Fanny was silent, and Miss Crawford relapsed into thoughtfulness, till suddenly looking up at the end of a few minutes, she exclaimed, “Ah! here he is.” It was not Mr. Rushworth, however, but Edmund, who then appeared walking towards them with Mrs. Grant. “My sister and Mr. Bertram. I am so glad your eldest cousin is gone, that he may be Mr. Bertram again. There is something in the sound of Mr. Edmund Bertram so formal, so pitiful, so younger-brother-like, that I detest it.”

“How differently we feel!” cried Fanny. “To me, the sound of Mr. Bertram is so cold and nothing-meaning, so entirely without warmth or character! It just stands for a gentleman, and that’s all. But there is nobleness in the name of Edmund. It is a name of heroism and renown; of kings, princes, and knights; and seems to breathe the spirit of chivalry and warm affections.”

“I grant you the name is good in itself, and Lord Edmund or Sir Edmund sound delightfully. But sink it under the chill, the annihilation of a Mr., and Mr. Edmund is no more than Mr. John or Mr. Thomas. Well, shall we join and disappoint them of half their lecture upon sitting down out of doors at this time of year, by being up before they can begin?”

Edmund met them with particular pleasure. It was the first time of his seeing them together since their newfound better acquaintance. A friendship (merely a truce, in Fanny’s secret thoughts) between two so very dear to him was exactly what he could have wished.

“Well,” said Miss Crawford tauntingly, “and do you not scold us for our imprudence for sitting down?”

“Perhaps I might have scolded,” said Edmund, “if either of you had been sitting down alone; but while you do wrong together, I can overlook a great deal.”

Oh dear, yes indeed, thought Fanny sadly.

“They cannot have been sitting long,” cried Mrs. Grant, “for when I went up for my shawl I saw them from the staircase window, and then they were walking.”

“And really,” added Edmund, “the day is so mild, that your sitting down for a few minutes can be hardly thought imprudent.”

“Upon my word,” cried Miss Crawford, “you are two of the most disappointing and unfeeling kind friends I ever met with! You do not know how much we have been suffering, nor what chills we have felt!”

“Do not flatter yourself, my dearest Mary,” said Mrs. Grant. “You have not the smallest chance of moving me. I have my alarms, but they are quite in a different quarter.” And she proceeded to bemoan the dangers of leaving plants out overnight during unpredictable turning weather.

“The sweets of housekeeping in a country village!” said Miss Crawford archly. “Commend me to the nurseryman and the poulterer.”