In the intervals of business, Sir Thomas walked to his stables and his gardens, active and methodical, resuming his seat as master of the house at dinner. He had set the carpenter to work in reverting the billiard-room. The scene-painter was dismissed, having spoilt only the floor of one room, ruined all the coachman’s sponges, and made five of the under-servants idle and dissatisfied. Sir Thomas hoped that another day or two would suffice to wipe away every trace of what had been, even to the destruction of every unbound copy of Lovers’ Vows in the house, for he was burning all that met his eye.

Mr. Yates—having more or less recovered after serving as the grand scarab conduit of the night before—was beginning now to understand Sir Thomas’s intentions, though not their source. He and his friend had been out with their guns the chief of the morning, and Tom had taken the opportunity of explaining, with proper apologies for his father’s particularity. Mr. Yates felt the acute thespian disappointment for a second time—severe ill-luck! And his indignation was such, that he was ready to resume his arguments with Sir Thomas.

He was bent on it, while in Mansfield Wood, and all the way home. But there was a something in Sir Thomas, when they sat round the same table, which made Mr. Yates think it wiser to let the matter drop. He had known many disagreeable fathers before, but never had he seen one of that class so unintelligibly moral, so infamously tyrannical as Sir Thomas. Verily, he was not a man to be endured but for his children’s sake, and he might be thankful to his fair daughter Julia that Mr. Yates did yet mean to stay a few days longer under his roof.

The evening passed with external smoothness, though almost every mind was ruffled. The music which Sir Thomas called for from his daughters, helped to conceal the want of real harmony. Maria was in a good deal of agitation. It was of the utmost consequence to her that Crawford should now lose no time in declaring himself. She had been expecting to see him the whole morning, and all the evening, to no avail. Mr. Rushworth had set off early with the great news for Sotherton; and she dearly hoped he would never trouble to return. But they had seen no one from the Parsonage, beyond a friendly note from Mrs. Grant to Lady Bertram. It was the first day for many weeks, in which the families had been wholly divided, without bringing them together in some way.