Chapter XXVIII

by Jane Austen

　　Her uncle and both her aunts were in the drawing-roomwhen Fanny went down. To the former she was an interestingobject, and he saw with pleasure the general eleganceof her appearance, and her being in remarkably good looks.The neatness and propriety of her dress was all thathe would allow himself to commend in her presence,but upon her leaving the room again soon afterwards,he spoke of her beauty with very decided praise."Yes," said Lady Bertram, "she looks very well.I sent Chapman to her.""Look well! Oh, yes!" cried Mrs. Norris, "she hasgood reason to look well with all her advantages:brought up in this family as she has been, with allthe benefit of her cousins' manners before her.Only think, my dear Sir Thomas, what extraordinaryadvantages you and I have been the means of giving her.The very gown you have been taking notice of is your owngenerous present to her when dear Mrs. Rushworth married.What would she have been if we had not taken her bythe hand?"Sir Thomas said no more; but when they sat down to tablethe eyes of the two young men assured him that the subjectmight be gently touched again, when the ladies withdrew,with more success. Fanny saw that she was approved;and the consciousness of looking well made her lookstill better. From a variety of causes she was happy,and she was soon made still happier; for in following heraunts out of the room, Edmund, who was holding open the door,said, as she passed him, "You must dance with me, Fanny;you must 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 nearly approachinghigh spirits in her life. Her cousins' former gaietyon the day of a ball was no longer surprising to her;she felt it to be indeed very charming, and was actuallypractising her steps about the drawing-room as long as shecould be safe from the notice of her aunt Norris, who wasentirely taken up at first in fresh arranging and injuringthe noble fire which the butler had prepared.Half an hour followed that would have been at least languidunder any other circumstances, but Fanny's happinessstill prevailed. It was but to think of her conversationwith Edmund, and what was the restlessness of Mrs. Norris?What were the yawns of Lady Bertram?The gentlemen joined them; and soon after began the sweetexpectation of a carriage, when a general spirit of easeand enjoyment seemed diffused, and they all stood aboutand talked and laughed, and every moment had its pleasureand its hope. Fanny felt that there must be a strugglein Edmund's cheerfulness, but it was delightful to seethe effort so successfully made.When the carriages were really heard, when the guests beganreally to assemble, her own gaiety of heart was much subdued:the sight of so many strangers threw her back into herself;and besides the gravity and formality of the first great circle,which the manners of neither Sir Thomas nor Lady Bertramwere of a kind to do away, she found herself occasionallycalled on to endure something worse. She was introducedhere and there by her uncle, and 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 at William,as he walked about at his ease in the background of the scene,and longing to be with him.The entrance of the Grants and Crawfords was a favourable epoch.The stiffness of the meeting soon gave way before theirpopular manners and more diffused intimacies: little groupswere formed, and everybody grew comfortable. Fanny feltthe advantage; and, drawing back from the toils of civility,would have been again most happy, could she have kepther eyes from wandering between Edmund and Mary Crawford._She_ looked all loveliness--and what might not bethe end of it? Her own musings were brought to an endon perceiving Mr. Crawford before her, and her thoughtswere put into another channel by his engaging her almostinstantly for the first two dances. Her happiness on thisoccasion was very much _a_ _la_ _mortal_, finely chequered.To be secure of a partner at first was a most essential good--for the moment of beginning was now growing seriously near;and she so little understood her own claims as to thinkthat if Mr. Crawford had not asked her, she must have beenthe last to be sought after, and should have receiveda partner only through a series of inquiry, and bustle,and interference, which would have been terrible; but atthe same time there was a pointedness in his manner of askingher which she did not like, and she saw his eye glancingfor a moment at her necklace, with a smile--she thoughtthere was a smile--which made her blush and feel wretched.And though there was no second glance to disturb her,though his object seemed then to be only quietly agreeable,she could not get the better of her embarrassment,heightened as it was by the idea of his perceiving it,and had no composure till he turned away to some one else.Then she could gradually rise up to the genuine satisfactionof having a partner, a voluntary partner, secured againstthe dancing began.When the company were moving into the ballroom, she foundherself for the first time near Miss Crawford, whose eyesand smiles were immediately and more unequivocally directedas her brother's had been, and who was beginning to speakon the subject, when Fanny, anxious to get the story over,hastened to give the explanation of the second necklace:the real chain. Miss Crawford listened; and all her intendedcompliments and insinuations to Fanny were forgotten:she felt only one thing; and her eyes, bright as theyhad been before, shewing they could yet be brighter,she exclaimed with eager pleasure, "Did he? Did Edmund?That was like himself. No other man would have thought of it.I honour him beyond expression." And she looked aroundas if longing to tell him so. He was not near, he wasattending a party of ladies out of the room; and Mrs. Grantcoming up to the two girls, and taking an arm of each,they followed with the rest.Fanny's heart sunk, but there was no leisure forthinking long even of Miss Crawford's feelings.They were in the ballroom, the violins were playing,and her mind was in a flutter that forbade its fixing onanything serious. She must watch the general arrangements,and see how everything was done.In a few minutes Sir Thomas came to her, and asked ifshe were engaged; and the "Yes, sir; to Mr. Crawford,"was exactly what he had intended to hear. Mr. Crawfordwas not far off; Sir Thomas brought him to her,saying something which discovered to Fanny, that _she_was to lead the way and open the ball; an idea that hadnever occurred to her before. Whenever she had thoughtof the minutiae of the evening, it had been as a matterof course that Edmund would begin with Miss Crawford;and the impression was so strong, that though _her_ _uncle_spoke the contrary, she could not help an exclamationof surprise, a hint of her unfitness, an entreaty even tobe excused. To be urging her opinion against Sir Thomas'swas a proof of the extremity of the case; but such was herhorror at the first suggestion, that she could actuallylook him in the face and say that she hoped it might besettled otherwise; in vain, however: Sir Thomas smiled,tried to encourage her, and then looked too serious,and said too decidedly, "It must be so, my dear," for herto hazard another word; and she found herself the nextmoment 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 manyelegant young women! The distinction was too great.It was treating her like her cousins! And her thoughtsflew to those absent cousins with most unfeigned and trulytender regret, that they were not at home to take theirown place in the room, and have their share of a pleasurewhich would have been so very delightful to them.So often as she had heard them wish for a ball at homeas the greatest of all felicities! And to have them awaywhen it was given--and for _her_ to be opening the ball--and with Mr. Crawford too! She hoped they would not envyher that distinction _now_; but when she looked backto the state of things in the autumn, to what they had allbeen to each other when once dancing in that house before,the present arrangement was almost more than she couldunderstand herself.The ball began. It was rather honour than happinessto Fanny, for the first dance at least: her partner wasin excellent spirits, and tried to impart them to her;but she was a great deal too much frightened to haveany enjoyment till she could suppose herself no longerlooked at. Young, pretty, and gentle, however, she hadno awkwardnesses that were not as good as graces,and there were few persons present that were not disposedto praise her. She was attractive, she was modest,she was Sir Thomas's niece, and she was soon saidto be admired by Mr. Crawford. It was enough to giveher general favour. Sir Thomas himself was watchingher progress down the dance with much complacency;he was proud of his niece; and without attributingall her personal beauty, as Mrs. Norris seemed to do,to her transplantation to Mansfield, he was pleasedwith himself for having supplied everything else:education and manners she owed to him.Miss Crawford saw much of Sir Thomas's thoughts as he stood,and having, in spite of all his wrongs towards her,a general prevailing desire of recommending herself to him,took an opportunity of stepping aside to say somethingagreeable of Fanny. Her praise was warm, and he receivedit as she could wish, joining in it as far as discretion,and politeness, and slowness of speech would allow,and certainly appearing to greater advantage on the subjectthan his lady did soon afterwards, when Mary, perceiving heron a sofa very near, turned round before she began to dance,to compliment her on Miss Price's looks."Yes, she does look very well," was Lady Bertram's placid reply."Chapman helped her to dress. I sent Chapman to her."Not but that she was really pleased to have Fanny admired;but she was so much more struck with her own kindnessin sending Chapman to her, that she could not get it outof her head.Miss Crawford knew Mrs. Norris too well to think ofgratifying _her_ by commendation of Fanny; to her, it wasas the occasion offered--"Ah! ma'am, how much we want dearMrs. Rushworth and Julia to-night!" and Mrs. Norris paidher with as many smiles and courteous words as she hadtime for, amid so much occupation as she found for herselfin making up card-tables, giving hints to Sir Thomas,and trying to move all the chaperons to a better part of the room.Miss Crawford blundered most towards Fanny herself in herintentions to please. She meant to be giving her littleheart a happy flutter, and filling her with sensationsof delightful self-consequence; and, misinterpreting Fanny'sblushes, still thought she must be doing so when shewent to her after the two first dances, and said, with asignificant look, "Perhaps _you_ can tell me why my brothergoes to town to-morrow? He says he has business there,but will not tell me what. The first time he ever deniedme his confidence! But this is what we all come to.All are supplanted sooner or later. Now, I must applyto you for information. Pray, what is Henry going for?"Fanny protested her ignorance as steadily as herembarrassment allowed."Well, then," replied Miss Crawford, laughing, "I mustsuppose it to be purely for the pleasure of conveyingyour brother, and of talking of you by the way."Fanny was confused, but it was the confusion of discontent;while Miss Crawford wondered she did not smile, and thoughther over-anxious, or thought her odd, or thought her anythingrather 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 much rather _not_ have been asked by him againso very soon, and she wished she had not been obligedto suspect that his previous inquiries of Mrs. Norris,about the supper hour, were all for the sake of securing herat that part of the evening. But it was not to be avoided:he made her feel that she was the object of all; though shecould not say that it was unpleasantly done, that therewas indelicacy or ostentation in his manner; and sometimes,when he talked of William, he was really not unagreeable,and shewed even 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 howperfectly he was enjoying himself, in every five minutesthat she could walk about with him and hear his accountof his partners; she was happy in knowing herself admired;and she was happy in having the two dances with Edmund stillto look forward to, during the greatest part of the evening,her hand being so eagerly sought after that her indefiniteengagement with _him_ was in continual perspective.She was happy even when they did take place; but not fromany flow of spirits on his side, or any such expressionsof tender gallantry as had blessed the morning.His mind was fagged, and her happiness sprung frombeing the friend with whom it could find repose."I am worn out with civility," said he. "I have beentalking incessantly all night, and with nothing to say.But with _you_, Fanny, there may be peace. You will notwant to be talked to. Let us have the luxury of silence."Fanny would hardly even speak her agreement. A weariness,arising probably, in great measure, from the same feelingswhich he had acknowledged in the morning, was peculiarlyto be respected, and they went down their two dances togetherwith such sober tranquillity as might satisfy any looker-onthat Sir Thomas had been bringing up no wife for hisyounger son.The evening had afforded Edmund little pleasure. Miss Crawfordhad been in gay spirits when they first danced together,but it was not her gaiety that could do him good:it rather sank than raised his comfort; and afterwards,for he found himself still impelled to seek her again,she had absolutely pained him by her manner of speaking of theprofession to which he was now on the point of belonging.They had talked, and they had been silent; he had reasoned,she had ridiculed; and they had parted at last withmutual vexation. Fanny, not able to refrain entirely fromobserving them, had seen enough to be tolerably satisfied.It was barbarous to be happy when Edmund was suffering.Yet some happiness must and would arise from the veryconviction that he did suffer.When her two dances with him were over, her inclinationand strength for more were pretty well at an end;and Sir Thomas, having seen her walk rather than dancedown the shortening set, breathless, and with her hand ather side, gave his orders for her sitting down entirely.From that time Mr. Crawford sat down likewise."Poor Fanny!" cried William, coming for a moment to visit her,and working away his partner's fan as if for life, "how soonshe is knocked up! Why, the sport is but just begun.I hope we shall keep it up these two hours. How can yoube tired so soon?""So soon! my good friend," said Sir Thomas, producing hiswatch with all necessary caution; "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 beforeI go. Sleep as long as you can, and never mind me.""Oh! William.""What! Did she think of being up before you set off?""Oh! yes, sir," cried Fanny, rising eagerly from her seatto be nearer her uncle; "I must get up and breakfast with him.It will be the last time, you know; the last morning.""You had better not. He is to have breakfasted and begone by half-past nine. Mr. Crawford, I think you callfor him at half-past nine?"Fanny was too urgent, however, and had too many tears in hereyes for denial; and it ended in a gracious "Well, well!"which was permission."Yes, half-past nine," said Crawford to William as thelatter was leaving them, "and I shall be punctual,for there will be no kind sister to get up for _me_."And in a lower tone to Fanny, "I shall have only a desolatehouse to hurry from. Your brother will find my ideasof time and his own very different to-morrow."After a short consideration, Sir Thomas asked Crawfordto join the early breakfast party in that houseinstead of eating alone: he should himself be of it;and the readiness with which his invitation was acceptedconvinced him that the suspicions whence, he must confessto himself, this very ball had in great measure sprung,were well founded. Mr. Crawford was in love with Fanny.He had a pleasing anticipation of what would be. 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.It would have been an unspeakable indulgence. But thoughher wishes were overthrown, there was no spirit of murmuringwithin her. On the contrary, she was so totally unusedto have her pleasure consulted, or to have anything takeplace at all in the way she could desire, that she was moredisposed to wonder and rejoice in having carried her pointso far, than to repine at the counteraction which followed.Shortly afterward, Sir Thomas was again interferinga little with her inclination, by advising her to goimmediately to bed. "Advise" was his word, but itwas the advice of absolute power, and she had onlyto rise, and, with Mr. Crawford's very cordial adieus,pass quietly away; stopping at the entrance-door, likethe Lady of Branxholm Hall, "one moment and no more,"to view the happy scene, and take a last look at the fiveor six determined couple who were still hard at work;and then, creeping slowly up the principal staircase,pursued by the ceaseless country-dance, feverish with hopesand fears, soup and negus, 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 notbe thinking merely of her health. It might occur to himthat Mr. Crawford had been sitting by her long enough,or he might mean to recommend her as a wife by shewingher persuadableness.