honours of its finest spots. Everything answered;
it was all gaiety and good-humour, the heat only supplying
inconvenience enough to be talked of with pleasure--
till the fourth day, when the happiness of one of the party
was exceedingly clouded. Miss Bertram was the one.
Edmund and Julia were invited to dine at the Parsonage,
and _she_ was excluded. It was meant and done by Mrs. Grant,
with perfect good-humour, on Mr. Rushworth's account,
who was partly expected at the Park that day; but it was felt
as a very grievous injury, and her good manners were severely
taxed to conceal her vexation and anger till she reached home.
As Mr. Rushworth did _not_ come, the injury was increased,
and she had not even the relief of shewing her power over him;
she could only be sullen to her mother, aunt, and cousin,
and throw as great a gloom as possible over their dinner
and dessert.

Between ten and eleven Edmund and Julia walked into the
drawing-room, fresh with the evening air, glowing and cheerful,
the very reverse of what they found in the three ladies
sitting there, for Maria would scarcely raise her eyes
from her book, and Lady Bertram was half-asleep; and even
Mrs. Norris, discomposed by her niece's ill-humour,
and having asked one or two questions about the dinner,
which were not immediately attended to, seemed almost
determined to say no more. For a few minutes the brother
and sister were too eager in their praise of the night
and their remarks on the stars, to think beyond themselves;
but when the first pause came, Edmund, looking around,
said, "But where is Fanny? Is she gone to bed?"