HONORIA [_checking her outburst_]. But then, dear—you will excuse my
speaking plainly—there is a slight difference between the two cases.
[_She seats herself on the settee_. _Fanny is standing near the desk_.]
You see, what we all feel about you, dear, is—that you are—well, hardly a
fit wife for his lordship. [_Fanny’s hands are itching to box the girl’s
ears_. _To save herself_, _she grinds out through her teeth the word_
“_Tack_!”] Of course, dear, it isn’t altogether your fault.
FANNY. Thanks.
HONORIA. Your mother’s marriage was most unfortunate.
FANNY [_her efforts to suppress her feelings are just—but only
just—successful_.] Need we discuss that?
HONORIA. Well, he was an Irishman, dear, there’s no denying it. [_Fanny
takes a cushion from a chair—with her back to Honoria_, _she strangles
it_. _Jane has entered and is listening_.] Still, perhaps it is a
painful subject. And we hope—all of us—that, with time and patience, we
may succeed in eradicating the natural results of your bringing-up.
JANE. Some families, finding themselves in our position, would seek to
turn it to their own advantage. _We_ think only of your good.
FANNY. Yes, that’s what I feel—that you are worrying yourselves too much
about me. You’re too conscientious, all of you. You, in particular,
Jane, because you know you’re not strong. _You’ll_ end up with a nervous
breakdown. [_Mrs. Bennet has entered_. _Honoria slips out_. _Fanny
turns to her aunt_.] I was just saying how anxious I’m getting about
Jane. I don’t like the look of her at all. What she wants is a holiday.
Don’t you agree with me?
MRS. BENNET. There will be no holiday, I fear, for any of us, for many a
long day.
FANNY. But you must. You must think more of yourselves, you know.
_You’re_ not looking well, aunt, at all. What you both want is a
month—at the seaside.
MRS. BENNET. Your object is too painfully apparent for the subject to
need discussion. True solicitude for us would express itself better in
greater watchfulness upon your own behaviour.
FANNY. Why, what have I done?
_Bennet enters_, _followed_, _unwillingly_, _by Ernest_.
MRS. BENNET. Your uncle will explain.
BENNET. Shut that door. [_Ernest does so_. _They group round
Bennet—Ernest a little behind_. _Fanny remains near the desk_.] Sit
down. [_Fanny_, _bewildered_, _speechless_, _sits_.] Carry your mind
back, please, to the moment when, with the Bradshaw in front of you, you
were considering, with the help of your cousin Ernest, the possibility of
your slipping out unobserved, to meet and commune with a person you had
surreptitiously summoned to visit you during your husband’s absence.
FANNY. While I think of it, did he have anything to eat before he went?
I told Ernest to—ask you to see that he had a glass of champagne and a—
BENNET [_waves her back into silence_]. Mr. Newte was given refreshment
suitable to his station. [_She goes to interrupt_. _Again he waves her
back_.] We are speaking of more important matters. Your cousin reminded
you that you would have to pass the lodge, occupied by your Aunt Amelia.
I state the case correctly?
FANNY. Beautifully!
BENNET. I said nothing at the time, doubting the evidence of my own
ears. The boy, however—where is the boy?—[_Ernest is pushed
forward_]—has admitted—reluctantly—that he also heard it. [_A pause_.
_The solemnity deepens_.] You made use of an expression—
FANNY. Oh, cut it short. I said “damn.” [_A shudder passes_.] I’m
sorry to have frightened you, but if you knew a little more of really
good society, you would know that ladies—quite slap-up ladies—when
they’re excited, do—.
MRS. BENNET [_interrupting with almost a scream_]. She defends it!
BENNET. You will allow _me_ to be the judge of what a _lady_ says, even
when she is excited. As for this man, Newte—
FANNY. The best friend you ever had. [_She is_ “_up_” _again_.] You
thank your stars, all of you, and tell the others, too, the whole blessed
twenty-three of you—you thank your stars that I did “surreptitiously” beg
and pray him to run down by the first train and have a talk with me; and
that Providence was kind enough to _you_ to enable him to come. It’s a
very different tune you’d have been singing at this moment—all of you—if
he hadn’t. I can tell you that.
MRS. BENNET. And pray, what tune _should_ we have been singing if
Providence hadn’t been so thoughtful of us?
FANNY [_she is about to answer_, _then checks herself_, _and sits
again_]. You take care you don’t find out. There’s time yet.
MRS. BENNET. We had better leave her.
BENNET. Threats, my good girl, will not help you.
MRS. BENNET [_with a laugh_]. She’s in too tight a corner for that.
BENNET. A contrite heart is what your aunt and I desire to see. [_He
takes from his pocket a small book_, _places it open on the desk_.] I
have marked one or two passages, on pages 93–7. We will discuss them
together—later in the day.
_They troop out in silence_, _the key turns in the lock_.
FANNY [_takes up the book—turns to the cover_, _reads_]. “The Sinner’s
Manual.” [_She turns to page_ 93.]
[CURTAIN]
_ACT III_
_SCENE_
_The same_.
_Time_.—_A few days later_.
_A table is laid for tea_. _Ernest enters with the tea-urn_. _He leaves
the door open_; _through it comes the sound of an harmonium_,
_accompanying the singing of a hymn_. _Fanny comes from her
dressing-room_. _She is dressed more cheerfully than when we last saw
her_, _but still_ “_seemly_.” _She has a book in her hand_. _She
pauses_, _hearing the music_, _goes nearer to the open door_, _and
listens_; _then crosses and takes her place at the table_. _The music
ceases_.
FANNY. Another prayer meeting? [_Ernest nods_.] I do keep ’em busy.
ERNEST. D’ye know what they call you downstairs?
FANNY. What?
ERNEST. The family cross.
FANNY. I’m afraid it’s about right.
ERNEST. What have you been doing _this_ time? Swearing again?
FANNY. Worse. I’ve been lying. [_Ernest gives vent to a low whistle_.]
Said I didn’t know what had become of that yellow poplin with the black
lace flounces, that they’ve had altered for me. Found out that I’d given
it to old Mother Potts for the rummage sale at the Vicarage. Jane was
down there. Bought it in for half a crown.