Bab Bab 12 · Chapter XII

Sir Thomas was to return in November, and his eldest son had duties to

call him earlier home. The approach of September brought tidings of Mr.

Bertram, first in a letter to the gamekeeper and then in a letter to

Edmund; and by the end of August he arrived himself, to be gay,

agreeable, and gallant again as occasion served, or Miss Crawford

demanded; to tell of races and Weymouth, and parties and friends, to

which she might have listened six weeks before with some interest, and

altogether to give her the fullest conviction, by the power of actual

comparison, of her preferring his younger brother.

It was very vexatious, and she was heartily sorry for it; but so it

was; and so far from now meaning to marry the elder, she did not even

want to attract him beyond what the simplest claims of conscious beauty

required: his lengthened absence from Mansfield, without anything but

pleasure in view, and his own will to consult, made it perfectly clear

that he did not care about her; and his indifference was so much more

than equalled by her own, that were he now to step forth the owner of

Mansfield Park, the Sir Thomas complete, which he was to be in time,

she did not believe she could accept him.

The season and duties which brought Mr. Bertram back to Mansfield took

Mr. Crawford into Norfolk. Everingham could not do without him in the

beginning of September. He went for a fortnight—a fortnight of such

dullness to the Miss Bertrams as ought to have put them both on their

guard, and made even Julia admit, in her jealousy of her sister, the

absolute necessity of distrusting his attentions, and wishing him not

to return; and a fortnight of sufficient leisure, in the intervals of

shooting and sleeping, to have convinced the gentleman that he ought to

keep longer away, had he been more in the habit of examining his own

motives, and of reflecting to what the indulgence of his idle vanity

was tending; but, thoughtless and selfish from prosperity and bad

example, he would not look beyond the present moment. The sisters,

handsome, clever, and encouraging, were an amusement to his sated mind;

and finding nothing in Norfolk to equal the social pleasures of

Mansfield, he gladly returned to it at the time appointed, and was

welcomed thither quite as gladly by those whom he came to trifle with

further.

Maria, with only Mr. Rushworth to attend to her, and doomed to the

repeated details of his day’s sport, good or bad, his boast of his

dogs, his jealousy of his neighbours, his doubts of their

qualifications, and his zeal after poachers, subjects which will not

find their way to female feelings without some talent on one side or

some attachment on the other, had missed Mr. Crawford grievously; and

Julia, unengaged and unemployed, felt all the right of missing him much

more. Each sister believed herself the favourite. Julia might be

justified in so doing by the hints of Mrs. Grant, inclined to credit

what she wished, and Maria by the hints of Mr. Crawford himself.

Everything returned into the same channel as before his absence; his

manners being to each so animated and agreeable as to lose no ground

with either, and just stopping short of the consistence, the

steadiness, the solicitude, and the warmth which might excite general

notice.

Fanny was the only one of the party who found anything to dislike; but

since the day at Sotherton, she could never see Mr. Crawford with

either sister without observation, and seldom without wonder or

censure; and had her confidence in her own judgment been equal to her

exercise of it in every other respect, had she been sure that she was

seeing clearly, and judging candidly, she would probably have made some

important communications to her usual confidant. As it was, however,

she only hazarded a hint, and the hint was lost. “I am rather

surprised,” said she, “that Mr. Crawford should come back again so

soon, after being here so long before, full seven weeks; for I had

understood he was so very fond of change and moving about, that I

thought something would certainly occur, when he was once gone, to take

him elsewhere. He is used to much gayer places than Mansfield.”

“It is to his credit,” was Edmund’s answer; “and I dare say it gives

his sister pleasure. She does not like his unsettled habits.”

“What a favourite he is with my cousins!”

“Yes, his manners to women are such as must please. Mrs. Grant, I

believe, suspects him of a preference for Julia; I have never seen much

symptom of it, but I wish it may be so. He has no faults but what a

serious attachment would remove.”

“If Miss Bertram were not engaged,” said Fanny cautiously, “I could

sometimes almost think that he admired her more than Julia.”

“Which is, perhaps, more in favour of his liking Julia best, than you,

Fanny, may be aware; for I believe it often happens that a man, before

he has quite made up his own mind, will distinguish the sister or

intimate friend of the woman he is really thinking of more than the

woman herself. Crawford has too much sense to stay here if he found

himself in any danger from Maria; and I am not at all afraid for her,

after such a proof as she has given that her feelings are not strong.”

Fanny supposed she must have been mistaken, and meant to think

differently in future; but with all that submission to Edmund could do,

and all the help of the coinciding looks and hints which she

occasionally noticed in some of the others, and which seemed to say

that Julia was Mr. Crawford’s choice, she knew not always what to

think. She was privy, one evening, to the hopes of her aunt Norris on

the subject, as well as to her feelings, and the feelings of Mrs.

Rushworth, on a point of some similarity, and could not help wondering

as she listened; and glad would she have been not to be obliged to

listen, for it was while all the other young people were dancing, and

she sitting, most unwillingly, among the chaperons at the fire, longing

for the re-entrance of her elder cousin, on whom all her own hopes of a

partner then depended. It was Fanny’s first ball, though without the

preparation or splendour of many a young lady’s first ball, being the

thought only of the afternoon, built on the late acquisition of a

violin player in the servants’ hall, and the possibility of raising

five couple with the help of Mrs. Grant and a new intimate friend of

Mr. Bertram’s just arrived on a visit. It had, however, been a very

happy one to Fanny through four dances, and she was quite grieved to be

losing even a quarter of an hour. While waiting and wishing, looking

now at the dancers and now at the door, this dialogue between the two

above-mentioned ladies was forced on her—

“I think, ma’am,” said Mrs. Norris, her eyes directed towards Mr.

Rushworth and Maria, who were partners for the second time, “we shall

see some happy faces again now.”

“Yes, ma’am, indeed,” replied the other, with a stately simper, “there

will be some satisfaction in looking on _now_, and I think it was

rather a pity they should have been obliged to part. Young folks in

their situation should be excused complying with the common forms. I

wonder my son did not propose it.”

“I dare say he did, ma’am. Mr. Rushworth is never remiss. But dear

Maria has such a strict sense of propriety, so much of that true

delicacy which one seldom meets with nowadays, Mrs. Rushworth—that wish

of avoiding particularity! Dear ma’am, only look at her face at this

moment; how different from what it was the two last dances!”

Miss Bertram did indeed look happy, her eyes were sparkling with

pleasure, and she was speaking with great animation, for Julia and her

partner, Mr. Crawford, were close to her; they were all in a cluster

together. How she had looked before, Fanny could not recollect, for she

had been dancing with Edmund herself, and had not thought about her.

Mrs. Norris continued, “It is quite delightful, ma’am, to see young

people so properly happy, so well suited, and so much the thing! I

cannot but think of dear Sir Thomas’s delight. And what do you say,

ma’am, to the chance of another match? Mr. Rushworth has set a good

example, and such things are very catching.”

Mrs. Rushworth, who saw nothing but her son, was quite at a loss.

“The couple above, ma’am. Do you see no symptoms there?”

“Oh dear! Miss Julia and Mr. Crawford. Yes, indeed, a very pretty

match. What is his property?”

“Four thousand a year.”

“Very well. Those who have not more must be satisfied with what they

have. Four thousand a year is a pretty estate, and he seems a very

genteel, steady young man, so I hope Miss Julia will be very happy.”

“It is not a settled thing, ma’am, yet. We only speak of it among

friends. But I have very little doubt it _will_ be. He is growing

extremely particular in his attentions.”

Fanny could listen no farther. Listening and wondering were all

suspended for a time, for Mr. Bertram was in the room again; and though

feeling it would be a great honour to be asked by him, she thought it

must happen. He came towards their little circle; but instead of asking

her to dance, drew a chair near her, and gave her an account of the

present state of a sick horse, and the opinion of the groom, from whom

he had just parted. Fanny found that it was not to be, and in the

modesty of her nature immediately felt that she had been unreasonable

in expecting it. When he had told of his horse, he took a newspaper

from the table, and looking over it, said in a languid way, “If you

want to dance, Fanny, I will stand up with you.” With more than equal

civility the offer was declined; she did not wish to dance. “I am glad

of it,” said he, in a much brisker tone, and throwing down the

newspaper again, “for I am tired to death. I only wonder how the good

people can keep it up so long. They had need be _all_ in love, to find

any amusement in such folly; and so they are, I fancy. If you look at

them you may see they are so many couple of lovers—all but Yates and

Mrs. Grant—and, between ourselves, she, poor woman, must want a lover

as much as any one of them. A desperate dull life hers must be with the

doctor,” making a sly face as he spoke towards the chair of the latter,

who proving, however, to be close at his elbow, made so instantaneous a

change of expression and subject necessary, as Fanny, in spite of

everything, could hardly help laughing at. “A strange business this in

America, Dr. Grant! What is your opinion? I always come to you to know

what I am to think of public matters.”

“My dear Tom,” cried his aunt soon afterwards, “as you are not dancing,

I dare say you will have no objection to join us in a rubber; shall

you?” Then leaving her seat, and coming to him to enforce the proposal,

added in a whisper, “We want to make a table for Mrs. Rushworth, you

know. Your mother is quite anxious about it, but cannot very well spare

time to sit down herself, because of her fringe. Now, you and I and Dr.

Grant will just do; and though _we_ play but half-crowns, you know, you

may bet half-guineas with _him_.”

“I should be most happy,” replied he aloud, and jumping up with

alacrity, “it would give me the greatest pleasure; but that I am this

moment going to dance. Come, Fanny,” taking her hand, “do not be

dawdling any longer, or the dance will be over.”

Fanny was led off very willingly, though it was impossible for her to

feel much gratitude towards her cousin, or distinguish, as he certainly

did, between the selfishness of another person and his own.

“A pretty modest request upon my word,” he indignantly exclaimed as

they walked away. “To want to nail me to a card-table for the next two

hours with herself and Dr. Grant, who are always quarrelling, and that

poking old woman, who knows no more of whist than of algebra. I wish my

good aunt would be a little less busy! And to ask me in such a way too!

without ceremony, before them all, so as to leave me no possibility of

refusing. _That_ is what I dislike most particularly. It raises my

spleen more than anything, to have the pretence of being asked, of

being given a choice, and at the same time addressed in such a way as

to oblige one to do the very thing, whatever it be! If I had not

luckily thought of standing up with you I could not have got out of it.

It is a great deal too bad. But when my aunt has got a fancy in her

head, nothing can stop her.”