Mansfield Park

occupy his own house at Thornton Lacey.  Edmund, am I saying too
much?"

Edmund, on this appeal, had first to hear what was going on;
but, on understanding the question, was at no loss for an answer.

"Certainly, sir, I have no idea but of residence.
But, Crawford, though I refuse you as a tenant,
come to me as a friend.  Consider the house as half
your own every winter, and we will add to the stables
on your own improved plan, and with all the improvements
of your improved plan that may occur to you this spring."

"We shall be the losers," continued Sir Thomas.
"His going, though only eight miles, will be an unwelcome
contraction of our family circle; but I should have been
deeply mortified if any son of mine could reconcile
himself to doing less.  It is perfectly natural that you
should not have thought much on the subject, Mr. Crawford.
But a parish has wants and claims which can be known
only by a clergyman constantly resident, and which no
proxy can be capable of satisfying to the same extent.
Edmund might, in the common phrase, do the duty of Thornton,
that is, he might read prayers and preach, without giving
up Mansfield Park:  he might ride over every Sunday, to a
house nominally inhabited, and go through divine service;
he might be the clergyman of Thornton Lacey every seventh day,
for three or four hours, if that would content him.
But it will not.  He knows that human nature needs more
lessons than a weekly sermon can convey; and that if he
does not live among his parishioners, and prove himself,
by constant attention, their well-wisher and friend, he does
very little either for their good or his own."

Mr. Crawford bowed his acquiescence.

"I repeat again," added Sir Thomas, "that Thornton Lacey
is the only house in the neighbourhood in which I should
_not_ be happy to wait on Mr. Crawford as occupier."

Mr. Crawford bowed his thanks.

"Sir Thomas," said Edmund, "undoubtedly understands
the duty of a parish priest.  We must hope his son
may prove that _he_ knows it too."

Whatever effect Sir Thomas's little harangue might really
produce on Mr. Crawford, it raised some awkward sensations
in two of the others, two of his most attentive listeners--
Miss Crawford and Fanny.  One of whom, having never before
understood that Thornton was so soon and so completely
to be his home, was pondering with downcast eyes on what it
would be _not_ to see Edmund every day; and the other,
startled from the agreeable fancies she had been previously
indulging on the strength of her brother's description,
no longer able, in the picture she had been forming of a
future Thornton, to shut out the church, sink the clergyman,
and see only the respectable, elegant, modernised,
and occasional residence of a man of independent fortune,
was considering Sir Thomas, with decided ill-will,
as the destroyer of all this, and suffering the more
from that involuntary forbearance which his character
and manner commanded, and from not daring to relieve
herself by a single attempt at throwing ridicule on his cause.

All the agreeable of _her_ speculation was over for that hour.
It was time to have done with cards, if sermons prevailed;
and she was glad to find it necessary to come to a conclusion,
and be able to refresh her spirits by a change of place
and neighbour.

The chief of the party were now collected irregularly
round the fire, and waiting the final break-up. William
and Fanny were the most detached.  They remained
together at the otherwise deserted card-table, talking
very comfortably, and not thinking of the rest, till some
of the rest began to think of them.  Henry Crawford's
chair was the first to be given a direction towards them,
and he sat silently observing them for a few minutes;
himself, in the meanwhile, observed by Sir Thomas,
who was standing in chat with Dr. Grant.

"This is the assembly night," said William.  "If I were
at Portsmouth I should be at it, perhaps."

"But you do not wish yourself at Portsmouth, William?"

"No, Fanny, that I do not.  I shall have enough of Portsmouth
and of dancing too, when I cannot have you.  And I do not
know that there would be any good in going to the assembly,
for I might not get a partner.  The Portsmouth girls turn
up their noses at anybody who has not a commission.
One might as well be nothing as a midshipman.
One _is_ nothing, indeed.  You remember the Gregorys;
they are grown up amazing fine girls, but they will hardly
speak to _me_, because Lucy is courted by a lieutenant."

"Oh! shame, shame!  But never mind it, William" (her own
cheeks in a glow of indignation as she spoke). "It is not
worth minding.  It is no reflection on _you_; it is no