Miss Bertram did indeed look happy, her eyes were sparkling with pleasure, and she was speaking with great animation, for Julia and her partner, Mr. Crawford, were close to her; they were all in a cluster together. How she had looked before, Fanny could not recollect, for she had been dancing with Edmund herself, and had not thought about her.
Mrs. Norris continued, ” It is quite delightful, ma’am, to see young people so properly happy, so well suited, and so much the thing! I cannot but think of dear Sir Thomas’s delight. And what do you say, ma’am, to the chance of another match? Mr. Rushworth has set a good example, and such things are very catching.”
Mrs. Rushworth, who saw nothing but her son, was quite at a loss. “The couple above, ma’am. Do you see no symptoms there?”
“Oh! dear—Miss Julia and Mr. Crawford. Yes, indeed, a very pretty match. What is his property?”
“Four thousand a year.”
“Very well.—Those who have not more, must be satisfied with what they have.—Four thousand a year is a pretty estate, and he seems a very genteel, steady young man, so I hope Miss Julia will be very happy.”
“It is not a settled thing, ma’am, yet.—We only speak of it among friends. But I have very little doubt it will be.—He is growing extremely particular in his attentions.”
Fanny could listen no farther. Listening and wondering were all suspended for a time, for Mr. Bertram was in the room again, and though feeling it would be a great honor to be asked by him, she thought it must happen. He came towards their little circle; but instead of asking her to dance, drew a chair near her, and gave her an account of the present state of a sick horse, and the opinion of the groom, from whom he had just parted. Fanny found that it was not to be, and in the modesty of her nature immediately felt that she had been unreasonable in expecting it. When he had told of his horse, he took a newspaper from the table, and looking over it said in a languid way, “If you want to dance, Fanny, I will stand up with you.”—With more than equal civility the offer was declined;—she did not wish to dance.—”I am glad of it,” said he in a much brisker tone, and throwing down the newspaper again—”for I am tired to death. I only wonder how the good people can keep it up so long.—They had need be all in love, to find any amusement in such folly—and so they are, I fancy.—If you look at them, you may see they are so many couple of lovers—all but Yates and Mrs. Grant—and, between ourselves, she, poor woman! must want a lover as much as any one of them. A desperate dull life hers must be with the doctor,” making a sly face as he spoke towards the chair of the latter, who proving, however, to be close at his elbow, made so instantaneous a change of expression and subject necessary, as Fanny, in spite of everything, could hardly help laughing at.—”A strange business this in America, Dr. Grant!—What is your opinion?—I always come to you to know what I am to think of public matters.”
“My dear Tom,” cried his aunt soon afterwards, “as you are not dancing, I dare say you will have no objection to join us in a rubber; shall you?”—then, leaving her seat, and coming to him to enforce the proposal, added in a whisper—”We want to make a table for Mrs. Rushworth, you know.—Your mother is quite anxious about it, but cannot very well spare time to sit down herself, because of her fringe. Now, you and I and Dr. Grant will just do; and though we play but half-crowns, you know you may bet half guineas with him.”
“I should be most happy,” replied he aloud, and jumping up with alacrity, “it would give me the greatest pleasure—but that I am this moment going to dance. Come, Fanny,”—taking her hand—”do not be dawdling any longer, or the dance will be over.”
Fanny was led off very willingly, though it was impossible for her to feel much gratitude towards her cousin, or distinguish, as he certainly did, between the selfishness of another person and his own.