"Do you think so?" said Fanny: "in my opinion, my uncle would not like
any addition. I think he values the very quietness you speak of, and
that the repose of his own family circle is all he wants. And it does
not appear to me that we are more serious than we used to be--I mean
before my uncle went abroad. As well as I can recollect, it was always
much the same. There was never much laughing in his presence; or, if
there is any difference, it is not more, I think, than such an absence
has a tendency to produce at first. There must be a sort of shyness;
but I cannot recollect that our evenings formerly were ever merry,
except when my uncle was in town. No young people's are, I suppose,
when those they look up to are at home".

"I believe you are right, Fanny," was his reply, after a short
consideration. "I believe our evenings are rather returned to what
they were, than assuming a new character. The novelty was in their
being lively. Yet, how strong the impression that only a few weeks
will give! I have been feeling as if we had never lived so before."

"I suppose I am graver than other people," said Fanny. "The evenings
do not appear long to me. I love to hear my uncle talk of the West
Indies. I could listen to him for an hour together. It entertains
me more than many other things have done; but then I am unlike other
people, I dare say."