This was not so very easy a question to answer, and occasioned an
"Oh!" of some length from the fair lady before she could add,
"You ought to be in parliament, or you should have gone into the army ten years ago."
" That is not much to the purpose now; and as to my being in parliament, I believe I must wait till there is an especial assembly for the representation of younger sons who have little to live on.
No, Miss Crawford," he added, in a more serious tone, "there are distinctions which I should be miserable if I thought myself without any chance - absolutely without chance or possibility of obtaining - but they are of a different character."
A look of consciousness as he spoke, and what seemed a consciousness of manner on Miss Crawford's side as she made some laughing answer, was sorrowfull food for Fanny's observation; and finding herself quite unable to attend as she ought to Mrs. Grant, by whose side she was now following the others, she had nearly resolved on going home immediately, and only waited for courage to say so, when the sound of the great clock at Mansfield Park, striking three, made her feel that she had really been much longer absent than usual, and brought the previous self-inquiry of whether she should take leave or not just then, and how, to a very speedy issue.
With undoubting decision she directly began her adieus; and Edmund began at the same time to recollect that his mother had been inquiring for her, and that he had walked down to the Parsonage on purpose to bring her back.
Fanny's hurry increased; and without in the least expecting Edmund's attendance, she would have hastened away alone; but the general pace was quickened, and they all accompanied her into the house, through which it was necessary to pass.
Dr. Grant was in the vestibule, and as they stopt to speak to him she found, from Edmund's manner, that he did mean to go with her.
He too was taking leave.
She could not but be thankful.
In the moment of parting, Edmund was invited by Dr. Grant to eat his mutton with him the next day; and Fanny had barely time for an unpleasant feeling on the occasion, when Mrs. Grant, with sudden recollection, turned to her and asked for the pleasure of her company too.
This was so new an attention, so perfectly new a circumstance in the events of Fanny's life, that she was all surprise and embarrassment; and while stammering out her great obligation, and her "but she did not suppose it would be in her power," was looking at Edmund for his opinion and help.
But Edmund, delighted with her having such an happiness offered, and ascertaining with half a look, and half a sentence, that she had no objection but on her aunt's account, could not imagine that his mother would make any difficulty of sparing her, and therefore gave his decided open advice that the invitation should be accepted; and though Fanny would not venture, even on his encouragement, to such a flight of audacious independence, it was soon settled, that if nothing were heard to the contrary, Mrs. Grant might expect her.
"And you know what your dinner will be," said Mrs. Grant, smiling - "the turkey, and I assure you a very fine one; for, my dear," turning to her husband, "cook insists upon the turkey's being dressed to-morrow."
"Very well, very well," cried Dr.
Grant, "all the better; I am glad to hear you have anything so good in the house.
But Miss Price and Mr. Edmund Bertram, I dare say, would take their chance.
We none of us want to hear the bill of fare.
A friendly meeting, and not a fine dinner, is all we have in view.
A turkey, or a goose, or a leg of mutton, or whatever you and your cook chuse to give us."
The two cousins walked home together; and, except in the immediate discussion of this engagement, which Edmund spoke of with the warmest satisfaction, as so particularly desirable for her in the intimacy which he saw with so much pleasure established, it was a silent walk; for having finished that subject, he grew thoughtful and indisposed for any other.
CHAPTER XXIII
"But why should Mrs. Grant ask Fanny?" said Lady Bertram.
"How came she to think of asking Fanny?
Fanny never dines there, you know, in this sort of way.
I cannot spare her, and I am sure she does not want to go. Fanny, you do not want to go, do you?"
"If you put such a question to her," cried Edmund, preventing his cousin's speaking, "Fanny will immediately say No; but I am sure, my dear mother, she would like to go; and I can see no reason why she should not."
"I cannot imagine why Mrs. Grant should think of asking her?
She never did before.
She used to ask your sisters now and then, but she never asked Fanny."
"If you cannot do without me, ma'am - " said Fanny, in a self-denying tone.
"But my mother will have my father with her all the evening."
"To be sure, so I shall."
"Suppose you take my father's opinion, ma'am."
"That's well thought of.
So I will, Edmund.
I will ask Sir Thomas, as soon as he comes in, whether I can do without her."
"As you please, ma'am, on that head; but I meant my father's opinion as to the propriety of the invitation's being accepted or not; and I think he will consider it a right thing by Mrs. Grant, as well as by Fanny, that being the first invitation it should be accepted."
"I do not know.
We will ask him.
But he will be very much surprised that Mrs. Grant should ask Fanny at all."
There was nothing more to be said, or that could be said to any purpose, till Sir Thomas were present; but the subject involving, as it did, her own evening's comfort for the morrow, was so much uppermost in Lady Bertram's mind, that half an hour afterwards, on his looking in for a minute in his way from his plantation to his dressing-room, she called him back again, when he had almost closed the door, with
"Sir Thomas, stop a moment - I have something to say to you."
Her tone of calm languor, for she never took the trouble of raising her voice, was always heard and attended to; and Sir Thomas came back.
Her story began; and Fanny immediately slipped out of the room; for to hear herself the subject of any discussion with her uncle was more than her nerves could bear.
She was anxious, she knew - more anxious perhaps than she ought to be - for what was it after all whether she went or staid? but if her uncle were to be a great while considering and deciding, and with very grave looks, and those grave looks directed to her, and at last decide against her, she might not be able to appear properly submissive and indifferent.
Her cause, meanwhile, went on well.
It began, on Lady Bertram's part, with -
"I have something to tell you that will surprise you.