At once Fanny made up her mind that she would pave the way, so to speak, for a full confession to Mr. Crisp.
“Susy has sent me on two volumes of a new novel, lest I should feel dull,” she said. “As if I am not much more likely to feel dull in the company of a new novel than of my old Daddy!”
“I thought that your stepmother prohibited the reading of novels, new or old, in your house,” said he.
“Perhaps mamma did not know anything about this particular one,” replied Fanny; “besides, it is to be read in your house, not ours.”
“So that the responsibility will be mine?” said he. “Mrs. Burney is only answerable to heaven for keeping your mind free from the baleful influence of novels, but I am in a worse case, for I am answerable to Mrs. Burney. And what is the name of the precious production?”
“Let me see,” said Fanny, artfully referring to the title page. “Oh, yes: 'Evelina; or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the World.' Do you call that an alluring title?”
“Too sentimental by half,” he replied. “But I have heard of the thing, and one of the reviews dealt with it some weeks ago.”
“Praise or blame?”
“Oh, foolish adulation for the great part; but not without a reasonable word here and there.”
“The reasonable part you are sure must be the censorious? That is not fair to the poor author.”