“This is very pretty,” said Fanny, looking around her as they were thus sitting together one day; “every time I come into this shrubbery I am more struck with its growth and beauty. Three years ago, this was nothing but a rough hedgerow along the upper side of the field, and now it is converted into a walk.” And then she waxed philosophical about time and memory and the passing of seasons, which unfortunately fell on deaf—or better to say, dead—ears.

Miss Crawford, untouched and inattentive, had nothing to say; and Fanny, perceiving it, brought back her own mind to what she thought must interest.

“It may seem impertinent in me to praise, but I must admire the taste Mrs. Grant has shewn in all this.”

“Yes,” replied Miss Crawford carelessly, “it does very well for a place of this sort. Till I came to Mansfield, I had not imagined a country parson ever aspired to a shrubbery, or anything of the kind.”

“I am so glad to see the evergreens thrive!” said Fanny, in reply. “My uncle’s gardener always says the soil here is better than his own, and so it appears from the growth of the laurels and evergreens in general. The evergreen! How beautiful!” And she continued, in the same vein, to praise nature.

“To say the truth,” replied Miss Crawford, who was far more interested in what actually flowed in veins, “I am something like the famous Doge at the court of Louis XIV.; and may declare that I see no wonder in this shrubbery equal to seeing myself in it. If anybody had told me a year ago that this place would be my home—”

“Too quiet for you, I believe.”

“I should have thought so, but,” and her eyes brightened with an almost unholy light, “I never spent so happy a summer. But then,” with a more thoughtful air and lowered voice, “there is no saying what it may lead to.”

Fanny’s heart beat quickly.

Miss Crawford went on—

“I am conscious of being far better reconciled to a country residence than I had ever expected to be. An elegant, moderate-sized house in the centre of family connexions, and commanding the first society in the neighbourhood. There is nothing frightful in such a picture, is there, Miss Price? One need not envy the new Mrs. Rushworth with such a home as that.”

“Envy Mrs. Rushworth!” was all that Fanny attempted to say.

“Come, come, it would be very un-handsome in us to be severe on Mrs. Rushworth, with her new wolfish spouse, for I look forward to our owing her a great many happy hours. I expect we shall be all very much at Sotherton. Such a match as Miss Bertram has made is a public blessing; for the first pleasures of Mr. Rushworth’s wife must be to fill her house, and give the best balls in the country.”