"But why should Mrs. Grant ask Fanny?" said Lady Bertram. "How came she to
think of asking Fanny? Fanny never dines there, you know, in this sort of way. I
cannot spare her, and I am sure she does not want to go. Fanny, you do not
want to go, do you?"
"If you put such a question to her," cried Edmund, preventing his cousin's
speaking, "Fanny will immediately say No; but I am sure, my dear mother, she
would like to go; and I can see no reason why she should not."
"I cannot imagine why Mrs. Grant should think of asking her? She never did
before. She used to ask your sisters now and then, but she never asked Fanny."
"If you cannot do without me, ma'am--" said Fanny, in a self-denying tone.
"But my mother will have my father with her all the evening."
"To be sure, so I shall."
"Suppose you take my father's opinion, ma'am."
"That's well thought of. So I will, Edmund. I will ask Sir Thomas, as soon as he
comes in, whether I can do without her."
"As you please, ma'am, on that head; but I meant my father's opinion as to the
propriety of the invitation's being accepted or not; and I think he will consider it a
right thing by Mrs. Grant, as well as by Fanny, that being the first invitation it
should be accepted."
"I do not know. We will ask him. But he will be very much surprised that Mrs.
Grant should ask Fanny at all."
There was nothing more to be said, or that could be said to any purpose, till Sir
Thomas were present; but the subject involving, as it did, her own evening's
comfort for the morrow, was so much uppermost in Lady Bertram's mind, that
half an hour afterwards, on his looking in for a minute in his way from his
plantation to his dressing-room, she called him back again, when he had almost
closed the door, with "Sir Thomas, stop a moment--I have something to say to
Her tone of calm languor, for she never took the trouble of raising her voice, was
always heard and attended to; and Sir Thomas came back. Her story began; and
Fanny immediately slipped out of the room; for to hear herself the subject of any
discussion with her uncle was more than her nerves could bear. She was
anxious, she knew-- more anxious perhaps than she ought to be--for what was it
after all whether she went or staid? but if her uncle were to be a great while
considering and deciding, and with very grave looks, and those grave looks
directed to her, and at last decide against her, she might not be able to appear
properly submissive and indifferent. Her cause, meanwhile, went on well. It
began, on Lady Bertram's part, with--"I have something to tell you that will
surprise you. Mrs. Grant has asked Fanny to dinner."
"Well," said Sir Thomas, as if waiting more to accomplish the surprise.
"Edmund wants her to go. But how can I spare her?"
"She will be late," said Sir Thomas, taking out his watch; "but what is your