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Chapter Text

It was evident that they had been spending their time pleasantly, and were not aware of the length of their absence.
— Mansfield Park, Chapter 10

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‘There, Mr. Bertram, you were at last vindicated!’ cried Miss Crawford with an air of exuberant mockery as soon as they reached a sidegate that led back into the park. ‘We find ourselves too soon before an exit. Your inflexible opinion must at last prevail.’

‘My inflexible opinion is sustained by facts, and need not much of an effort to prevail,’ said Edmund plainly, closing their bantering on the woods’ dimensions.

‘Oh, take your victory, but do not gloat over my misery! It would be very uncourteous, not to say wicked, to kick somebody when they’re already down.’

The gentleman took mercy on the lady’s misfortune and surrendered by means of a conciliatory smile, which must have been her consolation, for she answered with a ready look of approbation. Miss Crawford, triumphant in her defeat, settled the dispute with a tempting proposition.

‘But indeed, I cannot say I’m unpleased with our little discovery. Shall we refuse to go further, when here we have a sweet gate inviting us to cross it?’

‘I suppose there can be no harm in it. Fanny must not mind being alone for a little while…’

‘I cannot imagine why us making a small circuit could possibly be disagreeable to Miss Price! I’d be even inclined to say she’ll be glad to have a moment to herself. After all this loitering and yawning after pictures of great belles, she’ll be all relief in having no one jabbering on her ears at last!’

If Mr. Bertram’s hazarded to guess his cousin’s feelings on the matter, as he hesitantly glanced in the direction of where she was to be found, his companion readily vouched for Miss Price’s indifference to their removal. The following words, pronounced with a charming smile, put an end to his dithering.

‘We shan’t take long anyway.’

It seldom happens that righteousness prevails over pleasantness, for doing what’s right is hardly ever pleasant. It is perhaps more frequent when the arbiter is the possessor of good principles; but when the inducement of the occasion, however improper, is aligned with the inclination of one’s own heart, it becomes so much easier to succumb, and the graver offence is given by those whom ought to judge right.

Edmund Bertram acquiesced and the barrier to joyfulness was transposed. A little walk showed them to that same avenue that had once been discussed at dinner shortly after Tom’s departure, and that had intrigued Fanny so. He meditated on the pleasure that such a sight would have supplied to her, but as that notion wasn’t so imposing as to engross his attention, it can be said that the idea of retrieving her, which was such a natural progression of his first thought, was lost before it could be decidedly found.

Other kind of worries, conjectures and feelings, for their novelty and agreeableness, had now the supremacy. They were of course induced by those looks and laughs that the lady provided and the season favoured, and that could not but operate its effects: Mr. Bertram ceased to think at all of Miss Price. The impression of her must undoubtedly have been on the back of his mind at some point; it must have occupied some dark corner where her name was absent but her person was somehow distinguishable, or he wouldn’t have expressed such surprise on having a walking companion that bore that sort of exercise with so much energy. Miss Crawford was quite entertained by his entreaties to slacken the pace, that she considered unnecessary; but as his concern for her welfare was extremely promising, she made every allowance that she could for such behaviour and did not oppose the plan of sitting down for a few minutes.

Little was talked of besides the beauty of the spot at first, the shady tree providing comfort and inviting to inconsequential conversation. Mr. Bertram, wishing to be attentive, started to make all the usual enquiries after her late employments. To this, she replied with self-importance, ‘I am enjoying the country-side as much as it can be enjoyed. I suppose it is appropriate for the time-being, for my sister’s darling object is to stretch my stay and I have little to do other than entertaining her hopes.’

‘You do not count on staying long, then?’ he asked with a hint of regret.

‘I collect long enough to wear you all out,’ said she laughingly, softening the blow with that sort of wittiness that can be handled to one’s advantage. ‘I’m quite convinced that by the time I leave, you’ll consensually find me detestable for having imposed on you for so long, though you may not declare it. My departure shall be very properly cried out in public and wholeheartedly celebrated behind closed doors, and two weeks gone by no one will remember there ever was a Mary Crawford.’

Edmund was too sincere to amuse her and too inept for jest, and the compliment that was required was left unpaid.

‘But you are planning to stay at least for the summer, I take?’

‘Oh, as for deadlines and dates, I must not undertake to oblige you, or I’d risk lying, which I’d be extremely sorry to do.’

He grew quiet and pensive, and his expression of dejection for her partying was possibly the best compliment that was within his reach to pay. Miss Crawford was pleased enough.

‘If such is the state of affairs,’ spoke he at last, ‘if you are indeed so apprehensive as I sense you are, I can only regret that Mansfield hasn’t provided enough diversions as to engage your interest. We certainly haven’t much variety in comparison to the city, and our amusements are of a more discreet kind; but if you’d endeavour to adapt to our style of living, I dare say you’ll end up finding it far more enjoyable than you anticipate.’

‘You are not doing me justice, Mr. Bertram,’ retorted Miss Crawford provocatively. ‘I never said I was apprehensive, nor that I find some deficiency in your society. Indeed,’ (with a beguiling smile) ‘Mansfield grows on me each day.’

Visibly content, Edmund exclaimed, ‘It’s satisfying to hear it, for it reflects highly on Mrs. and Dr. Grant. No doubt they endeavoured to have you well-settled, and sought every means to secure your comfort. Such tender care for you and your brother must gratify you exceedingly!’

For a moment, Mary was too thoughtful to produce an answer. She was dwelling on those little faults that had baffled her every time the second son spoke so: he did not charm her with gallantry, he did not engage in any foolish talk; he could hardly be called an agreeable man, for he did not try to please. Everything about Edmund Bertram was serious and virtuous, and he could never declare what he did not feel or believe in, even if only in the course of a good-humoured bantering. Never had she met with such men and never had she been thus surprised on finding such steadiness of character, and she reflected gravely on two brothers, raised in the same household, instructed by the same people and responding to the same authority, and with such dissimilar dispositions. She fancied it the outcome of having mingled with the world, an advantage attributed to the oldest Mr. Bertram and that must have lacked the youngest. But alas! she came to a striking discovery: whilst the first was more delightful in his lively manners, his irreverence and his flattery, she found the latter’s integrity, for its singularity, infinitely more enticing, and she felt that she could almost forgive him for not being a first-born.

‘I can only hope you do not miss terribly the friends you left behind,’ was his observation when an uncomfortable silence lingered.

Apparently awaking from her reverie, but quickly recollecting herself, Miss Crawford cried with great spirit, ‘Oh, as for that, I can only believe them too busy to think of me, and thus I shall be too busy to think of them. Foolish creatures! They hardly ever write, and if by chance two lines happen to reach me, it is only to make me grieve for not taking part on their sublime engagements.’

‘It seems to me that you are in dire need of new friends, Miss Crawford.’

‘I find no inadequacy in the old,’ she observed with condescension.

‘Except, perhaps, that individualism you speak of, that often engenders selfishness. I see no utility in such connections, nor have much tolerance for inconstancy. A relation that is restored according to seasons and moods is an estrangement in itself.’

‘Estrangement!’ Miss Crawford jeered. ‘A simple retard in news, an estrangement!’

‘I have no better word for it,’ Edmund calmly affirmed. ‘There can be no intimacy for those who rarely interact, and hence no rational motive to call them close acquaintances.’

‘If it be so, if the business relies on the frequency that the quill is taken, no one is ever to have a friend in the world.’

‘I’m afraid that is more a sketch than an observation. The shortage of reply from somebody may occur at times, but it is not, I hope, as frequent as to be considered a general tendency!’

‘Nor should it deserve my gracious forgiveness when it does occur, you think?’ she ventured to guess with a roguish lift of an eyebrow.

‘No, it should not,’ Edmund replied with a serious smile. ‘Not if the exception becomes a habit, for it reflects very poorly on the correspondent. It exposes their lack of affection; those who write little, feel little.’

‘And what’ (her dark eyes sparkling with amusement) ‘would be the just punishment for such obnoxious behaviour?’

‘To cut ties immediately.’

‘Leniency itself!’

‘You might find me severe. I’m rather convinced that there are matters we ought to think seriously of. The way one conducts himself is one of them.’

After a short instant of cogitation, Miss Crawford returned with fresh vigour, ‘I do not regard the issue nearly as radically as you do, but I acknowledge the soundness of your arguments. Mrs. Fraser and Lady Stornaway must indeed do better when it comes to writing! If you contrive to reform them, I shall be forever indebted to you!’

‘Why must I be in charge of such an office?’

‘Why, you are to be a clergyman, are you not? With what pleasure will you reprimand those gone astray?’

‘You tease me, Miss Crawford! Would I believe you to think evil, I would weave a few comments on your spectacular thesis.’

‘Oh, no! similarly to you, I never joke about serious subjects,’ she replied with an arch smile. ‘Come, Mr. Bertram! It shall be as good an exercise as any. Do endeavour to chastise them; I entreat you!’

‘If that is indeed your take on the church, I regret to inform you that you’ve very much mistaken. The duty of the clergy is merely to inform and advise; not to force a conduct upon any soul. Whether someone is redeemed depends on their determination alone.’ Then, noticing her quizzical smile, ‘And hereby you see how much it displeases me to set you straight on the matter.’

‘Now don’t tell me you abhor the practice! If the service fatigues you now, what shall I think of the services you are yet to officiate? Unless,’ looking archly, ‘you’re rethinking your choice of a profession…’

‘I assure you that nothing could be further from the truth. The choice was made long ago and the future is firmly fixed.’

This notion must have been felt with mortification by Miss Crawford, for she rapidly turned upon more charming prospects.

‘Your eldest sister may, I think, safely claim it as well. Her future is fixed; her estate is to be as fair and large as her endowments are deserving; her new mother, agreeably private; and her devotee, a meek gentleman.’

‘Devotee? Is that what they are calling grooms now?’

‘Does the term shock you? I speak only with the liberty that Miss Bertram would surely grant me to talk of her engagement, for,’ with a smile, ‘Mr. Rushworth is very well deserving of the highest romantic epithet that is within my tenderness’ reach to provide. Do not you think so?’

It was a too tricky a question to be answered impartially by artless Edmund. In order not to deceit, nor betray his own conscience, he vaguely replied, ‘Unfortunately, I have not reflected nearly enough on the appropriateness of romantic epithets as to decide upon one so decidedly as you wish me to. A lady’s taste ought perhaps to be consulted on the matter.’

‘Shall you not risk a thought?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘Well, it is of no consequence. I am satisfied with my clever selection, it evokes all the right feelings on the occasion, and the quality of the praise can only be heightened by the bride herself… Although,’ fixing her eyes upon her companion, ‘I take her relatives feel it almost as delicately as herself (in spite of incapable of wording their joy) and will in time esteem the man on who Miss Bertram’s happiness depends.’

Slightly disconcerted, he stated, ‘My sister’s engagement shall be a motive of contentment to all those who care for her happiness and wish to see her respectably settled, and in gaining a brother I can only rejoice.’

‘Very true; you see how a wedding always promotes more than one person’s joy. It is an occasion that must grant universal pleasure. I see you smiling, but you forget the self-serving trick of the business, for it is generally expected that when a wedding is officiated, others will follow.’

‘I know little of general expectations or presumed selfish inclinations, but I can hardly believe the institution of marriage particularly oriented to set trends...’

‘Oh, but it is! For evidently, a notion must be revisited once it enters one’s head, and the more frequent it is talked of, the more ideal it tends to be found. Besides,’ (with an earnest look) ‘there are certain circumstances that may favour the prospective event.’

‘To tell you the truth, I am so in the dark about worldly matters that I cannot advance a single one. But perhaps you have a particular situation in mind, Miss Crawford?’

‘Oh, no, indeed! Really, I do not know what you mean!’ cried she. ‘I speak only of those ordinary decisions that everyone is called to make, and the occasion being favourable to reflection, one does not wonder that they should ensue.’

‘I understand you. You allude to the rest of us being exposed to conjectures following Maria’s engagement. But (without dismissing the justice of your reasoning) no widespread expectation must be presently had, because no novelty can nurture it. My situation is unchanged,’ Mr. Bertram had a look of consciousness as he thus spoke, ‘and in regards to my siblings, there’s no reason to expect so phenomenal an alteration any time soon.’

Having keenly felt the weight of his gaze, as auspicious as his words, Mary replied with open, eager pleasure, ‘You may be delivering a very pretty sketch of the state of affairs, but you hastily discard the inclinations that may occasion such an alteration. There are calculations, you know, to be done regarding one’s future — And marriage being one, as the supplying means of occupation and rank, if not of contentment, it shall soon engage the minds of everybody concerned.’

‘And you believe my family no strange to such considerations,’ he finished with a regulated voice that to a cautious observer would surely hint at his general disapproval of such a speech.

‘No family can be. I dare say there’s not a soul in the world as detached from reality as to never wonder about these issues.’

He grew thoughtful, and when disposed to speak again, exposed his reasoning.

‘There are undoubtedly questions that everybody must attend to,’ he carefully began. ‘Income, career and (as you very justly pointed out) matrimony are a few of the sort, and the reflection of what one is to become is unavoidable, whether started by an individual himself or by those responsible for his welfare. That is not to say that I have ever felt pressured. No, Miss Crawford, you misjudge the case: no inducement regarding a profession was ever presented, nor any alliance was ever imposed. We are at liberty to choose, providing that the choices we speak of might be viewed as respectable.’

‘And it is good to thus beware so that you may govern your actions accordingly. But I take your father’s convenience must guide the rest of his children down the same virtuous path,’ added she with a smile.

‘Of marital alliances, you mean?’

‘Of distinction, of course. For the Misses Bertrams, I reckon it must indeed be achieved through marriage. For the gentlemen, through exertion — although they are very often concurrent for ladies.’

‘You suppose marriage an exertion, then?’ Edmund asked with a look which gave away all the seriousness he attributed to the subject.

‘More often than not, I do think it is so. Indeed, I am still yet to meet a wedded couple who constitutes a good example of domestic bliss.’

‘It is the example given at the Admiral’s abode that gives you so strong an impression. Forgive me for speaking so plainly, but I cannot conceive any other reason for a sensible young woman as yourself to feel this disinclined to the state.’

‘The Admiral, bad as he might have been as a husband, is yet worse as an instructor, and I take no lessons from his example. I shall not classify marriage after what his was; but by means of observation, I have perceived misery enough to declare it a too common picture to be disregarded.’

‘But your aunt’s misfortune must have undoubtedly tainted your idea of matrimony, attached as you were to her, or you wouldn’t censure it so conclusively.’

‘Nay, I am not as biased as you so expeditiously declare me!’ she laughed. ‘I see it quite clearly, I assure you. My poor aunt, as good as she was to me, was not entirely without fault. I dare say she was the victim of her own passivity, of her detestable submission to every humiliation without as much as a sigh of protest. It is in part her doing that she lived so miserably. I am sure I should act very different in her position — You simper, but you shall renounce your rebuke when honesty, complete honesty is due; for now you see how little I regulate my opinions by personal disappointments.’

‘Forgive the liberty, I believe you do, Miss Crawford. It cannot be otherwise, for’ (smiling) ‘nobody speaks as warmly about a situation unless it has exerted its influence on one’s beliefs to some degree.’

This was not an easy argument to contest and sneer and mockery were soon retrieved.

‘You are quite unwavering, Mr. Bertram! Pray, are you as adamant about everything as you are about writing letters, taking orders and picking spouses?’

‘As I told you before, I am only adamant about things I find important. I will not contest you for selfish enjoyment, to be sure. I will not trifle with your sentiments… but I feel like speaking my mind on this matter is of the utmost importance.’

The lady, however divisive her opinion might be, was not unpleased with the officious efforts made to counteract her professed prejudice; and having partially taken so provocative a stance as an assessment of his views, gladly spared him the disappointment of thinking her averse to marriage.

‘Oh, save your sermon, Mr. Clergyman!’ said Mary with wit. ‘I took the liberty of speaking with candour of the sample I have collected. That doesn’t mean that I detest or repel the custom. No, rest assured: I do not oppose the scheme; marriage is always propitious.’

A charming expression on a charming countenance can go a long way to induce leniency, particularly when the heart is favoured on the judgement, and Edmund was kept from realising the true fault of such declarations — for, dear reader, when one is determined to approval, no proof of wickedness is ever sufficient to remove an inclination. It is many a time necessary to suffer the nefarious effects of such a neglect to deem it possible. It is in this exact state that our friend found himself in, overpowered by his very first infatuation.

But all reverie must be checked, whether by time (going by infinitely faster to lovers), or whether by circumstances. It was commonly agreed that propriety urged them to return and soon afterwards a face and a name that had long been absent forced their remembrance upon them. Mr. Bertram’s delicate feelings made him comprehend right away the defect of his conduct, though not the extension of the harm. He had forgotten Miss Price. It was wrong, it was inexcusable. Experiencing guilt, he professed the wish to retrieve her and declared that he most surely would have done so, had she not been so tired before, and consoled himself with the thought that she had been left alone for only a little while. Her response was very civil and not at all convincing, and did not cease to worry him until Miss Crawford (with a much gayer mien) made her apologies.

‘I will not ask you to forgive me, my dear Miss Price; what I claim for myself is not your pardon, but quite simply the totality of the blame. It is I that must be charged of imprudence for having disarranged our charming party, and now you will admonish me as you must. But since I have thus come forward, you must oblige me on this one point: do forgive your cousin with all your heart and let us be friends for the rest of the day.’

Edmund hung enamoured over her keen sense of propriety, that showed him all that was amiable in the world, and giving an arm to Fanny to lead her back into the house, felt much more at ease with his infraction. It did not seem so substantial anymore.

Chapter Text

Her cousin was safe on the other side while these words were spoken, and, smiling with all the good-humour of success, she said, ‘Thank you, my dear Fanny, but I and my gown are alive and well, and so good-bye.’
— Mansfield Park, Chapter 10

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‘What a fine view does this knoll supply!’ Miss Bertram declared, showing every sign of high spirits. ‘The property is now fully before us and we shall have a clearer idea of what must be done to improve it. It was indeed a very lucky thought to come hither.’

‘It would be impossible to put our plan in action without it. We have a good command of the situation from hence,’ replied Mr. Crawford with a courteous smile.

No lie or exaggeration of any kind was professed during this exchange: the view from where they were standing was lovely, and the location fit their convenience rather well. Yet, observation soon led Miss Bertram to conclude that the nearby grove of oak trees appeared too disarranged to please the eye. It was not in harmony with the mansion’s grandeur; it was too dense and wild to be thought beautiful, an affront to refinement. It was, in short, to be removed. Here occurred a material divergence: Mr. Crawford felt that the wilderness should remain untouched; any respectable residence must hold free spaces and provide for unconfined employments, and the future mistress of such a place, in particular, ought to settle it as a requisite. This was not readily contradicted by the lady, but she still feared that the vegetation would constitute a too dark an aggregate, that Sotherton would be much unfavoured by the existence of such blackness. Mr. Crawford procured to assure her it was not so, for in his opinion ‘a little obscurity could even be salutary’. To prove his point, he proposed to go directly to the spot, that would surely convince her of its charms.

This, they did, climbing down the knoll with firm resolution. But as a small dirt path broke through the grove, inviting them in, the less visibility was afforded by their position — they were soon too hidden to be spotted from afar. The trees, evermore arched and twisted, provided an agreeable shade, though still permitting the sunlight. All was tranquil and all was fair. The air, the view, the chant of birds, all came together to promote gayness and Miss Bertram allowed it to be a very treasurable addition to Sotherton after all.

‘I was quite sure that once acquainted with such pleasures, you’d change your mind, Miss Bertram,’ Crawford commented.

‘And so it is; natural, raw beauty is undoubtedly alluring. I am only sorry that I should be proven so obstinate by my former opinions… It would have been better, perhaps, if I had given greater credit to the one who were so good as to advise me.’

‘And no doubt that you shall henceforth trust me without reserve, or you’d be making me an exceedingly wretched man.’

With a chuckle, Miss Maria affected an easiness that was far beyond her reach, and replied, ‘The chance of my holding powers over your spirits, as you say, is great, far too great for me to deem it possible. You paint a too prodigious a picture! — But then, you are so accustomed to play with words that you can’t possibly comprehend their weight.’

‘You wrong me, Miss Bertram. I am very well aware of the weight of my words,’ retorted he with a look of meaning. ‘They would never be resorted to if not conveying a fundamental truth.’

‘There, another exaggeration!’ (trying to laugh) ‘But soon you will be led to reason — I will lead you to reason. You’ll end up agreeing that you would be quite miserable if you should govern your emotions according to other people’s wishes and moods, and this, I cannot believe of you. — Your countenance tells me you want to challenge me, but do not take the trouble, if you please.’

‘If you order me so, I certainly shan’t.’

Mr. Crawford’s half-smile unhinged his companion, who really could not understand him; and eager to overcome so unpleasant an impasse, she returned, ‘But you disagree, do not you? You find me prejudiced in my opinions, and if I was unfair, you must have at least the wish to contest them...’

‘Do not fret — I will not attempt to, as I could never be successful. Sentiments are not made to be contested by means of a sensible reasoning, I’m afraid. I can never disarm them as I should wish to do.’

‘Are you a victim of your sentiments very often, then?’ asked Miss Maria in jest, though with a hint of true agitation.

Mr. Crawford smiled within himself at the boldness of such proposition, that (unbeknownst to the lady) had been more accurate than she could have supposed when professing it — although she spoke of sentiments, and he merely of employment. But such sharp inquiry could not be handled by a more furtive person, nor with better abilities than those which were presently required. Henry Crawford was a man of keen intelligence, great cunning and artful loquacity, whom nature had equipped to be a particular favourite with ladies who were quite ready to fancy themselves attached, though he disposed of little tendency to fall in love himself.

‘Would it have happened a single time,’ he said with an appearance of seriousness, ‘it would suffice to supply a lifetime of regret.’

‘Oh, I can hardly consider you a sufferer — a man of your condition, so early knowing liberty and independence, cannot have many disappointments to count.’

‘Early liberty and independence are not always convenient. They open doors which sense would never have us cross, and many a time more appealing than does one good.’ After a meaningful pause, he added, ‘You’d be surprised on hearing of my disappointments, Miss Bertram.’

No answer was given. Miss Maria was too stunned and bewildered to speak. Not that Crawford’s subtle flattery was unwelcome with her — but unused to these sort of attentions as she was, her surprise must grow at the same rate as her satisfaction. She wondered what could have called his attention in the first place, for she was sure that nothing grounded on reason. Her opinions and tastes had not been discussed enough for them to find any similarity. As to her accomplishments, although very unlikely to slight them herself, she could not ascribe them any power of distinguishment; they were by no means inferior, but she still thought them no more singular than those of any other woman of her rank.

One possibility remained to explain so odd an attachment: it must be due, not to the qualities of the admired object, but to the disposition of the admirer. Nevertheless, the soundness of this reasoning was not readily acknowledged. Of his temper, she did not quite know what to make, and to the credit of the lady’s cleverness, let us reveal that she was first inclined to regard his proclaimed suffering as another exaggeration of his. He talked very comfortably of disappointment, but did not seem to have the aptitude to feel it. Further observation didn’t succeed in removing her suspicions, as it didn’t add much information to the knowledge of his character. Nothing material could be perceived other than his chivalry, and as chivalry cannot be quite considered a proof of constancy, it could not justify him in her eyes.

But alas! in spite of all that cleverness and prudence can do to escape danger, the heart always exerts a higher influence. Self-deception, recklessness and vanity worked together to make the lady approve what could not be approved. It was impossible for Maria Bertram, with all her pride and self-importance, to not persuade herself of being admired. She now encouraged her weakness with a reasoning that appeared most sensible to her: he had no inducement to sport with her affections; he would not deceit her! And if all those doubts, clouding her assurance of his merits, happened to intrigue her, she had only to rely on one last assumption: that of him having just now hinted at the eagerness of his feelings with such strength of language that it must convey some truth… For evidently, such a level of eloquence could not have been attained, had sincerity not been engaged.

Happily did Maria come to this conclusion, without having the means to express herself. Yet, her silence could not be more encouraging than any effort she could have possibly made to speak.

‘Well, will you not have the courtesy of addressing my sorrows? Though so very agreeable as a companion, you are not very sympathetic as a consultant, Miss Bertram.’

She smiled her embarrassment, which did not forestall her companion of insisting with her.

‘Shall I venture to tell you?’

‘Pray, don’t! It is a too personal business to be spoken of so freely. Besides, I am surely the last person you would wish to consult with...’

‘I cannot agree with you there. The best adviser is somebody in whom one may completely confide in... I feel that liberty with you.’

Miss Bertram took a moment to rally her spirits before she could reply.

‘I’m flattered by your trust, Mr. Crawford. Unfortunately, it is a too demanding task for me to handle.’

‘Shall I understand that you are to deprive me of your judgement?’

‘Only in that particular matter.’

‘May I ask the inducement of so positive an assertion?’

‘Prudence alone. No harm can be done if no bad advice is given,’ was her justification.

‘You unfoundedly distrust yourself. Your temper and your sensible mind have such weight with me that they must obviate my distress; and your circumstances make it impossible for you to advise me ill.’

Crawford, who was entertained and surprised in equal measure by the lady’s sudden resolution, nurtured his own sport with a decisive push here. Maria hesitated, wondering what could be the meaning of that assumption.

‘In what way can my circumstances come to your assistance?’

‘They provide some valuable insights, I collect. As an engaged woman, this is the season of happiness for you. You therefore ought to assist those who are not as fortunate, in the hopes of setting them out on the road to the same fate.’

With a contortion of her lips, she commented, ‘This sort of thing is so particular, and so completely dependent on time and people, that I would not dare to express an opinion that might not suit your situation.’

Henry merely bowed in acquiescence, satisfied enough, for as the conversation had turned upon her engagement, he could now take the liberty to address it as he pleased.

‘Your prospects are so very fair, and you may so justly rejoice in them, that I feel tempted to envy you. One always envies a joy that he himself cannot obtain.’

Maria thought that there was something almost wicked in his manner of speaking, but could not understand what gave her that impression. Mr. Crawford was unfathomable! He talked of her prospects in such a way that could not but agitate her. The remembrance of her own state was indeed felt most unpleasantly; but the fact that it should be mentioned at all astonished her! If he was indeed growing attached to her, as she truly believed he was, it should be as irksome a thought for him as it was for herself, and it would be natural that he’d prefer to avoid it. Instead, he seemed to actively seek the subject and extract a reaction from her! What could be the meaning of this? Could he be inquiring after her own feelings? Unwilling to dwell on them, as confusing and ambiguous as they were, she exerted herself to produce a vague reply.

‘I believe you are yet very young to be so wholly depleted of hope.’

‘I think of myself too late already to sustain any hope.’

The seriousness that this confidence conveyed, together with his deportment, could not have her misinterpreting him no longer, nor pretending to be unaware of his intentions. He regretted her engagement — this was the direct avowal that had her spirits in a strange flutter, between trepidation and exhilaration. Her countenance so clearly delivered her emotions that it had her companion hazarding the use of her Christian name.

‘Maria— Miss Bertram,’ Crawford corrected when perceiving that this so very intimate address had been felt as an attack. Indeed, the lady’s first impulse, driven by that sense of propriety that constrained her behaviour, though had never been truly learnt to her benefit, had her slightly moving away from him.

‘Do forgive the liberty,’ he apologised, his voice sinking a little. ‘I felt you so agitated that I could not help myself—’

‘No explanation is due, Mr. Crawford,’ she cut him short, adding with great feeling, ‘I very well understand you.’

Thus, the first impulse was tamed and distance between them was shortened once again. They continued to walk side by side, allowing for a comfortable silence to settle, the imagination of each wandering towards similar stops, although different feelings animated them. But the longest they remained in silence, the less opportunity the gentleman had to speak, which constituted a great disadvantage to him. It had Miss Bertram think. In the meanwhile, she was wise enough to confront her reverie with indisputable facts, that had much unsettled her on their way to Sotherton.

The recollection of Julia, so gayly laughing in the barouche box made her question her vain supposition of being the true favourite of the two; this suspicion was supported by his early confession of not finding her disposition as cheerful as her sister’s. Yet, at each word, Mr. Crawford had her on the brink of believing herself loved. The contrast between his behaviour and his insinuations was stark, and instigated her fears. She began to reflect that she had hastily jumped to conclusions, and if so, there was no real retribution of those sentiments that he had animated. Her struggle was sincere, and her heart’s inclination risked losing against her cool judgement, had Crawford not interrupted it with a dangerous declaration and a smile.

‘I am very thankful that you acceded to come to this grove with me, for I would not have been able to express myself so clearly otherwise. I can only wish that Mr. Rushworth may understand the absolute necessity of the scheme, though I fear he has other plans. Will he ever relent?’

No doubt that the charms of a man such as Henry Crawford could not but operate its effects. Despite herself, she concurred with honest feeling and gave the readiest assurances on Mr. Rushworth’s willingness to acquiesce to the scheme, vouchsafing for him not being too disappointed. Crawford added to the conversation with some amusing observation, Maria with a radiant, most conscious look of triumph, and they talked with mutual satisfaction.

The abridgement of their happiness came through a gasping and running sound somewhere to their left, and before they could anticipate outcomes and probabilities, suddenly appeared before them none other than Julia.

‘So, this is where you’ve been all this time!’ said she warmly, panting. ‘I have sought you everywhere, but you seemed determined not to be found! A sadly planned scheme, upon my word!’

Chapter Text

And she immediately scrambled across the fence, and walked away, not attending to Fanny's last question of whether she had seen anything of Miss Crawford and Edmund.
— Mansfield Park, Chapter 10

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As soon as she got intelligence on Miss Bertram and Mr. Crawford’s whereabouts, Miss Julia set off accordingly, certain as she was that they wouldn’t be far and eager to be a part of their amusement. — For although the substance of which remained a most vexing mystery, surely, it could admit one more! Such a reasoning had her hastily darting across the oak grove with a kind of obstinate optimism.

It was however to decrease at length; as minutes passed and she got further acquainted with all sorts of dirt paths, nettles and squirrels, and without any rational company at sight, her initial hopes started to falter. That she had missed them or unknowingly passed near them, she did not believe, for the vegetation was not so dense that she wouldn’t have been able to descry their figures, even at distance. And besides, even if they would be concealed by the wilderness, the ascending sounds of their voices would have exposed their location either way. But this was not the case; they were nowhere to be found! She looked and looked without so much as a hint of civilisation to ascertain her direction; no rumours, no footsteps, no signs to lead her towards any major path and most importantly, no Maria and Crawford!

These apprehensions were jostling around in her mind while she angrily walked on. She took another turn, and yet another, before noticing an oak tree that had been recently cut down and which looked somewhat familiar — or familiar was it not, for it was exactly the same that she had spotted an instant ago. What a scrape! She was running in circles! Tired and very much vexed, she sat on its trunk and declared defeat for the moment.

As she caught her breath and dried her forehead with her handkerchief, her mind wandered towards those two who were apparently so keen to be left alone, and for no sensible motive. She found none, at least. — For had Mr. Crawford truly resolved to impart his opinion on future improvements, they would have waited for the property’s owner! Who could be more concerned than the man who was to pay for it? The lady’s taste was of course to dictate every resolution on the subject; but that Mr. Rushworth should not even be present to have the illusion of authority was beyond everything!

‘Why, I wonder what they have so much to talk about! Not bricks and clay, indeed! And so hidden, too! Upon my soul, I cannot understand such pleasure at everybody else’s expense,’ she grumbled, deeply afflicted with the slight that Mr. Rushworth had suffered.

Yes, indeed, she pitied him; that’s what it was. There was no reason to distrust herself! No, on this point she must not; for what could be more natural than feeling for her future brother, doltish as he was? It was true, she had left him behind when she could have waited, but wasn’t her primary object then to find better company? And after such penance as enduring his mother’s ramblings, too, wasn’t she justified? The hopes he would follow their joint party, if hopes they were, she only now knew to be untenable, and so she must be acquitted.

It was a sound reasoning that was constructed with no hint of regret or guilt, and Julia soon felt satisfied, only to be immediately gratified by more mortifying thoughts than these. A few suspicions, that she hadn’t dared name yet, were now bursting forth with full strength. There seemed to be an odd dynamic between her eldest sister and the newest male addition to Mansfield, which began to be perceptible to herself by the way Mr. Crawford was usually spoken of. So highly was he esteemed! So gentleman-like were his manners declared by general consent! And could she truly wonder such was the case? Indeed, she could not. His merits, too overpowering in themselves, together with the novelty they supplied at home, produced earnest admiration in everybody. They were all delight and fervent admiration. That Maria should take part in such universal praise, Julia could not condemn; it was as unpleasant a circumstance as it was inevitable. — But that her sister would act so impudently, that she would be so unguarded, was unpardonable! And in her condition, too! Was she not satisfied with securing Mr. Rushworth? What rights did she have on Mr. Crawford?

She reckoned to have some, apparently, but none granted by the man himself. He had only offered his services. He was come in the most obliging manner to be of use to the engaged couple, and how was his kindness repaid? With unsupportable presumption and unsanctioned flirtation! No, there was no other way to read it: Maria was entirely to blame, she had drawn him in. Maria had tricked Crawford into the grove, no matter what Fanny said on the matter. “They were gone to the knoll to have a better command of the property, they both thought it the best thing to do,” was the explanation provided by her cousin, although Julia knew that such a plan had derived from one infamous mind alone, and could very well guess the ill intentions that governed it. Such behaviour was odious indeed! And it was even more detestable considering that to such general misconduct added the yet graver crime of despising her sentiments. Yes, despising, for Maria was surely sensible of them! Nothing in the world could be so evident as Julia’s growing attachment to Mr. Crawford. Furthermore, the belief that such preference was returned was perfectly justified by Mrs. Grant’s insinuations — wasn’t it thus obvious to everyone that Julia had a better claim than Miss Bertram?

However, as soon as such conclusions were drawn and so grave an offence had been established, she pondered on the possibility of having thus reasoned under misapprehension — or rather, under the illusion of knowing Crawford’s heart. What if his regard for herself was not sincere? What if she was but an entertainment, a trick to allure Maria through jealousy?

‘They were gone to the knoll to have a better command of the property… they both thought it the best thing to do,’ Julia repeated Fanny’s words, hoping to find out the truth through them. The result of this reflection was, that whether because so little could be learnt from such a declaration, or because she did not wish to test Crawford’s character (a matter in which Miss Julia herself ought to be a better judge than the author of these lines), she equally distributed the blame: the two of them were greatly at fault and deserved to be reprimanded. They had both displayed a lack of concern for the feelings of others, they had both been enormously selfish, or at the very least thoughtless; and governed by such selfish impulses, their actions, past and present, could not but be considered with strong disapprobation.

The more Julia thought about it, the angrier and more restless she grew, and the sooner she was convinced that it was her moral duty to prevent a shameful display by such means as were in her possession. Therefore, despite her poor sense of direction, she leapt to her feet to fight the wilderness once more.

She hastened through the woods till some rumour or image called to her. And a rumour did call to her at last — the sound of Maria’s laughter caught her ear. It was somewhere to her right and she raced diagonally in search of it, not caring for the previous existence of a path and rather attempting to make one by imposition. Her dress was dirty and crumpled at the hem and she almost tripped once; but she cared not for all of that. She was finally before them! — But alas! instead of growing easy with her discovery, the vision then supplied rather promoted her agitation.

Julia found them blithely laughing, Maria’s eyes glowing, her cheeks burning and Crawford’s eyes fixed on his companion. They were at ease, and cheerful, and happy, and she appeared then as an intruder. Disappointed, vexed, and without having yet properly regulated her breath, she cried, ‘So, this is where you’ve been all this time! I have sought you everywhere, but you seemed determined not to be found! A sadly planned scheme, upon my word!’

Such an entrance, so forced upon them, was sure to engross their attention; and for a moment, Julia saw Maria aggrieved. Still, it was but a moment’s agitation: she recollected herself and with fresh vigour replied, ‘My dear Julia, what can you be thinking of? How else would we discuss the proper alterations without coming hence?’

‘Why, I should rather suppose that Mr. Rushworth’s opinion was to be valued on a council of such importance!’ Julia retorted in angry bitterness, her cheeks heavily pigmented as she spoke; and glancing over to Mr. Crawford in time to catch the trace of some awkward feelings on his countenance, cried still, ‘But you thought best to settle the matter between you, or you wouldn’t have picked so remote a location to discuss such improvements, I’m sure!’

Julia’s tone, which would be quite successful at disarming virtually anybody, failed to discompose her sister. Maria remained remarkably serene, glee even, for she well knew that such a burst was the only acknowledgement of her triumph she was to have the honour of receiving. Thus, condescendingly she spoke, ‘Upon my word, we were not so concealed as to be out of your sight! Indeed, we told Fanny where we were. Did not she tell you?’ (without waiting for an answer) ‘Oh, I’m sure she did, but you somehow got lost; it’s not her fault that your sense of direction is so very poor.’

The reader might very well wonder if such a declaration was as displeasing as to cause offence, and indeed I do you justice. It might have been easily overlooked, were circumstances different; but as it was, the slight and pain being so recent, Julia felt such vicious attack with all the strength that her warm temperament allowed. Maria was determined on making her suffer, as not content with her victory, she portrayed her as the greatest simpleton in the world! How infamous of her! Such a treachery ought to be kept on record and sooner or later she would pay for it. — But what was Mr. Crawford’s stance in all of this? How was his silence to be read? Julia did not have the means to know what he truly felt then, but another glance showed her a more indifferent Henry Crawford than she had thought possible at first. He had a courteous smile, apparently unaware of the sisters’ dispute and as if no fault could be imputed to himself, as if no injury had been done. When he spoke, he indeed betrayed such a security.

‘My dear Miss Julia, how good of you to join us at last! We have been quarrelling between us for forever and your sensible opinion will very justly settle the matter!’ (offering his free arm to herself) ‘Tell us, how do you like this sweet little oak grove? — And before you answer, I entreat you not to take the tear that the nettles have done to your fine dress as a decided point against it, or I shall never win this fight!’

Julia hesitated for a moment, but eventually took his arm and wished to know on what particular was her opinion due; and when discovering that Maria was initially for the grove’s removal, very decidedly voted for its preservation.

‘It is a great motive of satisfaction to myself to discover that you share my opinion, Miss Julia,’ said Henry with a charming smile. ‘Your sister has been uncommonly earnest in the establishment of its flaws. Now, how shall we persuade her of its value?’

‘Maria cannot be persuaded, I’m afraid. She always has her own way. But it would be better, perhaps, if you’d find yourself an ally in Mr. Rushworth!’

‘Mr. Rushworth, you say? I’d rather be inclined to believe he’ll very readily agree with his fair lady, and what do you think will be the end of it? No, Miss Julia, though we may argue for a time, we are fated to humbly submit to their superior rights.’ Turning his eyes to the lady leaning on his right arm, he commented, ‘Unless you contrive to convince Miss Bertram otherwise, we shall bid goodbye to so pleasant a refuge.’

‘I am not as insensitive to your dejection as you make, Mr. Crawford,’ replied Maria with a smirk. ‘I do listen to reason, and when two of my friends try to advise me, they shan’t do so in vain. I should not think myself too stubborn to resist such powerful influence.’

‘Shall I take that there is still reason to hope, then, madam? Does the poor wilderness stand a chance?’

‘Indeed, it does, for I see myself forced to relinquish my initial expectations.’

With alacrity was it declared, and although Maria talked of defeat, appeared to feel none of its customary effects. She looked rather brightened when returning Crawford’s gaze, who in turn bowed and thanked her magnanimity with renewed courtesy.

Julia, who saw much of this, could not attend to Mr. Crawford, who had immediately devoted his attention to herself by pressing the hand she had forgotten on his forearm, and offering the tenderest remarks on her complexion having much benefited from such a walk. Nay, she was too engrossed by what had passed and the strange intimacy that she had intuited; and it wasn’t without a pang that her mind revisited a dear memory, that of the barouche where hours prior she had been so exuberantly happy.

But a new addition to the party came to distract her from such awkward feelings — for as they were descending the knoll, Mr. Rushworth was climbing through the very same path.

‘For the life of me, I am sure I do not mind a little walk, but all this climbing up and down quite fags me! It would have been much better to stay put. I would have much preferred if you had stayed put!’

Chapter Text

She found herself more successful in sending away than in retaining a companion. Mr. Rushworth was worked on. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘if you really think I had better go: it would be foolish to bring the key for nothing.’ And letting himself out, he walked off without farther ceremony.
— Mansfield Park, Chapter 10

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Content was not the proper word to describe Mr. James Rushworth when he set out to meet the others, though he must have felt that his odds were better at present than they had been but a few minutes prior. The idea of him being needed and much wanted was beginning to make sense to his mind — for evidently nothing could be decided without him, and Miss Bertram in particular should not be kept waiting.

This sort of thoughts was sufficient to knock off his mind every notion that Fanny Price had inspired such a conviction, and the grace to thank her for her delicate efforts was left unpaid. He was too preoccupied with the desire to rescue his bride from the claws of impatience, for impatience was love’s greatest rival. Female feelings were not made to endure abandonment and loneliness — a design of nature that tended to be in full display when the heart is engaged.

Yet, soon (much sooner than it occurred to Miss Julia Bertram in her search, for Mr. Rushworth walked slower and got tired faster) he started to wonder whether impatience was his sole rival. That Miss Bertram was a delicate creature of superior taste, he dared not question, as her attachment to himself seemed to indicate; and that so sharp an intellect could not approve faulty characters, he could not doubt. As such, the Bertram girls’ current guardian had nothing in himself to pose any danger. There was nothing in Mr. Crawford’s figure so very appealing, little and plain as he was; and though rich and a landlord, he was evidently an inferior match for Sir Thomas’s daughter.

But there were nuances on the subject of taste, in which Mr. Rushworth was just starting to get instructed. Mr. Crawford’s example, rather than his society, had introduced him to the power of charm. In his manners perfectly the gentleman, Henry Crawford’s meek address and eloquence had still a greater talent to please female companions. He was sensible and well-read, or so declared, and even the dullest subjects, when treated with enthusiasm by him, were sure to animate everybody. Traits such as these allowed Henry a substantial advantage: he was gaining ground with the Mansfield party, to the point where no one cared for Mr. Rushworth’s concerns and needs. He was no longer inquired about his pointers and hunters, his shootings and neighbours; no one longed to hear his opinion of his friend Smith’s place and whether Repton should be called. Apart from that very welcome to Sotherton, or those occasions when he introduced the subject himself, he rarely got to discuss his views on the property’s improvements, and he was presently as forlorn as his grounds.

This all he felt, and very aware that he was justified in feeling so, although he might have formulated the matter differently to himself. The circumstances and the recent slight were damaging, and his good-humour needed to be more urgently restored than his lawn. The hardship of the path, that was on a hill, did not allay his mind in any way; indeed, it aggravated him, and he began to form an opinion based on his fatigue. Being left behind by Miss Bertram and Mr. Crawford, an instance too grievous to be overlooked, was not only judged inconsiderate, but also superfluous, as no pleasure could be derived from it. They had abandoned him for nothing worth the effort, he thought, and so he ceased to merely disapprove their choice to violently despise it.

‘In my opinion, I think all this dawdling very silly. I do not see anything so very fine about such a walk, nothing so very pretty in these bushes! I shall clear them away as soon as Sotherton has its mistress!’

With this stern resolve he relieved his worries, unaware that this was already a lost battle — for, as the reader remembers, the decision had already been collectively made before he had the chance to discuss it, and so the grove was to be preserved. It was however useful to Mr. Rushworth, as such a happy idea — that of taking revenge on the surrounding nature, punishing it for his present troubles — encouraged him to go on.

Fortunately for him, he did not have to walk very far before he spotted three figures on the top of the hill. The one in the middle seemed to have the ladies’ arms wrapped around his own, and so he was immediately identified as Crawford. The Misses, on the other hand, were harder to distinguish: both tall, fair and blonde, with similar silhouettes, Maria and Julia looked so totally alike from a distance that Mr. Rushworth grew puzzled as to whom he should admire. One might wonder that an enamoured man would not be more successful in identifying the object of his affection, but such considerations will not be expounded by the author. Instead, I shall do Mr. Rushworth the justice of pointing out how such a view energised him enough to quicken the pace. He was soon able to tell the Miss Bertrams apart and to locate his fiancée at Crawford’s left side. The party seemed distracted, with Julia keeping her eyes on the floor and the others looking either at her or at each other as they walked, and awareness of his presence wasn’t immediate. But as soon as he was within earshot, Mr. Rushworth made them aware. He had intended to say something very polite, but sharp; to be complimentary to Miss Bertram and stark with Crawford; to both delight the lady and to mark his contempt without any ill grace. — But instead, he spoke from the heart.

‘For the life of me, I am sure I do not mind a little walk, but all this climbing up and down quite fags me! It would have been much better to stay put. I would have much preferred if you had stayed put!’

Though not quite what he had envisioned to say, it was sure to call their attention and he now waited for a profuse apology, or better yet, a dignified reception — perhaps because he did not perceive Julia’s gloomy countenance, or Crawford’s jovial expression. He had only eyes to Maria’s sparkling ones, filled with the joy of seeing him, which almost seemed to restore everything. As she was evidently too elated to produce a courteous reply, Crawford was the first to speak.

‘In fact, we got ahead of ourselves. I can only plead guilty: the excitement of discovery led us astray. It is a fair spot, indeed, and one can easily judge time ill when surrounded by so much beauty.’

The master of Sotherton did not really understand the plaintiff’s meaning, though the language was familiar, but he was inclined to suspect his veiled intentions. This apology, if an apology it was, was spoken in such a way that it could not but alarm him. Growing hesitant about how to respond, and taking a lengthy moment deliberating the matter, Crawford did him the favour of removing his resentment with an appealing suggestion.

‘Mr. Rushworth, I have been what I hope to be a watchful guardian, but it is well that the lady is returned to the tutelage of her betrothed. Will you do me the honour of taking Miss Maria’s arm?’

He readily extended his arm, which was taken by the lady, and soon they were walking side by side, as the path admitted four. They now did the reverse path, and as climbing down was easier than climbing up, the conversation was taken up at once with no effort. Crawford led it by minutely relating what had passed and the divergent opinions which had been discussed in Mr. Rushworth’s absence and, in doing so, he took the chance to underline how desired his judgement had been.

‘For,’ said Crawford, ‘nothing can be decided without you, as I’m sure you’re well aware.’

It is somewhat comical that the recollection of Fanny Price was due to Henry Crawford, but so it was, for Miss Price’s words were remembered then. “They expected to have a better view of the house from that part of the park, and will be thinking how it may be improved; and nothing of that sort, you know, can be settled without you,” she had told Mr. Rushworth right before he left her company. He considered, therefore, that there must be truth in them and engaged in the discussion with some remnants of bad humour.

‘If I must say what I think, this grove is no addition at all — it is a mere nothing and the mounting is no trifle. One cannot help but wonder how it is to be preferred over the water meadows; very fine, they are, large as they should, and more appropriate for hunting and dallying than such wicked wilderness. It is all to be cleared away!’

‘I am extremely sorry to hear you say so, Mr. Rushworth, but perhaps you may reconsider with time. Miss Bertram, I believe, has changed her views on it since coming hence, and so may you, for,’ (with a smile) ‘who can resist its charms?’

‘I should not think I will change my mind about it,’ was Mr. Rushworth’s sulky reply.

‘Pray, do think it over, Mr. Rushworth,’ spoke Maria at last, with gentle persuasion. ‘Think of the many delightful walks we may take in the future. How pleasant this grove would be for a Sunday picnic; how delightful and free it would be for children!’

It was difficult for Mr. Rushworth to contradict his fair lady, although a strong conviction was born in his bosom that the grove, with all its blackness, was intolerable and that it must disappear. Nevertheless, the terms she used painted a picturesque picture, an irresistible picture, which soothed his heart a little; and as her eyes sparkled still, he felt tempted to accede to her request. A few more delicate verbal constructions of this sort would perhaps make Mr. Rushworth think the place the most charming in the world. Unfortunately, an interruption from Julia prevented his indulgence.

‘Ah! now I see the urgency of having it taken down. Though I supposed it charming at first, it is in fact the ugliest place in the world! The most pathetic, rudimentary, savage little place I ever laid my eyes upon and I quite detest it!’

Mr. Rushworth did not understand Miss Julia’s angry quickness, nor her ruddy countenance, as she spoke so ill of the very spot which Crawford had claimed she admired, and he was at a loss for words. But when stealing a glimpse of Henry Crawford and Miss Bertram, old suspicions burst forth.

‘Truly, Miss Julia, all this tumbling up and down is very disagreeable and I do not care for it. I much prefer to be sat down and do nothing.’

So sullenly was it declared that the others did not see the point of reasoning against it. Mr. Crawford chose rather to devote his energy to assuaging Julia, who since having last spoken had fallen into the most determined and discouraging silence. Maria, for her part, was very little disposed to assuage her companion. Her head was filled with the happiest notions, those of a brighter future with the certainty of Mr. Crawford’s hand.

Mr. Rushworth, of course, was unaware of her expectations. Had he been able to imagine what Miss Bertram really felt at the thought of their engagement and her renewed hopes with that other undersized fellow, he would have been nothing short of mortified. As it was, by beholding her serene face and placid smile, he was left only with a slightly awkward feeling. He sensed that she was at ease, too at ease, completely unfeeling of her earlier transgression, that she seemed almost careless of him; and indeed, he would have liked to be esteemed by her. He could at least rejoice in Crawford’s attention to Miss Julia, which indicated some attachment on his part and freed him from suspicion… but it still fell short of making up for the past slight and present inattention, and Mr. Rushworth felt his victory to be pyrrhic (though he certainly would not have used such a term to describe it).

It was dark by the time they arrived, just in time for dinner, with a short, plain account to tell to those who asked, and all the unpleasant sensations and thoughts that such a walk had given half of them.