Mansfield Park

"Yes," said Lady Bertram presently; "and it is a comfort
to think that we shall always have _her_."

Sir Thomas paused, half smiled, glanced at his niece,
and then gravely replied, "She will never leave us, I hope,
till invited to some other home that may reasonably promise
her greater happiness than she knows here."

"And _that_ is not very likely to be, Sir Thomas.
Who should invite her?  Maria might be very glad to see her
at Sotherton now and then, but she would not think of asking
her to live there; and I am sure she is better off here;
and besides, I cannot do without her."

The week which passed so quietly and peaceably at the
great house in Mansfield had a very different character at
the Parsonage.  To the young lady, at least, in each family,
it brought very different feelings.  What was tranquillity
and comfort to Fanny was tediousness and vexation to Mary.
Something arose from difference of disposition and habit:
one so easily satisfied, the other so unused to endure;
but still more might be imputed to difference
of circumstances.  In some points of interest they
were exactly opposed to each other.  To Fanny's mind,
Edmund's absence was really, in its cause and its tendency,
a relief.  To Mary it was every way painful.  She felt
the want of his society every day, almost every hour,
and was too much in want of it to derive anything but
irritation from considering the object for which he went.
He could not have devised anything more likely to raise
his consequence than this week's absence, occurring as
it did at the very time of her brother's going away,
of William Price's going too, and completing the sort
of general break-up of a party which had been so animated.
She felt it keenly.  They were now a miserable trio,
confined within doors by a series of rain and snow,
with nothing to do and no variety to hope for.  Angry as
she was with Edmund for adhering to his own notions,
and acting on them in defiance of her (and she had been
so angry that they had hardly parted friends at the ball),
she could not help thinking of him continually when absent,
dwelling on his merit and affection, and longing again
for the almost daily meetings they lately had.  His absence
was unnecessarily long.  He should not have planned such
an absence--he should not have left home for a week,
when her own departure from Mansfield was so near.
Then she began to blame herself.  She wished she had not
spoken so warmly in their last conversation.  She was afraid
she had used some strong, some contemptuous expressions
in speaking of the clergy, and that should not have been.
It was ill-bred; it was wrong.  She wished such words unsaid
with all her heart.

Her vexation did not end with the week.  All this was bad,
but she had still more to feel when Friday came round
again and brought no Edmund; when Saturday came and still
no Edmund; and when, through the slight communication
with the other family which Sunday produced, she learned
that he had actually written home to defer his return,
having promised to remain some days longer with his friend.

If she had felt impatience and regret before--if she had
been sorry for what she said, and feared its too strong
effect on him--she now felt and feared it all tenfold more.
She had, moreover, to contend with one disagreeable emotion
entirely new to her--jealousy.  His friend Mr. Owen had sisters;
he might find them attractive.  But, at any rate, his staying
away at a time when, according to all preceding plans,
she was to remove to London, meant something that she could
not bear.  Had Henry returned, as he talked of doing,
at the end of three or four days, she should now have
been leaving Mansfield.  It became absolutely necessary
for her to get to Fanny and try to learn something more.
She could not live any longer in such solitary wretchedness;
and she made her way to the Park, through difficulties
of walking which she had deemed unconquerable a week before,
for the chance of hearing a little in addition, for the
sake of at least hearing his name.

The first half-hour was lost, for Fanny and Lady Bertram
were together, and unless she had Fanny to herself she could
hope for nothing.  But at last Lady Bertram left the room,
and then almost immediately Miss Crawford thus began,
with a voice as well regulated as she could--"And how do
_you_ like your cousin Edmund's staying away so long?
Being the only young person at home, I consider _you_
as the greatest sufferer.  You must miss him.  Does his
staying longer surprise you?"

"I do not know," said Fanny hesitatingly.  "Yes; I had
not particularly expected it."

"Perhaps he will always stay longer than he talks of.
It is the general way all young men do."

"He did not, the only time he went to see Mr. Owen before."

"He finds the house more agreeable _now_. He is a very--
a very pleasing young man himself, and I cannot help