“As to your foolishness and awkwardness, my dear Fanny, believe me, you never have a shadow of either, but in using the words so improperly. There is no reason in the world why you should not be important where you are known. You have good sense, a sweet temper, and a grateful heart. I do not know any better qualifications for a friend and companion, especially one as gentle-toothed as you.”

“You are too kind,” said Fanny, colouring at such praise; “how shall I ever thank you as I ought, for thinking so well of me? Oh! cousin, if I am to go away, I shall remember your goodness to the last moment of my life. Even as my aunt is tearing me into shreds, I will continue to think well and gloriously of you.”

“Why, indeed, Fanny, I should hope to be remembered at such a distance as the White House, but I beg you, without the sanguinity. You speak as if you were going two hundred miles off instead of only across the park. But you will belong to us almost as much as ever. The two families will be meeting every day in the year. The only difference will be that, living with your aunt, you will necessarily be brought forward as you ought to be. Here there are too many whom you can hide behind; but with her you will be forced to speak for yourself.”

“Rather you mean I will be forced to forage the countryside. Oh! Do not say so.”

“I must say it, and say it with pleasure. No! That is—not the countryside! Mrs. Norris is much better fitted than my mother for having the charge of you now. Except for those few nights a month, she is of a temper to do a great deal for anybody she really interests herself about, and she will force you to do justice to your natural powers.”

“She will corner me one of those few nights and take my head right off! Surely there’s some truth to the rumors as to what really happened to poor Mr. Norris!”

“Oh, fie, cousin! she’ll do no such thing. She takes only field and garden vermin of the lesser variety, no more. Besides, you wear the silver Lord’s cross that I’ve given you, to ensure safety.”

Fanny sighed, thinking how little good it did to the departed Mr. Norris, who was undoubtedly vermined, to put it delicately, despite being surrounded as he was with all things Godly, and said, “I cannot see things as you do; but I ought to believe you to be right rather than myself, and I am very much obliged to you for trying to reconcile me to what must be. If I could suppose my aunt really to care for me, it would be delightful to feel myself of consequence to anybody. Here, I know, I am of none, and yet I love the place so well.”