“I had almost forgot (it was Edmund’s fault: he gets into my head more than does me good) one very material thing I had to say from Henry and myself—I mean about our taking you back into Northamptonshire. My dear little creature, do not stay at Portsmouth to lose your pretty looks and to be overrun by tedious ancient mummies. Those vile sea-breezes are the ruin of beauty and health. My poor aunt always felt affected if within ten miles of the sea, which the Admiral of course never believed, but I know it was so—or at least I did, while I was still alive. I am at your service and Henry’s, at an hour’s notice. I should like the scheme, and we would make a little circuit, and shew you Everingham in our way (again, fear not, sweet! no biting shall ever be endeavoured in your vicinity), and perhaps you would not mind passing through London, and seeing the inside of St. George’s, Hanover Square. Only keep your cousin Edmund from me at such a time: I should not like to be tempted. What a long letter! one word more. Henry, I find, has some idea of going into Norfolk again upon some business that you approve; but this cannot possibly be permitted before the middle of next week; he cannot be spared till after the 14th, for we have a party that evening. The value of a man like Henry, on such an occasion, is priceless, truly inestimable. He will see the Rushworths, which I am not sorry for—having a little curiosity, and so I think has he—though he will not acknowledge it.”

Fanny read the letter eagerly and deliberately. It supplied matter for much reflection, and greater suspense than ever. The only certainty to be drawn from it was, that nothing decisive had yet taken place. Edmund had not yet spoken.

How Miss Crawford really felt, or how she meant to act, whether his importance to her had changed, were subjects for endless and fruitless conjecture, for days on end. The most persistent idea was that Miss Crawford, after proving herself cooled by a return to London habits, would yet prove herself in the end too much attached to him to give him up. She would try to be more ambitious than her heart would allow. She would hesitate, she would tease, she would condition, she would require a great deal, but she would finally accept.

This was Fanny’s most frequent expectation. A house in town—that, she thought, must be impossible. Yet there was no saying what Miss Crawford might not ask. The prospect for her cousin grew worse and worse.