The next morning was a lovely one, and Fanny was feeding the ducks in the brook before eight o’clock. When she came into the house to breakfast she found Mr. Crisp in the porch.
“You have given me a sleepless night,” he said. “I lay awake endeavouring to determine for my own satisfaction what would be the outcome of the girl’s meeting that dreadful Branghton family. I worked out the story to its proper conclusion—so I thought—on my left side; but when I turned on my right I found that I had been grossly astray in all my fancies; and forthwith I set to work to put myself right. After an hour or two I thought I had succeeded, but, lo! a turn on my back and I saw that, as I planned it, the story would never come to an end. So I kept on until the dawn. Then I fell asleep, but only to find myself surrounded by demons, in the form of Branghtons, and a master devil wearing the epaulets of a naval officer, and he made for me with a horrid leer and a cry of Mervain! I awoke in a worse state than did the Duke of Clarence in the play, and I have not slept since. Oh, that little mischief, Susy! Wherefore did she send hither that magic book to be my undoing?”
“Ah, sir, never before did I perceive the evil of novel reading,” she said. “I could not understand my mother’s banning all such books, but now I see the wisdom of it. I now see how they tend to unsettle one. But it may not yet be too late to save you from the evil influence of ‘Evelina.’ If I read no more of her story, you will soon forget her and all may be well.”
“You will read no more? Good! Carry out your threat and I will e’en take the coach to London and buy a full set at Mr. Newbery’s.”
“At Mr. Newbery’s? Ah, sir, that is a threat you could not carry out, however vindictive you might be.”
“And why not, prithee? Think you I would begrudge the seven or eight shillings it would cost?”
“Nay, sir; but if you went to Mr. Newbery you would probably find yourself treated badly by him if you accused him of publishing the book. ’Tis Mr. Lowndes who is the guilty person.”
“You will not put one to the humiliation of a journey to London all for a trumpery novel?”
“Nay, not for a trumpery novel; but we were talking of ‘Evelina.’”
“I submit to the correction, my dear; and so now we are in perfect agreement, you will continue the story, if only to allay my sleepless speculations.”