By one of the suffering party within they were expected with such impatience as she had never known before. Fanny had scarcely passed the solemn-looking servants, when Lady Bertram came from the drawing-room to meet her; came with no indolent step; and falling on her neck, said, “Dear Fanny! now I shall be comfortable.”

Chapter XLVII

It had been a miserable party, each of the three believing themselves most miserable. Mrs. Norris, however, as most attached to Maria, was really the greatest sufferer. Maria was her first favourite, the dearest of all. The match had been her own contriving—as she had been wont with such pride of heart to feel and say—and this conclusion of it almost overpowered her.

Mrs. Norris was an altered creature, quieted, stupefied, indifferent to everything that passed, yapping only upon the rarest occasion. Being left with her sister and nephew, and with all the house under her care, had been an advantage entirely thrown away. She had been unable to direct or dictate, or even fancy herself useful. Everything was neglected. Only the shrubbery vermin took a decidedly hard punishment in those particularly grim days.

When really touched by affliction, her active powers had been all benumbed; and neither Lady Bertram nor Tom had received from her the smallest attempt at support. She had done no more for them than they had done for each other. They had been all solitary, helpless, and forlorn alike. And now the arrival of the others only established her superiority in wretchedness. Her companions were relieved, but there was no good for her.

Edmund was almost as welcome to his brother as Fanny to her aunt. But Mrs. Norris, instead of having comfort from either, was but the more irritated by the sight of the person whom, in the blindness of her anger, she could have charged as the daemon of the piece. Had Fanny accepted Mr. Crawford this could not have happened.

Susan too was a grievance. She had not spirits to notice her in more than a few repulsive looks, but she felt her as a spy, an intruder, an indigent niece, and everything most odious.

By her other aunt, Susan was received with quiet kindness. Lady Bertram could not give her much time, or many words, but she felt her, as Fanny’s sister, to have a claim at Mansfield, and was ready to kiss and like her. Susan was more than satisfied, for she came perfectly aware that nothing but ill-humour was to be expected from aunt Norris; and was so provided with happiness—so strong in that best of blessings, an escape from many certain evils—that she could have stood against a great deal more indifference than she met with from the others.