Edmund Bertram's Diary

‘But why are you to be a clergyman?’ she said, puzzling over it. ‘I thought that was always the lot of the youngest, where there were many to choose before him.’

‘Do you think the church itself never chosen?’ I asked, amused at her ignorance.

‘Men love to distinguish themselves, and a clergyman is nothing.’

I was only too happy to prove her wrong, and Fanny ventured her own opinions, which were in support of mine.

‘You have quite convinced Miss Price already,’ said Miss Crawford satirical y.

‘I wish I could convince Miss Crawford, too,’ I returned.

She laughed and said, ‘I do not think you ever will. You real y are fit for something better. Come, do change your mind. It is not too late. Go into the law,’ she offered.

‘Go into the law! With as much ease as I was told to go into this wilderness!’ I said, torn between exasperation and amusement.

‘Now you are going to say something about the law being the worst wilderness of the two,’ she said with an arch smile, ‘but I forestall you.’

‘You need not hurry when the object is to prevent me from saying a bon mot, for there is not the least wit in my nature, ’ I said, for I was frustrated by her determination to turn everything into a joke.

A general silence fell, and I regretted my ill -humored words, but they were said and could not be recal ed. It was broken only when Fanny said she was tired and that, when we came to a seat, she would like to rest for a while.

I immediately drew her arm through mine, to give her my support, and after a moment’s hesitation I offered my other arm to Miss Crawford. To my relief she took it and we walked on. The gloom did not last long, and I blessed Miss Crawford’s wit and good humor just as much as, a few minutes before, I had been condemning them, for she bore no grudge for my sharpness and was soon teasing me again.

‘We have walked a very great distance,’ she said airily. ‘It must have been at least a mile.’

‘Not half a mile!’ I protested.

‘Oh! you do not consider how much we have wound about. We have taken such a very serpentine course, and the wood itself must be half a mile long in a straight line, for we have never seen the end of it yet since we left the first great path.’

‘But if you remember, before we left that first great path, we saw directly to the end of it. We looked down the whole vista, and saw it closed by iron gates, and it could not have been more than a furlong in length.’

‘Oh! I know nothing of your furlongs,’ she said, ‘but I am sure it is a very long wood.’

‘We have been exactly a quarter of an hour here,’ I teased her, taking out my watch. ‘Do you think we are walking four miles an hour?’

‘Oh! do not attack me with your watch. A watch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch!’

Perfect good humor was restored by the time we came to the bottom of the wood, where there was a seat, and we all sat down.

‘To sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment,’ said Fanny.

Miss Crawford, however, was of a livelier disposition and was soon eager to be walking again. There was a straight green running along the side of the ha-ha, and she proposed walking along it, to better determine the dimensions of the wood. I fell in with her wishes and, leaving Fanny sitting on the bench to rest, we walked on together.

‘Now, Miss Crawford, if you will look up the walk, you will convince yourself that it cannot be half a mile long, or half half a mile,’ I said.

She smiled saucily. ‘It is an immense distance. I see that with a glance.’

We were still laughing and arguing the point when we came to a side gate which led into the Park. To my surprise and pleasure — for I was growing tired of the wilderness, despite its beauty — Miss Crawford expressed a wish to go into the Park. I tried the gate; it was not locked; and we went through.

We came at last to the avenue.

‘So these are the trees Mr. Rushworth thinks his landscaper will cut down,’ mused Miss Crawford.

‘Indeed.’

‘It would look better, I agree, for it would open the prospect wonderful y, but I am glad the avenue is here today. It is much pleasanter beneath the trees.’

We sat beneath them and talked of many things, Miss Crawford charming me as she so easily does, and I began to think that, if only she could be brought to think seriously from time to time, she would be my idea of a perfect woman.

We soon resumed our walk and found Fanny much rested on our return. I gave her my arm and we walked back to the house, where soon the whole party assembled for dinner. The talk was all of the projected improvements to the estate and we set out for home in great good humor. It was a beautiful evening, mild and still, and I could not help wishing for more such days, and such evenings, in the future.

Monday 15 August

The mail brought a letter from my father, saying he intended to take his passage in the September packet, and that he would be with us in November.