“I cannot imagine Henry ever to have been happier,” continued Mary presently, “than when he had succeeded in getting your brother’s commission.”

She had made a sure push at Fanny’s feelings here.

“Oh! Yes, I dare say, a rare and unusual kindness.”

“I know he must have exerted himself very much. What a happy creature William must be! I wish we could see him.”

Poor Fanny’s mind was thrown into the most distressing of all its varieties. The recollection of what had been done for William was always the most powerful disturber of every decision against Mr. Crawford.

But Mary suddenly straightened. “Well! I should like to sit talking with you here all day, but we must not forget the ladies below, and so good-bye, my dear, my amiable, my excellent Fanny, I must take leave of you here—longing for a happy reunion under better circumstances. Again—forget the past! Think, only—Henry!”

Mary attempted an embrace, but Fanny threw a sidelong glance at the fireplace poker—at which Mary laughed genuinely.

“I shall see your cousin in town: he talks of being there tolerably soon; and Sir Thomas, in the course of the spring; and your eldest cousin, and the Rushworths, and Julia—all but you. Fanny, you must write to me. And you must often call on Mrs. Grant, and make up for my being gone.”

Fanny would rather not have been asked, but it was impossible for her to refuse the correspondence. Besides, there was gratitude for their tête-à-tête being so much less painful than it could have been.

And whom had she to thank? Lord Eastwind! Fanny was amazed, and, despite herself, gratified that he was still among them, somehow; might appear again at a moment’s notice. . . .

And yet—I am mad to consider this! To want him here?

She forcibly made herself change the direction of her thoughts. It was over, and she had escaped without reproaches and without detection. Her deepest secret was still her own. And while that was the case, she thought she could resign herself to almost everything. Let Miss Crawford continue to think that Henry had Lord Eastwind rather than Edmund for his competition (though on account of Lord Eastwind, again, Fanny’s heart skipped a beat momentarily).

In the evening there was another parting. Henry Crawford came and sat some time with them. Her heart was softened for a while towards him, because he really seemed to feel. Quite unlike his usual self, he scarcely said anything. He was evidently oppressed, and Fanny must grieve for him—oh, poor Fanny! How many must she now grieve for?—though hoping she might never see him again till he were the husband of some other woman.