Sir Thomas came towards the table where she sat in trembling wretchedness, and with cold sternness, said, “It is of no use, I perceive, to talk to you. We had better put an end to this most mortifying conference. Mr. Crawford must not be kept waiting. I will, therefore, only add that you have disappointed every expectation I had formed. For I had, Fanny, formed a very favourable opinion of you from the period of my return to England. I had thought you free from willfulness of temper, self-conceit, and every tendency to that independence of spirit which prevails so much in modern days, and which in young women[27] is offensive and disgusting beyond all common offence. But you have now shewn me that you can be willful and perverse; that you can and will decide for yourself, without any consideration or deference for those who have surely some right to guide you. You have shewn yourself very different from anything I had imagined. The advantage or disadvantage of your family never had a moment’s share in your thoughts on this occasion. How they might be benefited, is nothing to you. You think only of yourself, and because you do not feel for Mr. Crawford the tendre imagined to be necessary for happiness, you resolve to refuse him at once, without any time for cool consideration. In a wild fit of folly you throw away such an opportunity of being settled in life, as will, probably, never occur to you again. Fanny, you may live eighteen years longer in the world without being addressed by a man of half Mr. Crawford’s estate, or a tenth part of his merits! Gladly would I have bestowed either of my own daughters on him. Maria is nobly married; but had Mr. Crawford sought Julia’s hand, I should have given it to him more gladly than I gave Maria’s to Mr. Rushworth.”

After half a moment’s pause: “And I should have been very much surprised had either of my daughters, on receiving even half as eligible a proposal of marriage, immediately and peremptorily, and without any consultation, put a decided negative on it. I should have been surprised and hurt by such a gross violation of duty and respect. You are not to be judged by the same rule. You do not owe me the duty of a child. But, Fanny, if your heart can acquit you of ingratitude—”

He ceased. Fanny was by this time crying so bitterly that, angry as he was, he would not press farther. Her heart was almost broken by such a picture of what she appeared to him; by such heavy, rising accusations! Self-willed, obstinate, selfish, and ungrateful. He thought her all this. She had deceived his expectations; she had lost his good opinion. What was to become of her?

“I am very sorry,” said she inarticulately, through her tears, “I am very sorry indeed.”