“And your delinquency has given me greater pleasure than I have derived from other people's rectitude,” said Mr. Crisp. Then he turned to Mrs. Burney.
“Dear madam, you must forgive our Fannikin for her misdemeanour. If you had but read the book for yourself you would feel as I do on the subject. 'Tis the most fascinating story——”
“That is, I hold, the worst of the matter,” said Mrs. Burney. “The more fascinating the novel, the more dangerous it is, and the greater reason there is why it should be excluded from every honest home. A dull story may do but little harm. One might reasonably tolerate it even among a household of young girls, but a clever one—a fascinating one, as you call this 'Evelina,' should never be allowed to cross the threshold. But, by your leave, sir, we will talk no more upon a question on which I know we shall never agree.”
“That is the most satisfactory proposal that could be made,” said Mr. Crisp, bowing. “I will only add that since you are so fully sensible of the danger of a delightful book in your house, you will take prompt measures to prevent the baleful influence of 'Evelina' from pervading your home, by despatching the third volume to me without delay. The third volume of such a novel may in truth be likened to the match in the barrel of gunpowder: 'tis the most dangerous part of the whole. The first two volumes are like the gunpowder—comparatively innocent, but the moment the third volume is attached—phew! So you would do well not to delay in getting rid of such an inflammatory composition, Mrs. Burney.”
“I promise you that you shall have it at once, sir,” said Mrs. Burney. “And I trust that you will not allow the first and second to return to my house. A barrel of gunpowder may be as innocent as you say, so long as the match is withheld, but still I have no intention of turning our home into a powder magazine.”
That was the last reference made to “Evelina” while Mrs. Burney and the two girls remained at Chessington. They went away so as to be back in St. Martin's Street in time for dinner; but the moment they were together in the chaise Mrs. Burney burst out once more in her denunciation of the vice of novel reading. From her general treatment of the theme she proceeded—as the girls feared she would—to the particular instance of its practice which had just come under her notice. She administered to poor Susy a sound scolding for having received the book from her cousin Edward in secret, and another to poor Lottie for having ventured to read it without asking leave. The girls were soon reduced to tears, but not a word did they say in reply. They were loyal to their sister and her secret with which they had been entrusted. Not a word did either of them utter.
The drive home on that lovely afternoon was a dreary one, especially after Mrs. Burney had said:
“I fear that this duplicity has been going on for a long time in our house. Yes, I have noticed more than once an exchange of meaning glances between you and Fanny, and sometimes, too, when your cousin Edward was in the room. It seemed to me that you had some secret in common which you were determined to keep from me. I said nothing at that time, for though my suspicions were awakened, yet I thought it best to take the most favourable view of the matter, and I assumed that the secret—if there was a secret—was an innocent one—such as girls in a family may share among themselves about some trifling thing; but now I have no doubt that your glances and your winks and your elbowings had to do with the smuggling of books into the house for your surreptitious reading. I am ashamed of you. It hurts me deeply to find that, after all the care I have taken to preserve you in innocence of the world and its wickedness, you have been behaving with such duplicity. I shall, of course, think it my duty to let your father know what I have found out, and he may be able to suggest some means of preventing a repetition of such conduct.”
The poor girls dared not even look at each other for mutual sympathy, lest such glances should be interpreted by their mother as a further attempt to pursue the scheme of duplicity with which she had charged them. They could only sit tearful and silent until they were once again in St. Martin's Street. They longed to rush upstairs together to their room and mingle their tears in a sisterly embrace before determining how they should meet their stepmother's charges in the presence of their father.
But Mrs. Burney was too astute a strategist to permit them to consult together.