Chapter: A week was gone since Edmund might be supposed in town, and Fanny had
heard nothing of him. There were three different conclusions to be drawn
from his silence, between which her mind was in fluctuation; each of
them at times being held the most probable. Either his going had been
again delayed, or he had yet procured no opportunity of seeing Miss
Crawford alone, or he was too happy for letter-writing!

One morning, about this time, Fanny having now been nearly four weeks
from Mansfield, a point which she never failed to think over and
calculate every day, as she and Susan were preparing to remove, as
usual, upstairs, they were stopped by the knock of a visitor, whom they
felt they could not avoid, from Rebecca's alertness in going to the
door, a duty which always interested her beyond any other.

It was a gentleman's voice; it was a voice that Fanny was just turning
pale about, when Mr. Crawford walked into the room.

Good sense, like hers, will always act when really called upon; and she
found that she had been able to name him to her mother, and recall her
remembrance of the name, as that of "William's friend," though she could
not previously have believed herself capable of uttering a syllable
at such a moment. The consciousness of his being known there only as
William's friend was some support. Having introduced him, however, and
being all reseated, the terrors that occurred of what this visit might
lead to were overpowering, and she fancied herself on the point of
fainting away.

While trying to keep herself alive, their visitor, who had at first
approached her with as animated a countenance as ever, was wisely and
kindly keeping his eyes away, and giving her time to recover, while he
devoted himself entirely to her mother, addressing her, and attending
to her with the utmost politeness and propriety, at the same time with
a degree of friendliness, of interest at least, which was making his
manner perfect.

Mrs. Price's manners were also at their best. Warmed by the sight of
such a friend to her son, and regulated by the wish of appearing to
advantage before him, she was overflowing with gratitude--artless,
maternal gratitude--which could not be unpleasing. Mr. Price was out,
which she regretted very much. Fanny was just recovered enough to
feel that _she_ could not regret it; for to her many other sources of
uneasiness was added the severe one of shame for the home in which he
found her. She might scold herself for the weakness, but there was no
scolding it away. She was ashamed, and she would have been yet more
ashamed of her father than of all the rest.

They talked of William, a subject on which Mrs. Price could never tire;
and Mr. Crawford was as warm in his commendation as even her heart could
wish. She felt that she had never seen so agreeable a man in her life;
and was only astonished to find that, so great and so agreeable as he
was, he should be come down to Portsmouth neither on a visit to the
port-admiral, nor the commissioner, nor yet with the intention of going
over to the island, nor of seeing the dockyard. Nothing of all that she
had been used to think of as the proof of importance, or the employment
of wealth, had brought him to Portsmouth. He had reached it late the
night before, was come for a day or two, was staying at the Crown, had
accidentally met with a navy officer or two of his acquaintance since
his arrival, but had no object of that kind in coming.

By the time he had given all this information, it was not unreasonable
to suppose that Fanny might be looked at and spoken to; and she was
tolerably able to bear his eye, and hear that he had spent half an hour
with his sister the evening before his leaving London; that she had
sent her best and kindest love, but had had no time for writing; that he
thought himself lucky in seeing Mary for even half an hour, having spent
scarcely twenty-four hours in London, after his return from Norfolk,
before he set off again; that her cousin Edmund was in town, had been in
town, he understood, a few days; that he had not seen him himself, but
that he was well, had left them all well at Mansfield, and was to dine,
as yesterday, with the Frasers.

Fanny listened collectedly, even to the last-mentioned circumstance;
nay, it seemed a relief to her worn mind to be at any certainty; and the
words, "then by this time it is all settled," passed internally, without
more evidence of emotion than a faint blush.

After talking a little more about Mansfield, a subject in which her
interest was most apparent, Crawford began to hint at the expediency of
an early walk. "It was a lovely morning, and at that season of the year
a fine morning so often turned off, that it was wisest for everybody
not to delay their exercise"; and such hints producing nothing, he soon
proceeded to a positive recommendation to Mrs. Price and her
daughters to take their walk without loss of time. Now they came to an
understanding. Mrs. Price, it appeared, scarcely ever stirred out of
doors, except of a Sunday; she owned she could seldom, with her large
family, find time for a walk. "Would she not, then, persuade her
daughters to take advantage of such weather, and allow him the pleasure
of attending them?" Mrs. Price was greatly obliged and very complying.
"Her daughters were very much confined; Portsmouth was a sad place; they
did not often get out; and she knew they had some errands in the town,
which they would be very glad to do." And the consequence was, that
Fanny, strange as it was--strange, awkward, and distressing--found
herself and Susan, within ten minutes, walking towards the High Street
with Mr. Crawford.

It was soon pain upon pain, confusion upon confusion; for they were
hardly in the High Street before they met her father, whose
appearance was not the better from its being Saturday. He stopt; and,
ungentlemanlike as he looked, Fanny was obliged to introduce him to Mr.
Crawford. She could not have a doubt of the manner in which Mr. Crawford
must be struck. He must be ashamed and disgusted altogether. He must
soon give her up, and cease to have the smallest inclination for the
match; and yet, though she had been so much wanting his affection to
be cured, this was a sort of cure that would be almost as bad as the
complaint; and I believe there is scarcely a young lady in the United
Kingdoms who would not rather put up with the misfortune of being sought
by a clever, agreeable man, than have him driven away by the vulgarity
of her nearest relations.

Mr. Crawford probably could not regard his future father-in-law with any
idea of taking him for a model in dress; but (as Fanny instantly, and to
her great relief, discerned) her father was a very different man, a
very different Mr. Price in his behaviour to this most highly respected
stranger, from what he was in his own family at home. His manners
now, though not polished, were more than passable: they were grateful,
animated, manly; his expressions were those of an attached father, and
a sensible man; his loud tones did very well in the open air, and there
was not a single oath to be heard. Such was his instinctive compliment
to the good manners of Mr. Crawford; and, be the consequence what it
might, Fanny's immediate feelings were infinitely soothed.

The conclusion of the two gentlemen's civilities was an offer of Mr.
Price's to take Mr. Crawford into the dockyard, which Mr. Crawford,
desirous of accepting as a favour what was intended as such, though
he had seen the dockyard again and again, and hoping to be so much the
longer with Fanny, was very gratefully disposed to avail himself of, if
the Miss Prices were not afraid of the fatigue; and as it was somehow or
other ascertained, or inferred, or at least acted upon, that they were
not at all afraid, to the dockyard they were all to go; and but for
Mr. Crawford, Mr. Price would have turned thither directly, without the
smallest consideration for his daughters' errands in the High Street. He
took care, however, that they should be allowed to go to the shops they
came out expressly to visit; and it did not delay them long, for Fanny
could so little bear to excite impatience, or be waited for, that before
the gentlemen, as they stood at the door, could do more than begin upon
the last naval regulations, or settle the number of three-deckers now in
commission, their companions were ready to proceed.

They were then to set forward for the dockyard at once, and the walk
would have been conducted--according to Mr. Crawford's opinion--in a
singular manner, had Mr. Price been allowed the entire regulation of it,
as the two girls, he found, would have been left to follow, and keep up
with them or not, as they could, while they walked on together at their
own hasty pace. He was able to introduce some improvement occasionally,
though by no means to the extent he wished; he absolutely would not walk
away from them; and at any crossing or any crowd, when Mr. Price was
only calling out, "Come, girls; come, Fan; come, Sue, take care of
yourselves; keep a sharp lookout!" he would give them his particular
attendance.

Once fairly in the dockyard, he began to reckon upon some happy
intercourse with Fanny, as they were very soon joined by a brother
lounger of Mr. Price's, who was come to take his daily survey of how
things went on, and who must prove a far more worthy companion than
himself; and after a time the two officers seemed very well satisfied
going about together, and discussing matters of equal and never-failing
interest, while the young people sat down upon some timbers in the yard,
or found a seat on board a vessel in the stocks which they all went to
look at. Fanny was most conveniently in want of rest. Crawford could not
have wished her more fatigued or more ready to sit down; but he could
have wished her sister away. A quick-looking girl of Susan's age was the
very worst third in the world: totally different from Lady Bertram, all
eyes and ears; and there was no introducing the main point before her.
He must content himself with being only generally agreeable, and letting
Susan have her share of entertainment, with the indulgence, now and
then, of a look or hint for the better-informed and conscious Fanny.
Norfolk was what he had mostly to talk of: there he had been some time,
and everything there was rising in importance from his present schemes.
Such a man could come from no place, no society, without importing
something to amuse; his journeys and his acquaintance were all of use,
and Susan was entertained in a way quite new to her. For Fanny, somewhat
more was related than the accidental agreeableness of the parties he had
been in. For her approbation, the particular reason of his going into
Norfolk at all, at this unusual time of year, was given. It had been
real business, relative to the renewal of a lease in which the welfare
of a large and--he believed--industrious family was at stake. He had
suspected his agent of some underhand dealing; of meaning to bias
him against the deserving; and he had determined to go himself, and
thoroughly investigate the merits of the case. He had gone, had done
even more good than he had foreseen, had been useful to more than his
first plan had comprehended, and was now able to congratulate himself
upon it, and to feel that in performing a duty, he had secured agreeable
recollections for his own mind. He had introduced himself to some
tenants whom he had never seen before; he had begun making acquaintance
with cottages whose very existence, though on his own estate, had been
hitherto unknown to him. This was aimed, and well aimed, at Fanny. It
was pleasing to hear him speak so properly; here he had been acting as
he ought to do. To be the friend of the poor and the oppressed! Nothing
could be more grateful to her; and she was on the point of giving him an
approving look, when it was all frightened off by his adding a something
too pointed of his hoping soon to have an assistant, a friend, a guide
in every plan of utility or charity for Everingham: a somebody that
would make Everingham and all about it a dearer object than it had ever
been yet.

She turned away, and wished he would not say such things. She was
willing to allow he might have more good qualities than she had been
wont to suppose. She began to feel the possibility of his turning out
well at last; but he was and must ever be completely unsuited to her,
and ought not to think of her.

He perceived that enough had been said of Everingham, and that it would
be as well to talk of something else, and turned to Mansfield. He could
not have chosen better; that was a topic to bring back her attention and
her looks almost instantly. It was a real indulgence to her to hear or
to speak of Mansfield. Now so long divided from everybody who knew the
place, she felt it quite the voice of a friend when he mentioned it,
and led the way to her fond exclamations in praise of its beauties and
comforts, and by his honourable tribute to its inhabitants allowed her
to gratify her own heart in the warmest eulogium, in speaking of her
uncle as all that was clever and good, and her aunt as having the
sweetest of all sweet tempers.

He had a great attachment to Mansfield himself; he said so; he looked
forward with the hope of spending much, very much, of his time there;
always there, or in the neighbourhood. He particularly built upon a very
happy summer and autumn there this year; he felt that it would be so: he
depended upon it; a summer and autumn infinitely superior to the last.
As animated, as diversified, as social, but with circumstances of
superiority undescribable.

"Mansfield, Sotherton, Thornton Lacey," he continued; "what a society
will be comprised in those houses! And at Michaelmas, perhaps, a fourth
may be added: some small hunting-box in the vicinity of everything so
dear; for as to any partnership in Thornton Lacey, as Edmund Bertram
once good-humouredly proposed, I hope I foresee two objections: two
fair, excellent, irresistible objections to that plan."

Fanny was doubly silenced here; though when the moment was passed,
could regret that she had not forced herself into the acknowledged
comprehension of one half of his meaning, and encouraged him to say
something more of his sister and Edmund. It was a subject which she must
learn to speak of, and the weakness that shrunk from it would soon be
quite unpardonable.

When Mr. Price and his friend had seen all that they wished, or had time
for, the others were ready to return; and in the course of their walk
back, Mr. Crawford contrived a minute's privacy for telling Fanny that
his only business in Portsmouth was to see her; that he was come down
for a couple of days on her account, and hers only, and because he could
not endure a longer total separation. She was sorry, really sorry; and
yet in spite of this and the two or three other things which she wished
he had not said, she thought him altogether improved since she had seen
him; he was much more gentle, obliging, and attentive to other people's
feelings than he had ever been at Mansfield; she had never seen him so
agreeable--so _near_ being agreeable; his behaviour to her father could
not offend, and there was something particularly kind and proper in the
notice he took of Susan. He was decidedly improved. She wished the next
day over, she wished he had come only for one day; but it was not
so very bad as she would have expected: the pleasure of talking of
Mansfield was so very great!

Before they parted, she had to thank him for another pleasure, and one
of no trivial kind. Her father asked him to do them the honour of taking
his mutton with them, and Fanny had time for only one thrill of horror,
before he declared himself prevented by a prior engagement. He was
engaged to dinner already both for that day and the next; he had met
with some acquaintance at the Crown who would not be denied; he should
have the honour, however, of waiting on them again on the morrow, etc.,
and so they parted--Fanny in a state of actual felicity from escaping so
horrible an evil!

To have had him join their family dinner-party, and see all their
deficiencies, would have been dreadful! Rebecca's cookery and Rebecca's
waiting, and Betsey's eating at table without restraint, and pulling
everything about as she chose, were what Fanny herself was not yet
enough inured to for her often to make a tolerable meal. _She_ was nice
only from natural delicacy, but _he_ had been brought up in a school of
luxury and epicurism.

 Edmund is now probably in London and Fanny's trying not to feel broken-hearted or jealous about the courtship that is likely ensuing. Suddenly, Henry turns up at the Price house. He says he's in town to visit some friends, but really just wants to see Fanny. Fanny's family acts well around Henry, sensing that he is rich and important. Fanny is relieved since she's a little ashamed of her family, especially her father who fortunately isn't home. The group discusses William and Mansfield Park, and then Henry invites Fanny on a walk. Susan accompanies the two of them. The group runs into Mr. Price, who is luckily on his best behavior, and they all decide to go to the dockyards to look at the ships. It's a beautiful day and Fanny is having a pretty decent time. Henry's frustrated by Susan's presence, though, since she's rather nosey and he can't really say anything to Fanny with her sister around. However, he puts on the charm and entertains both the Price girls. Henry then tells Fanny how she has inspired him to turn over a new leaf and how he's started doing more charity work and paying more attention to the tenants that live on his property in Norfolk. Fanny is slowly warming up to Henry. The group heads back to the Price house and Henry's invited to dinner but he declines since he already has plans. Fanny is relieved since her family is especially embarrassing during dinner.

