The week which passed so quietly and peaceably at the great house in Mansfield had a very different character at the Parsonage. To the young lady in each family, it brought very different feelings. What was peace and comfort to Fanny was tediousness and vexation to Mary. In most points of interest they were exactly opposed to each other—even without a consideration of vampirism. To Fanny’s mind, Edmund’s absence was really a relief. To Mary it was painful. She felt the want of his society every hour, and derived irritation from considering the object for which he went. He could not have devised anything more likely to raise his consequence than this week’s absence, occurring as it did at the very time of her brother’s going away, of William Price’s going too, and completing the general break-up of their animated party.

They were now a miserable trio, confined within doors by a series of rain and snow. Miss Crawford was angry with Edmund for adhering to his own notions in defiance of her (indeed, they had hardly parted friends at the ball), but she could not help thinking of him continually, dwelling on him, longing again for the almost daily meetings they lately had. He should not have left home for a week, when her own departure from Mansfield was so near.

Then she began to blame herself. She wished she had not spoken so warmly in their last conversation. She had used some strong, contemptuous expressions in speaking of the clergy—which could not be helped, naturally, because of her own dark nature. Regardless, it was ill-bred; it was wrong. She wished such words unsaid with all her dark undead heart.

Her vexation did not end with the week. She learned that he had actually written home to defer his return, having promised to remain some days longer with his friend.

If she had felt impatience and regret before—if she had been sorry for what she said—she now felt it all tenfold more. And she had to contend with one disagreeable emotion entirely new to her—jealousy. His friend Mr. Owen had sisters; he might find them attractive. But, at any rate, his staying away at a time when she was to remove to London, meant something unbearable. Had Henry returned, she should now have been leaving Mansfield. It became absolutely necessary to try to learn something more from Fanny.

Thus, Mary made her way to the Park, for the chance of hearing anything—for the sake of hearing his name.

When at last Lady Bertram left the room, leaving her alone with Fanny, Miss Crawford began, with a voice as well regulated as she could—“And how do you like your cousin Edmund’s staying away so long? Being the only young person at home, I consider you as the greatest sufferer. You must miss him. Does his staying longer surprise you?”