“I wonder how it will sound when read in the morning? I fear that it will be as dull as a play would seem in the garish light of day.”
“Tell not that to me. There are novels of the morn as well as of the even, and I believe that the freshness of this one will be best appreciated in the brightness of such a morning as this. At any rate, we can but make a trial of it. If we find that it does not read well, you can lay it aside till the evening.”
Fanny was delighted to find that he was as interested in her book as Susy had been; and the noon came and found her beginning the second volume to him, sitting by his side in the sunlight that bathed the little garden, and his attention never flagged. Once or twice, however, he grumbled, but her ear assured her that his grumble was not a critical one; it was only meant to censure the behaviour of the rude Captain Mervain.
They were still in the garden when, shortly after noon, a chaise was heard in the lane: it appeared to be on its way to the house.
“What! as I live ’tis mamma and my sisters come to pay us a visit,” cried Fanny, seeing a handkerchief waved to her from the window.
“They shall be made welcome, for I cannot doubt that they have brought the third volume with them,” said Mr. Crisp, rising to receive his visitors.
In this way the reading was interrupted, and indeed Fanny was rather glad of a respite. She had not risen from her chair since nine o’clock. A chance of stretching her limbs was very acceptable.
Mrs. Burney and the girls had scarcely settled down to their cakes and sweet wine, after explaining that Dr. Burney had insisted on their taking this drive into the country, the day promised to be so fine, when Mr. Crisp turned to Susy, saying:
“You wicked girl! What did you mean by sending us the two volumes of that vile novel to upset us poor country folk? And I hope you have not neglected to bring with you the third.”
Poor Susy reddened and glanced at Fanny without trying to make any reply.