CHAPTER XXIX
THE two girls left the room slowly, after sending in the direction of Fanny a glance which they meant should encourage her—a glance which should let her know that they were quite ready to share her punishment, should the worst come to the worst.
Fanny replied to them with her eyes; and then prepared for the worst.
It quickly came.
“My dear daughter,” said Dr. Burney, when they were alone, Mrs. Burney in her chair at the head of the table. “My dear Fanny, I am no believer in leading by degrees up to such a communication as I have to make to you. I think that the sooner it is got over the better it will be for all whom it may concern. Well, this is it: Mr. Thomas Barlowe has written to me asking my permission for him to address you with a view to marriage.”
He made a pause, looking at her to observe the effect of this revelation.
And what he saw at first was a girl with a pale face and downcast eyes, awaiting, almost breathlessly, an accusation from which she shrank; but when he had spoken he saw a great change come over her. Not immediately, but gradually. It seemed to him that she had not fully realized the meaning of his words—that she was puzzled—trying to recall what he had said. Then the light seemed to dawn upon her. She flushed, and, after a few moments, threw back her head and went into a peal of laughter—a real schoolgirl's fit of laughter at something amazingly comic—the tumbling of a clown into a pool of water with a splash, or, perhaps, the slipping of a dignified beadle upon a butter slide. Her laughter went on for a long time, but without in the least suggesting hysteria—it was simply a girl's natural laughter on realizing the comic side of a situation which grown-up people would regard as extremely serious.
Neither her father nor his wife could understand why she should receive in such a spirit an essentially serious communication—the most serious that any young woman could receive. They had not before them the ludicrous picture that presented itself to her imagination—a picture of the Roman Rauzzini on the one side and the Poultry Barlowe on the other, asking her to choose between them. It was this presentment, coming in a flash the moment she realized that the publishing of the book was not the question which she had to face, that forced her to yield to that long fit of laughter.