“I will not say,” replied Fanny, “that I was not half afraid at the time of its being so, for there was something in your look that frightened me for another reason than usual—but not at first. And had I any idea of it, nothing should have induced me to accept the necklace. As to your brother’s behaviour, certainly I was sensible of a particularity. But then I considered it as meaning nothing, simply being his flippant way. I had not, Miss Crawford, been an inattentive observer of what was passing between him and some part of this family in the summer and autumn. I was quiet, but I was not blind. I saw what Mr. Crawford allowed himself in meaningless gallantries.”

“Ah! I cannot deny it. And yes, Fanny, we all know how well you see things—it is part of your charm to those of us who can see also. He has been a sad flirt. I have often scolded him for it, but it is his only fault; and there is this to be said—very few young ladies have any affections worth caring for.”

Fanny shook her head. “I cannot think well of a man who sports with any woman’s feelings. There is often a great deal more suffered than a bystander can guess.”

“I do not defend him. I leave him entirely to your mercy, and when he has got you at Everingham, you may lecture him. But his fault, the liking to make girls a little in love with him, is not half so dangerous to a wife’s happiness as a tendency to fall in love himself, which he has never been addicted to. And I do seriously and truly believe that he is attached to you in a way that he never was to any woman before; that he loves you with all his heart, and will love you as nearly for ever as possible. If any man ever loved a woman for ever, I think Henry will do as much for you.”

Another truly loves me for ever. . . .

Fanny could not avoid a faint smile, but had nothing to say.

For once Mary noticed. “Ah Fanny, I see! You are thinking now of your ancient pharaoh, your haunting lover out of the mists of time. Oh yes, I know all that, I have seen it over these many fortnights. Those of us who are dark can recognize and know one another—as you may well imagine. But Fanny, he is laughable—for he is the past. Forsake Egypt once and for all. He is but a ghost inhabiting a desiccated body. Not half as potent as a vampire, nor half as alive. Your life is yours now, and you may chuse again, safely. Henry is thus at your disposal. In this life.”

But Fanny held herself back and again said nothing.