“What else is there left for me to do but to give all my attention to my needle?” she said. “I constantly feel that I am the dunce of the family—you are all so clever.”
“It is well for many families that they include one useful member,” said her stepmother in a way that suggested her complete agreement with the girl's confession that she was the dunce of the family. A mother's acknowledgment that a girl is either useful or good-natured is practically an announcement that she is neither pretty nor accomplished.
“And Fanny has many friends,” continued Mrs. Burney indulgently.
“Which shows how kind people are, even to a dunce,” said Fanny, not bitterly, but quite good-humouredly.
“But I am not sure that she should spend so much of her time writing to Mr. Crisp,” said the elder Mrs. Burney to the younger.
“Oh, poor Daddy Crisp!” cried Fanny. “Pray, mother, do not cut him off from his weekly budget of news. If I fail to send him a letter he is really disconsolate. 'Tis my letters that keep him still in touch with the life of the town.”
“Well, well, my dear Fanny, I shall not deprive you of your Daddy Crisp,” said her stepmother. “Poor Mr. Crisp must not be left to the tender mercies of Susan or Lottie. He is most hospitable, and his house at Chessington makes a pleasant change for us now and again, and he took a great fancy to you from the first.”
“Daddy Crisp was always Fanny's special friend,” said Esther. “And I am sure that it is good practice for Fanny to write to him.”
“Oh, she has long ago given up that childish nonsense,” cried the mother. “Poor Fanny made a pretty bonfire of her scribblings, and she has shown no weakness in that way since she took my advice in regard to them.”
Fanny was blushing furiously and giving all her attention to her work.