Four fine mornings successively were spent in this manner, in shewing the Crawfords the country. Everything was gaiety and good-humour, the heat only a minor inconvenience—till the fourth day, when the happiness of one of the party was exceedingly clouded. Miss Bertram was the one. Edmund and Julia were invited to dine at the Parsonage, and she was excluded. It was meant and done by Mrs. Grant, with perfect good-humour, on Mr. Rushworth’s account, who was partly expected at the Park that day; but it was felt as a very grievous injury, and her good manners were severely taxed to conceal her vexation and anger till she reached home. As Mr. Rushworth did not come, due to some beastly indisposition, the injury was increased, and she had not even the relief of shewing her power over him; she could only be sullen to her mother, aunt, and cousin, and throw as great a gloom as possible over their dinner and dessert.

Between ten and eleven Edmund and Julia walked into the drawing-room, fresh with the evening air, glowing and cheerful, the very reverse of what they found in the three ladies sitting there, for Maria would scarcely raise her eyes from her book, and Lady Bertram was half-asleep over a roll of papyrus. Even Mrs. Norris, discomposed by her niece’s ill-humour, asked one or two questions about the dinner, and then said no more. For a few minutes the brother and sister were too eager in their praise of the night and their remarks on the stars, to think beyond themselves. But when the first pause came, Edmund, looking around, said, “But where is Fanny? Is she gone to bed?”

“No, not that I know of,” replied Mrs. Norris with a stifled growl; “she was here a moment ago.”

Fanny’s own gentle voice speaking from the other end of the room told them that she was on the sofa. Mrs. Norris began scolding.

“That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to be idling away all the evening upon a sofa. Why cannot you come and sit here, and employ yourself as we do? If you have no work of your own, I can supply you from the poor basket. There is all the new faience and unsorted tomb items from that small crate marked “Luxor 21,” and I dare say even non-Egyptian calico, that was bought last week, not touched yet. I am sure I almost broke my back by cutting it out after I nigh-destroyed my fingers on the brittle pottery. You should learn to think of other people; and, take my word for it, it is a shocking trick for a young person to be always lolling upon a sofa.”