“All perfectly true, my Hettina,” replied Fanny. “But where am I when the house is filled with visitors? You know that I am nobody—that all I pray for with all my heart is that no one will take any notice of me, and I think I can say that my prayer is nearly always granted.”
“That is because you are so dreadfully—so absurdly shy,” said Esther. “You are the little mouse that is evermore on the look out for a hole into which you can creep and be safe from the observation of all eyes. You are ever trying to escape, unless when Mr. Garrick is here.”
“Dear Hettina, I know my place—that is all. I have weak eyes, but quick ears, and I have heard strangers ask, when they have heard you sing and Susan play, who the little short-sighted girl in the corner is and what she means to do for the entertainment of the company. When they are assured that I am one of the clever Burney family they whisper an incredulous 'No?' They cannot believe that so insignificant a person as myself can be one of you.”
“Tis your morbid self-consciousness, Fanny, that suggests so much to you.”
“Oh, no; I was the dunce from the first. You know that while you could read any book with ease when you were six, I did not even know my letters when I was eight. Don't you remember how James made a jest of my thirst for knowledge by pretending to teach me the alphabet with the page turned upside down? And when you had gone to school at Paris and it was my turn as the next eldest, the wise padre perceived in a moment that the money would be much better spent upon Susan and Lottie, and they went to be educated while I remained at home in ignorance? The dear padre was right: he knew that I should have been miserable among bright girls away from home.”
There was a pause before the elder sister said quite pathetically:
“My poor Fanny! I wonder if you have not been treated shabbily among us.”
“Not. I, my Hettina. I have always been treated fairly. I have had as many treats as any of you; when you were learning so much in Paris I have been learning quite a number of things at home. And one of the most important things I learned was that so brilliant a person as Signor Rauzzini could never be happy if married to so insignificant a person as Fanny Burney.”
Esther gave a little sigh of relief.
“Indeed I think that your conclusion is a right one, dear,” she said. “We both came to the conclusion—Charles and I—that it would be a huge misfortune if you should allow yourself to be attracted by the glamour that attaches to the appearance of such a man as the Rauzzini, though, mind you, I believe that he honestly fancies himself in love with you—oh, he made no disguise of it in talking with us last night. But I hoped that you would be sensible.”