Mrs. Price took her weekly walk on the ramparts every fine Sunday
throughout the year, always going directly after morning service and
staying till dinner-time. It was her public place: there she met her
acquaintance, heard a little news, talked over the badness of the
Portsmouth servants, and wound up her spirits for the six days ensuing.

Thither they now went; Mr. Crawford most happy to consider the Miss
Prices as his peculiar charge; and before they had been there long,
somehow or other, there was no saying how, Fanny could not have
believed it, but he was walking between them with an arm of each under
his, and she did not know how to prevent or put an end to it. It made
her uncomfortable for a time, but yet there were enjoyments in the day
and in the view which would be felt.

The day was uncommonly lovely. It was really March; but it was April
in its mild air, brisk soft wind, and bright sun, occasionally clouded
for a minute; and everything looked so beautiful under the influence of
such a sky, the effects of the shadows pursuing each other on the ships
at Spithead and the island beyond, with the ever-varying hues of the
sea, now at high water, dancing in its glee and dashing against the
ramparts with so fine a sound, produced altogether such a combination
of charms for Fanny, as made her gradually almost careless of the
circumstances under which she felt them. Nay, had she been without his
arm, she would soon have known that she needed it, for she wanted
strength for a two hours' saunter of this kind, coming, as it generally
did, upon a week's previous inactivity. Fanny was beginning to feel
the effect of being debarred from her usual regular exercise; she had
lost ground as to health since her being in Portsmouth; and but for Mr.
Crawford and the beauty of the weather would soon have been knocked up
now.