Julia did seem inclined to admit that Maria’s situation might require particular caution and delicacy—but that could not extend to her—she was at liberty. And Maria evidently considered her engagement as raising her above restraint. Edmund had little to hope, but he was still urging the subject when Henry Crawford entered the room, fresh from the Parsonage, calling out, “No want of hands in our theatre, Miss Bertram. No want of understrappers: my sister desires her love, and hopes to be admitted into the company, and will be happy to take the part of any old duenna or tame confidante.”

Maria gave Edmund a glance, which meant, “What say you now? Can we be wrong if Mary Crawford feels the same?”

Lord Eastwind merely smiled, standing near a window and watching them all.

“What do you think, Miss Price,” he said softly, “What will Edmund Bertram do now?”

“Whatever my cousin does I will not question his judgment,” replied Fanny.

“A pity,” said Lord Eastwind. “For in such intentional blindness you might overlook something of importance.”

Meanwhile, Edmund, silenced by the new development, was obliged to acknowledge some modicum of charm in acting.

The scheme advanced. Opposition was vain. And as to Mrs. Norris, he was mistaken in supposing she would wish to make any. She started no difficulties that were not talked down in five minutes by her eldest nephew and niece, who were all-powerful with her. As the play was to bring very little expense to anybody, and none at all to herself, she fancied herself obliged to leave her own house and take up her abode in theirs, that every hour might be spent in their service—all usual yapping and such aside, she was, in fact, exceedingly delighted with the project.

Chapter XIV

Fanny seemed nearer being right than Edmund had supposed. The business of finding a play that would suit everybody proved to be no trifle. The carpenter had was already at work, while a play was still not found. An enormous roll of green baize had arrived from Northampton, and been cut out by Mrs. Norris, and was actually forming into a curtain by the housemaids, and still, no play.

Edmund began almost to hope that none might ever be found—there were much to be attended to, people to be pleased, a need that the play should be at once both tragedy and comedy.