"Perhaps," said Tom, "Fanny may be more disposed to oblige us now.
Perhaps you may persuade her."

"No, she is quite determined. She certainly will not act."

"Oh! very well." And not another word was said; but Fanny felt herself
again in danger, and her indifference to the danger was beginning to
fail her already.

There were not fewer smiles at the Parsonage than at the Park on this
change in Edmund; Miss Crawford looked very lovely in hers, and entered
with such an instantaneous renewal of cheerfulness into the whole
affair as could have but one effect on him. "He was certainly right in
respecting such feelings; he was glad he had determined on it." And the
morning wore away in satisfactions very sweet, if not very sound. One
advantage resulted from it to Fanny: at the earnest request of Miss
Crawford, Mrs. Grant had, with her usual good-humour, agreed to
undertake the part for which Fanny had been wanted; and this was all
that occurred to gladden her heart during the day; and even this,
when imparted by Edmund, brought a pang with it, for it was Miss
Crawford to whom she was obliged--it was Miss Crawford whose kind
exertions were to excite her gratitude, and whose merit in making them
was spoken of with a glow of admiration. She was safe; but peace and
safety were unconnected here. Her mind had been never farther from
peace. She could not feel that she had done wrong herself, but she was
disquieted in every other way. Her heart and her judgment were equally
against Edmund's decision: she could not acquit his unsteadiness, and
his happiness under it made her wretched. She was full of jealousy and
agitation. Miss Crawford came with looks of gaiety which seemed an
insult, with friendly expressions towards herself which she could
hardly answer calmly. Everybody around her was gay and busy,
prosperous and important; each had their object of interest, their
part, their dress, their favourite scene, their friends and
confederates: all were finding employment in consultations and
comparisons, or diversion in the playful conceits they suggested. She
alone was sad and insignificant: she had no share in anything; she
might go or stay; she might be in the midst of their noise, or retreat
from it to the solitude of the East room, without being seen or missed.
She could almost think anything would have been preferable to this.
Mrs. Grant was of consequence: her good-nature had honourable
mention; her taste and her time were considered; her presence was
wanted; she was sought for, and attended, and praised; and Fanny was at
first in some danger of envying her the character she had accepted.
But reflection brought better feelings, and shewed her that Mrs. Grant
was entitled to respect, which could never have belonged to her; and
that, had she received even the greatest, she could never have been
easy in joining a scheme which, considering only her uncle, she must
condemn altogether.