“I must entreat Miss Julia Bertram,” said he, “not to engage in the part of Agatha, or it will be the ruin of all my solemnity.” (turning to her). “I could not stand your countenance dressed up in woe and paleness. The many laughs we have had together would infallibly come across me, and Frederick and his knapsack would be obliged to run away.”

Pleasantly, courteously, it was spoken. But the manner was lost in the matter to Julia’s feelings. She saw a glance at Maria which confirmed the injury to herself. It was a scheme, a trick; she was slighted, Maria was preferred.

The smile of triumph which Maria was trying to suppress shewed how well it was understood. And before Julia could command herself enough to speak, her brother spoke also against her: “Oh yes! Maria must and will be the best Agatha. Though Julia fancies she prefers tragedy, there is nothing of tragedy about her. Her features are not tragic features, and she walks too quick, and speaks too quick, and would not keep her countenance. She had better do the Cottager’s Wife—a very pretty part. The old lady relieves the high-flown benevolence of her husband with a good deal of spirit.”

“Cottager’s Wife!” cried Mr. Yates. “What are you talking of? The most trivial, paltry, insignificant part! not a tolerable speech in the whole. An insult to your sister! At Ecclesford the governess was to have done it. Verily, the Brighton Duck could do it! You do not deserve the manager’s office, if you cannot appreciate the talents of your company.”

“Why, as to that, my good friend, till I and my company have really acted there must be some guesswork; but I mean no disparagement to Julia. We cannot have two Agathas, and we must have one Cottager’s Wife.”

“With all your partiality for Cottager’s Wife,” said Henry Crawford, “it will be impossible to make it fit your sister. We must not impose on her good-nature. We must not allow her to accept the part. Her talents will be wanted in Amelia. That most difficult of parts requires a delicacy of feeling found in a true gentlewoman—a Julia Bertram. You will undertake it, I hope?” He turned to her with a look of anxious entreaty, which softened her a little. But while she hesitated, her brother again interposed with Miss Crawford’s better claim.

“No, no, Julia must not be Amelia. She would not like it. She would not do well. She is too tall and robust. Amelia should be a small, light, girlish, skipping figure. It is fit for Miss Crawford only. She looks the part, and will do it admirably.”