“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 stayed? 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. Mrs. Grant has asked Fanny to dinner.”

“Well,” said Sir Thomas, as if waiting more to accomplish the surprise.

“Edmund wants her to go. But how can I spare her?”

“She will be late,” said Sir Thomas, taking out his watch; “but what is your difficulty?”

Edmund found himself obliged to speak and fill up the blanks in his mother's story. He told the whole, and she had only to add, “So strange! for Mrs. Grant never used to ask her.”

“But is it not very natural,” observed Edmund, “that Mrs. Grant should wish to procure so agreeable a visitor for her sister?”

“Nothing can be more natural,” said Sir Thomas, after a short deliberation; “nor, were there no sister in the case, could anything, in my opinion, be more natural. Mrs. Grant's showing civility to Miss Price, to Lady Bertram's niece, could never want explanation. The only surprise I can feel is, that this should be the first time of its being paid. Fanny was perfectly right in giving only a conditional answer. She appears to feel as she ought. But as I conclude that she must wish to go, since all young people like to be together, I can see no reason why she should be denied the indulgence.”

“But can I do without her, Sir Thomas?”

“Indeed I think you may.”

“She always makes tea, you know, when my sister is not here.”

“Your sister, perhaps, may be prevailed on to spend the day with us, and I shall certainly be at home.”

“Very well, then, Fanny may go, Edmund.”

The good news soon followed her. Edmund knocked at her door in his way to his own.

“Well, Fanny, it is all happily settled, and without the smallest hesitation on your uncle's side. He had but one opinion. You are to go.”

“Thank you, I am so glad,” was Fanny's instinctive reply; though when she had turned from him and shut the door, she could not help feeling, “And yet why should I be glad? for am I not certain of seeing or hearing something there to pain me?”

In spite of this conviction, however, she was glad. Simple as such an engagement might appear in other eyes, it had novelty and importance in hers, for excepting the day at Sotherton, she had scarcely ever dined out before; and though now going only half a mile, and only to three people, still it was dining out, and all the little interests of preparation were enjoyments in themselves. She had neither sympathy nor assistance from those who ought to have entered into her feelings and directed her taste; for Lady Bertram never thought of being useful to anybody, and Mrs. Norris, when she came on the morrow, in consequence of an early call and invitation from Sir Thomas, was in a very ill humour, and seemed intent only on lessening her niece's pleasure, both present and future, as much as possible.

“Upon my word, Fanny, you are in high luck to meet with such attention and indulgence! You ought to be very much obliged to Mrs. Grant for thinking of you, and to your aunt for letting you go, and you ought to look upon it as something extraordinary; for I hope you are aware that there is no real occasion for your going into company in this sort of way, or ever dining out at all; and it is what you must not depend upon ever being repeated. Nor must you be fancying that the invitation is meant as any particular compliment to you; the compliment is intended to your uncle and aunt and me. Mrs. Grant thinks it a civility due to us to take a little notice of you, or else it would never have come into her head, and you may be very certain that, if your cousin Julia had been at home, you would not have been asked at all.”

Mrs. Norris had now so ingeniously done away all Mrs. Grant's part of the favour, that Fanny, who found herself expected to speak, could only say that she was very much obliged to her aunt Bertram for sparing her, and that she was endeavouring to put her aunt's evening work in such a state as to prevent her being missed.

“Oh! depend upon it, your aunt can do very well without you, or you would not be allowed to go. I shall be here, so you may be quite easy about your aunt. And I hope you will have a very agreeable day, and find it all mighty delightful. But I must observe that five is the very awkwardest of all possible numbers to sit down to table; and I cannot but be surprised that such an elegant lady as Mrs. Grant should not contrive better! And round their enormous great wide table, too, which fills up the room so dreadfully! Had the doctor been contented to take my dining table when I came away, as anybody in their senses would have done, instead of having that absurd new one of his own, which is wider, literally wider than the dinner table here—how infinitely better it would have been! and how much more he would have been respected. for people are never respected when they step out of their proper sphere. Remember that, Fanny. Five, only five to be sitting round that table! However, you will have dinner enough on it for ten, I dare say.”

Mrs. Norris fetched breath, and went on again.

“The nonsense and folly of people's stepping out of their rank and trying to appear above themselves, makes me think it right to give you a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company without any of us; and I do beseech and entreat you not to be putting yourself forward, and talking and giving your opinion as if you were one of your cousins—as if you were dear Mrs. Rushworth or Julia.That will never do, believe me. Remember, wherever you are, you must be the lowest and last; and though Miss Crawford is in a manner at home at the Parsonage, you are not to be taking place of her. And as to coming away at night, you are to stay just as long as Edmund chooses. Leave him to settle that.”

“Yes, ma'am, I should not think of anything else.”

“And if it should rain, which I think exceedingly likely, for I never saw it more threatening for a wet evening in my life—you must manage as well as you can, and not be expecting the carriage to be sent for you. I certainly do not go home tonight, and, therefore, the carriage will not be out on my account; so you must make up your mind to what may happen, and take your things accordingly.”

Her niece thought it perfectly reasonable. She rated her own claims to comfort as low even as Mrs. Norris could; and when Sir Thomas soon afterwards, just opening the door, said, “Fanny, at what time would you have the carriage come round?” she felt a degree of astonishment which made it impossible for her to speak.

“My dear Sir Thomas!” cried Mrs. Norris, red with anger, “Fanny can walk.”

“Walk!” repeated Sir Thomas, in a tone of most unanswerable dignity, and coming farther into the room. “My niece walk to a dinner engagement at this time of the year! Will twenty minutes after four suit you?”

“Yes, sir,” was Fanny's humble answer, given with the feelings almost of a criminal towards Mrs. Norris; and not bearing to remain with her in what might seem a state of triumph, she followed her uncle out of the room, having stayed behind him only long enough to hear these words spoken in angry agitation—

“Quite unnecessary! A great deal too kind! But Edmund goes; true—it is upon Edmund's account. I observed he was hoarse on Thursday night.”

But this could not impose on Fanny. She felt that the carriage was for herself, and herself alone; and her uncle's consideration of her, coming immediately after such representations from her aunt, cost her some tears of gratitude when she was alone.

The coachman drove round to a minute; another minute brought down the gentleman; and as the lady had, with a most scrupulous fear of being late, been many minutes seated in the drawing-room, Sir Thomas saw them off in as good time as his own correctly punctual habits required.

“Now I must look at you, Fanny,” said Edmund, with the kind smile of an affectionate brother, “and tell you how I like you; and as well as I can judge by this light, you look very nicely indeed. What have you got on?”

“The new dress that my uncle was so good as to give me on my cousin's marriage. I hope it is not too fine; but I thought I ought to wear it as soon as I could, and that I might not have such another opportunity all the winter. I hope you do not think me too fine.”

“A woman can never be too fine while she is all in white. No, I see no finery about you; nothing but what is perfectly proper. Your gown seems very pretty. I like these glossy spots. Has not Miss Crawford a gown something the same?”

In approaching the Parsonage they passed close by the stable yard and coach house.

“Heyday!” said Edmund, “here's company, here's a carriage! who have they got to meet us?” And letting down the side-glass to distinguish, “'Tis Crawford's, Crawford's barouche, I protest! There are his own two men pushing it back into its old quarters. He is here, of course. This is quite a surprise, Fanny. I shall be very glad to see him.”

There was no occasion, there was no time for Fanny to say how very differently she felt; but the idea of having such another to observe her was a great increase of the trepidation with which she performed the very awful ceremony of walking into the drawing-room.

In the drawing-room Mr. Crawford certainly was, having been just long enough arrived to be ready for dinner; and the smiles and pleased looks of the three others standing round him, showed how welcome was his sudden resolution of coming to them for a few days on leaving Bath. A very cordial meeting passed between him and Edmund; and with the exception of Fanny, the pleasure was general; and even to her there might be some advantage in his presence, since every addition to the party must rather forward her favourite indulgence of being suffered to sit silent and unattended to. She was soon aware of this herself; for though she must submit, as her own propriety of mind directed, in spite of her aunt Norris's opinion, to being the principal lady in company, and to all the little distinctions consequent thereon, she found, while they were at table, such a happy flow of conversation prevailing, in which she was not required to take any part—there was so much to be said between the brother and sister about Bath, so much between the two young men about hunting, so much of politics between Mr. Crawford and Dr. Grant, and of everything and all together between Mr. Crawford and Mrs. Grant, as to leave her the fairest prospect of having only to listen in quiet, and of passing a very agreeable day. She could not compliment the newly arrived gentleman, however, with any appearance of interest, in a scheme for extending his stay at Mansfield, and sending for his hunters from Norfolk, which, suggested by Dr. Grant, advised by Edmund, and warmly urged by the two sisters, was soon in possession of his mind, and which he seemed to want to be encouraged even by her to resolve on. Her opinion was sought as to the probable continuance of the open weather, but her answers were as short and indifferent as civility allowed. She could not wish him to stay, and would much rather not have him speak to her.

Her two absent cousins, especially Maria, were much in her thoughts on seeing him; but no embarrassing remembrance affected his spirits. Here he was again on the same ground where all had passed before, and apparently as willing to stay and be happy without the Miss Bertrams, as if he had never known Mansfield in any other state. She heard them spoken of by him only in a general way, till they were all re-assembled in the drawing-room, when Edmund, being engaged apart in some matter of business with Dr. Grant, which seemed entirely to engross them, and Mrs. Grant occupied at the tea table, he began talking of them with more particularity to his other sister. With a significant smile, which made Fanny quite hate him, he said, “So! Rushworth and his fair bride are at Brighton, I understand—Happy man!”

“Yes, they have been there—about a fortnight, Miss Price, have they not? And Julia is with them.”

“And Mr. Yates, I presume, is not far off.”

“Mr. Yates! Oh! we hear nothing of Mr. Yates. I do not imagine he figures much in the letters to Mansfield Park; do you, Miss Price? I think my friend Julia knows better than to entertain her father with Mr. Yates.”

“Poor Rushworth and his two-and-forty speeches!” continued Crawford. “Nobody can ever forget them. Poor fellow! I see him now—his toil and his despair. Well, I am much mistaken if his lovely Maria will ever want him to make two-and-forty speeches to her”; adding, with a momentary seriousness, “She is too good for him—much too good.” And then changing his tone again to one of gentle gallantry, and addressing Fanny, he said, “You were Mr. Rushworth's best friend. Your kindness and patience can never be forgotten, your indefatigable patience in trying to make it possible for him to learn his part—in trying to give him a brain which nature had denied—to mix up an understanding for him out of the superfluity of your own! He might not have sense enough himself to estimate your kindness, but I may venture to say that it had honour from all the rest of the party.”

Fanny coloured, and said nothing.

“It is as a dream, a pleasant dream!” he exclaimed, breaking forth again, after a few minutes' musing. “I shall always look back on our theatricals with exquisite pleasure. There was such an interest, such an animation, such a spirit diffused! Everybody felt it. We were all alive. There was employment, hope, solicitude, bustle, for every hour of the day. Always some little objection, some little doubt, some little anxiety to be got over. I never was happier.”

With silent indignation, Fanny repeated to herself, “Never happier! —Never happier than when doing what you must know was not justifiable! —never happier than when behaving so dishonourably and unfeelingly! Oh! what a corrupted mind!”

“We were unlucky, Miss Price,” he continued, in a lower tone, to avoid the possibility of being heard by Edmund, and not at all aware of her feelings, “we certainly were very unlucky. Another week, only one other week, would have been enough for us. I think if we had had the disposal of events—if Mansfield Park had had the government of the winds just for a week or two, about the equinox, there would have been a difference. Not that we would have endangered his safety by any tremendous weather—but only by a steady contrary wind, or a calm. I think, Miss Price, we would have indulged ourselves with a week's calm in the Atlantic at that season.”

He seemed determined to be answered; and Fanny, averting her face, said, with a firmer tone than usual, “As far as I am concerned, sir, I would not have delayed his return for a day. My uncle disapproved it all so entirely when he did arrive, that in my opinion everything had gone quite far enough.”

She had never spoken so much at once to him in her life before, and never so angrily to anyone; and when her speech was over, she trembled and blushed at her own daring. He was surprised; but after a few moments' silent consideration of her, replied in a calmer, graver tone, and as if the candid result of conviction, “I believe you are right. It was more pleasant than prudent. We were getting too noisy.” And then turning the conversation, he would have engaged her on some other subject, but her answers were so shy and reluctant that he could not advance in any.

Miss Crawford, who had been repeatedly eyeing Dr. Grant and Edmund, now observed, “Those gentlemen must have some very interesting point to discuss.”

“The most interesting in the world,” replied her brother—“how to make money—how to turn a good income into a better. Dr. Grant is giving Bertram instructions about the living he is to step into so soon. I find he takes orders in a few weeks. They were at it in the dining-parlour. I am glad to hear Bertram will be so well off. He will have a very pretty income to make ducks and drakes with, and earned without much trouble. I apprehend he will not have less than seven hundred a year. Seven hundred a year is a fine thing for a younger brother; and as of course he will still live at home, it will be all for his menus plaisirs; and a sermon at Christmas and Easter, I suppose, will be the sum total of sacrifice.”

His sister tried to laugh off her feelings by saying, “Nothing amuses me more than the easy manner with which everybody settles the abundance of those who have a great deal less than themselves. You would look rather blank, Henry, if your menus plaisirs were to be limited to seven hundred a year.”

“Perhaps I might; but all that you know is entirely comparative. Birthright and habit must settle the business. Bertram is certainly well off for a cadet of even a Baronet's family. By the time he is four or five-and-twenty he will have seven hundred a year, and nothing to do for it.”

Miss Crawford could have said that there would be a something to do and to suffer for it, which she could not think lightly of; but she checked herself and let it pass; and tried to look calm and unconcerned when the two gentlemen shortly afterwards joined them.

“Bertram,” said Henry Crawford, “I shall make a point of coming to Mansfield to hear you preach your first sermon. I shall come on purpose to encourage a young beginner. When is it to be? Miss Price, will not you join me in encouraging your cousin? Will not you engage to attend with your eyes steadily fixed on him the whole time—as I shall do—not to lose a word; or only looking off just to note down any sentence pre-eminently beautiful? We will provide ourselves with tablets and a pencil. When will it be? You must preach at Mansfield, you know, that Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram may hear you.”

“I shall keep clear of you, Crawford, as long as I can,” said Edmund; “for you would be more likely to disconcert me, and I should be more sorry to see you trying at it than almost any other man.”

“Will he not feel this?” thought Fanny. “No, he can feel nothing as he ought.”

The party being now all united, and the chief talkers attracting each other, she remained in tranquillity; and as a whist table was formed after tea—formed really for the amusement of Dr. Grant, by his attentive wife, though it was not to be supposed so—and Miss Crawford took her harp, she had nothing to do but to listen; and her tranquillity remained undisturbed the rest of the evening, except when Mr. Crawford now and then addressed to her a question or observation, which she could not avoid answering. Miss Crawford was too much vexed by what had passed to be in a humour for anything but music. With that she soothed herself and amused her friend.

The assurance of Edmund's being so soon to take orders, coming upon her like a blow that had been suspended, and still hoped uncertain and at a distance, was felt with resentment and mortification. She was very angry with him. She had thought her influence more. She had begun to think of him—she felt that she had—with great regard, with almost decided intentions; but she would now meet him with his own cool feelings. It was plain that he could have no serious views, no true attachment, by fixing himself in a situation which he must know she would never stoop to. She would learn to match him in his indifference. She would henceforth admit his attentions without any idea beyond immediate amusement. If he could so command his affections, hers should do her no harm.

“可格兰特太太为什么要请范妮呢？”伯特伦夫人问，“她怎么会想到请范妮呢？你也知道，范妮从来没有以这种方式去那里吃过饭。我不能放她去，我想她肯定也不想去。范妮，你不想去吧？”

“你要是这样问她，”埃德蒙不等范妮回答便嚷道，“范妮马上会说不想去。不过，亲爱的妈妈，我敢肯定她想去。我看不出她有什么不想去的。”

“我捉摸不透格兰特太太怎么会想起来请范妮。她以前可从没请过范妮。她不时地请你两个妹妹，可从没请过范妮。”

“你要是离不开我的话，姨妈——”范妮以准备自我放弃的口吻说。

“可是，我母亲可以让我父亲陪她一晚上呀。”

“我的确可以这样。”

“你是否听听父亲的意见，妈妈。”

“这倒是个好主意。我就这么办，埃德蒙。等托马斯爵士一回来，我就问他我能不能离开范妮。”

“这个问题由你自己决定，妈妈。不过，我的意思是让你问问父亲怎么做妥当：是接受邀请还是不接受。我想他会认为，不管对格兰特太太来说，还是对范妮来说，鉴于这是第一次邀请，按理还是应该接受的。”

“我说不准。我们可以问问你父亲。不过，他会对格兰特太太会请范妮感到很奇怪。”

在见到托马斯爵士之前，再也没有什么话可说了，说也不能解决问题。不过，这件事关系到伯特伦夫人第二天晚上的安乐，因此她心里总也搁不下。半小时后，托马斯爵士从种植园回更衣室，路过时进来看了看，就在已经走出去要关门的时候，伯特伦夫人又把他叫了回来：“托马斯爵士，你停一停——我有话跟你说。”

她说话从来不肯大声，总是平平静静，有气无力，不过托马斯爵士总能听得清楚，从不怠慢。于是他又回来了，夫人便讲起来了。范妮连忙悄悄走出房去，因为姨妈和姨父要谈论与她有关的事情，她没法硬着头皮听下去。她知道自己很焦急——也许焦急得有点过分——其实她去与不去又有什么关系呢？不过，要是姨父需要琢磨很久，而且板着一副面孔，正色地盯着她，最后再决定不让她去，她就很难显出坦然接受、满不在乎的样子。这时候，有关她的事正在顺利地商谈。伯特伦夫人先开了个头：“我告诉你一件让你惊奇的事儿。格兰特太太请范妮去吃饭！”

“哦。”托马斯爵士说，好像并不觉得有什么值得惊奇的，在等她继续往下说。

“埃德蒙想让她去。可我怎么离得开她呀？”

“她会回来得晚些，”托马斯爵士一边说，一边取出表来，“可你有什么为难的？”

埃德蒙觉得自己不能不开口，不能不把母亲没讲到的地方给补全。他把事情一五一十地说了一遍，伯特伦夫人只补充了一句：“真奇怪呀！格兰特太太从来没有请过她。”

“不过，”埃德蒙说，“格兰特太太想给她妹妹请来一位这么招人喜欢的客人，这不是很自然吗？”

“真是再自然不过了，”托马斯爵士略加思索后说，“这件事即使不涉及那做妹妹的，我认为也是再自然不过了。格兰特太太对普莱斯小姐，对伯特伦夫人的外甥女施之以礼，这完全没有什么需要解释的。我唯一感到惊奇的是，她现在才第一次对范妮表现出这样的礼貌。范妮当时回答要视情况而定，这是完全正确的。看来范妮也有人之常情。既然年轻人都喜欢和年轻人在一起，我断定她心里自然也想去，因此我认为没有什么理由不让她去。”

“可我离得开她吗，托马斯爵士？”

“我认为你当然离得开她。”

“你知道，我姐姐不在这儿的时候，茶点总是由她来准备。”

“也许可以请你姐姐在我们家待一天，我也肯定会在家。”

“那好，范妮可以去啦，埃德蒙。”

这好消息很快就传给了范妮。埃德蒙在回房的途中敲了敲她的门。

“好了，范妮，事情圆满解决了，你姨父丝毫没有犹豫。他只有一个念头：你应该去。”

“谢谢你，我真高兴。”范妮本能地答道。不过，等她转过身关上了门，她又不禁在想：“可我为什么要高兴呢？难道我在那儿不也分明耳闻目睹了让我痛苦的事儿吗？”

然而，尽管这样想，她心里还是很高兴。这样的邀请在别人看来也许算不了什么，在她看来却是既新鲜又了不起。除了去索瑟顿那天外，她还从没在别人家吃过饭。这次出去虽然只走半英里路，主人家只有三个人，然而总还算出门赴宴吧，而且动身前种种细小而有趣的准备工作，本身就让人乐滋滋的。那些本该体谅她的心情、指导她如何穿戴打扮的人，却既不体谅她，也不帮助她。伯特伦夫人从来没有想过帮助别人，而诺里斯太太则是第二天一早由托马斯爵士登门请来的。她心情很不好，似乎只想尽可能杀杀外甥女的风景，让外甥女眼下和以后都不要那么高兴。

“说实话，范妮，你受到这样的抬举和恩宠，真是万幸啊！你应该感谢格兰特太太能想到你，感谢二姨妈放你去，还应该把这看作一件非同寻常的事。我希望你心里放明白，其实还真犯不着让你这样去做客，或者让你外出赴宴。你不要以为以后还会有第二回。你也不要想入非非，认为人家请你是为了特别抬举你，人家是冲着你二姨父、二姨妈和我的面子才请你的。格兰特太太是为了讨好我们，才对你稍加另眼相待，不然的话，她怎么也不会想到请你。我向你担保，要是你朱莉娅表姐在家，那她就绝不会请你。”

诺里斯太太的这番巧诈之言，把格兰特太太的那份美意抹杀殆尽。范妮猜想自己应该表个态，便只能说自己非常感谢伯特伦姨妈放自己去，并表示尽力把姨妈晚上要做的活计准备好，免得姨妈因为自己不在而感觉不便。

“噢！放心吧，你二姨妈完全离得开你，不然就不会让你去。我会在这儿的，因此你丝毫不必为二姨妈担心。我希望你今天过得非常愉快，万分高兴。不过，我要说一句，五个人坐在一起吃饭，这是个再别扭不过的数字了。我真感到奇怪，像格兰特太太这么讲究的人，怎么就不能想得周到一些！而且围着他们那张大宽桌子，把整个屋子给占得满满当当！要是博士能像有头脑的人那样，在我离开时愿意留下我的那张饭桌，而不用他自己那张不伦不类的新饭桌，他那张饭桌太宽，真比你们这里的这张还要宽——那不知道要强几百倍！他也会令人尊敬得多！谁要是做事不讲规矩，那就绝不会受人尊敬。记住这话，范妮。五个人，那么大的桌子只坐五个人哪！我敢说，十个人吃饭都坐得下。”

诺里斯太太喘了口气，又说了下去。

“有人不顾自己的身份，想显得自己了不起，实在是愚蠢无聊。因此我要提醒你，范妮：你这回是一个人出去做客，我们都不在场，我恳求你不要冒冒失失、信口开河、随意发表意见，好像你是你的哪位表姐——好像你是亲爱的拉什沃思太太或朱莉娅。相信我的话，这绝对不行。你要记住，不论在什么地方，你都是身份最低、位置最后的。尽管克劳福德小姐在牧师住宅里不算客人，但你也不能坐她该坐的位置。至于夜里什么时候回家，埃德蒙想待多久你就待多久。这事由他来决定。”

“好的，姨妈，我不会有别的想法的。”

“我想很可能要下雨，因为我从没见过像今晚这么阴沉沉的天气。要是下雨的话，你要尽量克服，不要指望派车去接你。我今天晚上肯定不回去，因此也就不会为我出车。你要有个防备，该带的东西都带上。”

外甥女觉得大姨妈的话完全在理。其实，她对自己安适的要求并不高，甚至像诺里斯太太所说的一样低。过了不久，托马斯爵士推开了门，没等进屋就说：“范妮，你想让马车什么时候来送你？”范妮惊奇得说不出话来。

“亲爱的托马斯爵士！”诺里斯太太气得满脸通红地大声嚷道。“范妮可以走着去。”

“走着去！”托马斯爵士以毋庸置疑的庄严口吻重复了一声，随即向前走了几步，“叫我外甥女在这个季节走着去赴宴！四点二十分来送你可以吗？”

“可以，姨父。”范妮怯生生地答道，觉得说这话像是对诺里斯太太犯罪似的。她不敢再跟诺里斯太太待在屋里，怕人家觉得她得胜后心里扬扬得意，于是便跟着姨父走出房去，只听得诺里斯太太气冲冲地说了下面的话：

“完全没有必要嘛！心肠好得太过分了！不过，埃德蒙也要去。不错——是为了埃德蒙的缘故。星期四晚上我注意到他嗓子有些哑。”

不过，范妮并不相信诺里斯太太这话。她觉得马车是为自己派的，而且是专为自己派的。姨父是在听了大姨妈的数落后来关心她的。等她独自一人的时候，想到此情此景，不禁流下了感激的泪水。

车夫准时把马车赶来了。随后，埃德蒙也下楼来了。范妮小心翼翼地唯恐迟到，便早早地坐在客厅里等候。托马斯爵士已养成严格守时的习惯，准时地把他们送走了。

“范妮，我要看看你，”埃德蒙面带感情真挚的兄长的亲切微笑说，“并且对你说我是多么喜欢你。就凭这车里的光线我也看得出来，你真是很漂亮。你穿的什么衣服？”

“是表姐结婚时姨父给我买的那套新衣服。我希望它不会太华丽。不过，我觉得我应该抓紧时机穿，就怕整个冬天不会再有这样的机会了。我希望你不觉得我穿得太华丽。”

“女人穿着一身白衣服，无论如何也不会太华丽。不，我看你穿得不华丽，而是恰到好处。你的长裙看起来很漂亮。我喜欢上边这些光亮的斑点。克劳福德小姐是不是也有一件跟你这件差不多的长裙？”

快到牧师住宅了，马车打马厩和马车房旁边走过。

“嘿！”埃德蒙大声叫道，“还请来了别人，来了一辆马车！他们请谁来陪我们呀？”说着放下车窗玻璃，想看个仔细。“是克劳福德的马车，克劳福德的四轮马车，我敢断定！他的两个仆人在把马车往过去存车的地方推。他肯定也来了。真是意想不到啊，范妮。我真高兴能见到他。”

范妮没有机会，也没有时间说明她的心情和他大不相同。本来，要拘泥礼仪地走进客厅已经够让她感到可怕了，再一想到又多了一个人注视她，她那颗胆怯的心越发为之忐忑不安。

克劳福德先生的确就在客厅里，而且到得挺早，已做好吃饭的准备。另外三个人喜笑颜开地立在他周围，表明他们对他离开巴斯之后突然决定来他们这里住几天是多么欢迎。他和埃德蒙彼此亲切地寒暄了一番。除了范妮以外，大家都很高兴。即使对范妮来说，他的到来也有几分好处，因为宴席上每增加一个人，都会进一步分散众人对她的注意，她尽可默默不语地坐着，这正是她求之不得的。她也很快意识到了这一点。尽管诺里斯太太对她有过告诫，但她出于礼仪上的考虑，只得勉强担当起宴席上主要女宾的角色，并且领受由此而来的种种小小的礼遇。不过，在饭桌上坐定之后，她发现大家都在兴高采烈地侃侃而谈，谁也没有要求她参加他们的谈话——那兄妹俩有许多关于巴斯的话要说，两个年轻人有许多关于打猎的话要说，克劳福德先生和格兰特博士有许多关于政治的话要说，而克劳福德先生和格兰特太太之间更是天南地北地说个没完。这样一来，她就只需悄悄地坐在那里听别人说话，乐融融地度过这段时光。然而，她对那位新来的先生却没有表现出丝毫的兴趣。格兰特博士建议克劳福德先生在曼斯菲尔德多住些日子，并捎信到诺福克让人把他的猎狐马都送过来，埃德蒙也跟着劝说，他的两个姐妹更是起劲地鼓动，他很快就动了心，似乎还希望范妮也来鼓励他，让他好打定主意。他问范妮这暖和的天气大概能持续多久，范妮只是在礼貌允许的范围内，给了他一个简短的、冷漠的回答。她不希望他在这里住下去，也不希望他跟自己说话。

她一看到克劳福德先生，心里总是想着两个出门在外的表姐，特别是玛丽亚。不过，对于克劳福德先生来说，回忆起令人尴尬的往事并不会影响他的情绪。他又回到了曾发生过种种纠葛的这片土地上。看起来，即使没有两位伯特伦小姐，他也照样愿意住在这里，照样快活，好像他从不知道曼斯菲尔德有过那两位小姐似的。在回到客厅之前，范妮只听见他笼统地提到她们俩。回到客厅后，埃德蒙和格兰特博士到一边聚精会神地谈什么正经事去了，格兰特太太在茶桌旁专心致志地品茶。这时，克劳福德先生比较具体地跟他姐姐谈起了那姐妹俩。他意味深长地笑着说：“啊！这么说来，拉什沃思和他的漂亮新娘眼下在布赖顿——好幸福的人儿啊！”范妮看到他笑的样子就讨厌。

“是的，他们是去了那儿——大约有两个星期了吧，普莱斯小姐？朱莉娅和他们在一起。”

“我想，耶茨先生也离他们不远。”

“耶茨先生！噢！我们一点也没听到耶茨先生的消息。我猜想，写给曼斯菲尔德的信不大讲耶茨先生。你是否也这样想，普莱斯小姐？我想我的朋友朱莉娅心里有数，不会拿耶茨先生去逗她父亲。”

“拉什沃思好可怜，要背四十二段台词啊！”克劳福德继续说道，“谁也忘不了他背台词的情景。这家伙真可怜呀！他那拼命的样子，绝望的样子，我现在还历历在目。唉，要是他可爱的玛丽亚什么时候还想让他对她讲那四十二段台词，那才怪呢。”这时他正经了片刻，补充说：“玛丽亚太好了，他配不上——她实在太好了。”接着，他又换成柔声细气献殷勤的腔调，对范妮说道：“你是拉什沃思先生最好的朋友。你的好心和耐心是永远令人难忘的，你不厌其烦地想帮他记住台词——想给他一个他天生没有的头脑——想用你那用不完的智慧使他变得聪明起来！他是没有头脑的，也许看不出你心地有多好，不过我敢说，其他人无不感到敬佩。”

范妮脸红了，没有吭声。

“真像是一场梦，一场惬意的梦！”克劳福德经过一番思索，又感叹道，“我将永远怀着极度愉快的心情来回忆我们的演出。大家都那样兴致盎然，那样朝气蓬勃，那样喜气洋洋！人人都感觉得到。我们每个人都活跃了起来。一天当中，我们时时刻刻都有事情干，都抱着希望，都有所操心，都忙忙碌碌。我们总要克服一点小小的阻力，解除一点小小的疑虑，打消一点小小的忧虑。我从来没有那样快乐过。”

范妮愤愤不语，只是心里说：“从来没有那样愉快过！从来没有像你做你明知不正经的事情那样快乐过！从来没有像你干那卑鄙无耻、无情无义的勾当那样快乐过！唉！内心多么龌龊啊！”

“我们不走运，普莱斯小姐，”克劳福德压低了声音继续说道，免得让埃德蒙听见，他完全没有察觉范妮的情绪，“我们的确很不走运。我们再有一个星期，只要再有一个星期，就够了。我想，如果我们能有呼风唤雨的本事——如果曼斯菲尔德庄园能把秋分时节的风雨掌管一两个星期，那情况就不同了。我们并不是要来一场狂风暴雨危及他的安全——而只想来一场持续不停的逆风，或者来个风平浪静。我想，普莱斯小姐，那时候只要大西洋能风平浪静一个星期，我们就可以尽兴演完了。”

克劳福德似乎非要对方回答自己。范妮转过脸去，以少有的坚定口吻说：“就我而言，先生，我不愿意他晚回来一天。我姨父一回来就坚决反对，在我看来，整个事情已经很过分了。”

范妮还从未对克劳福德一次说这么多话，也从未对任何人这么气冲冲地说过话。话说完后，她对自己的大胆感到后怕、脸红。克劳福德也感到吃惊。不过，他默默不语，对她琢磨了一阵，然后用比较平静而严肃的口吻回答道，好像挺坦率、挺信服似的：“我认为你说得对。我们是只求快乐而不顾规矩。我们闹得太厉害了。”接着，他转换了话题，想跟她谈点别的事情，但是范妮回答起来总是那么羞怯，那么勉强，无论什么问题，他都无法跟她谈下去。

克劳福德小姐一直在密切地注视着格兰特博士和埃德蒙，这时她说道：“那两个人一定是在讨论什么很有意思的事。”

“世界上最有意思的事，”她哥哥答道，“如何赚钱——如何使收入好上加好。格兰特博士在教埃德蒙如何去担任他即将担任的牧师职位。我发现，埃德蒙再过几个星期就要当牧师了。他们刚才在餐厅里就在谈论这件事。听说伯特伦要过好日子了，我真为他感到高兴。他会有一笔很可观的收入供他挥霍，而且这笔收入挣得不费多大力气。我估计，他一年的收入不会少于七百英镑。对于一个小儿子来说，一年能有七百英镑就很不错了。再说，他肯定还会在家里吃住，这笔收入只是他的零花钱。我想，他只需在圣诞节和复活节各讲一次道。”

做妹妹的想一笑置之，说道：“自己比别人阔得多，却轻松地说别人富有，我觉得最可笑不过。亨利，你的个人花销要是给限制在一年七百英镑，你就会茫然不知所措了。”

“也许我会的。不过，你说的这情况也是比较而言。事情取决于与生俱来的权利和个人的习惯。对于一个小儿子来说，即使父亲是准男爵，伯特伦有这笔收入当然也算很富裕了。到他二十四五岁的时候，他一年会有七百英镑的收入，而且是毫不费劲儿得来的。”

克劳福德小姐本来想说，挣这笔钱还是要费点劲的，而且还要吃点苦，她认为并不轻松。不过，她又克制住了自己，没有理他的茬，尽量摆出一副安之若素、漠不关心的面孔。过了不久，那两个人也过来了。