“Well,” answered Fanny, “because I imagine she truly regrets what she did. I know she has had a difficult time of it. She used to have her own shop, but no-one will patronise her now. And when I think of her unenviable situation, I cannot help pitying her, very much. What she did to me, was done out of desperation.”
“It was still wrong. You befriended her, you hired her, and she betrayed you.”
Fanny smiled and resumed walking. “I do appreciate your indignation on my behalf.”
“Do you wish me to think seriously of this proposal?”
“I am thinking of her children,” said Fanny. “You say you want your school to be a sanctuary for children who are likely to be insulted and abused. What could be more destructive for a boy than to go to public school and be taunted that your father was a mad man who was executed for murder? The sins of the father, indeed, will fall on these innocent children.”
“Fanny, you would not find it awkward, to have this lady here at Mansfield?”
“I think not. True, I was made miserable, very miserable, but only contemplate what she has suffered, both before and after her husband was executed! I did admire her fortitude, and her resolution in providing for her children, come what may. And you should know, cousin, that her manner with the students at our sewing academy was excellent, the exact medium between firmness and indulgence, as I recall.
“Perhaps, too,” she confessed, “I am curious to know what has become of her.”
“You make a very affecting argument,” Edmund returned. “I shall think upon it.” But his tone did not convey conviction on his part.
* * * * * * *
"And what do you think of Miss Price, Portia?" Mr. Owen asked his sister as they walked to tea at the Parsonage a week later.
"You have mentioned how highly Edmund speaks of her—but at the White House, I should let you know, I had received a different impression from Mrs. Norris.”
Mr. Owen laughed. “You astonish me. Tell me, then. What does Mrs. Norris say?”
“Mrs. Norris described her niece as being a sly, encroaching sort of a woman."
"I believe I place more confidence in your judgement. What do you think?"
"She seems a sensible, intelligent, good-natured lady—rather reserved in her manners, to be sure, and formal in her speech, but her voice is pleasant and her countenance is sweet."
The good opinion that Miss Owen had been forming of Miss Price was equally reciprocated. Only a few meetings were sufficient to persuade Fanny that Miss Owen possessed those qualities which Fanny valued highly—a disposition to be helpful and kind, a quiet, modest manner, and a sensible, matter-of-fact nature.
The four young people met frequently during Fanny’s visit. The first Sunday found Portia and Fanny companionably sewing together in the parsonage parlour, and talking over the sermon Edmund had delivered that morning.
“I may of course be considered partial,” said Fanny, “but my cousin’s manner of delivering a speech is exactly what I like. I have seen some speakers, such as Mr. Henry Hunt, who strive too much for effect, who are too intent on drawing attention to themselves, and not to the purport of their speech.”
“I believe I understand what you mean,” said Miss Owen. “Yes, too self-conscious a style, too much enthusiasm, going from a bellow to a whisper, that sort of thing. These tricks can become tiresome.”
“I think I could never grow tired of listening to my cousin. He has been a clergyman these ten years and this is only the third time I’ve had the opportunity to hear him.”
Portia looked up in surprise. “Indeed!”
Fanny nodded, and after a moment’s pause, added, “I very much wanted to, of course. There are reasons. I am only able to visit here now because Mary Bertram is not here. For the sake of family peace, I can only visit my cousin when Mary is not with him. Her aversion to me is such that she would make life unendurable for him.”
Portia was consumed with feelings of curiousity—why did Edmund’s wife resent this amiable, mild-mannered cousin so much? Could it be jealousy? She confined herself to saying only, “What a pity there exists such an atmosphere of estrangement within your family. I will venture to suppose that this is none of your choosing.”
For her part, Fanny was surprised at herself for having confided so much on such a short acquaintance. “You must forgive me, Miss Owen, for speaking so frankly. But perhaps it is best, since you live amongst us, to understand something of our family history.”
“I think, too,” said Miss Owen gently, “you have as much right to speak of your affairs, as others have to speak about you when you are not present.”
Fanny’s needle paused in mid-air, and she gazed at Miss Owen in surprise. Her new friend looked up with an innocent air, then a sly smile crept across her face and Fanny realised she was alluding to Aunt Norris. Fanny was pleased at this evidence of Miss Owen's perfectly understanding how matters stood with Aunt Norris, and her droll way of referring to it. She and Fanny dissolved into laughter.
“When you go to Huntingdon, Miss Price, I shall give you a letter of introduction to my sister and I shall ask her to take your portrait, and you can give it to your aunt for a present.” This brought fresh peals of laughter.
"There is nothing my aunt would rather have," cried Fanny, wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes. "Or perhaps, I will sit for a sketch to give to my brother William. I trust your sister knows the art of flattering the sitter, and can produce a likeness which is better than the reality."
"Oh, you
