‘Our liturgy,’observed Crawford,‘has beauties,which not even a careless,slovenly style of reading can destroy;but it has also redundancies and repetitions,which require good reading not to be felt.For myself,at least,I must confess being not always so attentive as I ought to be’(here was a glance at Fanny)‘that nineteen times out of twenty I am thinking how such a prayer ought to be read,and longing to have it to read myself-Did you speak?’stepping eagerly to Fanny,and addressing her in a softened voice;and upon her saying ‘No,’he added,‘Are you sure you did not speak?I saw your lips move.I fancied you might be going to tell me I ought to be more attentive,and not allow my thoughts to wander.Are not you going to tell me so?’
‘No,indeed,you know your duty too well for me to-even supposing-’
She stopped,felt herself getting into a puzzle,and could not be prevailed on to add another word,not by dint of several minutes of supplication and waiting.He then returned to his former station,and went on as if there had been no such tender interruption.
‘A sermon,well delivered,is more uncommon even than prayers well read.A sermon,good in itself,is no rare thing.It is more difficult to speak well than to compose well;that is,the rules and trick of composition are oftener an object of study.A thoroughly good sermon,thoroughly well delivered,is a capital gratification.I can never hear such a one without the greatest admiration and respect,and more than half a mind to take orders and preach myself.There is something in the eloquence of the pulpit,when it is really eloquence,which is entitled to the highest praise and honour.The preacher who can touch and affect such an heterogeneous mass of hearers,on subjects limited,and long worn threadbare in all common hands;who can say anything new or striking,anything that rouses the attention,without offending the taste,or wearing out the feelings of his hearers,is a man whom one could not (in his public capacity)honour enough.I should like to be such a man.’
Edmund laughed.
‘I should indeed.I never listened to a distinguished preacher in my life,without a sort of envy.But then,I must have a London audience.I could not preach,but to the educated;to those who were capable of estimating my composition.And,I do not know that I should be fond of preaching often;now and then,perhaps,once or twice in the spring,after being anxiously expected for half a dozen Sundays together;but not for a constancy;it would not do for a constancy.’
Here Fanny,who could not but listen,involuntarily shook her head,and Crawford was instantly by her side again,entreating to know her meaning;and as Edmund perceived,by his drawing in a chair,and sitting down close by her,that it was to be a very thorough attack,that looks and undertones were to be well tried,he sank as quietly as possible into a corner,turned his back,and took up a newspaper,very sincerely wishing that dear little Fanny might be persuaded into explaining away that shake of the head to the satisfaction of her ardent lover;and as earnestly trying to bury every sound of the business from himself in murmurs of his own,over the various advertisements of ‘a most desirable estate in South Wales’-‘To Parents and Guardians’-and a ‘Capital season'd Hunter.’
Fanny,meanwhile,vexed with herself for not having been as motionless as she was speechless,and grieved to the heart to see Edmund's arrangements,was trying,by everything in the power of her modest gentle nature,to repulse Mr Crawford,and avoid both his looks and enquiries;and he unrepulsable was persisting in both.
‘What did that shake of the head mean?’said he.‘What was it meant to express?Disapprobation,I fear.But of what?-What had I been saying to displease you?-Did you think me speaking improperly?-lightly,irreverently on the subject?-Only tell me if I was.Only tell me if I was wrong.I want to be set right.Nay,nay,I entreat you;for one moment put down your work.What did that shake of the head mean?’
In vain was her ‘Pray,Sir,don't-pray,Mr Crawford,’repeated twice over;and in vain did she try to move away-In the same low eager voice,and the same close neighbourhood,he went on,re-urging the same questions as before.She grew more agitated and displeased.
‘How can you,Sir?You quite astonish me-I wonder how you can-’
‘Do I astonish you?’-said he.‘Do you wonder?Is there any thing in my present entreaty that you do not understand?I will explain to you instantly all that makes me urge you in this manner,all that gives me an interest in what you look and do,and excites my present curiosity.I will not leave you to wonder long.’
In spite of herself,she could not help half a smile,but she said nothing.
‘You shook your head at my acknowledging that I should not like to engage in the duties of a clergyman always,for a constancy.Yes,that was the word.Constancy,I am not afraid of the word.I would spell it,read it,write it with anybody.I see nothing alarming in the word.Did you think I ought?’
‘Perhaps,Sir,’said Fanny,wearied at last into speaking-‘perhaps,Sir,I thought it was a pity you did not always know yourself as well as you seemed to do at that moment.’
Crawford,delighted to get her to speak at any rate,was determined to keep it up;and poor Fanny,who had hoped to silence him by such an extremity of reproof,found herself sadly mistaken,and that it was only a change from one object of curiosity and one set of words to another.He had always something to entreat the explanation of.The opportunity was too fair.None such had occurred since his seeing her in her uncle's room,none such might occur again before his leaving Mansfield.Lady Bertram's being just on the other side of the table was a trifle,for she might always be considered as only half awake,and Edmund's advertisements were still of the first utility.
