“Sir Thomas told me £10 would be enough.”

Mrs. Norris, being not at all inclined to question its sufficiency, began to take the matter in another point.

“It is amazing,” said she, “how much young people cost their friends, what with bringing them up and putting them out in the world! Now, take my sister Price’s children, I dare say nobody would believe what a sum they cost Sir Thomas every year, to say nothing of what I do for them.”

“Very true, sister, as you say. But, poor things! they cannot help it; and it makes very little difference to Sir Thomas.”

Fanny, meanwhile, speaking only when she could not help it, was earnestly trying to understand what Mr. and Miss Crawford were at. There was everything in the world against their being serious. How could she have excited serious attachment in such a worldly man? And how could his sister, with all her cynical notions of matrimony, encourage him?

She had quite convinced herself of this before Sir Thomas and Mr. Crawford joined them. The difficulty was in maintaining the conviction after Mr. Crawford was in the room. For he looked at her in a way she did not know how to interpret. In any other man it would have meant something very earnest. But this he might express towards her cousins and fifty other women.

She thought he was wishing to speak to her unheard by the rest—trying for it the whole evening at intervals, whenever Sir Thomas was out of the room, or at all engaged with Mrs. Norris. And she carefully refused him every opportunity.

Indeed, in her conflicted mind, the spectre of a raven-haired gentleman stood up in the corner every time she dared to consider otherwise. . . .

At last Mr. Crawford began to talk of going away. But Fanny’s relief was tarnished by his turning to her the next moment, and saying, “Have you nothing to send to Mary? No answer to her note? She will be disappointed if she receives nothing from you. Pray write to her, if it be only a line.”

“Oh yes! certainly,” cried Fanny, rising in a haste of embarrassment, of wanting to get away. “I will write directly.”

She went to the writing table, and prepared her materials without knowing what in the world to say. She had read Miss Crawford’s note only once. How to reply to anything so imperfectly understood was most distressing. But, something must be written. And wishing only to give an impression of misunderstanding their intent, she wrote thus, trembling—