A short silence followed. Each sister looked anxious; for each felt the
best claim to Agatha, and was hoping to have it pressed on her by the
rest. Henry Crawford, who meanwhile had taken up the play, and with
seeming carelessness was turning over the first act, soon settled
the business.

"I must entreat Miss _Julia_ Bertram," said he, "not to engage in the
part of Agatha, or it will be the ruin of all my solemnity. You must
not, indeed you must not [turning to her]. I could not stand your
countenance dressed up in woe and paleness. The many laughs we have had
together would infallibly come across me, and Frederick and his knapsack
would be obliged to run away."

Pleasantly, courteously, it was spoken; but the manner was lost in the
matter to Julia's feelings. She saw a glance at Maria, which confirmed
the injury to herself: it was a scheme, a trick; she was slighted, Maria
was preferred; the smile of triumph which Maria was trying to suppress
showed how well it was understood: and before Julia could command
herself enough to speak, her brother gave his weight against her too,
by saying, "Oh yes! Maria must be Agatha. Maria will be the best Agatha.
Though Julia fancies she prefers tragedy, I would not trust her in it.
There is nothing of tragedy about her. She has not the look of it. Her
features are not tragic features, and she walks too quick, and speaks
too quick, and would not keep her countenance. She had better do the old
countrywoman--the Cottager's wife; you had, indeed, Julia. Cottager's
wife is a very pretty part, I assure you. The old lady relieves the
high-flown benevolence of her husband with a good deal of spirit. You
shall be the Cottager's wife."