Fanny's First Novel

by Frank Frankfort Moore

“My story is like all the others,” replied Fanny. “I only meant to turn aside a little way, but soon I lost myself and I knew that there was no retracing my steps.”

“Alas, alas, the old story!” said Mrs. Thrale, with a long-drawn sigh. “Well, happily, you were not able to retrace your steps.”

“I had no idea that the story would grow upon me as it did,” said Fanny. “I really only meant it to be a diversion for our dear friend, Mr. Crisp, and an exercise for myself. I wrote a scrap now and again at odd moments—when I was supposed to be writing to Mr. Crisp, or copying out my father's notes for his History, at home as well as at Ches-sington, and when I was staying at Lynn; and so the thing grew and grew until I was afraid to look at what I had perpetrated.”

“You are paraphrasing Macbeth, my dear: 'I am afeared to think what I have done: Look on't again I dare not,'” said the elder lady. “But with all you were able to prepare your father's great work for the press—he told me as much; so that what your double-dealing comes to is that you did his writing as well as your own, and at the same time neglected none of your ordinary household duties—if you had done so Mrs. Burney would have informed you of it, I have no doubt. An excellent housewife, Mrs. Burney! And now you shall tell me how you contrived to bring together so marvellous a group of characters—you who have lived so short a time in the world, and had so small an amount of experience.”

“I should like someone to answer that question for me,” said Fanny. “It was not until I read the book in print that I began to be surprised at it, and to wonder how it came to be written and how those characters had found their way into it.”

But this question was too interesting a one not to be pursued by Mrs. Thrale; and for half an hour she put inquiry after inquiry to Fanny respecting the characters, the incidents and the language of “Evelina.” Mrs. Thrale was certainly determined to place herself in a position to prove to her friends that Miss Burney had made a confidante of her in all matters, down to the smallest detail of the book.

In ordinary circumstances Fanny would have been delighted to give her her confidence in regard to these particulars—she had always a childlike pleasure in talking about her books—but at this time she only did so with a great effort. For while Mrs. Thrale was plying her with questions about “Evelina,” there was ever before Fanny the unanswered question as to what Rauzzini meant by his coldness and formality both before dinner and during that meal. What did he mean by looking at her with that reproachful frown upon his face? What did he mean by averting his eyes from her when he had a chance of exchanging confidences with her, as he had often done before? What did he mean by sitting at the table without addressing a single word to her?

These were the questions which she was struggling in vain to answer to her own satisfaction all the time that Mrs. Thrale was putting inquiry after inquiry to her upon a matter that Fanny now regarded as insignificant compared with the one that she was trying to answer for herself.

Mrs. Thrale was just beginning a series of questions on the subject of the comedy which she meant Miss Burney to write, when a servant appeared with a message for the former.

“Tiresome!” exclaimed Fanny's hostess, rising. “Here is some insignificant household matter that can only be dealt with by the mistress—summer frocks for two girls: the carrier has brought some boxes—the summer has come upon us before spring has prepared us for its arrival, and there has been a despairing cry heard in the nursery. I need not excuse myself to you, Miss Burney. You will spare me for ten minutes.”