It was, indeed, a triumphant day to Mr. Bertram and Maria. Such a victory over Edmund’s discretion had been beyond their hopes, and was most delightful. There was no longer anything to disturb them in their darling project. They congratulated each other in private on the jealous weakness to which they attributed the change, with all glee. Edmund might still look grave, and must disapprove the scheme and play; their point was gained. He was to act, and he was driven to it by selfish inclinations. Edmund had descended from that tedious moral elevation which he had maintained before, and they were better and happier for it.

They behaved very well, however, to him on the occasion, betraying no exultation beyond the lines about the corners of the mouth, and seemed to think it as great an escape to be quit of the intrusion of Charles Maddox. “To have it quite in their own family circle was what they had particularly wished. A stranger among them would have been the destruction of all their comfort.”

When Edmund, pursuing that idea, hinted at a limitation of the audience, they were ready to promise anything. It was all good-humour and encouragement. Mrs. Norris offered to contrive his dress; Mr. Yates assured him that Anhalt’s last scene with the Baron admitted a good deal of action, ranting, and emphasis. And with a joyous growl that released a fountain of spittle, Mr. Rushworth undertook to count his speeches.

“Perhaps,” said Tom, “Fanny may be more disposed to oblige us now. Perhaps you may persuade her.”

“No, she is quite determined. She certainly will not act.”

“Oh! very well.” And not another word was said; but Fanny felt herself again in danger, and her indifference to the danger was beginning to fail her already.

There were not fewer smiles at the Parsonage than at the Park on this change in Edmund. Miss Crawford looked very dark and lovely, and entered with such renewed cheerfulness as could have but one effect on him. “He had been right; he was glad.” And the morning wore away in sweet satisfactions.

At the request of Miss Crawford, Mrs. Grant had agreed to undertake the part for which Fanny had been wanted, gladdening her heart. And yet even this, when imparted by Edmund, brought a pang with it. For it was Miss Crawford to whom she was obliged—whose kind exertions were to excite her gratitude, and who was spoken of with a glow of admiration.

Fanny was saved from the hell of acting; but peace and safety were not to be. Her mind had been never farther from peace. She could not feel that she had done wrong herself, but she was disquieted in every other way. Her heart and judgment were equally against Edmund’s decision: she could not acquit his unsteadiness, and his happiness under it made her wretched.