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By Root 723 0

him, and the two sat for some time in a thoughtful silence. It was some minutes more before Mary turned finally to the scene Miss Price had mentioned, and as she read it the colour flooded into her cheeks. She knew they had cast Edmund as Anhalt, but had known nothing of the part itself beyond the fact that the young man was a clergyman. That had seemed to promise few terrors, but she now comprehended that she would be required to act a scene with him in which the whole subject was love—a marriage of love was to be described by the gentleman, and very little short of a declaration of love to be made by the lady. She read, and read the scene again with many painful, many wondering emotions, and was thankful that Miss Price’s attention was still engrossed in the various refinements of Mr Rushworth’s attire. She could not yet face Fanny’s knowing looks, much less contemplate saying such words to Mr Norris before the rest of the company.

Every thing was quickly in a regular train; theatre, actors, actresses, and dresses, were all getting forward, and the scene painter being still at work at Sotherton, a temporary theatre was quickly fitted out in the billiard-room at Mansfield. As the days passed Mary reasoned herself into a greater degree of composure, and could even derive some amusement from the actions of the others, both on and off the stage. Henry had proved to be considerably the best actor of them all, despite the trifling nature of his part, and his consequent frustration was severely aggravated by being constrained to witness the repeated, and soon unnecessary, rehearsals of the opening scene between Mr Rushworth and Miss Price. Everyone else had their own little cares, their own little anxieties—there was so much employment, solicitude, and bustle that the unhappiness of the one member of the party who did not act was soon overlooked. Maria had loved Mr Rushworth—or thought she had—and now endured all the suffering of such a public disappointment, made worse by a strong sense of ill-usage. Her heart was sore, and she was not above hoping for some scandalous end to the affair, some punishment to Fanny for conduct so disgraceful towards herself, as well as towards Edmund. Such bitter feelings might have escaped the notice of the rest of the family, but Mary saw them, though the few attempts she made to shew her kindness or sympathy were repulsed as liberties. Nonetheless Mary could not see her sitting by disregarded with her mother and Julia, or walking alone in the garden, without feeling great pity.

A day was soon set for the first regular rehearsal of as much of the play as could be managed without Edmund. The actors were in the theatre at an early hour; Julia, though still delicate after her recent indisposition, was invested with the office of prompter, and the first scene began. Rushworth made his entrance, and Frederick encountered his mother with much amazement.

‘For God’s sake, what is this!’ cried Mr Rushworth, beholding Miss Price kneeling in an attitude of elegant despair. ‘Why do I find my mother thus? Speak! ’

‘My dear Frederick!’ she said, embracing him with ardour. ‘The joy is too great—I was not prepared—’

‘Dear Mother, compose yourself. How she trembles! She is fainting,’ he cried, as Miss Price leant gracefully against him, observing the directions with the most scrupulous exactness. The pause that then followed was so prolonged that Julia felt it necessary to prompt Miss Price with her next speech. Casting a look of some irritation in her cousin’s direction, Miss Price continued. ‘He talked of love, and promised me marriage,’ she said, in tones of becoming modesty. ‘He was the first man who had ever spoken to me on such a subject—don’t look at me, dear Frederick! I can say no more,’ and indeed she did not, though there was a certain half-glance at Mr Rushworth that seemed designed to convey a private meaning.

Mr Rushworth composed himself into yet another attitude of manly vigour, and pressed his companion’s hand next to his heart.

‘Oh! My son!’ she sighed. ‘I was intoxicated by the fervent