And having said that, having had that one pointed conversation, the Crawfords and Lord Eastwind proceeded to ignore each other. Their behavior—unlike the complete lack of notice and almost unnatural disinterest on the part of the Bertram family—held in it a force of conscious intent.

From thereon, Lord Eastwind seemed to have permanently attached himself to the household, and became a discreet favorite of Lady Bertram.

Fanny was privy, one social evening, to the conversation of her aunt Norris on the subject of Maria, as well as to her feelings, and the feelings of Mrs. Rushworth. She would have preferred 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 (the gangly fellow seemed to have arrived out of the blue, with no references, and yet was hired immediately in lieu of his fine playing, alongside a number of other equally unrecommended and equally lumbering fellows, all with rather ghastly parchment skin), and the possibility of raising five couple with the help of Mrs. Grant, Lord Eastwind, 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 wolfish 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!”