Another day or two, and Mr. Yates was gone likewise. In his departure Sir Thomas felt the chief interest. Wanting to be alone with his family, the presence of Mr. Yates, trifling and confident, idle and expensive, was vexatious. In himself he was wearisome, but as the friend of Tom and the admirer of Julia he became offensive. Sir Thomas had been quite indifferent to Mr. Crawford’s going or staying: but his good wishes for Mr. Yates’s having a pleasant journey, as he walked with him to the hall-door, were given with genuine satisfaction.

Mrs. Norris contrived to remove one last article from Sir Thomas’s sight that might have distressed him. The theatre curtain, over which she had presided with such talent and such success, went off with her to her cottage, where she happened to be particularly in want of green baize to cover up a certain window on moonlit nights. . . .

Chapter XXI

Sir Thomas’s return made a striking change in the ways of the family, independent of Lovers’ Vows. Under his government, Mansfield was an altered place. Some members of their society sent away, and the spirits of many others saddened—it was all sameness and gloom compared with the past—a sombre family party rarely enlivened. There was little intercourse[17] with the Parsonage. Sir Thomas was particularly disinclined for any engagements but in one quarter. The Rushworths were the only addition to the domestic circle.

Edmund did not wonder that such should be his father’s feelings, but he regretted the exclusion of the Grants. “They,” he observed to Fanny, “have a claim. They seem to belong to us; to be part of ourselves. If only my father knew them better, he would value their society as it deserves; for they are exactly the sort of people he would like. Dr. and Mrs. Grant would enliven us, make our evenings pass away with more enjoyment.”

“Do you think so?” said Fanny: “in my opinion, my uncle values the very quietness you speak of, and the repose of his own family circle is all he wants. And it does not appear to me that we are more serious than we used to be. There was never much laughing in his presence.”

“I believe you are right, Fanny,” was his reply, after a short consideration. “I believe our evenings are rather returned to what they were. The novelty was in their being lively. Yet, how strong the impression that only a few weeks will give! I have been feeling as if we had never lived so before.”

“I suppose I am graver than other people,” said Fanny. “The evenings do not appear long to me. I love to hear my uncle talk of the West Indies. I could listen to him for an hour together. It entertains me more than many other things. But then, I am unlike other people, I dare say.”