Chapters (57)
- REGENCY ERA PRAISE FOR…
- MANSFIELD PARK AND MUMMIES:
- Dedication
- MANSFIELD PARK AND MUMMIES
- Chapter I
- Chapter II
- Chapter III
- Chapter IV
- Chapter V
- Chapter VI
- Chapter VII
- Chapter VIII
- Chapter IX
- Chapter X
- Chapter XI
- Chapter XII
- Chapter XIII
- Chapter XIV
- Chapter XV
- Chapter XVI
- Chapter XVII
- Chapter XVIII
- Chapter XIX
- Chapter XX
- Chapter XXI
- Chapter XXII
- Chapter XXIII
- Chapter XXIV
- Chapter XXV
- Chapter XXVI
- Chapter XXVII
- Chapter XXVIII
- Chapter XXIX
- Chapter XXX
- Chapter XXXI
- Chapter XXXII
- Chapter XXXIII
- Chapter XXXIV
- Chapter XXXV
- Chapter XXXVI
- Chapter XXXVII
- Chapter XXXVIII
- Chapter XXXIX
- Chapter XL
- Chapter XLI
- Chapter XLII
- Chapter XLIII
- Chapter XLIV
- Chapter XLV
- Chapter XLVI
- Chapter XLVII
- Chapter XLVIII
- APPENDIX
- APPENDIX 2
- Author’s After-Note
- About the Harridan
- Scholarly Footnotes
Henry meanwhile forcefully switched back to his levity. “I shall flirt and charm her like a tiny butterfly. And, it can be but for a fortnight. A fortnight is all that is required. And if a fortnight can kill her, she must have a constitution which nothing could save. No, I will not do her any harm, dear little soul! only want her to look kindly on me, to give me smiles as well as blushes, to keep a chair for me by herself wherever we are, and be all animation when I take it and talk to her; to think as I think, be interested in all my possessions and pleasures, try to keep me longer at Mansfield, and feel when I go away that she shall be never happy again. I want nothing more.”
“Moderation itself!” said Mary with a wicked smile. “I can have no scruples now. Well, you will have opportunities enough of endeavouring to recommend yourself, for we are a great deal together.”
And without attempting any further remonstrance, she left Fanny to her fate, a fate which, had not Fanny’s heart been guarded in a way unsuspected by Miss Crawford, might have been a little harder than she deserved.
For, although there doubtless are such unconquerable young ladies of eighteen as are never to be persuaded into love against their judgment by all that talent, manner, attention, and flattery can do, I have no inclination to believe Fanny one of them. With so much tenderness of disposition, and so much taste, she could not have escaped heart-whole from the courtship (though the courtship only of a fortnight) of such a man as Crawford—in spite of there being previous ill opinion of him to be overcome—had not her affection been engaged elsewhere.
With all the security which love of another could give to the peace of mind he was attacking, his continued unobtrusive attentions, adapting themselves to the gentle delicacy of her character—obliged her very soon to dislike him less than formerly. She had not forgotten the past; she thought as ill of him as ever; but she felt his powers. He was entertaining; and his manners were so improved, so seriously and blamelessly polite, that it was impossible not to be civil to him in return.