Tom listened with some shame and some sorrow. But escaping as quickly as possible, he soon, with cheerful selfishness reflected, firstly, that he had not been half so much in debt as some of his friends (one of whom, a Mr. Yates, had bought a small rowboat that he was told was Noah’s Ark—but even Tom knew that was daft; Noah’s Ark had to be at least as large as a sloop); secondly, look what Her Ladyship his own mother and her extravagant archeological eccentricities was doing to the family estate; thirdly, that his father had made a most tiresome piece of work of it; and, finally, that the future incumbent, whoever he might be, would, in all probability, die very soon.

On Mr. Norris’s death the presentation became the right of a Dr. Grant, who came consequently to reside at Mansfield; and on proving to be a hearty man of forty-five, seemed likely to disappoint Mr. Bertram’s calculations. But “no, he was a short-necked, apoplectic sort of fellow, and, plied well with good things, would soon pop off.”

Dr. Grant had a wife about fifteen years his junior, but no children; and they entered the neighbourhood as very respectable, agreeable people.

The time was now come when Sir Thomas expected his sister-in-law to claim her share in their niece. The change in Mrs. Norris’s situation, and the improvement in Fanny’s age, seemed to do away any former objection to their living together. And as his own circumstances were rendered less fair than heretofore, by some recent losses on his West India estate, in addition to his eldest son’s extravagance, and of course, the dear wife’s chronic pursuit of Egyptology, it became not undesirable to himself to be relieved from the expense of her support, and the obligation of her future provision. He mentioned this to his wife; with Fanny present, and Lady Bertram calmly observed to her, “So, Fanny, you are going to leave us, and live with my sister. How shall you like it?”

Fanny was too much surprised to do more than repeat her aunt’s words, “Going to leave you?”

“Yes, my dear; why should you be astonished? You have been five years with us, and my sister always meant to take you when Mr. Norris died. But you must come up and help me with the artifact cataloguing and tack on my patterns all the same.”

The news was as disagreeable to Fanny as it had been unexpected. She had never received kindness from her aunt Norris, and could not love her.

“I shall be very sorry to go away,” said she, with a faltering voice.

“Yes, I dare say you will; that’s natural enough. I suppose you have had as little to vex you since you came into this house as any creature in the world.”

“I hope I am not ungrateful, aunt,” said Fanny modestly.