“I expect” Lady Bertram continued, “you will have a theatre at your house in Norfolk, when you are settled there.”

“Do you, ma’am?” cried he, with quickness. “No, no, that will never be. Your ladyship is quite mistaken. No theatre at Everingham!” And he looked at Fanny with an expressive smile, which evidently meant, “That lady will never allow a theatre at Everingham.”

Edmund saw it all, and saw Fanny so determined not to see it.

The subject of reading aloud was further discussed. The two young men were the only talkers, and held a discourse on a number of engaging subjects. Fanny was listening again with great entertainment. But now and then her eyes glanced in the corners, at the shadows, prompted by something—a sensation of being watched by familiar, beloved, ancient eyes. . . . She even glanced at Lady Bertram to see if that someone whom she had grown to expect as a regular fixture for some months now, was sitting at her ladyship’s side. But, no—

“Even in my profession,” Edmund was saying, with a smile, “how little the art of reading has been studied!” And he mentioned the importance of fine oratorical delivery.

Edmund had already gone through the service once since his ordination; and upon this being understood, he had a variety of questions from Crawford—genuine questions without any banter or levity which Edmund knew to be most offensive to Fanny. Edmund was more and more pleased. This would be the way to Fanny’s heart.

“Our liturgy,” observed Crawford, “has beauties, which not even a careless, slovenly style of reading can destroy; but it has also redundancies and repetitions which require good reading not to be felt. For myself, at least, I must confess being not always so attentive as I ought to be” (here was a glance at Fanny); “that nineteen times out of twenty I am thinking how such a prayer ought to be read, and longing to have it to read myself. Did you speak?” stepping eagerly to Fanny, and addressing her in a softened voice; and upon her saying “No,” he added, “Are you sure you did not speak? I saw your lips move. I fancied you might be going to tell me I ought to be more attentive, and not allow my thoughts to wander. Are not you going to tell me so?”

“No, indeed, you know your duty too well for me to—even supposing—”

She stopt, felt herself getting into a puzzle, and could not be prevailed on to add another word. He returned to his former station, and went on.

“A sermon, well delivered, is more uncommon than prayers well read. The preacher who can touch and affect such an heterogeneous mass of hearers—I should like to be such a man.”

Edmund laughed.