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rather different strain, ‘I cannot imagine what it is to pass March and April in London. How different a thing sunshine must be in a town!
I imagine that in—Bedford-square was it not, my dear Miss Crawford?—the sun’s power is only a glare, serving but to bring forward stains and dirt that might otherwise have slept.
And old gentlemen can be so particular about such things. I always pity the housekeeper in such circumstances. You , of course, know the trials of housekeeping only too
well.’
    Miss Price having exhausted for the present even her considerable talent for the underhand and the insulting, began to pull at some of the trimming on her dress. ‘This cheap fringe will
not do at all. I really must ask Lady Bertram to remonstrate with that slovenly dressmaker. I am hardly fit to appear in decent company, but thankfully there is no-one of consequence here to
see me.’
    Mary watched her for a moment, reflecting that she did not have such an ornament on even her finest gown, before commenting thoughtfully, ‘I am conscious of being even more attracted to a
country residence than I expected.’
    ‘Indeed?’ said Miss Price loudly, with a look of meaning. ‘What had you in mind? Allow me to guess. An elegant, moderate-sized house in the centre of family
connections—continual engagements among them—commanding the first society in the neighbourhood, and turning from the cheerful round of such amusements to nothing worse than a tête-à-tête with the person one feels most agreeable in the world? I can see that such a picture would have much in it to attract you , Miss Crawford.’
    ‘Perhaps it does.’ Mary added to herself, leaving her seat, ‘Perhaps I could even envy you with such a home as that.’
    Miss Price sat silent, once again absorbed in the vexations of her gown, and pulling at it until it was quite spoilt. Mary relapsed into thoughtfulness, till suddenly looking up she saw Edmund
walking towards them in the company of Mrs Grant. The very consciousness of having been thinking of him as ‘Edmund’—as Miss Price alone was justified in thinking of
him—caused her to colour and look away, a movement which was not lost on the sharp eyes of Miss Price.
    ‘Well, Miss Crawford,’ she said archly, ‘shall I disappoint them of half their lecture upon my sitting down out of doors at this time of year, by being up before they can
begin?’
    Edmund met them with particular awkwardness. It was the first time of his seeing them together since the beginning of that better acquaintance which he had been hearing deprecated by his mother
almost every day. He could hardly understand it; there was such a difference in their tempers, their dispositions, and their tastes, there never were two people more dissimilar. But even if he saw
the force of such a contrast, he was not yet equal to discuss it with himself, and seeing them together now, he confined himself to an insipid and common-place observation about the wisdom of
judging the weather by the calendar, which would have merited an entry in Henry’s pocket-book, if he had but heard it.
    As the four of them returned to the parsonage house, Edmund recollected the purpose of his errand; he had walked down on purpose to convey Sir Thomas’s invitation to the Grants and the
Crawfords to dine at the Park. It was with strong expressions of regret that Mrs Grant declared herself to be prevented by a prior engagement, and Miss Price turned at once to Mary, saying how much
she would have enjoyed the pleasure of her company, ‘but without Dr and Mrs Grant, she did not suppose it would be in their power to accept,’ all the while looking at Edmund for his
support. But Mr Norris assured them that his uncle would be delighted to receive Mr and Miss Crawford, with or without the Grants, and in her brother’s absence Mary accepted with the greatest
alacrity.
    ‘I am very glad. It will be delightful,’ said Miss Price, trying for greater warmth of