Ah, well. He shifted in his seat and thought about cricket. More than likely, Fanny Price would behave like a heroine in a three-volume novel—she would reject him with horror, call on Heaven to protect her, and then faint dead away at his feet—that last part, he had always thought a peculiarly ineffectual strategy for heroines hoping to escape ravishment.
And, in fact, the buxom actress whom he had hired to impersonate a lady’s maid—who was sharing his bedchamber in the various inns they stopped at on their journey—was more suited to his tastes.
* * * * * *
On the day after leaving the Smallridges, Henry Crawford and Fanny were in the environs of Portsmouth while there was yet daylight for Fanny to look around her, and wonder at the new buildings. They passed the drawbridge, and entered the town; and the light was only beginning to fail as, guided by Mr. Crawford’s recollection of his previous visit, they rattled into a narrow street, leading from the High Street, and drew up before the door of the small house now inhabited by Fanny’s family.
Another moment and Fanny was in the narrow entrance-passage of the house, and in her mother's arms, who met her there with looks of true kindness, and there were her two sisters: Susan and little Betsey.
They were then led into a tiny, dark, parlour, where in the half-gloom she saw her father. The reappearance of his oldest daughter after an absence of ten years was not sufficient inducement for him to rise from his seat, but he greeted her affably enough.
Fanny then performed the office, which she had been dreading, of introducing Mr. Crawford to her parents, as her husband! The first exclamation of surprise was not over before Mr. Crawford smoothly took the conversation into his own hands, and Fanny found that she need not do more than sit and watch, as at a play, while Mr. Crawford described their first acquaintance at Mansfield Park, his growing admiration for Miss Price, his anguish at her disappearance, his search for her through the length and breadth of England, his joy at finding her and his impetuous proposal that they be married in Gretna Green. He was also prepared to speak, eloquently and at length, about the charms and virtues of his new bride, but he was, as always, sensitive to the minutest shades on the faces of his audience, and he discovered that when he came to speak of Fanny’s perfections, he pretty soon lost their attention entirely. He moved ahead to the bland announcement of his yearly income and the extent of his estate at Everingham, to which they attended with incredulity and pleasure, and which rendered the concluding part of his speech—his plea for forgiveness for marrying Fanny without reference to them, and his request for their blessing on the union—a mere formality, as he well knew it would be.
His narrative had forestalled most of their questions, and the Prices had only to express their approval: “By g-d, you’ve knocked us on our beam ends, Mr. Crawford, and no mistake! Fan, if your husband has half the gilt he’s told you he’s got—you’ve done very well for yourself!” Mr. Price pounded his daughter on the back approvingly, she began coughing, and the subject of her husband’s wealth, as fascinating as it was to the Prices, was soon forgotten when William entered. He wore his lieutenant's uniform, and the happiest smile over his face, and he walked up directly to Fanny, who, rising from her seat, looked at him for a moment in speechless admiration, and then threw her arms round his neck to sob out her various emotions of pain and pleasure.
Here was her triumph indeed, though her brother would not, could not, know the secret pain it had cost her. Now it was William who took the centre stage in the family—all conversation now moved to his commission, his prospects, and when he might ship out—William explained over the growing din, as three younger Price brothers ran downstairs to admire him, he was soon to sail in the Agincourt, and he knew not where or when he would join the Solebay, but perhaps at Sierra Leone, and suddenly Fanny’s marriage to Mr. Crawford was no longer the main wonder of the evening. Mr. Crawford, not deficient in his knowledge of the Navy, thanks to his uncle the Admiral, joined in, and all Fanny had to do was sit and listen and long for some tea! She smiled inwardly to recall her anxieties on the subject of her first parental interview, mixed with some mortification at seeing herself so quickly overlooked and forgotten after a ten years’ absence.
Finally, Susan and a servant appeared with everything necessary for the meal; Susan looking, as she put the kettle on the fire and glanced at her sister, as if divided between the agreeable triumph of showing her activity and usefulness, and the dread of being thought to demean herself by such an office. “She had been into the kitchen,” she said, “to help make the toast, and spread the bread and butter, or she did not know when they should have got tea, and she was sure her sister and her new brother must want something after their
