Fanny had no share in the festivities of the season;
but she enjoyed being avowedly useful as her aunt's companion
when they called away the rest of the family; and, as Miss
Lee had left Mansfield, she naturally became everything
to Lady Bertram during the night of a ball or a party.
She talked to her, listened to her, read to her;
and the tranquillity of such evenings, her perfect security
in such a _tete-a-tete_ from any sound of unkindness,
was unspeakably welcome to a mind which had seldom
known a pause in its alarms or embarrassments. As to
her cousins' gaieties, she loved to hear an account of them,
especially of the balls, and whom Edmund had danced with;
but thought too lowly of her own situation to imagine
she should ever be admitted to the same, and listened,
therefore, without an idea of any nearer concern in them.
Upon the whole, it was a comfortable winter to her;
for though it brought no William to England, the never-failing
hope of his arrival was worth much.

The ensuing spring deprived her of her valued friend,
the old grey pony; and for some time she was in danger of
feeling the loss in her health as well as in her affections;
for in spite of the acknowledged importance of her riding
on horse-back, no measures were taken for mounting
her again, "because," as it was observed by her aunts,
"she might ride one of her cousin's horses at any time
when they did not want them," and as the Miss Bertrams
regularly wanted their horses every fine day, and had no
idea of carrying their obliging manners to the sacrifice
of any real pleasure, that time, of course, never came.