Julia’s looks made it indisputable. And after the first starts and exclamations, not a word was spoken for half a minute: each with an altered countenance was looking at some other, and almost each was feeling it a stroke the most unwelcome, most ill-timed, most appalling! Mr. Yates might consider it only as a vexatious interruption for the evening, and Mr. Rushworth might imagine it a blessing; but every other heart was sinking under some degree of self-condemnation or undefined alarm. “What will become of us? what is to be done now?” It was a terrible pause; and terrible to every ear were the corroborating sounds of opening doors and passing footsteps.

Julia was the first to move and speak again. Jealousy and bitterness had been suspended: selfishness was lost in the common cause. But at the moment of her appearance, Frederick was listening with looks of devotion to Agatha’s narrative, and pressing her hand to his heart. As soon as Julia noticed this, and saw that he still kept his station and retained her sister’s hand, her wounded heart swelled again with injury. Looking as red as she had been white before, she turned out of the room, saying, “I need not be afraid of appearing before him.”

Her going roused the rest; and at the same moment the two brothers stepped forward, feeling the necessity of doing something: they must go to the drawing-room directly. Maria joined them; the very circumstance which had driven Julia away was to her the sweetest support. Henry Crawford’s retaining her hand at such a moment, was worth ages of doubt and anxiety. She was equal to encounter her father.

They walked off, utterly heedless of Mr. Rushworth’s repeated question of, “Shall I go too? Had not I better go too? Ayiiiie! Argh! Will not it be right for me to go too?” But they were no sooner through the door than Henry Crawford encouraged him to pay his respects to Sir Thomas without delay, and sent him after the others with delighted haste.

Fanny was left with only the Crawfords and Mr. Yates, and Lord Eastwind in the shadows. She had been quite overlooked by her cousins. Since her own opinion of her claims on Sir Thomas’s affection was much too humble, she was glad to remain behind and gain a little breathing-time. Her agitation exceeded all that was endured by the rest. She was nearly fainting: all her former habitual dread of her uncle was returning, and with it compassion for him and for almost every one of the party, with solicitude on Edmund’s account indescribable, and with terror on account of the new evils in the house in the shape of Miss Crawford and Heaven knows what else. . . .