They were no sooner in the hall than all restraint of countenance was over on Miss Crawford’s side. She immediately shook her head at Fanny with arch, yet affectionate reproach, and took her hand. She said nothing, however, but, “Sad, sad girl! No, I shall not bite! How uncivil of me that would be, how many times must I reassure? But I do not know when I shall have done scolding you.”

Miss Crawford had discretion enough to reserve the rest of the discussion till they might be alone. Fanny naturally turned upstairs, and took her guest to the apartment which was now always fit for comfortable use. Opening the door, she had a feeling that she was in for a very distressing scene. But the evil ready to burst on her was at least delayed by the sudden change in Miss Crawford’s ideas; by the strong effect on her mind which the finding herself in the East room again produced.

“Ha!” she cried, with instant animation, “am I here again? The East room! Once only was I in this room before!”

She stopped to look about her, and seemingly to recollect, then added, “Once only before. Do you remember it? I came to rehearse. Your cousin came too; and we had a rehearsal. You were our audience and prompter. A delightful rehearsal. I shall never forget it.”

Nether will I, thought Fanny. You told me to dance a reel and I threatened you with a fireplace implement. Out loud she said, “I remember we had an interesting exchange at the end.”

Miss Crawford laughed, and chose to ignore the meaning.

“Here we were, just in this part of the room: here was your cousin, here was I, here were the chairs. Oh! why will such things ever pass away?”

Because I told you to get out?

Happily for her companion, she wanted no answer. Her mind was entirely self-engrossed. She was in a reverie of sweet selective remembrances.

“The scene we were rehearsing was so very remarkable! The subject of it so very—very—what shall I say? He was to be describing and recommending matrimony to me. It was very curious, that we should have such a scene to play! I never knew such exquisite happiness in any other than that acting week. His sturdy spirit to bend as it did! Oh! it was sweet beyond expression.”

“If I recall,” said Fanny, “his spirit was not bent but rather snared.”

“Ah, silly Fanny! if I had wanted to snare him I had but to blink. I wanted much more. But alas, that very evening destroyed it all and brought your most unwelcome uncle. Poor Sir Thomas, who was glad to see you? Yet, do not imagine I would now speak disrespectfully of Sir Thomas, though I certainly did hate him for many a week.”

“Hate comes easiest to such as yourself,” said Fanny.