crawford's. There were points on which theydid not quite agree; there were moments in which she didnot seem propitious; and though trusting altogether toher affection, so far as to be resolved--almost resolved--on bringing it to a decision within a very short time,as soon as the variety of business before him were arranged,and he knew what he had to offer her, he had manyanxious feelings, many doubting hours as to the result.His conviction of her regard for him was sometimes very strong;he could look back on a long course of encouragement,and she was as perfect in disinterested attachment asin everything else. But at other times doubt and alarmintermingled with his hopes; and when he thought of heracknowledged disinclination for privacy and retirement,her decided preference of a London life, what could he expectbut a determined rejection? unless it were an acceptanceeven more to be deprecated, demanding such sacrificesof situation and employment on his side as consciencemust forbid.The issue of all depended on one question. Did shelove him well enough to forego what had used to beessential points? Did she love him well enough to makethem no longer essential? And this question, which hewas continually repeating to himself, though oftenestanswered with a "Yes," had sometimes its "No."Miss Crawford was soon to leave Mansfield, and on thiscircumstance the "no" and the "yes" had been very recentlyin alternation. He had seen her eyes sparkle as she spokeof the dear friend's letter, which claimed a long visit fromher in London, and of the kindness of Henry, in engagingto remain where he was till January, that he might conveyher thither; he had heard her speak of the pleasure of sucha journey with an animation which had "no" in every tone.But this had occurred on the first day of its being settled,within the first hour of the burst of such enjoyment,when nothing but the friends she was to visit was before her.He had since heard her express herself differently,with other feelings, more chequered feelings: he had heardher tell Mrs. Grant that she should leave her with regret;that she began to believe neither the friends northe pleasures she was going to were worth those sheleft behind; and that though she felt she must go,and knew she should enjoy herself when once away, she wasalready looking forward to being at Mansfield again.Was there not a "yes" in all this?With such matters to ponder over, and arrange, and re-arrange,Edmund could not, on his own account, think very muchof the evening which the rest of the family were lookingforward to with a more equal degree of strong interest.Independent of his two cousins' enjoyment in it,the evening was to him of no higher value than anyother appointed meeting of the two families might be.In every meeting there was a hope of receiving fartherconfirmation of Miss Crawford's attachment; but the whirlof a ballroom, perhaps, was not particularly favourableto the excitement or expression of serious feelings.To engage her early for the two first dances was all thecommand of individual happiness which he felt in his power,and the only preparation for the ball which he couldenter into, in spite of all that was passing around himon the subject, from morning till night.Thursday was the day of the ball; and on Wednesdaymorning Fanny, still unable to satisfy herself as to whatshe ought to wear, determined to seek the counsel of themore enlightened, and apply to Mrs. Grant and her sister,whose acknowledged taste would certainly bear her blameless;and as Edmund and William were gone to Northampton,and she had reason to think Mr. Crawford likewise out,she walked down to the Parsonage without much fear of wantingan opportunity for private discussion; and the privacy ofsuch a discussion was a most important part of it to Fanny,being more than half-ashamed of her own solicitude.She met Miss Crawford within a few yards of the Parsonage,just setting out to call on her, and as it seemed to herthat her friend, though obliged to insist on turning back,was unwilling to lose her walk, she explained her businessat once, and observed, that if she would be so kindas to give her opinion, it might be all talked over aswell without doors as within. Miss Crawford appearedgratified by the application, and after a moment's thought,urged Fanny's returning with her in a much more cordialmanner than before, and proposed their going up intoher room, where they might have a comfortable coze,without disturbing Dr. and Mrs. Grant, who were togetherin the drawing-room. It was just the plan to suit Fanny;and with a great deal of gratitude on her side for such readyand kind attention, they proceeded indoors, and upstairs,and were soon deep in the interesting subject. Miss Crawford,pleased with the appeal, gave her all her best judgmentand taste, made everything easy by her suggestions,and tried to make everything agreeable by her encouragement.The dress being settled in all its grander parts--"But what shall you have by way of necklace?" said MissCrawford. "Shall not you wear your brother's cross?"And as she spoke she was undoing a small parcel,which Fanny had observed in her hand when they met.Fanny acknowledged her wishes and doubts on this point:she did not know how either to wear the cross, or torefrain from wearing it. She was answered by havinga small trinket-box placed before her, and being requestedto chuse from among several gold chains and necklaces.Such had been the parcel with which Miss Crawfordwas provided, and such the object of her intended visit:and in the kindest manner she now urged Fanny's taking onefor the cross and to keep for her sake, saying everythingshe could think of to obviate the scruples which weremaking Fanny start back at first with a look of horror atthe proposal."You see what a collection I have," said she; "more by halfthan I ever use or think of. I do not offer them as new.I offer nothing but an old necklace. You must forgivethe liberty, and oblige me."Fanny still resisted, and from her heart. The gift wastoo valuable. But Miss Crawford persevered, and arguedthe case with so much affectionate earnestness throughall the heads of William and the cross, and the ball,and herself, as to be finally successful. Fanny foundherself obliged to yield, that she might not be accusedof pride or indifference, or some other littleness;and having with modest reluctance given her consent,proceeded to make the selection. She looked and looked,longing to know which might be least valuable; and wasdetermined in her choice at last, by fancying there wasone necklace more frequently placed before her eyes thanthe rest. It was of gold, prettily worked; and though Fannywould have preferred a longer and a plainer chain as moreadapted for her purpose, she hoped, in fixing on this,to be chusing what Miss Crawford least wished to keep.Miss Crawford smiled her perfect approbation; and hastenedto complete the gift by putting the necklace round her,and making her see how well it looked. Fanny had not aword to say against its becomingness, and, excepting whatremained of her scruples, was exceedingly pleased with anacquisition so very apropos. She would rather, perhaps,have been obliged to some other person. But this wasan unworthy feeling. Miss Crawford had anticipated herwants with a kindness which proved her a real friend."When I wear this necklace I shall always think of you,"said she, "and feel how very kind you were.""You must think of somebody else too, when you wearthat necklace," replied Miss Crawford. "You must thinkof Henry, for it was his choice in the first place.He gave it to me, and with the necklace I make overto you all the duty of remembering the original giver.It is to be a family remembrancer. The sister is not to bein your mind without bringing the brother too."Fanny, in great astonishment and confusion, would havereturned the present instantly. To take what hadbeen the gift of another person, of a brother too,impossible! it must not be! and with an eagerness andembarrassment quite diverting to her companion, she laiddown the necklace again on its cotton, and seemed resolvedeither to take another or none at all. Miss Crawfordthought she had never seen a prettier consciousness."My dear child," said she, laughing, "what are you afraid of?Do you think Henry will claim the necklace as mine,and fancy you did not come honestly by it? or are youimagining he would be too much flattered by seeinground your lovely throat an ornament which his moneypurchased three years ago, before he knew there was sucha throat in the world? or perhaps"--looking archly--"you suspect a confederacy between us, and that whatI am now doing is with his knowledge and at his desire?"With the deepest blushes Fanny protested against sucha thought."Well, then," replied Miss Crawford more seriously,but without at all believing her, "to convince me that yoususpect no trick, and are as unsuspicious of complimentas I have always found you, take the necklace and sayno more about it. Its being a gift of my brother's neednot make the smallest difference in your accepting it,as I assure you it makes none in my willingness to partwith it. He is always giving me something or other.I have such innumerable presents from him that it is quiteimpossible for me to value or for him to remember half.And as for this necklace, I do not suppose I have worn itsix times: it is very pretty, but I never think of it;and though you would be most heartily welcome to anyother in my trinket-box, you have happened to fix onthe very one which, if I have a choice, I would ratherpart with and see in your possession than any other.Say no more against it, I entreat you. Such a trifle isnot worth half so many words."Fanny dared not make any farther opposition; and withrenewed but less happy thanks accepted the necklace again,for there was an expression in Miss Crawford's eyeswhich she could not be satisfied with.It was impossible for her to be insensible of Mr. Crawford'schange of manners. She had long seen it. He evidentlytried to please her: he was gallant, he was attentive,he was something like what he had been to her cousins:he wanted, she supposed, to cheat her of her tranquillityas he had cheated them; and whether he might not have someconcern in this necklace--she could not be convinced thathe had not, for Miss Crawford, complaisant as a sister,was careless as a woman and a friend.Reflecting and doubting, and feeling that the possessionof what she had so much wished for did not bring muchsatisfaction, she now walked home again, with a change ratherthan a diminution of cares since her treading that path before