CHAPTER XLVI

emelancholy,forsunshineappearedtoheratotallydifferentthinginatownandinthecountry.Here,itspowerwasonlyaglare:astifling,sicklyglare,servingbuttobringforwardstainsanddirtthatmightotherwisehaveslept.Therewasneitherhealthnorgaietyinsunshineinatown.Shesatinablazeofoppressiveheat,inacloudofmovingdust,andhereyescouldonlywanderfromthewalls,markedbyherfather’shead,tothetablecutandnotchedbyherbrothers,wherestoodthetea-boardneverthoroughlycleaned,thecupsandsaucerswipedinstreaks,themilkamixtureofmotesfloatinginthinblue,andthebreadandbuttergrowingeveryminutemoregreasythanevenRebecca’shandshadfirstproducedit.Herfatherreadhisnewspaper,andhermotherlamentedovertheraggedcarpetasusual,whiletheteawasinpreparation,andwishedRebeccawouldmenditandFannywasfirstrousedbyhiscallingouttoher,afterhumphingandconsideringoveraparticularparagraph:“What’sthenameofyourgreatcousinsintown,Fan?” Amoment’srecollectionenabledhertosay,“Rushworth,sir.” “Anddon’ttheyliveinWimpoleStreet?” “Yes,sir.” “Then,there’sthedeviltopayamongthem,that’sall!There”(holdingoutthepapertoher)“muchgoodmaysuchfinerelationsdoyou.Idon’tknowwhatSirThomasmaythinkofsuchmattershemaybetoomuchofthecourtierandfinegentlemantolikehisdaughtertheless.But,byG—!ifshebelongedtome,I’dgivehertherope’sendaslongasIcouldstandoverher.Alittlefloggingformanandwomantoowouldbethebestwayofpreventingsuchthings.” Fannyreadtoherselfthat“itwaswithinfiniteconcernthenewspaperhadtoannouncetotheworldamatrimonialfracasinthefamilyofMr.R.ofWimpoleStreetthebeautifulMrs.R.,whosenamehadnotlongbeenenrolledinthelistsofHymen,andwhohadpromisedtobecomesobrilliantaleaderinthefashionableworld,havingquittedherhusband’sroofincompanywiththewell-knownandcaptivatingMr.C.,theintimatefriendandassociateofMr.R.,anditwasnotknowneventotheeditorofthenewspaperwhithertheyweregone.” “Itisamistake,sir,”saidFannyinstantly“itmustbeamistake,itcannotbetrueitmustmeansomeotherpeople.” Shespokefromtheinstinctivewishofdelayingshameshespokewitharesolutionwhichsprungfromdespair,forshespokewhatshedidnot,couldnotbelieveherself.Ithadbeentheshockofconvictionassheread.Thetruthrushedonherandhowshecouldhavespokenatall,howshecouldevenhavebreathed,wasafterwardsmatterofwondertoherself. Mr.Pricecaredtoolittleaboutthereporttomakehermuchanswer.“Itmightbeallalie,”heacknowledged“butsomanyfineladiesweregoingtothedevilnowadaysthatway,thattherewasnoansweringforanybody.” “Indeed,Ihopeitisnottrue,”saidMrs.Priceplaintively“itwouldbesoveryshocking!IfIhavespokenoncetoRebeccaaboutthatcarpet,IamsureIhavespokeatleastadozentimeshavenotI,Betsey?Anditwouldnotbetenminutes’work.” ThehorrorofamindlikeFanny’s,asitreceivedtheconvictionofsuchguilt,andbegantotakeinsomepartofthemiserythatmustensue,canhardlybedescribed.Atfirst,itwasasortofstupefactionbuteverymomentwasquickeningherperceptionofthehorribleevil.Shecouldnotdoubt,shedarednotindulgeahope,oftheparagraphbeingfalse.MissCrawford’sletter,whichshehadreadsooftenastomakeeverylineherown,wasinfrightfulconformitywithit.Hereagerdefenceofherbrother,herhopeofitsbeinghushedup,herevidentagitation,wereallofapiecewithsomethingverybadandiftherewasawomanofcharacterinexistence,whocouldtreatasatriflethissinofthefirstmagnitude,whowouldtrytoglossitover,anddesiretohaveitunpunished,shecouldbelieveMissCrawfordtobethewoman!Nowshecouldseeherownmistakeastowhoweregone,orsaidtobegone.ItwasnotMr.andMrs.RushworthitwasMrs