There was indeed so deep a blush over Fanny’s face at that moment, as might warrant strong suspicion in a predisposed mind.
“Excellent creature! I will not tease you. Everything shall take its course. But dear Fanny, you must allow that you were not so absolutely unprepared to have the question asked as your cousin fancies. It is not possible, but that you must have had some thoughts on the subject, some surmises as to what might be. You must have seen that he was trying to please you, by every attention in his power. Was not he devoted to you at the ball? And then before the ball, the necklace! Oh! you received it just as it was meant. You were as conscious as heart could desire. I remember it perfectly.”
“Do you mean then that your brother knew of the necklace beforehand? Oh! Miss Crawford, that was not fair.”
“Knew of it! it was his own doing entirely, his own thought. I am ashamed to say, that it had never entered my head; but I was delighted to act on his proposal, for both your sakes.”
“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—but not at first—I was as unsuspicious of it at first!—indeed, indeed I was. It is as true as that I sit here. And had I had an idea of it, nothing should have induced me to accept the necklace. As to your brother’s behavior, certainly I was sensible of a particularity, I had been sensible of it some little time, perhaps two or three weeks, but then I considered it as meaning nothing, I put it down as simply being his way, and was as far from supposing as from wishing him to have any serious thoughts of me. 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 could not but see that Mr. Crawford allowed himself in gallantries which did mean nothing.”
“Ah! I cannot deny it. He has now and then been a sad flirt, and cared very little for the havoc he might be making in young ladies’ affections. I have often scolded him for it, but it is his only fault; and there is this to be said, that very few young ladies have any affections worth caring for. And then, Fanny, the glory of fixing one who has been shot at by so many, of having it in one’s power to pay off the debts of one’s sex! Oh, I am sure it is not in woman’s nature to refuse such a triumph.”
Fanny shook her head. “I cannot think well of a man who sports with any woman’s feelings; and there may often be a great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of.”
“I do not defend him. I leave him entirely to your mercy; and when he has got you at Everingham, I do not care how much you lecture him. But this I will say, that 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 firmly 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.”
Fanny could not avoid a faint smile, but had nothing to say.
“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. How very, very kind of him!”
“I know he must have exerted himself very much, for I know the parties he had to move. The Admiral hates trouble, and scorns asking favors; and there are so many young men’s claims to be attended to in the same way, that a friendship and energy, not very determined, is easily put by. What a happy creature William must be! I wish we could see him.”